"THE IDIOT\n\nBy Fyodor Dostoyevsky\n\n\nTranslated by Eva Martin\n\n\n\n\nPART I\n\nI.\n\nTowards the end of November, during a thaw, at nine o'clock one morning,\na train on the Warsaw and Petersburg railway was approaching the latter\ncity at full speed. The morning was so damp and misty that it was only\nwith great difficulty that the day succeeded in breaking; and it was\nimpossible to distinguish anything more than a few yards away from the\ncarriage windows.\n\nSome of the passengers by this particular train were returning from\nabroad; but the third-class carriages were the best filled, chiefly with\ninsignificant persons of various occupations and degrees, picked up at\nthe different stations nearer town. All of them seemed weary, and\nmost of them had sleepy eyes and a shivering expression, while their\ncomplexions generally appeared to have taken on the colour of the fog\noutside.\n\nWhen day dawned, two passengers in one of the third-class carriages\nfound themselves opposite each other. Both were young fellows, both\nwere rather poorly dressed, both had remarkable faces, and both were\nevidently anxious to start a conversation. If they had but known why,\nat this particular moment, they were both remarkable persons, they would\nundoubtedly have wondered at the strange chance which had set them down\nopposite to one another in a third-class carriage of the Warsaw Railway\nCompany.\n\nOne of them was a young fellow of about twenty-seven, not tall, with\nblack curling hair, and small, grey, fiery eyes. His nose was broad\nand flat, and he had high cheek bones; his thin lips were constantly\ncompressed into an impudent, ironical--it might almost be called a\nmalicious--smile; but his forehead was high and well formed, and atoned\nfor a good deal of the ugliness of the lower part of his face. A special\nfeature of this physiognomy was its death-like pallor, which gave to\nthe whole man an indescribably emaciated appearance in spite of his hard\nlook, and at the same time a sort of passionate and suffering expression\nwhich did not harmonize with his impudent, sarcastic smile and\nkeen, self-satisfied bearing. He wore a large fur--or rather\nastrachan--overcoat, which had kept him warm all night, while his\nneighbour had been obliged to bear the full severity of a Russian\nNovember night entirely unprepared. His wide sleeveless mantle with a\nlarge cape to it--the sort of cloak one sees upon travellers during the\nwinter months in Switzerland or North Italy--was by no means adapted to\nthe long cold journey through Russia, from Eydkuhnen to St. Petersburg.\n\nThe wearer of this cloak was a young fellow, also of about twenty-six or\ntwenty-seven years of age, slightly above the middle height, very fair,\nwith a thin, pointed and very light coloured beard; his eyes were large\nand blue, and had an intent look about them, yet that heavy expression\nwhich some people affirm to be a peculiarity as well as evidence, of an\nepileptic subject. His face was decidedly a pleasant one for all that;\nrefined, but quite colourless, except for the circumstance that at this\nmoment it was blue with cold. He held a bundle made up of an old faded\nsilk handkerchief that apparently contained all his travelling wardrobe,\nand wore thick shoes and gaiters, his whole appearance being very\nun-Russian.\n\nHis black-haired neighbour inspected these peculiarities, having nothing\nbetter to do, and at length remarked, with that rude enjoyment of the\ndiscomforts of others which the common classes so often show:\n\n\"Cold?\"\n\n\"Very,\" said his neighbour, readily, \"and this is a thaw, too. Fancy if\nit had been a hard frost! I never thought it would be so cold in the old\ncountry. I've grown quite out of the way of it.\"\n\n\"What, been abroad, I suppose?\"\n\n\"Yes, straight from Switzerland.\"\n\n\"Wheugh! my goodness!\" The black-haired young fellow whistled, and then\nlaughed.\n\nThe conversation proceeded. The readiness of the fair-haired young\nman in the cloak to answer all his opposite neighbour's questions\nwas surprising. He seemed to have no suspicion of any impertinence\nor inappropriateness in the fact of such questions being put to him.\nReplying to them, he made known to the inquirer that he certainly had\nbeen long absent from Russia, more than four years; that he had been\nsent abroad for his health; that he had suffered from some strange\nnervous malady--a kind of epilepsy, with convulsive spasms. His\ninterlocutor burst out laughing several times at his answers; and\nmore than ever, when to the question, \"whether he had been cured?\" the\npatient replied:\n\n\"No, they did not cure me.\"\n\n\"Hey! that's it! You stumped up your money for nothing, and we\nbelieve in those fellows, here!\" remarked the black-haired individual,\nsarcastically.\n\n\"Gospel truth, sir, Gospel truth!\" exclaimed another passenger, a\nshabbily dressed man of about forty, who looked like a clerk, and\npossessed a red nose and a very blotchy face. \"Gospel truth! All they do\nis to get hold of our good Russian money free, gratis, and for nothing.\"\n\n\"Oh, but you're quite wrong in my particular instance,\" said the Swiss\npatient, quietly. \"Of course I can't argue the matter, because I\nknow only my own case; but my doctor gave me money--and he had very\nlittle--to pay my journey back, besides having kept me at his own\nexpense, while there, for nearly two years.\"\n\n\"Why? Was there no one else to pay for you?\" asked the black-haired one.\n\n\"No--Mr. Pavlicheff, who had been supporting me there, died a couple\nof years ago. I wrote to Mrs. General Epanchin at the time (she is a\ndistant relative of mine), but she did not answer my letter. And so\neventually I came back.\"\n\n\"And where have you come to?\"\n\n\"That is--where am I going to stay? I--I really don't quite know yet,\nI--\"\n\nBoth the listeners laughed again.\n\n\"I suppose your whole set-up is in that bundle, then?\" asked the first.\n\n\"I bet anything it is!\" exclaimed the red-nosed passenger, with\nextreme satisfaction, \"and that he has precious little in the luggage\nvan!--though of course poverty is no crime--we must remember that!\"\n\nIt appeared that it was indeed as they had surmised. The young fellow\nhastened to admit the fact with wonderful readiness.\n\n\"Your bundle has some importance, however,\" continued the clerk, when\nthey had laughed their fill (it was observable that the subject of their\nmirth joined in the laughter when he saw them laughing); \"for though I\ndare say it is not stuffed full of friedrichs d'or and louis d'or--judge\nfrom your costume and gaiters--still--if you can add to your possessions\nsuch a valuable property as a relation like Mrs. General Epanchin, then\nyour bundle becomes a significant object at once. That is, of course, if\nyou really are a relative of Mrs. Epanchin's, and have not made a little\nerror through--well, absence of mind, which is very common to human\nbeings; or, say--through a too luxuriant fancy?\"\n\n\"Oh, you are right again,\" said the fair-haired traveller, \"for I\nreally am _almost_ wrong when I say she and I are related. She is hardly\na relation at all; so little, in fact, that I was not in the least\nsurprised to have no answer to my letter. I expected as much.\"\n\n\"H'm! you spent your postage for nothing, then. H'm! you are candid,\nhowever--and that is commendable. H'm! Mrs. Epanchin--oh yes! a most\neminent person. I know her. As for Mr. Pavlicheff, who supported you in\nSwitzerland, I know him too--at least, if it was Nicolai Andreevitch\nof that name? A fine fellow he was--and had a property of four thousand\nsouls in his day.\"\n\n\"Yes, Nicolai Andreevitch--that was his name,\" and the young fellow\nlooked earnestly and with curiosity at the all-knowing gentleman with\nthe red nose.\n\nThis sort of character is met with pretty frequently in a certain class.\nThey are people who know everyone--that is, they know where a man is\nemployed, what his salary is, whom he knows, whom he married, what money\nhis wife had, who are his cousins, and second cousins, etc., etc. These\nmen generally have about a hundred pounds a year to live on, and they\nspend their whole time and talents in the amassing of this style of\nknowledge, which they reduce--or raise--to the standard of a science.\n\nDuring the latter part of the conversation the black-haired young man\nhad become very impatient. He stared out of the window, and fidgeted,\nand evidently longed for the end of the journey. He was very absent;\nhe would appear to listen--and heard nothing; and he would laugh of a\nsudden, evidently with no idea of what he was laughing about.\n\n\"Excuse me,\" said the red-nosed man to the young fellow with the bundle,\nrather suddenly; \"whom have I the honour to be talking to?\"\n\n\"Prince Lef Nicolaievitch Muishkin,\" replied the latter, with perfect\nreadiness.\n\n\"Prince Muishkin? Lef Nicolaievitch? H'm! I don't know, I'm sure! I may\nsay I have never heard of such a person,\" said the clerk, thoughtfully.\n\"At least, the name, I admit, is historical. Karamsin must mention the\nfamily name, of course, in his history--but as an individual--one never\nhears of any Prince Muishkin nowadays.\"\n\n\"Of course not,\" replied the prince; \"there are none, except myself.\nI believe I am the last and only one. As to my forefathers, they have\nalways been a poor lot; my own father was a sublieutenant in the army. I\ndon't know how Mrs. Epanchin comes into the Muishkin family, but she is\ndescended from the Princess Muishkin, and she, too, is the last of her\nline.\"\n\n\"And did you learn science and all that, with your professor over\nthere?\" asked the black-haired passenger.\n\n\"Oh yes--I did learn a little, but--\"\n\n\"I've never learned anything whatever,\" said the other.\n\n\"Oh, but I learned very little, you know!\" added the prince, as though\nexcusing himself. \"They could not teach me very much on account of my\nillness.\"\n\n\"Do you know the Rogojins?\" asked his questioner, abruptly.\n\n\"No, I don't--not at all! I hardly know anyone in Russia. Why, is that\nyour name?\"\n\n\"Yes, I am Rogojin, Parfen Rogojin.\"\n\n\"Parfen Rogojin? dear me--then don't you belong to those very Rogojins,\nperhaps--\" began the clerk, with a very perceptible increase of civility\nin his tone.\n\n\"Yes--those very ones,\" interrupted Rogojin, impatiently, and with scant\ncourtesy. I may remark that he had not once taken any notice of the\nblotchy-faced passenger, and had hitherto addressed all his remarks\ndirect to the prince.\n\n\"Dear me--is it possible?\" observed the clerk, while his face assumed an\nexpression of great deference and servility--if not of absolute\nalarm: \"what, a son of that very Semen Rogojin--hereditary honourable\ncitizen--who died a month or so ago and left two million and a half of\nroubles?\"\n\n\"And how do _you_ know that he left two million and a half of roubles?\"\nasked Rogojin, disdainfully, and not deigning so much as to look at the\nother. \"However, it's true enough that my father died a month ago, and\nthat here am I returning from Pskoff, a month after, with hardly a boot\nto my foot. They've treated me like a dog! I've been ill of fever at\nPskoff the whole time, and not a line, nor farthing of money, have I\nreceived from my mother or my confounded brother!\"\n\n\"And now you'll have a million roubles, at least--goodness gracious me!\"\nexclaimed the clerk, rubbing his hands.\n\n\"Five weeks since, I was just like yourself,\" continued Rogojin,\naddressing the prince, \"with nothing but a bundle and the clothes I\nwore. I ran away from my father and came to Pskoff to my aunt's house,\nwhere I caved in at once with fever, and he went and died while I was\naway. All honour to my respected father's memory--but he uncommonly\nnearly killed me, all the same. Give you my word, prince, if I hadn't\ncut and run then, when I did, he'd have murdered me like a dog.\"\n\n\"I suppose you angered him somehow?\" asked the prince, looking at the\nmillionaire with considerable curiosity. But though there may have been\nsomething remarkable in the fact that this man was heir to millions of\nroubles there was something about him which surprised and interested\nthe prince more than that. Rogojin, too, seemed to have taken up the\nconversation with unusual alacrity it appeared that he was still in a\nconsiderable state of excitement, if not absolutely feverish, and was\nin real need of someone to talk to for the mere sake of talking, as\nsafety-valve to his agitation.\n\nAs for his red-nosed neighbour, the latter--since the information as to\nthe identity of Rogojin--hung over him, seemed to be living on the\nhoney of his words and in the breath of his nostrils, catching at every\nsyllable as though it were a pearl of great price.\n\n\"Oh, yes; I angered him--I certainly did anger him,\" replied Rogojin.\n\"But what puts me out so is my brother. Of course my mother couldn't do\nanything--she's too old--and whatever brother Senka says is law for her!\nBut why couldn't he let me know? He sent a telegram, they say. What's\nthe good of a telegram? It frightened my aunt so that she sent it back\nto the office unopened, and there it's been ever since! It's only thanks\nto Konief that I heard at all; he wrote me all about it. He says my\nbrother cut off the gold tassels from my father's coffin, at night\n'because they're worth a lot of money!' says he. Why, I can get him\nsent off to Siberia for that alone, if I like; it's sacrilege. Here,\nyou--scarecrow!\" he added, addressing the clerk at his side, \"is it\nsacrilege or not, by law?\"\n\n\"Sacrilege, certainly--certainly sacrilege,\" said the latter.\n\n\"And it's Siberia for sacrilege, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly so; Siberia, of course!\"\n\n\"They will think that I'm still ill,\" continued Rogojin to the prince,\n\"but I sloped off quietly, seedy as I was, took the train and came away.\nAha, brother Senka, you'll have to open your gates and let me in, my\nboy! I know he told tales about me to my father--I know that well enough\nbut I certainly did rile my father about Nastasia Philipovna that's very\nsure, and that was my own doing.\"\n\n\"Nastasia Philipovna?\" said the clerk, as though trying to think out\nsomething.\n\n\"Come, you know nothing about _her_,\" said Rogojin, impatiently.\n\n\"And supposing I do know something?\" observed the other, triumphantly.\n\n\"Bosh! there are plenty of Nastasia Philipovnas. And what an impertinent\nbeast you are!\" he added angrily. \"I thought some creature like you\nwould hang on to me as soon as I got hold of my money.\"\n\n\"Oh, but I do know, as it happens,\" said the clerk in an aggravating\nmanner. \"Lebedeff knows all about her. You are pleased to reproach me,\nyour excellency, but what if I prove that I am right after all? Nastasia\nPhillpovna's family name is Barashkoff--I know, you see--and she is a\nvery well known lady, indeed, and comes of a good family, too. She is\nconnected with one Totski, Afanasy Ivanovitch, a man of considerable\nproperty, a director of companies, and so on, and a great friend of\nGeneral Epanchin, who is interested in the same matters as he is.\"\n\n\"My eyes!\" said Rogojin, really surprised at last. \"The devil take the\nfellow, how does he know that?\"\n\n\"Why, he knows everything--Lebedeff knows everything! I was a month or\ntwo with Lihachof after his father died, your excellency, and while he\nwas knocking about--he's in the debtor's prison now--I was with him,\nand he couldn't do a thing without Lebedeff; and I got to know Nastasia\nPhilipovna and several people at that time.\"\n\n\"Nastasia Philipovna? Why, you don't mean to say that she and\nLihachof--\" cried Rogojin, turning quite pale.\n\n\"No, no, no, no, no! Nothing of the sort, I assure you!\" said Lebedeff,\nhastily. \"Oh dear no, not for the world! Totski's the only man with any\nchance there. Oh, no! He takes her to his box at the opera at the French\ntheatre of an evening, and the officers and people all look at her and\nsay, 'By Jove, there's the famous Nastasia Philipovna!' but no one ever\ngets any further than that, for there is nothing more to say.\"\n\n\"Yes, it's quite true,\" said Rogojin, frowning gloomily; \"so Zaleshoff\ntold me. I was walking about the Nefsky one fine day, prince, in my\nfather's old coat, when she suddenly came out of a shop and stepped\ninto her carriage. I swear I was all of a blaze at once. Then I met\nZaleshoff--looking like a hair-dresser's assistant, got up as fine as I\ndon't know who, while I looked like a tinker. 'Don't flatter yourself,\nmy boy,' said he; 'she's not for such as you; she's a princess, she\nis, and her name is Nastasia Philipovna Barashkoff, and she lives\nwith Totski, who wishes to get rid of her because he's growing rather\nold--fifty-five or so--and wants to marry a certain beauty, the\nloveliest woman in all Petersburg.' And then he told me that I could\nsee Nastasia Philipovna at the opera-house that evening, if I liked, and\ndescribed which was her box. Well, I'd like to see my father allowing\nany of us to go to the theatre; he'd sooner have killed us, any day.\nHowever, I went for an hour or so and saw Nastasia Philipovna, and I\nnever slept a wink all night after. Next morning my father happened to\ngive me two government loan bonds to sell, worth nearly five thousand\nroubles each. 'Sell them,' said he, 'and then take seven thousand five\nhundred roubles to the office, give them to the cashier, and bring me\nback the rest of the ten thousand, without looking in anywhere on the\nway; look sharp, I shall be waiting for you.' Well, I sold the bonds,\nbut I didn't take the seven thousand roubles to the office; I went\nstraight to the English shop and chose a pair of earrings, with a\ndiamond the size of a nut in each. They cost four hundred roubles more\nthan I had, so I gave my name, and they trusted me. With the earrings\nI went at once to Zaleshoff's. 'Come on!' I said, 'come on to Nastasia\nPhilipovna's,' and off we went without more ado. I tell you I hadn't a\nnotion of what was about me or before me or below my feet all the way;\nI saw nothing whatever. We went straight into her drawing-room, and then\nshe came out to us.\n\n\"I didn't say right out who I was, but Zaleshoff said: 'From Parfen\nRogojin, in memory of his first meeting with you yesterday; be so kind\nas to accept these!'\n\n\"She opened the parcel, looked at the earrings, and laughed.\n\n\"'Thank your friend Mr. Rogojin for his kind attention,' says she, and\nbowed and went off. Why didn't I die there on the spot? The worst of it\nall was, though, that the beast Zaleshoff got all the credit of it! I\nwas short and abominably dressed, and stood and stared in her face and\nnever said a word, because I was shy, like an ass! And there was he all\nin the fashion, pomaded and dressed out, with a smart tie on, bowing and\nscraping; and I bet anything she took him for me all the while!\n\n\"'Look here now,' I said, when we came out, 'none of your interference\nhere after this-do you understand?' He laughed: 'And how are you going\nto settle up with your father?' says he. I thought I might as well jump\ninto the Neva at once without going home first; but it struck me that I\nwouldn't, after all, and I went home feeling like one of the damned.\"\n\n\"My goodness!\" shivered the clerk. \"And his father,\" he added, for the\nprince's instruction, \"and his father would have given a man a ticket to\nthe other world for ten roubles any day--not to speak of ten thousand!\"\n\nThe prince observed Rogojin with great curiosity; he seemed paler than\never at this moment.\n\n\"What do you know about it?\" cried the latter. \"Well, my father learned\nthe whole story at once, and Zaleshoff blabbed it all over the town\nbesides. So he took me upstairs and locked me up, and swore at me for an\nhour. 'This is only a foretaste,' says he; 'wait a bit till night comes,\nand I'll come back and talk to you again.'\n\n\"Well, what do you think? The old fellow went straight off to Nastasia\nPhilipovna, touched the floor with his forehead, and began blubbering\nand beseeching her on his knees to give him back the diamonds. So after\nawhile she brought the box and flew out at him. 'There,' she says,\n'take your earrings, you wretched old miser; although they are ten times\ndearer than their value to me now that I know what it must have cost\nParfen to get them! Give Parfen my compliments,' she says, 'and thank\nhim very much!' Well, I meanwhile had borrowed twenty-five roubles from\na friend, and off I went to Pskoff to my aunt's. The old woman there\nlectured me so that I left the house and went on a drinking tour round\nthe public-houses of the place. I was in a high fever when I got to\nPskoff, and by nightfall I was lying delirious in the streets somewhere\nor other!\"\n\n\"Oho! we'll make Nastasia Philipovna sing another song now!\" giggled\nLebedeff, rubbing his hands with glee. \"Hey, my boy, we'll get her some\nproper earrings now! We'll get her such earrings that--\"\n\n\"Look here,\" cried Rogojin, seizing him fiercely by the arm, \"look here,\nif you so much as name Nastasia Philipovna again, I'll tan your hide as\nsure as you sit there!\"\n\n\"Aha! do--by all means! if you tan my hide you won't turn me away from\nyour society. You'll bind me to you, with your lash, for ever. Ha, ha!\nhere we are at the station, though.\"\n\nSure enough, the train was just steaming in as he spoke.\n\nThough Rogojin had declared that he left Pskoff secretly, a large\ncollection of friends had assembled to greet him, and did so with\nprofuse waving of hats and shouting.\n\n\"Why, there's Zaleshoff here, too!\" he muttered, gazing at the scene\nwith a sort of triumphant but unpleasant smile. Then he suddenly turned\nto the prince: \"Prince, I don't know why I have taken a fancy to you;\nperhaps because I met you just when I did. But no, it can't be that, for\nI met this fellow\" (nodding at Lebedeff) \"too, and I have not taken a\nfancy to him by any means. Come to see me, prince; we'll take off those\ngaiters of yours and dress you up in a smart fur coat, the best we\ncan buy. You shall have a dress coat, best quality, white waistcoat,\nanything you like, and your pocket shall be full of money. Come, and\nyou shall go with me to Nastasia Philipovna's. Now then will you come or\nno?\"\n\n\"Accept, accept, Prince Lef Nicolaievitch\" said Lebedef solemnly; \"don't\nlet it slip! Accept, quick!\"\n\nPrince Muishkin rose and stretched out his hand courteously, while he\nreplied with some cordiality:\n\n\"I will come with the greatest pleasure, and thank you very much for\ntaking a fancy to me. I dare say I may even come today if I have time,\nfor I tell you frankly that I like you very much too. I liked you\nespecially when you told us about the diamond earrings; but I liked you\nbefore that as well, though you have such a dark-clouded sort of face.\nThanks very much for the offer of clothes and a fur coat; I certainly\nshall require both clothes and coat very soon. As for money, I have\nhardly a copeck about me at this moment.\"\n\n\"You shall have lots of money; by the evening I shall have plenty; so\ncome along!\"\n\n\"That's true enough, he'll have lots before evening!\" put in Lebedeff.\n\n\"But, look here, are you a great hand with the ladies? Let's know that\nfirst?\" asked Rogojin.\n\n\"Oh no, oh no!\" said the prince; \"I couldn't, you know--my illness--I\nhardly ever saw a soul.\"\n\n\"H'm! well--here, you fellow-you can come along with me now if you\nlike!\" cried Rogojin to Lebedeff, and so they all left the carriage.\n\nLebedeff had his desire. He went off with the noisy group of Rogojin's\nfriends towards the Voznesensky, while the prince's route lay towards\nthe Litaynaya. It was damp and wet. The prince asked his way of\npassers-by, and finding that he was a couple of miles or so from his\ndestination, he determined to take a droshky.\n\nII.\n\nGeneral Epanchin lived in his own house near the Litaynaya. Besides this\nlarge residence--five-sixths of which was let in flats and lodgings-the\ngeneral was owner of another enormous house in the Sadovaya bringing in\neven more rent than the first. Besides these houses he had a delightful\nlittle estate just out of town, and some sort of factory in another part\nof the city. General Epanchin, as everyone knew, had a good deal to\ndo with certain government monopolies; he was also a voice, and an\nimportant one, in many rich public companies of various descriptions;\nin fact, he enjoyed the reputation of being a well-to-do man of busy\nhabits, many ties, and affluent means. He had made himself indispensable\nin several quarters, amongst others in his department of the government;\nand yet it was a known fact that Fedor Ivanovitch Epanchin was a man of\nno education whatever, and had absolutely risen from the ranks.\n\nThis last fact could, of course, reflect nothing but credit upon the\ngeneral; and yet, though unquestionably a sagacious man, he had his own\nlittle weaknesses-very excusable ones,--one of which was a dislike to\nany allusion to the above circumstance. He was undoubtedly clever. For\ninstance, he made a point of never asserting himself when he would\ngain more by keeping in the background; and in consequence many exalted\npersonages valued him principally for his humility and simplicity, and\nbecause \"he knew his place.\" And yet if these good people could only\nhave had a peep into the mind of this excellent fellow who \"knew his\nplace\" so well! The fact is that, in spite of his knowledge of the world\nand his really remarkable abilities, he always liked to appear to be\ncarrying out other people's ideas rather than his own. And also, his\nluck seldom failed him, even at cards, for which he had a passion that\nhe did not attempt to conceal. He played for high stakes, and moved,\naltogether, in very varied society.\n\nAs to age, General Epanchin was in the very prime of life; that is,\nabout fifty-five years of age,--the flowering time of existence, when\nreal enjoyment of life begins. His healthy appearance, good colour,\nsound, though discoloured teeth, sturdy figure, preoccupied air during\nbusiness hours, and jolly good humour during his game at cards in the\nevening, all bore witness to his success in life, and combined to make\nexistence a bed of roses to his excellency. The general was lord of a\nflourishing family, consisting of his wife and three grown-up daughters.\nHe had married young, while still a lieutenant, his wife being a girl of\nabout his own age, who possessed neither beauty nor education, and who\nbrought him no more than fifty souls of landed property, which\nlittle estate served, however, as a nest-egg for far more important\naccumulations. The general never regretted his early marriage, or\nregarded it as a foolish youthful escapade; and he so respected and\nfeared his wife that he was very near loving her. Mrs. Epanchin came of\nthe princely stock of Muishkin, which if not a brilliant, was, at all\nevents, a decidedly ancient family; and she was extremely proud of her\ndescent.\n\nWith a few exceptions, the worthy couple had lived through their long\nunion very happily. While still young the wife had been able to make\nimportant friends among the aristocracy, partly by virtue of her family\ndescent, and partly by her own exertions; while, in after life, thanks\nto their wealth and to the position of her husband in the service, she\ntook her place among the higher circles as by right.\n\nDuring these last few years all three of the general's\ndaughters--Alexandra, Adelaida, and Aglaya--had grown up and matured. Of\ncourse they were only Epanchins, but their mother's family was noble;\nthey might expect considerable fortunes; their father had hopes of\nattaining to very high rank indeed in his country's service-all of which\nwas satisfactory. All three of the girls were decidedly pretty, even\nthe eldest, Alexandra, who was just twenty-five years old. The middle\ndaughter was now twenty-three, while the youngest, Aglaya, was twenty.\nThis youngest girl was absolutely a beauty, and had begun of late to\nattract considerable attention in society. But this was not all, for\nevery one of the three was clever, well educated, and accomplished.\n\nIt was a matter of general knowledge that the three girls were very fond\nof one another, and supported each other in every way; it was even said\nthat the two elder ones had made certain sacrifices for the sake of\nthe idol of the household, Aglaya. In society they not only disliked\nasserting themselves, but were actually retiring. Certainly no one could\nblame them for being too arrogant or haughty, and yet everybody was well\naware that they were proud and quite understood their own value. The\neldest was musical, while the second was a clever artist, which fact\nshe had concealed until lately. In a word, the world spoke well of the\ngirls; but they were not without their enemies, and occasionally people\ntalked with horror of the number of books they had read.\n\nThey were in no hurry to marry. They liked good society, but were not\ntoo keen about it. All this was the more remarkable, because everyone\nwas well aware of the hopes and aims of their parents.\n\nIt was about eleven o'clock in the forenoon when the prince rang the\nbell at General Epanchin's door. The general lived on the first floor\nor flat of the house, as modest a lodging as his position permitted. A\nliveried servant opened the door, and the prince was obliged to enter\ninto long explanations with this gentleman, who, from the first glance,\nlooked at him and his bundle with grave suspicion. At last, however, on\nthe repeated positive assurance that he really was Prince Muishkin, and\nmust absolutely see the general on business, the bewildered domestic\nshowed him into a little ante-chamber leading to a waiting-room that\nadjoined the general's study, there handing him over to another servant,\nwhose duty it was to be in this ante-chamber all the morning, and\nannounce visitors to the general. This second individual wore a dress\ncoat, and was some forty years of age; he was the general's special\nstudy servant, and well aware of his own importance.\n\n\"Wait in the next room, please; and leave your bundle here,\" said the\ndoor-keeper, as he sat down comfortably in his own easy-chair in the\nante-chamber. He looked at the prince in severe surprise as the latter\nsettled himself in another chair alongside, with his bundle on his\nknees.\n\n\"If you don't mind, I would rather sit here with you,\" said the prince;\n\"I should prefer it to sitting in there.\"\n\n\"Oh, but you can't stay here. You are a visitor--a guest, so to speak.\nIs it the general himself you wish to see?\"\n\nThe man evidently could not take in the idea of such a shabby-looking\nvisitor, and had decided to ask once more.\n\n\"Yes--I have business--\" began the prince.\n\n\"I do not ask you what your business may be, all I have to do is to\nannounce you; and unless the secretary comes in here I cannot do that.\"\n\nThe man's suspicions seemed to increase more and more. The prince was\ntoo unlike the usual run of daily visitors; and although the general\ncertainly did receive, on business, all sorts and conditions of men, yet\nin spite of this fact the servant felt great doubts on the subject\nof this particular visitor. The presence of the secretary as an\nintermediary was, he judged, essential in this case.\n\n\"Surely you--are from abroad?\" he inquired at last, in a confused sort\nof way. He had begun his sentence intending to say, \"Surely you are not\nPrince Muishkin, are you?\"\n\n\"Yes, straight from the train! Did not you intend to say, 'Surely you\nare not Prince Muishkin?' just now, but refrained out of politeness?\"\n\n\"H'm!\" grunted the astonished servant.\n\n\"I assure you I am not deceiving you; you shall not have to answer for\nme. As to my being dressed like this, and carrying a bundle, there's\nnothing surprising in that--the fact is, my circumstances are not\nparticularly rosy at this moment.\"\n\n\"H'm!--no, I'm not afraid of that, you see; I have to announce you,\nthat's all. The secretary will be out directly-that is, unless you--yes,\nthat's the rub--unless you--come, you must allow me to ask you--you've\nnot come to beg, have you?\"\n\n\"Oh dear no, you can be perfectly easy on that score. I have quite\nanother matter on hand.\"\n\n\"You must excuse my asking, you know. Your appearance led me to\nthink--but just wait for the secretary; the general is busy now, but the\nsecretary is sure to come out.\"\n\n\"Oh--well, look here, if I have some time to wait, would you mind\ntelling me, is there any place about where I could have a smoke? I have\nmy pipe and tobacco with me.\"\n\n\"_Smoke?_\" said the man, in shocked but disdainful surprise, blinking his\neyes at the prince as though he could not believe his senses. \"No, sir,\nyou cannot smoke here, and I wonder you are not ashamed of the very\nsuggestion. Ha, ha! a cool idea that, I declare!\"\n\n\"Oh, I didn't mean in this room! I know I can't smoke here, of course.\nI'd adjourn to some other room, wherever you like to show me to. You\nsee, I'm used to smoking a good deal, and now I haven't had a puff for\nthree hours; however, just as you like.\"\n\n\"Now how on earth am I to announce a man like that?\" muttered the\nservant. \"In the first place, you've no right in here at all; you ought\nto be in the waiting-room, because you're a sort of visitor--a guest, in\nfact--and I shall catch it for this. Look here, do you intend to take up\nyou abode with us?\" he added, glancing once more at the prince's bundle,\nwhich evidently gave him no peace.\n\n\"No, I don't think so. I don't think I should stay even if they were\nto invite me. I've simply come to make their acquaintance, and nothing\nmore.\"\n\n\"Make their acquaintance?\" asked the man, in amazement, and with\nredoubled suspicion. \"Then why did you say you had business with the\ngeneral?\"\n\n\"Oh well, very little business. There is one little matter--some\nadvice I am going to ask him for; but my principal object is simply to\nintroduce myself, because I am Prince Muishkin, and Madame Epanchin is\nthe last of her branch of the house, and besides herself and me there\nare no other Muishkins left.\"\n\n\"What--you're a relation then, are you?\" asked the servant, so\nbewildered that he began to feel quite alarmed.\n\n\"Well, hardly so. If you stretch a point, we are relations, of course,\nbut so distant that one cannot really take cognizance of it. I once\nwrote to your mistress from abroad, but she did not reply. However, I\nhave thought it right to make acquaintance with her on my arrival. I am\ntelling you all this in order to ease your mind, for I see you are still\nfar from comfortable on my account. All you have to do is to announce me\nas Prince Muishkin, and the object of my visit will be plain enough. If\nI am received--very good; if not, well, very good again. But they are\nsure to receive me, I should think; Madame Epanchin will naturally be\ncurious to see the only remaining representative of her family. She\nvalues her Muishkin descent very highly, if I am rightly informed.\"\n\nThe prince's conversation was artless and confiding to a degree, and\nthe servant could not help feeling that as from visitor to common\nserving-man this state of things was highly improper. His conclusion was\nthat one of two things must be the explanation--either that this was a\nbegging impostor, or that the prince, if prince he were, was simply a\nfool, without the slightest ambition; for a sensible prince with any\nambition would certainly not wait about in ante-rooms with servants, and\ntalk of his own private affairs like this. In either case, how was he to\nannounce this singular visitor?\n\n\"I really think I must request you to step into the next room!\" he said,\nwith all the insistence he could muster.\n\n\"Why? If I had been sitting there now, I should not have had the\nopportunity of making these personal explanations. I see you are still\nuneasy about me and keep eyeing my cloak and bundle. Don't you think\nyou might go in yourself now, without waiting for the secretary to come\nout?\"\n\n\"No, no! I can't announce a visitor like yourself without the secretary.\nBesides the general said he was not to be disturbed--he is with the\nColonel C--. Gavrila Ardalionovitch goes in without announcing.\"\n\n\"Who may that be? a clerk?\"\n\n\"What? Gavrila Ardalionovitch? Oh no; he belongs to one of the\ncompanies. Look here, at all events put your bundle down, here.\"\n\n\"Yes, I will if I may; and--can I take off my cloak\"\n\n\"Of course; you can't go in _there_ with it on, anyhow.\"\n\nThe prince rose and took off his mantle, revealing a neat enough morning\ncostume--a little worn, but well made. He wore a steel watch chain and\nfrom this chain there hung a silver Geneva watch. Fool the prince might\nbe, still, the general's servant felt that it was not correct for him to\ncontinue to converse thus with a visitor, in spite of the fact that the\nprince pleased him somehow.\n\n\"And what time of day does the lady receive?\" the latter asked,\nreseating himself in his old place.\n\n\"Oh, that's not in _my_ province! I believe she receives at any time; it\ndepends upon the visitors. The dressmaker goes in at eleven. Gavrila\nArdalionovitch is allowed much earlier than other people, too; he is\neven admitted to early lunch now and then.\"\n\n\"It is much warmer in the rooms here than it is abroad at this season,\"\nobserved the prince; \"but it is much warmer there out of doors. As for\nthe houses--a Russian can't live in them in the winter until he gets\naccustomed to them.\"\n\n\"Don't they heat them at all?\"\n\n\"Well, they do heat them a little; but the houses and stoves are so\ndifferent to ours.\"\n\n\"H'm! were you long away?\"\n\n\"Four years! and I was in the same place nearly all the time,--in one\nvillage.\"\n\n\"You must have forgotten Russia, hadn't you?\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed I had--a good deal; and, would you believe it, I often\nwonder at myself for not having forgotten how to speak Russian? Even\nnow, as I talk to you, I keep saying to myself 'how well I am speaking\nit.' Perhaps that is partly why I am so talkative this morning. I assure\nyou, ever since yesterday evening I have had the strongest desire to go\non and on talking Russian.\"\n\n\"H'm! yes; did you live in Petersburg in former years?\"\n\nThis good flunkey, in spite of his conscientious scruples, really could\nnot resist continuing such a very genteel and agreeable conversation.\n\n\"In Petersburg? Oh no! hardly at all, and now they say so much is\nchanged in the place that even those who did know it well are obliged to\nrelearn what they knew. They talk a good deal about the new law courts,\nand changes there, don't they?\"\n\n\"H'm! yes, that's true enough. Well now, how is the law over there, do\nthey administer it more justly than here?\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know about that! I've heard much that is good about our\nlegal administration, too. There is no capital punishment here for one\nthing.\"\n\n\"Is there over there?\"\n\n\"Yes--I saw an execution in France--at Lyons. Schneider took me over\nwith him to see it.\"\n\n\"What, did they hang the fellow?\"\n\n\"No, they cut off people's heads in France.\"\n\n\"What did the fellow do?--yell?\"\n\n\"Oh no--it's the work of an instant. They put a man inside a frame and\na sort of broad knife falls by machinery--they call the thing a\nguillotine--it falls with fearful force and weight--the head springs\noff so quickly that you can't wink your eye in between. But all the\npreparations are so dreadful. When they announce the sentence, you know,\nand prepare the criminal and tie his hands, and cart him off to the\nscaffold--that's the fearful part of the business. The people all crowd\nround--even women--though they don't at all approve of women looking on.\"\n\n\"No, it's not a thing for women.\"\n\n\"Of course not--of course not!--bah! The criminal was a fine intelligent\nfearless man; Le Gros was his name; and I may tell you--believe it or\nnot, as you like--that when that man stepped upon the scaffold he _cried_,\nhe did indeed,--he was as white as a bit of paper. Isn't it a dreadful\nidea that he should have cried--cried! Whoever heard of a grown man\ncrying from fear--not a child, but a man who never had cried before--a\ngrown man of forty-five years. Imagine what must have been going on in\nthat man's mind at such a moment; what dreadful convulsions his whole\nspirit must have endured; it is an outrage on the soul that's what it\nis. Because it is said 'thou shalt not kill,' is he to be killed because\nhe murdered some one else? No, it is not right, it's an impossible\ntheory. I assure you, I saw the sight a month ago and it's dancing\nbefore my eyes to this moment. I dream of it, often.\"\n\nThe prince had grown animated as he spoke, and a tinge of colour\nsuffused his pale face, though his way of talking was as quiet as ever.\nThe servant followed his words with sympathetic interest. Clearly he\nwas not at all anxious to bring the conversation to an end. Who knows?\nPerhaps he too was a man of imagination and with some capacity for\nthought.\n\n\"Well, at all events it is a good thing that there's no pain when the\npoor fellow's head flies off,\" he remarked.\n\n\"Do you know, though,\" cried the prince warmly, \"you made that remark\nnow, and everyone says the same thing, and the machine is designed with\nthe purpose of avoiding pain, this guillotine I mean; but a thought came\ninto my head then: what if it be a bad plan after all? You may laugh at\nmy idea, perhaps--but I could not help its occurring to me all the same.\nNow with the rack and tortures and so on--you suffer terrible pain of\ncourse; but then your torture is bodily pain only (although no doubt you\nhave plenty of that) until you die. But _here_ I should imagine the\nmost terrible part of the whole punishment is, not the bodily pain at\nall--but the certain knowledge that in an hour,--then in ten minutes,\nthen in half a minute, then now--this very _instant_--your soul must\nquit your body and that you will no longer be a man--and that this\nis certain, _certain_! That's the point--the certainty of it. Just that\ninstant when you place your head on the block and hear the iron grate\nover your head--then--that quarter of a second is the most awful of all.\n\n\"This is not my own fantastical opinion--many people have thought the\nsame; but I feel it so deeply that I'll tell you what I think. I believe\nthat to execute a man for murder is to punish him immeasurably more\ndreadfully than is equivalent to his crime. A murder by sentence is\nfar more dreadful than a murder committed by a criminal. The man who is\nattacked by robbers at night, in a dark wood, or anywhere, undoubtedly\nhopes and hopes that he may yet escape until the very moment of his\ndeath. There are plenty of instances of a man running away, or imploring\nfor mercy--at all events hoping on in some degree--even after his throat\nwas cut. But in the case of an execution, that last hope--having which\nit is so immeasurably less dreadful to die,--is taken away from the\nwretch and _certainty_ substituted in its place! There is his sentence,\nand with it that terrible certainty that he cannot possibly escape\ndeath--which, I consider, must be the most dreadful anguish in the\nworld. You may place a soldier before a cannon's mouth in battle, and\nfire upon him--and he will still hope. But read to that same soldier his\ndeath-sentence, and he will either go mad or burst into tears. Who dares\nto say that any man can suffer this without going mad? No, no! it is\nan abuse, a shame, it is unnecessary--why should such a thing exist?\nDoubtless there may be men who have been sentenced, who have suffered\nthis mental anguish for a while and then have been reprieved; perhaps\nsuch men may have been able to relate their feelings afterwards. Our\nLord Christ spoke of this anguish and dread. No! no! no! No man should\nbe treated so, no man, no man!\"\n\nThe servant, though of course he could not have expressed all this\nas the prince did, still clearly entered into it and was greatly\nconciliated, as was evident from the increased amiability of his\nexpression. \"If you are really very anxious for a smoke,\" he remarked,\n\"I think it might possibly be managed, if you are very quick about it.\nYou see they might come out and inquire for you, and you wouldn't be on\nthe spot. You see that door there? Go in there and you'll find a little\nroom on the right; you can smoke there, only open the window, because I\nought not to allow it really, and--.\" But there was no time, after all.\n\nA young fellow entered the ante-room at this moment, with a bundle\nof papers in his hand. The footman hastened to help him take off his\novercoat. The new arrival glanced at the prince out of the corners of\nhis eyes.\n\n\"This gentleman declares, Gavrila Ardalionovitch,\" began the man,\nconfidentially and almost familiarly, \"that he is Prince Muishkin and\na relative of Madame Epanchin's. He has just arrived from abroad, with\nnothing but a bundle by way of luggage--.\"\n\nThe prince did not hear the rest, because at this point the servant\ncontinued his communication in a whisper.\n\nGavrila Ardalionovitch listened attentively, and gazed at the prince\nwith great curiosity. At last he motioned the man aside and stepped\nhurriedly towards the prince.\n\n\"Are you Prince Muishkin?\" he asked, with the greatest courtesy and\namiability.\n\nHe was a remarkably handsome young fellow of some twenty-eight summers,\nfair and of middle height; he wore a small beard, and his face was most\nintelligent. Yet his smile, in spite of its sweetness, was a little\nthin, if I may so call it, and showed his teeth too evenly; his\ngaze though decidedly good-humoured and ingenuous, was a trifle too\ninquisitive and intent to be altogether agreeable.\n\n\"Probably when he is alone he looks quite different, and hardly smiles\nat all!\" thought the prince.\n\nHe explained about himself in a few words, very much the same as he had\ntold the footman and Rogojin beforehand.\n\nGavrila Ardalionovitch meanwhile seemed to be trying to recall\nsomething.\n\n\"Was it not you, then, who sent a letter a year or less ago--from\nSwitzerland, I think it was--to Elizabetha Prokofievna (Mrs. Epanchin)?\"\n\n\"It was.\"\n\n\"Oh, then, of course they will remember who you are. You wish to see\nthe general? I'll tell him at once--he will be free in a minute; but\nyou--you had better wait in the ante-chamber,--hadn't you? Why is he\nhere?\" he added, severely, to the man.\n\n\"I tell you, sir, he wished it himself!\"\n\nAt this moment the study door opened, and a military man, with a\nportfolio under his arm, came out talking loudly, and after bidding\ngood-bye to someone inside, took his departure.\n\n\"You there, Gania?\" cried a voice from the study, \"come in here, will\nyou?\"\n\nGavrila Ardalionovitch nodded to the prince and entered the room\nhastily.\n\nA couple of minutes later the door opened again and the affable voice of\nGania cried:\n\n\"Come in please, prince!\"\n\nIII.\n\nGeneral Ivan Fedorovitch Epanchin was standing in the middle of the\nroom, and gazed with great curiosity at the prince as he entered. He\neven advanced a couple of steps to meet him.\n\nThe prince came forward and introduced himself.\n\n\"Quite so,\" replied the general, \"and what can I do for you?\"\n\n\"Oh, I have no special business; my principal object was to make your\nacquaintance. I should not like to disturb you. I do not know your times\nand arrangements here, you see, but I have only just arrived. I came\nstraight from the station. I am come direct from Switzerland.\"\n\nThe general very nearly smiled, but thought better of it and kept his\nsmile back. Then he reflected, blinked his eyes, stared at his guest\nonce more from head to foot; then abruptly motioned him to a chair, sat\ndown himself, and waited with some impatience for the prince to speak.\n\nGania stood at his table in the far corner of the room, turning over\npapers.\n\n\"I have not much time for making acquaintances, as a rule,\" said the\ngeneral, \"but as, of course, you have your object in coming, I--\"\n\n\"I felt sure you would think I had some object in view when I resolved\nto pay you this visit,\" the prince interrupted; \"but I give you my word,\nbeyond the pleasure of making your acquaintance I had no personal object\nwhatever.\"\n\n\"The pleasure is, of course, mutual; but life is not all pleasure, as\nyou are aware. There is such a thing as business, and I really do not\nsee what possible reason there can be, or what we have in common to--\"\n\n\"Oh, there is no reason, of course, and I suppose there is nothing in\ncommon between us, or very little; for if I am Prince Muishkin, and your\nwife happens to be a member of my house, that can hardly be called a\n'reason.' I quite understand that. And yet that was my whole motive for\ncoming. You see I have not been in Russia for four years, and knew very\nlittle about anything when I left. I had been very ill for a long time,\nand I feel now the need of a few good friends. In fact, I have a certain\nquestion upon which I much need advice, and do not know whom to go to\nfor it. I thought of your family when I was passing through Berlin.\n'They are almost relations,' I said to myself,' so I'll begin with them;\nperhaps we may get on with each other, I with them and they with me, if\nthey are kind people;' and I have heard that you are very kind people!\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you, thank you, I'm sure,\" replied the general, considerably\ntaken aback. \"May I ask where you have taken up your quarters?\"\n\n\"Nowhere, as yet.\"\n\n\"What, straight from the station to my house? And how about your\nluggage?\"\n\n\"I only had a small bundle, containing linen, with me, nothing more. I\ncan carry it in my hand, easily. There will be plenty of time to take a\nroom in some hotel by the evening.\"\n\n\"Oh, then you _do_ intend to take a room?\"\n\n\"Of course.\"\n\n\"To judge from your words, you came straight to my house with the\nintention of staying there.\"\n\n\"That could only have been on your invitation. I confess, however, that\nI should not have stayed here even if you had invited me, not for any\nparticular reason, but because it is--well, contrary to my practice and\nnature, somehow.\"\n\n\"Oh, indeed! Then it is perhaps as well that I neither _did_ invite you,\nnor _do_ invite you now. Excuse me, prince, but we had better make this\nmatter clear, once for all. We have just agreed that with regard to our\nrelationship there is not much to be said, though, of course, it would\nhave been very delightful to us to feel that such relationship did\nactually exist; therefore, perhaps--\"\n\n\"Therefore, perhaps I had better get up and go away?\" said the prince,\nlaughing merrily as he rose from his place; just as merrily as though\nthe circumstances were by no means strained or difficult. \"And I give\nyou my word, general, that though I know nothing whatever of manners and\ncustoms of society, and how people live and all that, yet I felt quite\nsure that this visit of mine would end exactly as it has ended now.\nOh, well, I suppose it's all right; especially as my letter was not\nanswered. Well, good-bye, and forgive me for having disturbed you!\"\n\nThe prince's expression was so good-natured at this moment, and so\nentirely free from even a suspicion of unpleasant feeling was the\nsmile with which he looked at the general as he spoke, that the latter\nsuddenly paused, and appeared to gaze at his guest from quite a new\npoint of view, all in an instant.\n\n\"Do you know, prince,\" he said, in quite a different tone, \"I do not\nknow you at all, yet, and after all, Elizabetha Prokofievna would\nvery likely be pleased to have a peep at a man of her own name. Wait a\nlittle, if you don't mind, and if you have time to spare?\"\n\n\"Oh, I assure you I've lots of time, my time is entirely my own!\" And\nthe prince immediately replaced his soft, round hat on the table. \"I\nconfess, I thought Elizabetha Prokofievna would very likely remember\nthat I had written her a letter. Just now your servant--outside\nthere--was dreadfully suspicious that I had come to beg of you. I\nnoticed that! Probably he has very strict instructions on that score;\nbut I assure you I did not come to beg. I came to make some friends.\nBut I am rather bothered at having disturbed you; that's all I care\nabout.--\"\n\n\"Look here, prince,\" said the general, with a cordial smile, \"if you\nreally are the sort of man you appear to be, it may be a source of great\npleasure to us to make your better acquaintance; but, you see, I am\na very busy man, and have to be perpetually sitting here and signing\npapers, or off to see his excellency, or to my department, or somewhere;\nso that though I should be glad to see more of people, nice people--you\nsee, I--however, I am sure you are so well brought up that you will see\nat once, and--but how old are you, prince?\"\n\n\"Twenty-six.\"\n\n\"No? I thought you very much younger.\"\n\n\"Yes, they say I have a 'young' face. As to disturbing you I shall soon\nlearn to avoid doing that, for I hate disturbing people. Besides, you\nand I are so differently constituted, I should think, that there must be\nvery little in common between us. Not that I will ever believe there is\n_nothing_ in common between any two people, as some declare is the case.\nI am sure people make a great mistake in sorting each other into groups,\nby appearances; but I am boring you, I see, you--\"\n\n\"Just two words: have you any means at all? Or perhaps you may be\nintending to undertake some sort of employment? Excuse my questioning\nyou, but--\"\n\n\"Oh, my dear sir, I esteem and understand your kindness in putting the\nquestion. No; at present I have no means whatever, and no employment\neither, but I hope to find some. I was living on other people abroad.\nSchneider, the professor who treated me and taught me, too, in\nSwitzerland, gave me just enough money for my journey, so that now I\nhave but a few copecks left. There certainly is one question upon which\nI am anxious to have advice, but--\"\n\n\"Tell me, how do you intend to live now, and what are your plans?\"\ninterrupted the general.\n\n\"I wish to work, somehow or other.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, but then, you see, you are a philosopher. Have you any talents,\nor ability in any direction--that is, any that would bring in money and\nbread? Excuse me again--\"\n\n\"Oh, don't apologize. No, I don't think I have either talents or special\nabilities of any kind; on the contrary. I have always been an invalid\nand unable to learn much. As for bread, I should think--\"\n\nThe general interrupted once more with questions; while the prince again\nreplied with the narrative we have heard before. It appeared that the\ngeneral had known Pavlicheff; but why the latter had taken an interest\nin the prince, that young gentleman could not explain; probably by\nvirtue of the old friendship with his father, he thought.\n\nThe prince had been left an orphan when quite a little child, and\nPavlicheff had entrusted him to an old lady, a relative of his own,\nliving in the country, the child needing the fresh air and exercise of\ncountry life. He was educated, first by a governess, and afterwards by a\ntutor, but could not remember much about this time of his life. His fits\nwere so frequent then, that they made almost an idiot of him (the prince\nused the expression \"idiot\" himself). Pavlicheff had met Professor\nSchneider in Berlin, and the latter had persuaded him to send the boy\nto Switzerland, to Schneider's establishment there, for the cure of his\nepilepsy, and, five years before this time, the prince was sent off. But\nPavlicheff had died two or three years since, and Schneider had himself\nsupported the young fellow, from that day to this, at his own expense.\nAlthough he had not quite cured him, he had greatly improved his\ncondition; and now, at last, at the prince's own desire, and because\nof a certain matter which came to the ears of the latter, Schneider had\ndespatched the young man to Russia.\n\nThe general was much astonished.\n\n\"Then you have no one, absolutely _no_ one in Russia?\" he asked.\n\n\"No one, at present; but I hope to make friends; and then I have a\nletter from--\"\n\n\"At all events,\" put in the general, not listening to the news about the\nletter, \"at all events, you must have learned _something_, and your\nmalady would not prevent your undertaking some easy work, in one of the\ndepartments, for instance?\"\n\n\"Oh dear no, oh no! As for a situation, I should much like to find one\nfor I am anxious to discover what I really am fit for. I have learned\na good deal in the last four years, and, besides, I read a great many\nRussian books.\"\n\n\"Russian books, indeed? Then, of course, you can read and write quite\ncorrectly?\"\n\n\"Oh dear, yes!\"\n\n\"Capital! And your handwriting?\"\n\n\"Ah, there I am _really_ talented! I may say I am a real caligraphist. Let\nme write you something, just to show you,\" said the prince, with some\nexcitement.\n\n\"With pleasure! In fact, it is very necessary. I like your readiness,\nprince; in fact, I must say--I--I--like you very well, altogether,\" said\nthe general.\n\n\"What delightful writing materials you have here, such a lot of pencils\nand things, and what beautiful paper! It's a charming room altogether.\nI know that picture, it's a Swiss view. I'm sure the artist painted it\nfrom nature, and that I have seen the very place--\"\n\n\"Quite likely, though I bought it here. Gania, give the prince some\npaper. Here are pens and paper; now then, take this table. What's\nthis?\" the general continued to Gania, who had that moment taken a large\nphotograph out of his portfolio, and shown it to his senior. \"Halloa!\nNastasia Philipovna! Did she send it you herself? Herself?\" he inquired,\nwith much curiosity and great animation.\n\n\"She gave it me just now, when I called in to congratulate her. I asked\nher for it long ago. I don't know whether she meant it for a hint that\nI had come empty-handed, without a present for her birthday, or what,\"\nadded Gania, with an unpleasant smile.\n\n\"Oh, nonsense, nonsense,\" said the general, with decision. \"What\nextraordinary ideas you have, Gania! As if she would hint; that's\nnot her way at all. Besides, what could _you_ give her, without having\nthousands at your disposal? You might have given her your portrait,\nhowever. Has she ever asked you for it?\"\n\n\"No, not yet. Very likely she never will. I suppose you haven't\nforgotten about tonight, have you, Ivan Fedorovitch? You were one of\nthose specially invited, you know.\"\n\n\"Oh no, I remember all right, and I shall go, of course. I should think\nso! She's twenty-five years old today! And, you know, Gania, you must\nbe ready for great things; she has promised both myself and Afanasy\nIvanovitch that she will give a decided answer tonight, yes or no. So be\nprepared!\"\n\nGania suddenly became so ill at ease that his face grew paler than ever.\n\n\"Are you sure she said that?\" he asked, and his voice seemed to quiver\nas he spoke.\n\n\"Yes, she promised. We both worried her so that she gave in; but she\nwished us to tell you nothing about it until the day.\"\n\nThe general watched Gania's confusion intently, and clearly did not like\nit.\n\n\"Remember, Ivan Fedorovitch,\" said Gania, in great agitation, \"that I\nwas to be free too, until her decision; and that even then I was to have\nmy 'yes or no' free.\"\n\n\"Why, don't you, aren't you--\" began the general, in alarm.\n\n\"Oh, don't misunderstand--\"\n\n\"But, my dear fellow, what are you doing, what do you mean?\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm not rejecting her. I may have expressed myself badly, but I\ndidn't mean that.\"\n\n\"Reject her! I should think not!\" said the general with annoyance, and\napparently not in the least anxious to conceal it. \"Why, my dear\nfellow, it's not a question of your rejecting her, it is whether you are\nprepared to receive her consent joyfully, and with proper satisfaction.\nHow are things going on at home?\"\n\n\"At home? Oh, I can do as I like there, of course; only my father will\nmake a fool of himself, as usual. He is rapidly becoming a general\nnuisance. I don't ever talk to him now, but I hold him in check, safe\nenough. I swear if it had not been for my mother, I should have shown\nhim the way out, long ago. My mother is always crying, of course, and my\nsister sulks. I had to tell them at last that I intended to be master of\nmy own destiny, and that I expect to be obeyed at home. At least, I gave\nmy sister to understand as much, and my mother was present.\"\n\n\"Well, I must say, I cannot understand it!\" said the general, shrugging\nhis shoulders and dropping his hands. \"You remember your mother, Nina\nAlexandrovna, that day she came and sat here and groaned--and when I\nasked her what was the matter, she says, 'Oh, it's such a _dishonour_\nto us!' dishonour! Stuff and nonsense! I should like to know who can\nreproach Nastasia Philipovna, or who can say a word of any kind against\nher. Did she mean because Nastasia had been living with Totski? What\nnonsense it is! You would not let her come near your daughters, says\nNina Alexandrovna. What next, I wonder? I don't see how she can fail\nto--to understand--\"\n\n\"Her own position?\" prompted Gania. \"She does understand. Don't be\nannoyed with her. I have warned her not to meddle in other people's\naffairs. However, although there's comparative peace at home at present,\nthe storm will break if anything is finally settled tonight.\"\n\nThe prince heard the whole of the foregoing conversation, as he sat at\nthe table, writing. He finished at last, and brought the result of his\nlabour to the general's desk.\n\n\"So this is Nastasia Philipovna,\" he said, looking attentively and\ncuriously at the portrait. \"How wonderfully beautiful!\" he immediately\nadded, with warmth. The picture was certainly that of an unusually\nlovely woman. She was photographed in a black silk dress of simple\ndesign, her hair was evidently dark and plainly arranged, her eyes were\ndeep and thoughtful, the expression of her face passionate, but proud.\nShe was rather thin, perhaps, and a little pale. Both Gania and the\ngeneral gazed at the prince in amazement.\n\n\"How do you know it's Nastasia Philipovna?\" asked the general; \"you\nsurely don't know her already, do you?\"\n\n\"Yes, I do! I have only been one day in Russia, but I have heard of\nthe great beauty!\" And the prince proceeded to narrate his meeting with\nRogojin in the train and the whole of the latter's story.\n\n\"There's news!\" said the general in some excitement, after listening to\nthe story with engrossed attention.\n\n\"Oh, of course it's nothing but humbug!\" cried Gania, a little\ndisturbed, however. \"It's all humbug; the young merchant was pleased\nto indulge in a little innocent recreation! I have heard something of\nRogojin!\"\n\n\"Yes, so have I!\" replied the general. \"Nastasia Philipovna told us\nall about the earrings that very day. But now it is quite a different\nmatter. You see the fellow really has a million of roubles, and he is\npassionately in love. The whole story smells of passion, and we all\nknow what this class of gentry is capable of when infatuated. I am much\nafraid of some disagreeable scandal, I am indeed!\"\n\n\"You are afraid of the million, I suppose,\" said Gania, grinning and\nshowing his teeth.\n\n\"And you are _not_, I presume, eh?\"\n\n\"How did he strike you, prince?\" asked Gania, suddenly. \"Did he seem to\nbe a serious sort of a man, or just a common rowdy fellow? What was your\nown opinion about the matter?\"\n\nWhile Gania put this question, a new idea suddenly flashed into his\nbrain, and blazed out, impatiently, in his eyes. The general, who was\nreally agitated and disturbed, looked at the prince too, but did not\nseem to expect much from his reply.\n\n\"I really don't quite know how to tell you,\" replied the prince, \"but\nit certainly did seem to me that the man was full of passion, and not,\nperhaps, quite healthy passion. He seemed to be still far from well.\nVery likely he will be in bed again in a day or two, especially if he\nlives fast.\"\n\n\"No! do you think so?\" said the general, catching at the idea.\n\n\"Yes, I do think so!\"\n\n\"Yes, but the sort of scandal I referred to may happen at any moment. It\nmay be this very evening,\" remarked Gania to the general, with a smile.\n\n\"Of course; quite so. In that case it all depends upon what is going on\nin her brain at this moment.\"\n\n\"You know the kind of person she is at times.\"\n\n\"How? What kind of person is she?\" cried the general, arrived at the\nlimits of his patience. \"Look here, Gania, don't you go annoying her\ntonight. What you are to do is to be as agreeable towards her as ever you\ncan. Well, what are you smiling at? You must understand, Gania, that\nI have no interest whatever in speaking like this. Whichever way the\nquestion is settled, it will be to my advantage. Nothing will move\nTotski from his resolution, so I run no risk. If there is anything I\ndesire, you must know that it is your benefit only. Can't you trust me?\nYou are a sensible fellow, and I have been counting on you; for, in this\nmatter, that, that--\"\n\n\"Yes, that's the chief thing,\" said Gania, helping the general out of\nhis difficulties again, and curling his lips in an envenomed smile,\nwhich he did not attempt to conceal. He gazed with his fevered eyes\nstraight into those of the general, as though he were anxious that the\nlatter might read his thoughts.\n\nThe general grew purple with anger.\n\n\"Yes, of course it is the chief thing!\" he cried, looking sharply at\nGania. \"What a very curious man you are, Gania! You actually seem to\nbe _glad_ to hear of this millionaire fellow's arrival--just as though you\nwished for an excuse to get out of the whole thing. This is an affair in\nwhich you ought to act honestly with both sides, and give due warning,\nto avoid compromising others. But, even now, there is still time. Do\nyou understand me? I wish to know whether you desire this arrangement or\nwhether you do not? If not, say so,--and--and welcome! No one is trying\nto force you into the snare, Gavrila Ardalionovitch, if you see a snare\nin the matter, at least.\"\n\n\"I do desire it,\" murmured Gania, softly but firmly, lowering his eyes;\nand he relapsed into gloomy silence.\n\nThe general was satisfied. He had excited himself, and was evidently\nnow regretting that he had gone so far. He turned to the prince, and\nsuddenly the disagreeable thought of the latter's presence struck\nhim, and the certainty that he must have heard every word of the\nconversation. But he felt at ease in another moment; it only needed one\nglance at the prince to see that in that quarter there was nothing to\nfear.\n\n\"Oh!\" cried the general, catching sight of the prince's specimen of\ncaligraphy, which the latter had now handed him for inspection. \"Why,\nthis is simply beautiful; look at that, Gania, there's real talent\nthere!\"\n\nOn a sheet of thick writing-paper the prince had written in medieval\ncharacters the legend:\n\n\"The gentle Abbot Pafnute signed this.\"\n\n\"There,\" explained the prince, with great delight and animation, \"there,\nthat's the abbot's real signature--from a manuscript of the fourteenth\ncentury. All these old abbots and bishops used to write most\nbeautifully, with such taste and so much care and diligence. Have you no\ncopy of Pogodin, general? If you had one I could show you another type.\nStop a bit--here you have the large round writing common in France\nduring the eighteenth century. Some of the letters are shaped quite\ndifferently from those now in use. It was the writing current then, and\nemployed by public writers generally. I copied this from one of them,\nand you can see how good it is. Look at the well-rounded a and d. I\nhave tried to translate the French character into the Russian letters--a\ndifficult thing to do, but I think I have succeeded fairly. Here is a\nfine sentence, written in a good, original hand--'Zeal triumphs over\nall.' That is the script of the Russian War Office. That is how official\ndocuments addressed to important personages should be written. The\nletters are round, the type black, and the style somewhat remarkable. A\nstylist would not allow these ornaments, or attempts at flourishes--just\nlook at these unfinished tails!--but it has distinction and really\ndepicts the soul of the writer. He would like to give play to his\nimagination, and follow the inspiration of his genius, but a soldier is\nonly at ease in the guard-room, and the pen stops half-way, a slave\nto discipline. How delightful! The first time I met an example of this\nhandwriting, I was positively astonished, and where do you think I\nchanced to find it? In Switzerland, of all places! Now that is an\nordinary English hand. It can hardly be improved, it is so refined and\nexquisite--almost perfection. This is an example of another kind,\na mixture of styles. The copy was given me by a French commercial\ntraveller. It is founded on the English, but the downstrokes are a\nlittle blacker, and more marked. Notice that the oval has some slight\nmodification--it is more rounded. This writing allows for flourishes;\nnow a flourish is a dangerous thing! Its use requires such taste, but,\nif successful, what a distinction it gives to the whole! It results in\nan incomparable type--one to fall in love with!\"\n\n\"Dear me! How you have gone into all the refinements and details of the\nquestion! Why, my dear fellow, you are not a caligraphist, you are an\nartist! Eh, Gania?\"\n\n\"Wonderful!\" said Gania. \"And he knows it too,\" he added, with a\nsarcastic smile.\n\n\"You may smile,--but there's a career in this,\" said the general. \"You\ndon't know what a great personage I shall show this to, prince. Why, you\ncan command a situation at thirty-five roubles per month to start with.\nHowever, it's half-past twelve,\" he concluded, looking at his watch; \"so\nto business, prince, for I must be setting to work and shall not see you\nagain today. Sit down a minute. I have told you that I cannot receive\nyou myself very often, but I should like to be of some assistance to\nyou, some small assistance, of a kind that would give you satisfaction.\nI shall find you a place in one of the State departments, an easy\nplace--but you will require to be accurate. Now, as to your plans--in\nthe house, or rather in the family of Gania here--my young friend, whom\nI hope you will know better--his mother and sister have prepared two\nor three rooms for lodgers, and let them to highly recommended young\nfellows, with board and attendance. I am sure Nina Alexandrovna will\ntake you in on my recommendation. There you will be comfortable and well\ntaken care of; for I do not think, prince, that you are the sort of\nman to be left to the mercy of Fate in a town like Petersburg. Nina\nAlexandrovna, Gania's mother, and Varvara Alexandrovna, are ladies for\nwhom I have the highest possible esteem and respect. Nina Alexandrovna\nis the wife of General Ardalion Alexandrovitch, my old brother in arms,\nwith whom, I regret to say, on account of certain circumstances, I am no\nlonger acquainted. I give you all this information, prince, in order\nto make it clear to you that I am personally recommending you to this\nfamily, and that in so doing, I am more or less taking upon myself to\nanswer for you. The terms are most reasonable, and I trust that your\nsalary will very shortly prove amply sufficient for your expenditure. Of\ncourse pocket-money is a necessity, if only a little; do not be angry,\nprince, if I strongly recommend you to avoid carrying money in your\npocket. But as your purse is quite empty at the present moment, you must\nallow me to press these twenty-five roubles upon your acceptance, as\nsomething to begin with. Of course we will settle this little matter\nanother time, and if you are the upright, honest man you look, I\nanticipate very little trouble between us on that score. Taking so much\ninterest in you as you may perceive I do, I am not without my object,\nand you shall know it in good time. You see, I am perfectly candid with\nyou. I hope, Gania, you have nothing to say against the prince's taking\nup his abode in your house?\"\n\n\"Oh, on the contrary! my mother will be very glad,\" said Gania,\ncourteously and kindly.\n\n\"I think only one of your rooms is engaged as yet, is it not? That\nfellow Ferd-Ferd--\"\n\n\"Ferdishenko.\"\n\n\"Yes--I don't like that Ferdishenko. I can't understand why Nastasia\nPhilipovna encourages him so. Is he really her cousin, as he says?\"\n\n\"Oh dear no, it's all a joke. No more cousin than I am.\"\n\n\"Well, what do you think of the arrangement, prince?\"\n\n\"Thank you, general; you have behaved very kindly to me; all the more\nso since I did not ask you to help me. I don't say that out of pride. I\ncertainly did not know where to lay my head tonight. Rogojin asked me to\ncome to his house, of course, but--\"\n\n\"Rogojin? No, no, my good fellow. I should strongly recommend you,\npaternally,--or, if you prefer it, as a friend,--to forget all about\nRogojin, and, in fact, to stick to the family into which you are about\nto enter.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" began the prince; \"and since you are so very kind there is\njust one matter which I--\"\n\n\"You must really excuse me,\" interrupted the general, \"but I positively\nhaven't another moment now. I shall just tell Elizabetha Prokofievna\nabout you, and if she wishes to receive you at once--as I shall advise\nher--I strongly recommend you to ingratiate yourself with her at the\nfirst opportunity, for my wife may be of the greatest service to you in\nmany ways. If she cannot receive you now, you must be content to wait\ntill another time. Meanwhile you, Gania, just look over these accounts,\nwill you? We mustn't forget to finish off that matter--\"\n\nThe general left the room, and the prince never succeeded in broaching\nthe business which he had on hand, though he had endeavoured to do so\nfour times.\n\nGania lit a cigarette and offered one to the prince. The latter accepted\nthe offer, but did not talk, being unwilling to disturb Gania's work.\nHe commenced to examine the study and its contents. But Gania hardly\nso much as glanced at the papers lying before him; he was absent and\nthoughtful, and his smile and general appearance struck the prince still\nmore disagreeably now that the two were left alone together.\n\nSuddenly Gania approached our hero who was at the moment standing over\nNastasia Philipovna's portrait, gazing at it.\n\n\"Do you admire that sort of woman, prince?\" he asked, looking intently\nat him. He seemed to have some special object in the question.\n\n\"It's a wonderful face,\" said the prince, \"and I feel sure that her\ndestiny is not by any means an ordinary, uneventful one. Her face is\nsmiling enough, but she must have suffered terribly--hasn't she? Her\neyes show it--those two bones there, the little points under her eyes,\njust where the cheek begins. It's a proud face too, terribly proud! And\nI--I can't say whether she is good and kind, or not. Oh, if she be but\ngood! That would make all well!\"\n\n\"And would you marry a woman like that, now?\" continued Gania, never\ntaking his excited eyes off the prince's face.\n\n\"I cannot marry at all,\" said the latter. \"I am an invalid.\"\n\n\"Would Rogojin marry her, do you think?\"\n\n\"Why not? Certainly he would, I should think. He would marry her\ntomorrow!--marry her tomorrow and murder her in a week!\"\n\nHardly had the prince uttered the last word when Gania gave such a\nfearful shudder that the prince almost cried out.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" said he, seizing Gania's hand.\n\n\"Your highness! His excellency begs your presence in her excellency's\napartments!\" announced the footman, appearing at the door.\n\nThe prince immediately followed the man out of the room.\n\nIV.\n\nAll three of the Miss Epanchins were fine, healthy girls, well-grown,\nwith good shoulders and busts, and strong--almost masculine--hands;\nand, of course, with all the above attributes, they enjoyed capital\nappetites, of which they were not in the least ashamed.\n\nElizabetha Prokofievna sometimes informed the girls that they were\na little too candid in this matter, but in spite of their outward\ndeference to their mother these three young women, in solemn conclave,\nhad long agreed to modify the unquestioning obedience which they had\nbeen in the habit of according to her; and Mrs. General Epanchin had\njudged it better to say nothing about it, though, of course, she was\nwell aware of the fact.\n\nIt is true that her nature sometimes rebelled against these dictates\nof reason, and that she grew yearly more capricious and impatient; but\nhaving a respectful and well-disciplined husband under her thumb at\nall times, she found it possible, as a rule, to empty any little\naccumulations of spleen upon his head, and therefore the harmony of the\nfamily was kept duly balanced, and things went as smoothly as family\nmatters can.\n\nMrs. Epanchin had a fair appetite herself, and generally took her share\nof the capital mid-day lunch which was always served for the girls, and\nwhich was nearly as good as a dinner. The young ladies used to have a\ncup of coffee each before this meal, at ten o'clock, while still in bed.\nThis was a favourite and unalterable arrangement with them. At half-past\ntwelve, the table was laid in the small dining-room, and occasionally\nthe general himself appeared at the family gathering, if he had time.\n\nBesides tea and coffee, cheese, honey, butter, pan-cakes of various\nkinds (the lady of the house loved these best), cutlets, and so on,\nthere was generally strong beef soup, and other substantial delicacies.\n\nOn the particular morning on which our story has opened, the family had\nassembled in the dining-room, and were waiting the general's appearance,\nthe latter having promised to come this day. If he had been one moment\nlate, he would have been sent for at once; but he turned up punctually.\n\nAs he came forward to wish his wife good-morning and kiss her hands, as\nhis custom was, he observed something in her look which boded ill. He\nthought he knew the reason, and had expected it, but still, he was not\naltogether comfortable. His daughters advanced to kiss him, too, and\nthough they did not look exactly angry, there was something strange in\ntheir expression as well.\n\nThe general was, owing to certain circumstances, a little inclined to be\ntoo suspicious at home, and needlessly nervous; but, as an experienced\nfather and husband, he judged it better to take measures at once to\nprotect himself from any dangers there might be in the air.\n\nHowever, I hope I shall not interfere with the proper sequence of my\nnarrative too much, if I diverge for a moment at this point, in order\nto explain the mutual relations between General Epanchin's family and\nothers acting a part in this history, at the time when we take up the\nthread of their destiny. I have already stated that the general, though\nhe was a man of lowly origin, and of poor education, was, for all that,\nan experienced and talented husband and father. Among other things,\nhe considered it undesirable to hurry his daughters to the matrimonial\naltar and to worry them too much with assurances of his paternal wishes\nfor their happiness, as is the custom among parents of many grown-up\ndaughters. He even succeeded in ranging his wife on his side on this\nquestion, though he found the feat very difficult to accomplish, because\nunnatural; but the general's arguments were conclusive, and founded upon\nobvious facts. The general considered that the girls' taste and good\nsense should be allowed to develop and mature deliberately, and that the\nparents' duty should merely be to keep watch, in order that no strange\nor undesirable choice be made; but that the selection once effected,\nboth father and mother were bound from that moment to enter heart and\nsoul into the cause, and to see that the matter progressed without\nhindrance until the altar should be happily reached.\n\nBesides this, it was clear that the Epanchins' position gained each\nyear, with geometrical accuracy, both as to financial solidity and\nsocial weight; and, therefore, the longer the girls waited, the better\nwas their chance of making a brilliant match.\n\nBut again, amidst the incontrovertible facts just recorded, one more,\nequally significant, rose up to confront the family; and this was,\nthat the eldest daughter, Alexandra, had imperceptibly arrived at her\ntwenty-fifth birthday. Almost at the same moment, Afanasy Ivanovitch\nTotski, a man of immense wealth, high connections, and good standing,\nannounced his intention of marrying. Afanasy Ivanovitch was a gentleman\nof fifty-five years of age, artistically gifted, and of most refined\ntastes. He wished to marry well, and, moreover, he was a keen admirer\nand judge of beauty.\n\nNow, since Totski had, of late, been upon terms of great cordiality with\nEpanchin, which excellent relations were intensified by the fact that\nthey were, so to speak, partners in several financial enterprises, it\nso happened that the former now put in a friendly request to the general\nfor counsel with regard to the important step he meditated. Might he\nsuggest, for instance, such a thing as a marriage between himself and\none of the general's daughters?\n\nEvidently the quiet, pleasant current of the family life of the\nEpanchins was about to undergo a change.\n\nThe undoubted beauty of the family, _par excellence_, was the youngest,\nAglaya, as aforesaid. But Totski himself, though an egotist of the\nextremest type, realized that he had no chance there; Aglaya was clearly\nnot for such as he.\n\nPerhaps the sisterly love and friendship of the three girls had more or\nless exaggerated Aglaya's chances of happiness. In their opinion, the\nlatter's destiny was not merely to be very happy; she was to live in\na heaven on earth. Aglaya's husband was to be a compendium of all the\nvirtues, and of all success, not to speak of fabulous wealth. The two\nelder sisters had agreed that all was to be sacrificed by them, if need\nbe, for Aglaya's sake; her dowry was to be colossal and unprecedented.\n\nThe general and his wife were aware of this agreement, and, therefore,\nwhen Totski suggested himself for one of the sisters, the parents made\nno doubt that one of the two elder girls would probably accept the\noffer, since Totski would certainly make no difficulty as to dowry. The\ngeneral valued the proposal very highly. He knew life, and realized what\nsuch an offer was worth.\n\nThe answer of the sisters to the communication was, if not conclusive,\nat least consoling and hopeful. It made known that the eldest,\nAlexandra, would very likely be disposed to listen to a proposal.\n\nAlexandra was a good-natured girl, though she had a will of her own. She\nwas intelligent and kind-hearted, and, if she were to marry Totski, she\nwould make him a good wife. She did not care for a brilliant marriage;\nshe was eminently a woman calculated to soothe and sweeten the life of\nany man; decidedly pretty, if not absolutely handsome. What better could\nTotski wish?\n\nSo the matter crept slowly forward. The general and Totski had agreed to\navoid any hasty and irrevocable step. Alexandra's parents had not even\nbegun to talk to their daughters freely upon the subject, when suddenly,\nas it were, a dissonant chord was struck amid the harmony of the\nproceedings. Mrs. Epanchin began to show signs of discontent, and\nthat was a serious matter. A certain circumstance had crept in, a\ndisagreeable and troublesome factor, which threatened to overturn the\nwhole business.\n\nThis circumstance had come into existence eighteen years before. Close\nto an estate of Totski's, in one of the central provinces of Russia,\nthere lived, at that time, a poor gentleman whose estate was of the\nwretchedest description. This gentleman was noted in the district for\nhis persistent ill-fortune; his name was Barashkoff, and, as regards\nfamily and descent, he was vastly superior to Totski, but his estate was\nmortgaged to the last acre. One day, when he had ridden over to the town\nto see a creditor, the chief peasant of his village followed him shortly\nafter, with the news that his house had been burnt down, and that his\nwife had perished with it, but his children were safe.\n\nEven Barashkoff, inured to the storms of evil fortune as he was, could\nnot stand this last stroke. He went mad and died shortly after in the\ntown hospital. His estate was sold for the creditors; and the little\ngirls--two of them, of seven and eight years of age respectively,--were\nadopted by Totski, who undertook their maintenance and education in the\nkindness of his heart. They were brought up together with the children\nof his German bailiff. Very soon, however, there was only one of\nthem left--Nastasia Philipovna--for the other little one died of\nwhooping-cough. Totski, who was living abroad at this time, very soon\nforgot all about the child; but five years after, returning to Russia,\nit struck him that he would like to look over his estate and see how\nmatters were going there, and, arrived at his bailiff's house, he was\nnot long in discovering that among the children of the latter there now\ndwelt a most lovely little girl of twelve, sweet and intelligent, and\nbright, and promising to develop beauty of most unusual quality-as to\nwhich last Totski was an undoubted authority.\n\nHe only stayed at his country seat a few days on this occasion, but\nhe had time to make his arrangements. Great changes took place in\nthe child's education; a good governess was engaged, a Swiss lady of\nexperience and culture. For four years this lady resided in the house\nwith little Nastia, and then the education was considered complete.\nThe governess took her departure, and another lady came down to fetch\nNastia, by Totski's instructions. The child was now transported to\nanother of Totski's estates in a distant part of the country. Here\nshe found a delightful little house, just built, and prepared for her\nreception with great care and taste; and here she took up her abode\ntogether with the lady who had accompanied her from her old home. In\nthe house there were two experienced maids, musical instruments of\nall sorts, a charming \"young lady's library,\" pictures, paint-boxes,\na lap-dog, and everything to make life agreeable. Within a fortnight\nTotski himself arrived, and from that time he appeared to have taken a\ngreat fancy to this part of the world and came down each summer, staying\ntwo and three months at a time. So passed four years peacefully and\nhappily, in charming surroundings.\n\nAt the end of that time, and about four months after Totski's last\nvisit (he had stayed but a fortnight on this occasion), a report reached\nNastasia Philipovna that he was about to be married in St. Petersburg,\nto a rich, eminent, and lovely woman. The report was only partially\ntrue, the marriage project being only in an embryo condition; but a\ngreat change now came over Nastasia Philipovna. She suddenly displayed\nunusual decision of character; and without wasting time in thought,\nshe left her country home and came up to St. Petersburg, straight to\nTotski's house, all alone.\n\nThe latter, amazed at her conduct, began to express his displeasure;\nbut he very soon became aware that he must change his voice, style, and\neverything else, with this young lady; the good old times were gone. An\nentirely new and different woman sat before him, between whom and\nthe girl he had left in the country last July there seemed nothing in\ncommon.\n\nIn the first place, this new woman understood a good deal more than was\nusual for young people of her age; so much indeed, that Totski could not\nhelp wondering where she had picked up her knowledge. Surely not from\nher \"young lady's library\"? It even embraced legal matters, and the\n\"world\" in general, to a considerable extent.\n\nHer character was absolutely changed. No more of the girlish\nalternations of timidity and petulance, the adorable naivete, the\nreveries, the tears, the playfulness... It was an entirely new and\nhitherto unknown being who now sat and laughed at him, and informed him\nto his face that she had never had the faintest feeling for him of any\nkind, except loathing and contempt--contempt which had followed closely\nupon her sensations of surprise and bewilderment after her first\nacquaintance with him.\n\nThis new woman gave him further to understand that though it was\nabsolutely the same to her whom he married, yet she had decided to\nprevent this marriage--for no particular reason, but that she _chose_ to\ndo so, and because she wished to amuse herself at his expense for that\nit was \"quite her turn to laugh a little now!\"\n\nSuch were her words--very likely she did not give her real reason for\nthis eccentric conduct; but, at all events, that was all the explanation\nshe deigned to offer.\n\nMeanwhile, Totski thought the matter over as well as his scattered ideas\nwould permit. His meditations lasted a fortnight, however, and at the\nend of that time his resolution was taken. The fact was, Totski was\nat that time a man of fifty years of age; his position was solid and\nrespectable; his place in society had long been firmly fixed upon safe\nfoundations; he loved himself, his personal comforts, and his position\nbetter than all the world, as every respectable gentleman should!\n\nAt the same time his grasp of things in general soon showed Totski that\nhe now had to deal with a being who was outside the pale of the ordinary\nrules of traditional behaviour, and who would not only threaten mischief\nbut would undoubtedly carry it out, and stop for no one.\n\nThere was evidently, he concluded, something at work here; some storm of\nthe mind, some paroxysm of romantic anger, goodness knows against whom\nor what, some insatiable contempt--in a word, something altogether\nabsurd and impossible, but at the same time most dangerous to be met\nwith by any respectable person with a position in society to keep up.\n\nFor a man of Totski's wealth and standing, it would, of course, have\nbeen the simplest possible matter to take steps which would rid him at\nonce from all annoyance; while it was obviously impossible for Nastasia\nPhilipovna to harm him in any way, either legally or by stirring up a\nscandal, for, in case of the latter danger, he could so easily remove\nher to a sphere of safety. However, these arguments would only hold good\nin case of Nastasia acting as others might in such an emergency. She was\nmuch more likely to overstep the bounds of reasonable conduct by some\nextraordinary eccentricity.\n\nHere the sound judgment of Totski stood him in good stead. He realized\nthat Nastasia Philipovna must be well aware that she could do nothing\nby legal means to injure him, and that her flashing eyes betrayed some\nentirely different intention.\n\nNastasia Philipovna was quite capable of ruining herself, and even of\nperpetrating something which would send her to Siberia, for the mere\npleasure of injuring a man for whom she had developed so inhuman a sense\nof loathing and contempt. He had sufficient insight to understand that\nshe valued nothing in the world--herself least of all--and he made no\nattempt to conceal the fact that he was a coward in some respects. For\ninstance, if he had been told that he would be stabbed at the altar, or\npublicly insulted, he would undoubtedly have been frightened; but not so\nmuch at the idea of being murdered, or wounded, or insulted, as at the\nthought that if such things were to happen he would be made to look\nridiculous in the eyes of society.\n\nHe knew well that Nastasia thoroughly understood him and where to wound\nhim and how, and therefore, as the marriage was still only in embryo,\nTotski decided to conciliate her by giving it up. His decision was\nstrengthened by the fact that Nastasia Philipovna had curiously altered\nof late. It would be difficult to conceive how different she was\nphysically, at the present time, to the girl of a few years ago. She was\npretty then... but now!... Totski laughed angrily when he thought how\nshort-sighted he had been. In days gone by he remembered how he had\nlooked at her beautiful eyes, how even then he had marvelled at their\ndark mysterious depths, and at their wondering gaze which seemed to seek\nan answer to some unknown riddle. Her complexion also had altered. She\nwas now exceedingly pale, but, curiously, this change only made her more\nbeautiful. Like most men of the world, Totski had rather despised such\na cheaply-bought conquest, but of late years he had begun to think\ndifferently about it. It had struck him as long ago as last spring that\nhe ought to be finding a good match for Nastasia; for instance, some\nrespectable and reasonable young fellow serving in a government office\nin another part of the country. How maliciously Nastasia laughed at the\nidea of such a thing, now!\n\nHowever, it appeared to Totski that he might make use of her in another\nway; and he determined to establish her in St. Petersburg, surrounding\nher with all the comforts and luxuries that his wealth could command. In\nthis way he might gain glory in certain circles.\n\nFive years of this Petersburg life went by, and, of course, during that\ntime a great deal happened. Totski's position was very uncomfortable;\nhaving \"funked\" once, he could not totally regain his ease. He was\nafraid, he did not know why, but he was simply _afraid_ of Nastasia\nPhilipovna. For the first two years or so he had suspected that she\nwished to marry him herself, and that only her vanity prevented her\ntelling him so. He thought that she wanted him to approach her with a\nhumble proposal from his own side. But to his great, and not entirely\npleasurable amazement, he discovered that this was by no means the case,\nand that were he to offer himself he would be refused. He could not\nunderstand such a state of things, and was obliged to conclude that it\nwas pride, the pride of an injured and imaginative woman, which had\ngone to such lengths that it preferred to sit and nurse its contempt and\nhatred in solitude rather than mount to heights of hitherto unattainable\nsplendour. To make matters worse, she was quite impervious to mercenary\nconsiderations, and could not be bribed in any way.\n\nFinally, Totski took cunning means to try to break his chains and\nbe free. He tried to tempt her in various ways to lose her heart; he\ninvited princes, hussars, secretaries of embassies, poets, novelists,\neven Socialists, to see her; but not one of them all made the faintest\nimpression upon Nastasia. It was as though she had a pebble in place\nof a heart, as though her feelings and affections were dried up and\nwithered for ever.\n\nShe lived almost entirely alone; she read, she studied, she loved music.\nHer principal acquaintances were poor women of various grades, a couple\nof actresses, and the family of a poor schoolteacher. Among these people\nshe was much beloved.\n\nShe received four or five friends sometimes, of an evening. Totski\noften came. Lately, too, General Epanchin had been enabled with\ngreat difficulty to introduce himself into her circle. Gania made\nher acquaintance also, and others were Ferdishenko, an ill-bred, and\nwould-be witty, young clerk, and Ptitsin, a money-lender of modest\nand polished manners, who had risen from poverty. In fact, Nastasia\nPhilipovna's beauty became a thing known to all the town; but not a\nsingle man could boast of anything more than his own admiration for\nher; and this reputation of hers, and her wit and culture and grace, all\nconfirmed Totski in the plan he had now prepared.\n\nAnd it was at this moment that General Epanchin began to play so large\nand important a part in the story.\n\nWhen Totski had approached the general with his request for friendly\ncounsel as to a marriage with one of his daughters, he had made a full\nand candid confession. He had said that he intended to stop at no means\nto obtain his freedom; even if Nastasia were to promise to leave him\nentirely alone in future, he would not (he said) believe and trust her;\nwords were not enough for him; he must have solid guarantees of some\nsort. So he and the general determined to try what an attempt to appeal\nto her heart would effect. Having arrived at Nastasia's house one day,\nwith Epanchin, Totski immediately began to speak of the intolerable\ntorment of his position. He admitted that he was to blame for all, but\ncandidly confessed that he could not bring himself to feel any remorse\nfor his original guilt towards herself, because he was a man of sensual\npassions which were inborn and ineradicable, and that he had no power\nover himself in this respect; but that he wished, seriously, to marry at\nlast, and that the whole fate of the most desirable social union which\nhe contemplated, was in her hands; in a word, he confided his all to her\ngenerosity of heart.\n\nGeneral Epanchin took up his part and spoke in the character of father\nof a family; he spoke sensibly, and without wasting words over any\nattempt at sentimentality, he merely recorded his full admission of\nher right to be the arbiter of Totski's destiny at this moment. He then\npointed out that the fate of his daughter, and very likely of both his\nother daughters, now hung upon her reply.\n\nTo Nastasia's question as to what they wished her to do, Totski\nconfessed that he had been so frightened by her, five years ago, that\nhe could never now be entirely comfortable until she herself married. He\nimmediately added that such a suggestion from him would, of course, be\nabsurd, unless accompanied by remarks of a more pointed nature. He\nvery well knew, he said, that a certain young gentleman of good family,\nnamely, Gavrila Ardalionovitch Ivolgin, with whom she was acquainted,\nand whom she received at her house, had long loved her passionately,\nand would give his life for some response from her. The young fellow had\nconfessed this love of his to him (Totski) and had also admitted it in\nthe hearing of his benefactor, General Epanchin. Lastly, he could not\nhelp being of opinion that Nastasia must be aware of Gania's love for\nher, and if he (Totski) mistook not, she had looked with some favour\nupon it, being often lonely, and rather tired of her present life.\nHaving remarked how difficult it was for him, of all people, to speak\nto her of these matters, Totski concluded by saying that he trusted\nNastasia Philipovna would not look with contempt upon him if he now\nexpressed his sincere desire to guarantee her future by a gift of\nseventy-five thousand roubles. He added that the sum would have been\nleft her all the same in his will, and that therefore she must not\nconsider the gift as in any way an indemnification to her for anything,\nbut that there was no reason, after all, why a man should not be allowed\nto entertain a natural desire to lighten his conscience, etc., etc.; in\nfact, all that would naturally be said under the circumstances. Totski\nwas very eloquent all through, and, in conclusion, just touched on the\nfact that not a soul in the world, not even General Epanchin, had ever\nheard a word about the above seventy-five thousand roubles, and that\nthis was the first time he had ever given expression to his intentions\nin respect to them.\n\nNastasia Philipovna's reply to this long rigmarole astonished both the\nfriends considerably.\n\nNot only was there no trace of her former irony, of her old hatred and\nenmity, and of that dreadful laughter, the very recollection of which\nsent a cold chill down Totski's back to this very day; but she seemed\ncharmed and really glad to have the opportunity of talking seriously\nwith him for once in a way. She confessed that she had long wished to\nhave a frank and free conversation and to ask for friendly advice, but\nthat pride had hitherto prevented her; now, however, that the ice was\nbroken, nothing could be more welcome to her than this opportunity.\n\nFirst, with a sad smile, and then with a twinkle of merriment in her\neyes, she admitted that such a storm as that of five years ago was now\nquite out of the question. She said that she had long since changed\nher views of things, and recognized that facts must be taken into\nconsideration in spite of the feelings of the heart. What was done was\ndone and ended, and she could not understand why Totski should still\nfeel alarmed.\n\nShe next turned to General Epanchin and observed, most courteously, that\nshe had long since known of his daughters, and that she had heard none\nbut good report; that she had learned to think of them with deep and\nsincere respect. The idea alone that she could in any way serve them,\nwould be to her both a pride and a source of real happiness.\n\nIt was true that she was lonely in her present life; Totski had judged\nher thoughts aright. She longed to rise, if not to love, at least to\nfamily life and new hopes and objects, but as to Gavrila Ardalionovitch,\nshe could not as yet say much. She thought it must be the case that he\nloved her; she felt that she too might learn to love him, if she could\nbe sure of the firmness of his attachment to herself; but he was very\nyoung, and it was a difficult question to decide. What she specially\nliked about him was that he worked, and supported his family by his\ntoil.\n\nShe had heard that he was proud and ambitious; she had heard much that\nwas interesting of his mother and sister, she had heard of them from Mr.\nPtitsin, and would much like to make their acquaintance, but--another\nquestion!--would they like to receive her into their house? At all\nevents, though she did not reject the idea of this marriage, she desired\nnot to be hurried. As for the seventy-five thousand roubles, Mr. Totski\nneed not have found any difficulty or awkwardness about the matter; she\nquite understood the value of money, and would, of course, accept the\ngift. She thanked him for his delicacy, however, but saw no reason why\nGavrila Ardalionovitch should not know about it.\n\nShe would not marry the latter, she said, until she felt persuaded that\nneither on his part nor on the part of his family did there exist any\nsort of concealed suspicions as to herself. She did not intend to ask\nforgiveness for anything in the past, which fact she desired to be\nknown. She did not consider herself to blame for anything that had\nhappened in former years, and she thought that Gavrila Ardalionovitch\nshould be informed as to the relations which had existed between herself\nand Totski during the last five years. If she accepted this money it was\nnot to be considered as indemnification for her misfortune as a young\ngirl, which had not been in any degree her own fault, but merely as\ncompensation for her ruined life.\n\nShe became so excited and agitated during all these explanations and\nconfessions that General Epanchin was highly gratified, and considered\nthe matter satisfactorily arranged once for all. But the once bitten\nTotski was twice shy, and looked for hidden snakes among the flowers.\nHowever, the special point to which the two friends particularly trusted\nto bring about their object (namely, Gania's attractiveness for Nastasia\nPhilipovna), stood out more and more prominently; the pourparlers had\ncommenced, and gradually even Totski began to believe in the possibility\nof success.\n\nBefore long Nastasia and Gania had talked the matter over. Very\nlittle was said--her modesty seemed to suffer under the infliction\nof discussing such a question. But she recognized his love, on the\nunderstanding that she bound herself to nothing whatever, and that\nshe reserved the right to say \"no\" up to the very hour of the marriage\nceremony. Gania was to have the same right of refusal at the last\nmoment.\n\nIt soon became clear to Gania, after scenes of wrath and quarrellings\nat the domestic hearth, that his family were seriously opposed to the\nmatch, and that Nastasia was aware of this fact was equally evident. She\nsaid nothing about it, though he daily expected her to do so.\n\nThere were several rumours afloat, before long, which upset Totski's\nequanimity a good deal, but we will not now stop to describe them;\nmerely mentioning an instance or two. One was that Nastasia had entered\ninto close and secret relations with the Epanchin girls--a most unlikely\nrumour; another was that Nastasia had long satisfied herself of the fact\nthat Gania was merely marrying her for money, and that his nature was\ngloomy and greedy, impatient and selfish, to an extraordinary degree;\nand that although he had been keen enough in his desire to achieve a\nconquest before, yet since the two friends had agreed to exploit his\npassion for their own purposes, it was clear enough that he had begun to\nconsider the whole thing a nuisance and a nightmare.\n\nIn his heart passion and hate seemed to hold divided sway, and although\nhe had at last given his consent to marry the woman (as he said), under\nthe stress of circumstances, yet he promised himself that he would \"take\nit out of her,\" after marriage.\n\nNastasia seemed to Totski to have divined all this, and to be preparing\nsomething on her own account, which frightened him to such an extent\nthat he did not dare communicate his views even to the general. But at\ntimes he would pluck up his courage and be full of hope and good spirits\nagain, acting, in fact, as weak men do act in such circumstances.\n\nHowever, both the friends felt that the thing looked rosy indeed when\none day Nastasia informed them that she would give her final answer on\nthe evening of her birthday, which anniversary was due in a very short\ntime.\n\nA strange rumour began to circulate, meanwhile; no less than that\nthe respectable and highly respected General Epanchin was himself so\nfascinated by Nastasia Philipovna that his feeling for her amounted\nalmost to passion. What he thought to gain by Gania's marriage to\nthe girl it was difficult to imagine. Possibly he counted on Gania's\ncomplaisance; for Totski had long suspected that there existed some\nsecret understanding between the general and his secretary. At all\nevents the fact was known that he had prepared a magnificent present of\npearls for Nastasia's birthday, and that he was looking forward to the\noccasion when he should present his gift with the greatest excitement\nand impatience. The day before her birthday he was in a fever of\nagitation.\n\nMrs. Epanchin, long accustomed to her husband's infidelities, had\nheard of the pearls, and the rumour excited her liveliest curiosity and\ninterest. The general remarked her suspicions, and felt that a grand\nexplanation must shortly take place--which fact alarmed him much.\n\nThis is the reason why he was so unwilling to take lunch (on the morning\nupon which we took up this narrative) with the rest of his family.\nBefore the prince's arrival he had made up his mind to plead business,\nand \"cut\" the meal; which simply meant running away.\n\nHe was particularly anxious that this one day should be\npassed--especially the evening--without unpleasantness between himself\nand his family; and just at the right moment the prince turned up--\"as\nthough Heaven had sent him on purpose,\" said the general to himself, as\nhe left the study to seek out the wife of his bosom.\n\nV.\n\nMrs. General Epanchin was a proud woman by nature. What must her\nfeelings have been when she heard that Prince Muishkin, the last of\nhis and her line, had arrived in beggar's guise, a wretched idiot, a\nrecipient of charity--all of which details the general gave out for\ngreater effect! He was anxious to steal her interest at the first swoop,\nso as to distract her thoughts from other matters nearer home.\n\nMrs. Epanchin was in the habit of holding herself very straight, and\nstaring before her, without speaking, in moments of excitement.\n\nShe was a fine woman of the same age as her husband, with a slightly\nhooked nose, a high, narrow forehead, thick hair turning a little grey,\nand a sallow complexion. Her eyes were grey and wore a very curious\nexpression at times. She believed them to be most effective--a belief\nthat nothing could alter.\n\n\"What, receive him! Now, at once?\" asked Mrs. Epanchin, gazing vaguely\nat her husband as he stood fidgeting before her.\n\n\"Oh, dear me, I assure you there is no need to stand on ceremony with\nhim,\" the general explained hastily. \"He is quite a child, not to say\na pathetic-looking creature. He has fits of some sort, and has just\narrived from Switzerland, straight from the station, dressed like a\nGerman and without a farthing in his pocket. I gave him twenty-five\nroubles to go on with, and am going to find him some easy place in one\nof the government offices. I should like you to ply him well with the\nvictuals, my dears, for I should think he must be very hungry.\"\n\n\"You astonish me,\" said the lady, gazing as before. \"Fits, and hungry\ntoo! What sort of fits?\"\n\n\"Oh, they don't come on frequently, besides, he's a regular child,\nthough he seems to be fairly educated. I should like you, if possible,\nmy dears,\" the general added, making slowly for the door, \"to put him\nthrough his paces a bit, and see what he is good for. I think you should\nbe kind to him; it is a good deed, you know--however, just as you like,\nof course--but he is a sort of relation, remember, and I thought it\nmight interest you to see the young fellow, seeing that this is so.\"\n\n\"Oh, of course, mamma, if we needn't stand on ceremony with him, we must\ngive the poor fellow something to eat after his journey; especially as\nhe has not the least idea where to go to,\" said Alexandra, the eldest of\nthe girls.\n\n\"Besides, he's quite a child; we can entertain him with a little\nhide-and-seek, in case of need,\" said Adelaida.\n\n\"Hide-and-seek? What do you mean?\" inquired Mrs. Epanchin.\n\n\"Oh, do stop pretending, mamma,\" cried Aglaya, in vexation. \"Send him\nup, father; mother allows.\"\n\nThe general rang the bell and gave orders that the prince should be\nshown in.\n\n\"Only on condition that he has a napkin under his chin at lunch, then,\"\nsaid Mrs. Epanchin, \"and let Fedor, or Mavra, stand behind him while he\neats. Is he quiet when he has these fits? He doesn't show violence, does\nhe?\"\n\n\"On the contrary, he seems to be very well brought up. His manners\nare excellent--but here he is himself. Here you are, prince--let me\nintroduce you, the last of the Muishkins, a relative of your own, my\ndear, or at least of the same name. Receive him kindly, please. They'll\nbring in lunch directly, prince; you must stop and have some, but you\nmust excuse me. I'm in a hurry, I must be off--\"\n\n\"We all know where _you_ must be off to!\" said Mrs. Epanchin, in a meaning\nvoice.\n\n\"Yes, yes--I must hurry away, I'm late! Look here, dears, let him\nwrite you something in your albums; you've no idea what a wonderful\ncaligraphist he is, wonderful talent! He has just written out 'Abbot\nPafnute signed this' for me. Well, _au revoir!_\"\n\n\"Stop a minute; where are you off to? Who is this abbot?\" cried Mrs.\nEpanchin to her retreating husband in a tone of excited annoyance.\n\n\"Yes, my dear, it was an old abbot of that name-I must be off to see the\ncount, he's waiting for me, I'm late--Good-bye! _Au revoir_, prince!\"--and\nthe general bolted at full speed.\n\n\"Oh, yes--I know what count you're going to see!\" remarked his wife in\na cutting manner, as she turned her angry eyes on the prince. \"Now\nthen, what's all this about?--What abbot--Who's Pafnute?\" she added,\nbrusquely.\n\n\"Mamma!\" said Alexandra, shocked at her rudeness.\n\nAglaya stamped her foot.\n\n\"Nonsense! Let me alone!\" said the angry mother. \"Now then, prince, sit\ndown here, no, nearer, come nearer the light! I want to have a good look\nat you. So, now then, who is this abbot?\"\n\n\"Abbot Pafnute,\" said our friend, seriously and with deference.\n\n\"Pafnute, yes. And who was he?\"\n\nMrs. Epanchin put these questions hastily and brusquely, and when the\nprince answered she nodded her head sagely at each word he said.\n\n\"The Abbot Pafnute lived in the fourteenth century,\" began the prince;\n\"he was in charge of one of the monasteries on the Volga, about where\nour present Kostroma government lies. He went to Oreol and helped in the\ngreat matters then going on in the religious world; he signed an edict\nthere, and I have seen a print of his signature; it struck me, so I\ncopied it. When the general asked me, in his study, to write something\nfor him, to show my handwriting, I wrote 'The Abbot Pafnute signed\nthis,' in the exact handwriting of the abbot. The general liked it very\nmuch, and that's why he recalled it just now.\"\n\n\"Aglaya, make a note of 'Pafnute,' or we shall forget him. H'm! and\nwhere is this signature?\"\n\n\"I think it was left on the general's table.\"\n\n\"Let it be sent for at once!\"\n\n\"Oh, I'll write you a new one in half a minute,\" said the prince, \"if\nyou like!\"\n\n\"Of course, mamma!\" said Alexandra. \"But let's have lunch now, we are\nall hungry!\"\n\n\"Yes; come along, prince,\" said the mother, \"are you very hungry?\"\n\n\"Yes; I must say that I am pretty hungry, thanks very much.\"\n\n\"H'm! I like to see that you know your manners; and you are by no means\nsuch a person as the general thought fit to describe you. Come along;\nyou sit here, opposite to me,\" she continued, \"I wish to be able to see\nyour face. Alexandra, Adelaida, look after the prince! He doesn't seem\nso very ill, does he? I don't think he requires a napkin under his chin,\nafter all; are you accustomed to having one on, prince?\"\n\n\"Formerly, when I was seven years old or so. I believe I wore one; but\nnow I usually hold my napkin on my knee when I eat.\"\n\n\"Of course, of course! And about your fits?\"\n\n\"Fits?\" asked the prince, slightly surprised. \"I very seldom have fits\nnowadays. I don't know how it may be here, though; they say the climate\nmay be bad for me.\"\n\n\"He talks very well, you know!\" said Mrs. Epanchin, who still continued\nto nod at each word the prince spoke. \"I really did not expect it at\nall; in fact, I suppose it was all stuff and nonsense on the general's\npart, as usual. Eat away, prince, and tell me where you were born, and\nwhere you were brought up. I wish to know all about you, you interest me\nvery much!\"\n\nThe prince expressed his thanks once more, and eating heartily the\nwhile, recommenced the narrative of his life in Switzerland, all of\nwhich we have heard before. Mrs. Epanchin became more and more pleased\nwith her guest; the girls, too, listened with considerable attention. In\ntalking over the question of relationship it turned out that the prince\nwas very well up in the matter and knew his pedigree off by heart. It\nwas found that scarcely any connection existed between himself and Mrs.\nEpanchin, but the talk, and the opportunity of conversing about her\nfamily tree, gratified the latter exceedingly, and she rose from the\ntable in great good humour.\n\n\"Let's all go to my boudoir,\" she said, \"and they shall bring some\ncoffee in there. That's the room where we all assemble and busy\nourselves as we like best,\" she explained. \"Alexandra, my eldest,\nhere, plays the piano, or reads or sews; Adelaida paints landscapes and\nportraits (but never finishes any); and Aglaya sits and does nothing.\nI don't work too much, either. Here we are, now; sit down, prince, near\nthe fire and talk to us. I want to hear you relate something. I wish\nto make sure of you first and then tell my old friend, Princess\nBielokonski, about you. I wish you to know all the good people and to\ninterest them. Now then, begin!\"\n\n\"Mamma, it's rather a strange order, that!\" said Adelaida, who was\nfussing among her paints and paint-brushes at the easel. Aglaya and\nAlexandra had settled themselves with folded hands on a sofa, evidently\nmeaning to be listeners. The prince felt that the general attention was\nconcentrated upon himself.\n\n\"I should refuse to say a word if _I_ were ordered to tell a story like\nthat!\" observed Aglaya.\n\n\"Why? what's there strange about it? He has a tongue. Why shouldn't he\ntell us something? I want to judge whether he is a good story-teller;\nanything you like, prince-how you liked Switzerland, what was your first\nimpression, anything. You'll see, he'll begin directly and tell us all\nabout it beautifully.\"\n\n\"The impression was forcible--\" the prince began.\n\n\"There, you see, girls,\" said the impatient lady, \"he _has_ begun, you\nsee.\"\n\n\"Well, then, _let_ him talk, mamma,\" said Alexandra. \"This prince is a\ngreat humbug and by no means an idiot,\" she whispered to Aglaya.\n\n\"Oh, I saw that at once,\" replied the latter. \"I don't think it at all\nnice of him to play a part. What does he wish to gain by it, I wonder?\"\n\n\"My first impression was a very strong one,\" repeated the prince. \"When\nthey took me away from Russia, I remember I passed through many German\ntowns and looked out of the windows, but did not trouble so much as to\nask questions about them. This was after a long series of fits. I always\nused to fall into a sort of torpid condition after such a series, and\nlost my memory almost entirely; and though I was not altogether without\nreason at such times, yet I had no logical power of thought. This would\ncontinue for three or four days, and then I would recover myself again.\nI remember my melancholy was intolerable; I felt inclined to cry; I\nsat and wondered and wondered uncomfortably; the consciousness that\neverything was strange weighed terribly upon me; I could understand that\nit was all foreign and strange. I recollect I awoke from this state for\nthe first time at Basle, one evening; the bray of a donkey aroused me,\na donkey in the town market. I saw the donkey and was extremely pleased\nwith it, and from that moment my head seemed to clear.\"\n\n\"A donkey? How strange! Yet it is not strange. Anyone of us might fall\nin love with a donkey! It happened in mythological times,\" said Madame\nEpanchin, looking wrathfully at her daughters, who had begun to laugh.\n\"Go on, prince.\"\n\n\"Since that evening I have been specially fond of donkeys. I began to\nask questions about them, for I had never seen one before; and I at\nonce came to the conclusion that this must be one of the most useful of\nanimals--strong, willing, patient, cheap; and, thanks to this donkey,\nI began to like the whole country I was travelling through; and my\nmelancholy passed away.\"\n\n\"All this is very strange and interesting,\" said Mrs. Epanchin. \"Now\nlet's leave the donkey and go on to other matters. What are you laughing\nat, Aglaya? and you too, Adelaida? The prince told us his experiences\nvery cleverly; he saw the donkey himself, and what have you ever seen?\n_you_ have never been abroad.\"\n\n\"I have seen a donkey though, mamma!\" said Aglaya.\n\n\"And I've heard one!\" said Adelaida. All three of the girls laughed out\nloud, and the prince laughed with them.\n\n\"Well, it's too bad of you,\" said mamma. \"You must forgive them, prince;\nthey are good girls. I am very fond of them, though I often have to be\nscolding them; they are all as silly and mad as march hares.\"\n\n\"Oh, why shouldn't they laugh?\" said the prince. \"I shouldn't have let\nthe chance go by in their place, I know. But I stick up for the donkey,\nall the same; he's a patient, good-natured fellow.\"\n\n\"Are you a patient man, prince? I ask out of curiosity,\" said Mrs.\nEpanchin.\n\nAll laughed again.\n\n\"Oh, that wretched donkey again, I see!\" cried the lady. \"I assure you,\nprince, I was not guilty of the least--\"\n\n\"Insinuation? Oh! I assure you, I take your word for it.\" And the prince\ncontinued laughing merrily.\n\n\"I must say it's very nice of you to laugh. I see you really are a\nkind-hearted fellow,\" said Mrs. Epanchin.\n\n\"I'm not always kind, though.\"\n\n\"I am kind myself, and _always_ kind too, if you please!\" she retorted,\nunexpectedly; \"and that is my chief fault, for one ought not to be\nalways kind. I am often angry with these girls and their father; but the\nworst of it is, I am always kindest when I am cross. I was very angry\njust before you came, and Aglaya there read me a lesson--thanks, Aglaya,\ndear--come and kiss me--there--that's enough\" she added, as Aglaya came\nforward and kissed her lips and then her hand. \"Now then, go on, prince.\nPerhaps you can think of something more exciting than about the donkey,\neh?\"\n\n\"I must say, again, _I_ can't understand how you can expect anyone to tell\nyou stories straight away, so,\" said Adelaida. \"I know I never could!\"\n\n\"Yes, but the prince can, because he is clever--cleverer than you are\nby ten or twenty times, if you like. There, that's so, prince; and\nseriously, let's drop the donkey now--what else did you see abroad,\nbesides the donkey?\"\n\n\"Yes, but the prince told us about the donkey very cleverly, all the\nsame,\" said Alexandra. \"I have always been most interested to hear how\npeople go mad and get well again, and that sort of thing. Especially\nwhen it happens suddenly.\"\n\n\"Quite so, quite so!\" cried Mrs. Epanchin, delighted. \"I see you _can_\nbe sensible now and then, Alexandra. You were speaking of Switzerland,\nprince?\"\n\n\"Yes. We came to Lucerne, and I was taken out in a boat. I felt how\nlovely it was, but the loveliness weighed upon me somehow or other, and\nmade me feel melancholy.\"\n\n\"Why?\" asked Alexandra.\n\n\"I don't know; I always feel like that when I look at the beauties of\nnature for the first time; but then, I was ill at that time, of course!\"\n\n\"Oh, but I should like to see it!\" said Adelaida; \"and I don't know\n_when_ we shall ever go abroad. I've been two years looking out for a good\nsubject for a picture. I've done all I know. 'The North and South I know\nby heart,' as our poet observes. Do help me to a subject, prince.\"\n\n\"Oh, but I know nothing about painting. It seems to me one only has to\nlook, and paint what one sees.\"\n\n\"But I don't know _how_ to see!\"\n\n\"Nonsense, what rubbish you talk!\" the mother struck in. \"Not know how\nto see! Open your eyes and look! If you can't see here, you won't see\nabroad either. Tell us what you saw yourself, prince!\"\n\n\"Yes, that's better,\" said Adelaida; \"the prince _learned to see_ abroad.\"\n\n\"Oh, I hardly know! You see, I only went to restore my health. I don't\nknow whether I learned to see, exactly. I was very happy, however,\nnearly all the time.\"\n\n\"Happy! you can be happy?\" cried Aglaya. \"Then how can you say you did\nnot learn to see? I should think you could teach _us_ to see!\"\n\n\"Oh! _do_ teach us,\" laughed Adelaida.\n\n\"Oh! I can't do that,\" said the prince, laughing too. \"I lived almost\nall the while in one little Swiss village; what can I teach you? At\nfirst I was only just not absolutely dull; then my health began to\nimprove--then every day became dearer and more precious to me, and the\nlonger I stayed, the dearer became the time to me; so much so that I\ncould not help observing it; but why this was so, it would be difficult\nto say.\"\n\n\"So that you didn't care to go away anywhere else?\"\n\n\"Well, at first I did; I was restless; I didn't know however I should\nmanage to support life--you know there are such moments, especially in\nsolitude. There was a waterfall near us, such a lovely thin streak of\nwater, like a thread but white and moving. It fell from a great height,\nbut it looked quite low, and it was half a mile away, though it did not\nseem fifty paces. I loved to listen to it at night, but it was then\nthat I became so restless. Sometimes I went and climbed the mountain and\nstood there in the midst of the tall pines, all alone in the terrible\nsilence, with our little village in the distance, and the sky so blue,\nand the sun so bright, and an old ruined castle on the mountain-side,\nfar away. I used to watch the line where earth and sky met, and longed\nto go and seek there the key of all mysteries, thinking that I might\nfind there a new life, perhaps some great city where life should be\ngrander and richer--and then it struck me that life may be grand enough\neven in a prison.\"\n\n\"I read that last most praiseworthy thought in my manual, when I was\ntwelve years old,\" said Aglaya.\n\n\"All this is pure philosophy,\" said Adelaida. \"You are a philosopher,\nprince, and have come here to instruct us in your views.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you are right,\" said the prince, smiling. \"I think I am a\nphilosopher, perhaps, and who knows, perhaps I do wish to teach my views\nof things to those I meet with?\"\n\n\"Your philosophy is rather like that of an old woman we know, who is\nrich and yet does nothing but try how little she can spend. She talks of\nnothing but money all day. Your great philosophical idea of a grand life\nin a prison and your four happy years in that Swiss village are like\nthis, rather,\" said Aglaya.\n\n\"As to life in a prison, of course there may be two opinions,\" said the\nprince. \"I once heard the story of a man who lived twelve years in a\nprison--I heard it from the man himself. He was one of the persons under\ntreatment with my professor; he had fits, and attacks of melancholy,\nthen he would weep, and once he tried to commit suicide. _His_ life in\nprison was sad enough; his only acquaintances were spiders and a tree\nthat grew outside his grating-but I think I had better tell you of\nanother man I met last year. There was a very strange feature in this\ncase, strange because of its extremely rare occurrence. This man had\nonce been brought to the scaffold in company with several others, and\nhad had the sentence of death by shooting passed upon him for some\npolitical crime. Twenty minutes later he had been reprieved and\nsome other punishment substituted; but the interval between the two\nsentences, twenty minutes, or at least a quarter of an hour, had been\npassed in the certainty that within a few minutes he must die. I was\nvery anxious to hear him speak of his impressions during that dreadful\ntime, and I several times inquired of him as to what he thought and\nfelt. He remembered everything with the most accurate and extraordinary\ndistinctness, and declared that he would never forget a single iota of\nthe experience.\n\n\"About twenty paces from the scaffold, where he had stood to hear the\nsentence, were three posts, fixed in the ground, to which to fasten the\ncriminals (of whom there were several). The first three criminals were\ntaken to the posts, dressed in long white tunics, with white caps drawn\nover their faces, so that they could not see the rifles pointed at them.\nThen a group of soldiers took their stand opposite to each post. My\nfriend was the eighth on the list, and therefore he would have been\namong the third lot to go up. A priest went about among them with a\ncross: and there was about five minutes of time left for him to live.\n\n\"He said that those five minutes seemed to him to be a most interminable\nperiod, an enormous wealth of time; he seemed to be living, in these\nminutes, so many lives that there was no need as yet to think of that\nlast moment, so that he made several arrangements, dividing up the time\ninto portions--one for saying farewell to his companions, two minutes\nfor that; then a couple more for thinking over his own life and career\nand all about himself; and another minute for a last look around. He\nremembered having divided his time like this quite well. While saying\ngood-bye to his friends he recollected asking one of them some very\nusual everyday question, and being much interested in the answer. Then\nhaving bade farewell, he embarked upon those two minutes which he had\nallotted to looking into himself; he knew beforehand what he was going\nto think about. He wished to put it to himself as quickly and clearly\nas possible, that here was he, a living, thinking man, and that in three\nminutes he would be nobody; or if somebody or something, then what and\nwhere? He thought he would decide this question once for all in these\nlast three minutes. A little way off there stood a church, and its\ngilded spire glittered in the sun. He remembered staring stubbornly at\nthis spire, and at the rays of light sparkling from it. He could not\ntear his eyes from these rays of light; he got the idea that these rays\nwere his new nature, and that in three minutes he would become one of\nthem, amalgamated somehow with them.\n\n\"The repugnance to what must ensue almost immediately, and the\nuncertainty, were dreadful, he said; but worst of all was the idea,\n'What should I do if I were not to die now? What if I were to return to\nlife again? What an eternity of days, and all mine! How I should grudge\nand count up every minute of it, so as to waste not a single instant!'\nHe said that this thought weighed so upon him and became such a terrible\nburden upon his brain that he could not bear it, and wished they would\nshoot him quickly and have done with it.\"\n\nThe prince paused and all waited, expecting him to go on again and\nfinish the story.\n\n\"Is that all?\" asked Aglaya.\n\n\"All? Yes,\" said the prince, emerging from a momentary reverie.\n\n\"And why did you tell us this?\"\n\n\"Oh, I happened to recall it, that's all! It fitted into the\nconversation--\"\n\n\"You probably wish to deduce, prince,\" said Alexandra, \"that moments of\ntime cannot be reckoned by money value, and that sometimes five minutes\nare worth priceless treasures. All this is very praiseworthy; but may I\nask about this friend of yours, who told you the terrible experience of\nhis life? He was reprieved, you say; in other words, they did restore to\nhim that 'eternity of days.' What did he do with these riches of time?\nDid he keep careful account of his minutes?\"\n\n\"Oh no, he didn't! I asked him myself. He said that he had not lived a\nbit as he had intended, and had wasted many, and many a minute.\"\n\n\"Very well, then there's an experiment, and the thing is proved; one\ncannot live and count each moment; say what you like, but one _cannot_.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" said the prince, \"I have thought so myself. And yet, why\nshouldn't one do it?\"\n\n\"You think, then, that you could live more wisely than other people?\"\nsaid Aglaya.\n\n\"I have had that idea.\"\n\n\"And you have it still?\"\n\n\"Yes--I have it still,\" the prince replied.\n\nHe had contemplated Aglaya until now, with a pleasant though rather\ntimid smile, but as the last words fell from his lips he began to laugh,\nand looked at her merrily.\n\n\"You are not very modest!\" said she.\n\n\"But how brave you are!\" said he. \"You are laughing, and I--that man's\ntale impressed me so much, that I dreamt of it afterwards; yes, I dreamt\nof those five minutes...\"\n\nHe looked at his listeners again with that same serious, searching\nexpression.\n\n\"You are not angry with me?\" he asked suddenly, and with a kind of\nnervous hurry, although he looked them straight in the face.\n\n\"Why should we be angry?\" they cried.\n\n\"Only because I seem to be giving you a lecture, all the time!\"\n\nAt this they laughed heartily.\n\n\"Please don't be angry with me,\" continued the prince. \"I know very well\nthat I have seen less of life than other people, and have less knowledge\nof it. I must appear to speak strangely sometimes...\"\n\nHe said the last words nervously.\n\n\"You say you have been happy, and that proves you have lived, not less,\nbut more than other people. Why make all these excuses?\" interrupted\nAglaya in a mocking tone of voice. \"Besides, you need not mind about\nlecturing us; you have nothing to boast of. With your quietism, one\ncould live happily for a hundred years at least. One might show you the\nexecution of a felon, or show you one's little finger. You could draw\na moral from either, and be quite satisfied. That sort of existence is\neasy enough.\"\n\n\"I can't understand why you always fly into a temper,\" said Mrs.\nEpanchin, who had been listening to the conversation and examining the\nfaces of the speakers in turn. \"I do not understand what you mean. What\nhas your little finger to do with it? The prince talks well, though he\nis not amusing. He began all right, but now he seems sad.\"\n\n\"Never mind, mamma! Prince, I wish you had seen an execution,\" said\nAglaya. \"I should like to ask you a question about that, if you had.\"\n\n\"I have seen an execution,\" said the prince.\n\n\"You have!\" cried Aglaya. \"I might have guessed it. That's a fitting\ncrown to the rest of the story. If you have seen an execution, how can\nyou say you lived happily all the while?\"\n\n\"But is there capital punishment where you were?\" asked Adelaida.\n\n\"I saw it at Lyons. Schneider took us there, and as soon as we arrived\nwe came in for that.\"\n\n\"Well, and did you like it very much? Was it very edifying and\ninstructive?\" asked Aglaya.\n\n\"No, I didn't like it at all, and was ill after seeing it; but I confess\nI stared as though my eyes were fixed to the sight. I could not tear\nthem away.\"\n\n\"I, too, should have been unable to tear my eyes away,\" said Aglaya.\n\n\"They do not at all approve of women going to see an execution there.\nThe women who do go are condemned for it afterwards in the newspapers.\"\n\n\"That is, by contending that it is not a sight for women they admit that\nit is a sight for men. I congratulate them on the deduction. I suppose\nyou quite agree with them, prince?\"\n\n\"Tell us about the execution,\" put in Adelaida.\n\n\"I would much rather not, just now,\" said the prince, a little disturbed\nand frowning slightly.\n\n\"You don't seem to want to tell us,\" said Aglaya, with a mocking air.\n\n\"No,--the thing is, I was telling all about the execution a little while\nago, and--\"\n\n\"Whom did you tell about it?\"\n\n\"The man-servant, while I was waiting to see the general.\"\n\n\"Our man-servant?\" exclaimed several voices at once.\n\n\"Yes, the one who waits in the entrance hall, a greyish, red-faced\nman--\"\n\n\"The prince is clearly a democrat,\" remarked Aglaya.\n\n\"Well, if you could tell Aleksey about it, surely you can tell us too.\"\n\n\"I do so want to hear about it,\" repeated Adelaida.\n\n\"Just now, I confess,\" began the prince, with more animation, \"when you\nasked me for a subject for a picture, I confess I had serious thoughts\nof giving you one. I thought of asking you to draw the face of a\ncriminal, one minute before the fall of the guillotine, while the\nwretched man is still standing on the scaffold, preparatory to placing\nhis neck on the block.\"\n\n\"What, his face? only his face?\" asked Adelaida. \"That would be a\nstrange subject indeed. And what sort of a picture would that make?\"\n\n\"Oh, why not?\" the prince insisted, with some warmth. \"When I was in\nBasle I saw a picture very much in that style--I should like to tell you\nabout it; I will some time or other; it struck me very forcibly.\"\n\n\"Oh, you shall tell us about the Basle picture another time; now we must\nhave all about the execution,\" said Adelaida. \"Tell us about that face\nas; it appeared to your imagination-how should it be drawn?--just the\nface alone, do you mean?\"\n\n\"It was just a minute before the execution,\" began the prince, readily,\ncarried away by the recollection and evidently forgetting everything\nelse in a moment; \"just at the instant when he stepped off the ladder on\nto the scaffold. He happened to look in my direction: I saw his eyes and\nunderstood all, at once--but how am I to describe it? I do so wish you\nor somebody else could draw it, you, if possible. I thought at the time\nwhat a picture it would make. You must imagine all that went before, of\ncourse, all--all. He had lived in the prison for some time and had not\nexpected that the execution would take place for at least a week yet--he\nhad counted on all the formalities and so on taking time; but it so\nhappened that his papers had been got ready quickly. At five o'clock in\nthe morning he was asleep--it was October, and at five in the morning\nit was cold and dark. The governor of the prison comes in on tip-toe and\ntouches the sleeping man's shoulder gently. He starts up. 'What is it?'\nhe says. 'The execution is fixed for ten o'clock.' He was only just\nawake, and would not believe at first, but began to argue that his\npapers would not be out for a week, and so on. When he was wide awake\nand realized the truth, he became very silent and argued no more--so\nthey say; but after a bit he said: 'It comes very hard on one so\nsuddenly' and then he was silent again and said nothing.\n\n\"The three or four hours went by, of course, in necessary\npreparations--the priest, breakfast, (coffee, meat, and some wine they\ngave him; doesn't it seem ridiculous?) And yet I believe these people\ngive them a good breakfast out of pure kindness of heart, and believe\nthat they are doing a good action. Then he is dressed, and then begins\nthe procession through the town to the scaffold. I think he, too,\nmust feel that he has an age to live still while they cart him along.\nProbably he thought, on the way, 'Oh, I have a long, long time yet.\nThree streets of life yet! When we've passed this street there'll be\nthat other one; and then that one where the baker's shop is on the\nright; and when shall we get there? It's ages, ages!' Around him are\ncrowds shouting, yelling--ten thousand faces, twenty thousand eyes.\nAll this has to be endured, and especially the thought: 'Here are ten\nthousand men, and not one of them is going to be executed, and yet I am\nto die.' Well, all that is preparatory.\n\n\"At the scaffold there is a ladder, and just there he burst into\ntears--and this was a strong man, and a terribly wicked one, they say!\nThere was a priest with him the whole time, talking; even in the cart\nas they drove along, he talked and talked. Probably the other heard\nnothing; he would begin to listen now and then, and at the third word or\nso he had forgotten all about it.\n\n\"At last he began to mount the steps; his legs were tied, so that he had\nto take very small steps. The priest, who seemed to be a wise man, had\nstopped talking now, and only held the cross for the wretched fellow to\nkiss. At the foot of the ladder he had been pale enough; but when he set\nfoot on the scaffold at the top, his face suddenly became the colour\nof paper, positively like white notepaper. His legs must have become\nsuddenly feeble and helpless, and he felt a choking in his throat--you\nknow the sudden feeling one has in moments of terrible fear, when one\ndoes not lose one's wits, but is absolutely powerless to move? If some\ndreadful thing were suddenly to happen; if a house were just about to\nfall on one;--don't you know how one would long to sit down and shut\none's eyes and wait, and wait? Well, when this terrible feeling came\nover him, the priest quickly pressed the cross to his lips, without a\nword--a little silver cross it was--and he kept on pressing it to the\nman's lips every second. And whenever the cross touched his lips, the\neyes would open for a moment, and the legs moved once, and he kissed the\ncross greedily, hurriedly--just as though he were anxious to catch hold\nof something in case of its being useful to him afterwards, though he\ncould hardly have had any connected religious thoughts at the time. And\nso up to the very block.\n\n\"How strange that criminals seldom swoon at such a moment! On\nthe contrary, the brain is especially active, and works\nincessantly--probably hard, hard, hard--like an engine at full pressure.\nI imagine that various thoughts must beat loud and fast through\nhis head--all unfinished ones, and strange, funny thoughts, very\nlikely!--like this, for instance: 'That man is looking at me, and he\nhas a wart on his forehead! and the executioner has burst one of his\nbuttons, and the lowest one is all rusty!' And meanwhile he notices and\nremembers everything. There is one point that cannot be forgotten, round\nwhich everything else dances and turns about; and because of this\npoint he cannot faint, and this lasts until the very final quarter of\na second, when the wretched neck is on the block and the victim listens\nand waits and _knows_--that's the point, he _knows_ that he is just _now_\nabout to die, and listens for the rasp of the iron over his head. If I\nlay there, I should certainly listen for that grating sound, and hear\nit, too! There would probably be but the tenth part of an instant left\nto hear it in, but one would certainly hear it. And imagine, some people\ndeclare that when the head flies off it is _conscious_ of having flown\noff! Just imagine what a thing to realize! Fancy if consciousness were\nto last for even five seconds!\n\n\"Draw the scaffold so that only the top step of the ladder comes in\nclearly. The criminal must be just stepping on to it, his face as white\nas note-paper. The priest is holding the cross to his blue lips, and the\ncriminal kisses it, and knows and sees and understands everything.\nThe cross and the head--there's your picture; the priest and the\nexecutioner, with his two assistants, and a few heads and eyes below.\nThose might come in as subordinate accessories--a sort of mist. There's\na picture for you.\" The prince paused, and looked around.\n\n\"Certainly that isn't much like quietism,\" murmured Alexandra, half to\nherself.\n\n\"Now tell us about your love affairs,\" said Adelaida, after a moment's\npause.\n\nThe prince gazed at her in amazement.\n\n\"You know,\" Adelaida continued, \"you owe us a description of the Basle\npicture; but first I wish to hear how you fell in love. Don't deny the\nfact, for you did, of course. Besides, you stop philosophizing when you\nare telling about anything.\"\n\n\"Why are you ashamed of your stories the moment after you have told\nthem?\" asked Aglaya, suddenly.\n\n\"How silly you are!\" said Mrs. Epanchin, looking indignantly towards the\nlast speaker.\n\n\"Yes, that wasn't a clever remark,\" said Alexandra.\n\n\"Don't listen to her, prince,\" said Mrs. Epanchin; \"she says that sort\nof thing out of mischief. Don't think anything of their nonsense, it\nmeans nothing. They love to chaff, but they like you. I can see it in\ntheir faces--I know their faces.\"\n\n\"I know their faces, too,\" said the prince, with a peculiar stress on\nthe words.\n\n\"How so?\" asked Adelaida, with curiosity.\n\n\"What do _you_ know about our faces?\" exclaimed the other two, in chorus.\n\nBut the prince was silent and serious. All awaited his reply.\n\n\"I'll tell you afterwards,\" he said quietly.\n\n\"Ah, you want to arouse our curiosity!\" said Aglaya. \"And how terribly\nsolemn you are about it!\"\n\n\"Very well,\" interrupted Adelaida, \"then if you can read faces so well,\nyou _must_ have been in love. Come now; I've guessed--let's have the\nsecret!\"\n\n\"I have not been in love,\" said the prince, as quietly and seriously as\nbefore. \"I have been happy in another way.\"\n\n\"How, how?\"\n\n\"Well, I'll tell you,\" said the prince, apparently in a deep reverie.\n\nVI.\n\n\"Here you all are,\" began the prince, \"settling yourselves down to\nlisten to me with so much curiosity, that if I do not satisfy you you\nwill probably be angry with me. No, no! I'm only joking!\" he added,\nhastily, with a smile.\n\n\"Well, then--they were all children there, and I was always among\nchildren and only with children. They were the children of the village\nin which I lived, and they went to the school there--all of them. I did\nnot teach them, oh no; there was a master for that, one Jules Thibaut.\nI may have taught them some things, but I was among them just as an\noutsider, and I passed all four years of my life there among them.\nI wished for nothing better; I used to tell them everything and hid\nnothing from them. Their fathers and relations were very angry with me,\nbecause the children could do nothing without me at last, and used to\nthrong after me at all times. The schoolmaster was my greatest enemy\nin the end! I had many enemies, and all because of the children. Even\nSchneider reproached me. What were they afraid of? One can tell a child\neverything, anything. I have often been struck by the fact that parents\nknow their children so little. They should not conceal so much from\nthem. How well even little children understand that their parents\nconceal things from them, because they consider them too young to\nunderstand! Children are capable of giving advice in the most important\nmatters. How can one deceive these dear little birds, when they look\nat one so sweetly and confidingly? I call them birds because there is\nnothing in the world better than birds!\n\n\"However, most of the people were angry with me about one and the same\nthing; but Thibaut simply was jealous of me. At first he had wagged his\nhead and wondered how it was that the children understood what I told\nthem so well, and could not learn from him; and he laughed like anything\nwhen I replied that neither he nor I could teach them very much, but\nthat _they_ might teach us a good deal.\n\n\"How he could hate me and tell scandalous stories about me, living among\nchildren as he did, is what I cannot understand. Children soothe and\nheal the wounded heart. I remember there was one poor fellow at our\nprofessor's who was being treated for madness, and you have no idea what\nthose children did for him, eventually. I don't think he was mad, but\nonly terribly unhappy. But I'll tell you all about him another day. Now\nI must get on with this story.\n\n\"The children did not love me at first; I was such a sickly, awkward\nkind of a fellow then--and I know I am ugly. Besides, I was a foreigner.\nThe children used to laugh at me, at first; and they even went so far\nas to throw stones at me, when they saw me kiss Marie. I only kissed her\nonce in my life--no, no, don't laugh!\" The prince hastened to suppress\nthe smiles of his audience at this point. \"It was not a matter of _love_\nat all! If only you knew what a miserable creature she was, you would\nhave pitied her, just as I did. She belonged to our village. Her mother\nwas an old, old woman, and they used to sell string and thread, and soap\nand tobacco, out of the window of their little house, and lived on the\npittance they gained by this trade. The old woman was ill and very old,\nand could hardly move. Marie was her daughter, a girl of twenty, weak\nand thin and consumptive; but still she did heavy work at the houses\naround, day by day. Well, one fine day a commercial traveller betrayed\nher and carried her off; and a week later he deserted her. She came home\ndirty, draggled, and shoeless; she had walked for a whole week without\nshoes; she had slept in the fields, and caught a terrible cold; her feet\nwere swollen and sore, and her hands torn and scratched all over. She\nnever had been pretty even before; but her eyes were quiet, innocent,\nkind eyes.\n\n\"She was very quiet always--and I remember once, when she had suddenly\nbegun singing at her work, everyone said, 'Marie tried to sing today!'\nand she got so chaffed that she was silent for ever after. She had been\ntreated kindly in the place before; but when she came back now--ill and\nshunned and miserable--not one of them all had the slightest sympathy\nfor her. Cruel people! Oh, what hazy understandings they have on such\nmatters! Her mother was the first to show the way. She received her\nwrathfully, unkindly, and with contempt. 'You have disgraced me,' she\nsaid. She was the first to cast her into ignominy; but when they all\nheard that Marie had returned to the village, they ran out to see\nher and crowded into the little cottage--old men, children, women,\ngirls--such a hurrying, stamping, greedy crowd. Marie was lying on\nthe floor at the old woman's feet, hungry, torn, draggled, crying,\nmiserable.\n\n\"When everyone crowded into the room she hid her face in her dishevelled\nhair and lay cowering on the floor. Everyone looked at her as though she\nwere a piece of dirt off the road. The old men scolded and condemned,\nand the young ones laughed at her. The women condemned her too, and\nlooked at her contemptuously, just as though she were some loathsome\ninsect.\n\n\"Her mother allowed all this to go on, and nodded her head and\nencouraged them. The old woman was very ill at that time, and knew she\nwas dying (she really did die a couple of months later), and though she\nfelt the end approaching she never thought of forgiving her daughter, to\nthe very day of her death. She would not even speak to her. She made\nher sleep on straw in a shed, and hardly gave her food enough to support\nlife.\n\n\"Marie was very gentle to her mother, and nursed her, and did everything\nfor her; but the old woman accepted all her services without a word\nand never showed her the slightest kindness. Marie bore all this; and\nI could see when I got to know her that she thought it quite right and\nfitting, considering herself the lowest and meanest of creatures.\n\n\"When the old woman took to her bed finally, the other old women in the\nvillage sat with her by turns, as the custom is there; and then Marie\nwas quite driven out of the house. They gave her no food at all, and she\ncould not get any work in the village; none would employ her. The men\nseemed to consider her no longer a woman, they said such dreadful things\nto her. Sometimes on Sundays, if they were drunk enough, they used to\nthrow her a penny or two, into the mud, and Marie would silently pick up\nthe money. She had began to spit blood at that time.\n\n\"At last her rags became so tattered and torn that she was ashamed of\nappearing in the village any longer. The children used to pelt her with\nmud; so she begged to be taken on as assistant cowherd, but the cowherd\nwould not have her. Then she took to helping him without leave; and he\nsaw how valuable her assistance was to him, and did not drive her away\nagain; on the contrary, he occasionally gave her the remnants of his\ndinner, bread and cheese. He considered that he was being very kind.\nWhen the mother died, the village parson was not ashamed to hold Marie\nup to public derision and shame. Marie was standing at the coffin's\nhead, in all her rags, crying.\n\n\"A crowd of people had collected to see how she would cry. The parson,\na young fellow ambitious of becoming a great preacher, began his sermon\nand pointed to Marie. 'There,' he said, 'there is the cause of the death\nof this venerable woman'--(which was a lie, because she had been ill for\nat least two years)--'there she stands before you, and dares not lift\nher eyes from the ground, because she knows that the finger of God is\nupon her. Look at her tatters and rags--the badge of those who lose\ntheir virtue. Who is she? her daughter!' and so on to the end.\n\n\"And just fancy, this infamy pleased them, all of them, nearly. Only the\nchildren had altered--for then they were all on my side and had learned\nto love Marie.\n\n\"This is how it was: I had wished to do something for Marie; I longed to\ngive her some money, but I never had a farthing while I was there. But\nI had a little diamond pin, and this I sold to a travelling pedlar; he\ngave me eight francs for it--it was worth at least forty.\n\n\"I long sought to meet Marie alone; and at last I did meet her, on the\nhillside beyond the village. I gave her the eight francs and asked her\nto take care of the money because I could get no more; and then I kissed\nher and said that she was not to suppose I kissed her with any evil\nmotives or because I was in love with her, for that I did so solely out\nof pity for her, and because from the first I had not accounted her as\nguilty so much as unfortunate. I longed to console and encourage her\nsomehow, and to assure her that she was not the low, base thing which\nshe and others strove to make out; but I don't think she understood me.\nShe stood before me, dreadfully ashamed of herself, and with downcast\neyes; and when I had finished she kissed my hand. I would have kissed\nhers, but she drew it away. Just at this moment the whole troop of\nchildren saw us. (I found out afterwards that they had long kept a\nwatch upon me.) They all began whistling and clapping their hands, and\nlaughing at us. Marie ran away at once; and when I tried to talk to\nthem, they threw stones at me. All the village heard of it the same day,\nand Marie's position became worse than ever. The children would not let\nher pass now in the streets, but annoyed her and threw dirt at her more\nthan before. They used to run after her--she racing away with her poor\nfeeble lungs panting and gasping, and they pelting her and shouting\nabuse at her.\n\n\"Once I had to interfere by force; and after that I took to speaking\nto them every day and whenever I could. Occasionally they stopped and\nlistened; but they teased Marie all the same.\n\n\"I told them how unhappy Marie was, and after a while they stopped their\nabuse of her, and let her go by silently. Little by little we got into\nthe way of conversing together, the children and I. I concealed nothing\nfrom them, I told them all. They listened very attentively and soon\nbegan to be sorry for Marie. At last some of them took to saying\n'Good-morning' to her, kindly, when they met her. It is the custom there\nto salute anyone you meet with 'Good-morning' whether acquainted or not.\nI can imagine how astonished Marie was at these first greetings from the\nchildren.\n\n\"Once two little girls got hold of some food and took it to her, and\ncame back and told me. They said she had burst into tears, and that they\nloved her very much now. Very soon after that they all became fond of\nMarie, and at the same time they began to develop the greatest affection\nfor myself. They often came to me and begged me to tell them stories. I\nthink I must have told stories well, for they did so love to hear them.\nAt last I took to reading up interesting things on purpose to pass them\non to the little ones, and this went on for all the rest of my time\nthere, three years. Later, when everyone--even Schneider--was angry with\nme for hiding nothing from the children, I pointed out how foolish it\nwas, for they always knew things, only they learnt them in a way that\nsoiled their minds but not so from me. One has only to remember one's\nown childhood to admit the truth of this. But nobody was convinced... It\nwas two weeks before her mother died that I had kissed Marie; and when\nthe clergyman preached that sermon the children were all on my side.\n\n\"When I told them what a shame it was of the parson to talk as he had\ndone, and explained my reason, they were so angry that some of them went\nand broke his windows with stones. Of course I stopped them, for that\nwas not right, but all the village heard of it, and how I caught it for\nspoiling the children! Everyone discovered now that the little ones had\ntaken to being fond of Marie, and their parents were terribly alarmed;\nbut Marie was so happy. The children were forbidden to meet her; but\nthey used to run out of the village to the herd and take her food and\nthings; and sometimes just ran off there and kissed her, and said,\n'_Je vous aime, Marie!_' and then trotted back again. They imagined\nthat I was in love with Marie, and this was the only point on which\nI did not undeceive them, for they got such enjoyment out of it. And\nwhat delicacy and tenderness they showed!\n\n\"In the evening I used to walk to the waterfall. There was a spot there\nwhich was quite closed in and hidden from view by large trees; and to\nthis spot the children used to come to me. They could not bear that\ntheir dear Leon should love a poor girl without shoes to her feet and\ndressed all in rags and tatters. So, would you believe it, they actually\nclubbed together, somehow, and bought her shoes and stockings, and some\nlinen, and even a dress! I can't understand how they managed it, but\nthey did it, all together. When I asked them about it they only laughed\nand shouted, and the little girls clapped their hands and kissed me. I\nsometimes went to see Marie secretly, too. She had become very ill, and\ncould hardly walk. She still went with the herd, but could not help the\nherdsman any longer. She used to sit on a stone near, and wait there\nalmost motionless all day, till the herd went home. Her consumption was\nso advanced, and she was so weak, that she used to sit with closed eyes,\nbreathing heavily. Her face was as thin as a skeleton's, and sweat used\nto stand on her white brow in large drops. I always found her sitting\njust like that. I used to come up quietly to look at her; but Marie\nwould hear me, open her eyes, and tremble violently as she kissed my\nhands. I did not take my hand away because it made her happy to have it,\nand so she would sit and cry quietly. Sometimes she tried to speak; but\nit was very difficult to understand her. She was almost like a madwoman,\nwith excitement and ecstasy, whenever I came. Occasionally the children\ncame with me; when they did so, they would stand some way off and keep\nguard over us, so as to tell me if anybody came near. This was a great\npleasure to them.\n\n\"When we left her, Marie used to relapse at once into her old condition,\nand sit with closed eyes and motionless limbs. One day she could not\ngo out at all, and remained at home all alone in the empty hut; but\nthe children very soon became aware of the fact, and nearly all of them\nvisited her that day as she lay alone and helpless in her miserable bed.\n\n\"For two days the children looked after her, and then, when the village\npeople got to know that Marie was really dying, some of the old women\ncame and took it in turns to sit by her and look after her a bit. I\nthink they began to be a little sorry for her in the village at last;\nat all events they did not interfere with the children any more, on her\naccount.\n\n\"Marie lay in a state of uncomfortable delirium the whole while; she\ncoughed dreadfully. The old women would not let the children stay in the\nroom; but they all collected outside the window each morning, if only\nfor a moment, and shouted '_Bon jour, notre bonne Marie!_' and Marie no\nsooner caught sight of, or heard them, and she became quite animated at\nonce, and, in spite of the old women, would try to sit up and nod her\nhead and smile at them, and thank them. The little ones used to bring\nher nice things and sweets to eat, but she could hardly touch anything.\nThanks to them, I assure you, the girl died almost perfectly happy. She\nalmost forgot her misery, and seemed to accept their love as a sort of\nsymbol of pardon for her offence, though she never ceased to consider\nherself a dreadful sinner. They used to flutter at her window just like\nlittle birds, calling out: '_Nous t'aimons, Marie!_'\n\n\"She died very soon; I had thought she would live much longer. The\nday before her death I went to see her for the last time, just before\nsunset. I think she recognized me, for she pressed my hand.\n\n\"Next morning they came and told me that Marie was dead. The children\ncould not be restrained now; they went and covered her coffin with\nflowers, and put a wreath of lovely blossoms on her head. The pastor did\nnot throw any more shameful words at the poor dead woman; but there were\nvery few people at the funeral. However, when it came to carrying the\ncoffin, all the children rushed up, to carry it themselves. Of course\nthey could not do it alone, but they insisted on helping, and walked\nalongside and behind, crying.\n\n\"They have planted roses all round her grave, and every year they look\nafter the flowers and make Marie's resting-place as beautiful as they\ncan. I was in ill odour after all this with the parents of the children,\nand especially with the parson and schoolmaster. Schneider was obliged\nto promise that I should not meet them and talk to them; but we\nconversed from a distance by signs, and they used to write me sweet\nlittle notes. Afterwards I came closer than ever to those little souls,\nbut even then it was very dear to me, to have them so fond of me.\n\n\"Schneider said that I did the children great harm by my pernicious\n'system'; what nonsense that was! And what did he mean by my system?\nHe said afterwards that he believed I was a child myself--just before\nI came away. 'You have the form and face of an adult' he said, 'but as\nregards soul, and character, and perhaps even intelligence, you are a\nchild in the completest sense of the word, and always will be, if you\nlive to be sixty.' I laughed very much, for of course that is nonsense.\nBut it is a fact that I do not care to be among grown-up people and\nmuch prefer the society of children. However kind people may be to me, I\nnever feel quite at home with them, and am always glad to get back to\nmy little companions. Now my companions have always been children, not\nbecause I was a child myself once, but because young things attract\nme. On one of the first days of my stay in Switzerland, I was strolling\nabout alone and miserable, when I came upon the children rushing noisily\nout of school, with their slates and bags, and books, their games, their\nlaughter and shouts--and my soul went out to them. I stopped and laughed\nhappily as I watched their little feet moving so quickly. Girls and\nboys, laughing and crying; for as they went home many of them found\ntime to fight and make peace, to weep and play. I forgot my troubles in\nlooking at them. And then, all those three years, I tried to understand\nwhy men should be for ever tormenting themselves. I lived the life of\na child there, and thought I should never leave the little village;\nindeed, I was far from thinking that I should ever return to Russia.\nBut at last I recognized the fact that Schneider could not keep me any\nlonger. And then something so important happened, that Schneider himself\nurged me to depart. I am going to see now if can get good advice\nabout it. Perhaps my lot in life will be changed; but that is not the\nprincipal thing. The principal thing is the entire change that has\nalready come over me. I left many things behind me--too many. They have\ngone. On the journey I said to myself, 'I am going into the world of\nmen. I don't know much, perhaps, but a new life has begun for me.' I\nmade up my mind to be honest, and steadfast in accomplishing my task.\nPerhaps I shall meet with troubles and many disappointments, but I have\nmade up my mind to be polite and sincere to everyone; more cannot be\nasked of me. People may consider me a child if they like. I am often\ncalled an idiot, and at one time I certainly was so ill that I was\nnearly as bad as an idiot; but I am not an idiot now. How can I possibly\nbe so when I know myself that I am considered one?\n\n\"When I received a letter from those dear little souls, while passing\nthrough Berlin, I only then realized how much I loved them. It was very,\nvery painful, getting that first little letter. How melancholy they had\nbeen when they saw me off! For a month before, they had been talking of\nmy departure and sorrowing over it; and at the waterfall, of an evening,\nwhen we parted for the night, they would hug me so tight and kiss me so\nwarmly, far more so than before. And every now and then they would turn\nup one by one when I was alone, just to give me a kiss and a hug, to\nshow their love for me. The whole flock went with me to the station,\nwhich was about a mile from the village, and every now and then one of\nthem would stop to throw his arms round me, and all the little girls had\ntears in their voices, though they tried hard not to cry. As the train\nsteamed out of the station, I saw them all standing on the platform\nwaving to me and crying 'Hurrah!' till they were lost in the distance.\n\n\"I assure you, when I came in here just now and saw your kind faces (I\ncan read faces well) my heart felt light for the first time since that\nmoment of parting. I think I must be one of those who are born to be in\nluck, for one does not often meet with people whom one feels he can love\nfrom the first sight of their faces; and yet, no sooner do I step out of\nthe railway carriage than I happen upon you!\n\n\"I know it is more or less a shamefaced thing to speak of one's feelings\nbefore others; and yet here am I talking like this to you, and am not\na bit ashamed or shy. I am an unsociable sort of fellow and shall very\nlikely not come to see you again for some time; but don't think the\nworse of me for that. It is not that I do not value your society; and\nyou must never suppose that I have taken offence at anything.\n\n\"You asked me about your faces, and what I could read in them; I will\ntell you with the greatest pleasure. You, Adelaida Ivanovna, have a very\nhappy face; it is the most sympathetic of the three. Not to speak of\nyour natural beauty, one can look at your face and say to one's self,\n'She has the face of a kind sister.' You are simple and merry, but you\ncan see into another's heart very quickly. That's what I read in your\nface.\n\n\"You too, Alexandra Ivanovna, have a very lovely face; but I think you\nmay have some secret sorrow. Your heart is undoubtedly a kind, good one,\nbut you are not merry. There is a certain suspicion of 'shadow' in your\nface, like in that of Holbein's Madonna in Dresden. So much for your\nface. Have I guessed right?\n\n\"As for your face, Lizabetha Prokofievna, I not only think, but am\nperfectly _sure_, that you are an absolute child--in all, in all, mind,\nboth good and bad--and in spite of your years. Don't be angry with me\nfor saying so; you know what my feelings for children are. And do not\nsuppose that I am so candid out of pure simplicity of soul. Oh dear no,\nit is by no means the case! Perhaps I have my own very profound object\nin view.\"\n\nVII.\n\nWhen the prince ceased speaking all were gazing merrily at him--even\nAglaya; but Lizabetha Prokofievna looked the jolliest of all.\n\n\"Well!\" she cried, \"we _have_ 'put him through his paces,' with a\nvengeance! My dears, you imagined, I believe, that you were about\nto patronize this young gentleman, like some poor _protégé_ picked up\nsomewhere, and taken under your magnificent protection. What fools we\nwere, and what a specially big fool is your father! Well done, prince! I\nassure you the general actually asked me to put you through your paces,\nand examine you. As to what you said about my face, you are absolutely\ncorrect in your judgment. I am a child, and know it. I knew it long\nbefore you said so; you have expressed my own thoughts. I think your\nnature and mine must be extremely alike, and I am very glad of it. We\nare like two drops of water, only you are a man and I a woman, and I've\nnot been to Switzerland, and that is all the difference between us.\"\n\n\"Don't be in a hurry, mother; the prince says that he has some motive\nbehind his simplicity,\" cried Aglaya.\n\n\"Yes, yes, so he does,\" laughed the others.\n\n\"Oh, don't you begin bantering him,\" said mamma. \"He is probably a good\ndeal cleverer than all three of you girls put together. We shall see.\nOnly you haven't told us anything about Aglaya yet, prince; and Aglaya\nand I are both waiting to hear.\"\n\n\"I cannot say anything at present. I'll tell you afterwards.\"\n\n\"Why? Her face is clear enough, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Oh yes, of course. You are very beautiful, Aglaya Ivanovna, so\nbeautiful that one is afraid to look at you.\"\n\n\"Is that all? What about her character?\" persisted Mrs. Epanchin.\n\n\"It is difficult to judge when such beauty is concerned. I have not\nprepared my judgment. Beauty is a riddle.\"\n\n\"That means that you have set Aglaya a riddle!\" said Adelaida. \"Guess\nit, Aglaya! But she's pretty, prince, isn't she?\"\n\n\"Most wonderfully so,\" said the latter, warmly, gazing at Aglaya with\nadmiration. \"Almost as lovely as Nastasia Philipovna, but quite a\ndifferent type.\"\n\nAll present exchanged looks of surprise.\n\n\"As lovely as _who?_\" said Mrs. Epanchin. \"As _Nastasia Philipovna?_\nWhere have you seen Nastasia Philipovna? What Nastasia Philipovna?\"\n\n\"Gavrila Ardalionovitch showed the general her portrait just now.\"\n\n\"How so? Did he bring the portrait for my husband?\"\n\n\"Only to show it. Nastasia Philipovna gave it to Gavrila Ardalionovitch\ntoday, and the latter brought it here to show to the general.\"\n\n\"I must see it!\" cried Mrs. Epanchin. \"Where is the portrait? If she\ngave it to him, he must have it; and he is still in the study. He\nnever leaves before four o'clock on Wednesdays. Send for Gavrila\nArdalionovitch at once. No, I don't long to see _him_ so much. Look here,\ndear prince, _be_ so kind, will you? Just step to the study and fetch this\nportrait! Say we want to look at it. Please do this for me, will you?\"\n\n\"He is a nice fellow, but a little too simple,\" said Adelaida, as the\nprince left the room.\n\n\"He is, indeed,\" said Alexandra; \"almost laughably so at times.\"\n\nNeither one nor the other seemed to give expression to her full\nthoughts.\n\n\"He got out of it very neatly about our faces, though,\" said Aglaya. \"He\nflattered us all round, even mamma.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" cried the latter. \"He did not flatter me. It was I who found\nhis appreciation flattering. I think you are a great deal more foolish\nthan he is. He is simple, of course, but also very knowing. Just like\nmyself.\"\n\n\"How stupid of me to speak of the portrait,\" thought the prince as\nhe entered the study, with a feeling of guilt at his heart, \"and yet,\nperhaps I was right after all.\" He had an idea, unformed as yet, but a\nstrange idea.\n\nGavrila Ardalionovitch was still sitting in the study, buried in a\nmass of papers. He looked as though he did not take his salary from the\npublic company, whose servant he was, for a sinecure.\n\nHe grew very wroth and confused when the prince asked for the portrait,\nand explained how it came about that he had spoken of it.\n\n\"Oh, curse it all,\" he said; \"what on earth must you go blabbing for?\nYou know nothing about the thing, and yet--idiot!\" he added, muttering\nthe last word to himself in irrepressible rage.\n\n\"I am very sorry; I was not thinking at the time. I merely said that\nAglaya was almost as beautiful as Nastasia Philipovna.\"\n\nGania asked for further details; and the prince once more repeated the\nconversation. Gania looked at him with ironical contempt the while.\n\n\"Nastasia Philipovna,\" he began, and there paused; he was clearly much\nagitated and annoyed. The prince reminded him of the portrait.\n\n\"Listen, prince,\" said Gania, as though an idea had just struck him, \"I\nwish to ask you a great favour, and yet I really don't know--\"\n\nHe paused again, he was trying to make up his mind to something, and\nwas turning the matter over. The prince waited quietly. Once more Gania\nfixed him with intent and questioning eyes.\n\n\"Prince,\" he began again, \"they are rather angry with me, in there,\nowing to a circumstance which I need not explain, so that I do not care\nto go in at present without an invitation. I particularly wish to speak\nto Aglaya, but I have written a few words in case I shall not have the\nchance of seeing her\" (here the prince observed a small note in his\nhand), \"and I do not know how to get my communication to her. Don't you\nthink you could undertake to give it to her at once, but only to her,\nmind, and so that no one else should see you give it? It isn't much of a\nsecret, but still--Well, will you do it?\"\n\n\"I don't quite like it,\" replied the prince.\n\n\"Oh, but it is absolutely necessary for me,\" Gania entreated. \"Believe\nme, if it were not so, I would not ask you; how else am I to get it to\nher? It is most important, dreadfully important!\"\n\nGania was evidently much alarmed at the idea that the prince would not\nconsent to take his note, and he looked at him now with an expression of\nabsolute entreaty.\n\n\"Well, I will take it then.\"\n\n\"But mind, nobody is to see!\" cried the delighted Gania \"And of course I\nmay rely on your word of honour, eh?\"\n\n\"I won't show it to anyone,\" said the prince.\n\n\"The letter is not sealed--\" continued Gania, and paused in confusion.\n\n\"Oh, I won't read it,\" said the prince, quite simply.\n\nHe took up the portrait, and went out of the room.\n\nGania, left alone, clutched his head with his hands.\n\n\"One word from her,\" he said, \"one word from her, and I may yet be\nfree.\"\n\nHe could not settle himself to his papers again, for agitation and\nexcitement, but began walking up and down the room from corner to\ncorner.\n\nThe prince walked along, musing. He did not like his commission, and\ndisliked the idea of Gania sending a note to Aglaya at all; but when\nhe was two rooms distant from the drawing-room, where they all were,\nhe stopped as though recalling something; went to the window, nearer the\nlight, and began to examine the portrait in his hand.\n\nHe longed to solve the mystery of something in the face of Nastasia\nPhilipovna, something which had struck him as he looked at the portrait\nfor the first time; the impression had not left him. It was partly the\nfact of her marvellous beauty that struck him, and partly something\nelse. There was a suggestion of immense pride and disdain in the face\nalmost of hatred, and at the same time something confiding and very full\nof simplicity. The contrast aroused a deep sympathy in his heart as\nhe looked at the lovely face. The blinding loveliness of it was almost\nintolerable, this pale thin face with its flaming eyes; it was a strange\nbeauty.\n\nThe prince gazed at it for a minute or two, then glanced around him,\nand hurriedly raised the portrait to his lips. When, a minute after, he\nreached the drawing-room door, his face was quite composed. But just as\nhe reached the door he met Aglaya coming out alone.\n\n\"Gavrila Ardalionovitch begged me to give you this,\" he said, handing\nher the note.\n\nAglaya stopped, took the letter, and gazed strangely into the prince's\neyes. There was no confusion in her face; a little surprise, perhaps,\nbut that was all. By her look she seemed merely to challenge the prince\nto an explanation as to how he and Gania happened to be connected in\nthis matter. But her expression was perfectly cool and quiet, and even\ncondescending.\n\nSo they stood for a moment or two, confronting one another. At length a\nfaint smile passed over her face, and she passed by him without a word.\n\nMrs. Epanchin examined the portrait of Nastasia Philipovna for some\nlittle while, holding it critically at arm's length.\n\n\"Yes, she is pretty,\" she said at last, \"even very pretty. I have seen\nher twice, but only at a distance. So you admire this kind of beauty, do\nyou?\" she asked the prince, suddenly.\n\n\"Yes, I do--this kind.\"\n\n\"Do you mean especially this kind?\"\n\n\"Yes, especially this kind.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"There is much suffering in this face,\" murmured the prince, more as\nthough talking to himself than answering the question.\n\n\"I think you are wandering a little, prince,\" Mrs. Epanchin decided,\nafter a lengthened survey of his face; and she tossed the portrait on to\nthe table, haughtily.\n\nAlexandra took it, and Adelaida came up, and both the girls examined the\nphotograph. Just then Aglaya entered the room.\n\n\"What a power!\" cried Adelaida suddenly, as she earnestly examined the\nportrait over her sister's shoulder.\n\n\"Whom? What power?\" asked her mother, crossly.\n\n\"Such beauty is real power,\" said Adelaida. \"With such beauty as that\none might overthrow the world.\" She returned to her easel thoughtfully.\n\nAglaya merely glanced at the portrait--frowned, and put out her\nunderlip; then went and sat down on the sofa with folded hands. Mrs.\nEpanchin rang the bell.\n\n\"Ask Gavrila Ardalionovitch to step this way,\" said she to the man who\nanswered.\n\n\"Mamma!\" cried Alexandra, significantly.\n\n\"I shall just say two words to him, that's all,\" said her mother,\nsilencing all objection by her manner; she was evidently seriously put\nout. \"You see, prince, it is all secrets with us, just now--all secrets.\nIt seems to be the etiquette of the house, for some reason or other.\nStupid nonsense, and in a matter which ought to be approached with all\ncandour and open-heartedness. There is a marriage being talked of, and I\ndon't like this marriage--\"\n\n\"Mamma, what are you saying?\" said Alexandra again, hurriedly.\n\n\"Well, what, my dear girl? As if you can possibly like it yourself? The\nheart is the great thing, and the rest is all rubbish--though one must\nhave sense as well. Perhaps sense is really the great thing. Don't smile\nlike that, Aglaya. I don't contradict myself. A fool with a heart and no\nbrains is just as unhappy as a fool with brains and no heart. I am one\nand you are the other, and therefore both of us suffer, both of us are\nunhappy.\"\n\n\"Why are you so unhappy, mother?\" asked Adelaida, who alone of all the\ncompany seemed to have preserved her good temper and spirits up to now.\n\n\"In the first place, because of my carefully brought-up daughters,\" said\nMrs. Epanchin, cuttingly; \"and as that is the best reason I can give you\nwe need not bother about any other at present. Enough of words, now!\nWe shall see how both of you (I don't count Aglaya) will manage your\nbusiness, and whether you, most revered Alexandra Ivanovna, will be\nhappy with your fine mate.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" she added, as Gania suddenly entered the room, \"here's another\nmarrying subject. How do you do?\" she continued, in response to Gania's\nbow; but she did not invite him to sit down. \"You are going to be\nmarried?\"\n\n\"Married? how--what marriage?\" murmured Gania, overwhelmed with\nconfusion.\n\n\"Are you about to take a wife? I ask,--if you prefer that expression.\"\n\n\"No, no I--I--no!\" said Gania, bringing out his lie with a tell-tale\nblush of shame. He glanced keenly at Aglaya, who was sitting some way\noff, and dropped his eyes immediately.\n\nAglaya gazed coldly, intently, and composedly at him, without taking her\neyes off his face, and watched his confusion.\n\n\"No? You say no, do you?\" continued the pitiless Mrs. General. \"Very\nwell, I shall remember that you told me this Wednesday morning, in\nanswer to my question, that you are not going to be married. What day is\nit, Wednesday, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Yes, I think so!\" said Adelaida.\n\n\"You never know the day of the week; what's the day of the month?\"\n\n\"Twenty-seventh!\" said Gania.\n\n\"Twenty-seventh; very well. Good-bye now; you have a good deal to do,\nI'm sure, and I must dress and go out. Take your portrait. Give my\nrespects to your unfortunate mother, Nina Alexandrovna. _Au revoir_, dear\nprince, come in and see us often, do; and I shall tell old Princess\nBielokonski about you. I shall go and see her on purpose. And listen,\nmy dear boy, I feel sure that God has sent you to Petersburg from\nSwitzerland on purpose for me. Maybe you will have other things to do,\nbesides, but you are sent chiefly for my sake, I feel sure of it. God\nsent you to me! Au revoir! Alexandra, come with me, my dear.\"\n\nMrs. Epanchin left the room.\n\nGania--confused, annoyed, furious--took up his portrait, and turned to\nthe prince with a nasty smile on his face.\n\n\"Prince,\" he said, \"I am just going home. If you have not changed your\nmind as to living with us, perhaps you would like to come with me. You\ndon't know the address, I believe?\"\n\n\"Wait a minute, prince,\" said Aglaya, suddenly rising from her seat, \"do\nwrite something in my album first, will you? Father says you are a most\ntalented caligraphist; I'll bring you my book in a minute.\" She left the\nroom.\n\n\"Well, _au revoir_, prince,\" said Adelaida, \"I must be going too.\" She\npressed the prince's hand warmly, and gave him a friendly smile as she\nleft the room. She did not so much as look at Gania.\n\n\"This is your doing, prince,\" said Gania, turning on the latter so soon\nas the others were all out of the room. \"This is your doing, sir! _You_\nhave been telling them that I am going to be married!\" He said this in\na hurried whisper, his eyes flashing with rage and his face ablaze. \"You\nshameless tattler!\"\n\n\"I assure you, you are under a delusion,\" said the prince, calmly and\npolitely. \"I did not even know that you were to be married.\"\n\n\"You heard me talking about it, the general and me. You heard me say\nthat everything was to be settled today at Nastasia Philipovna's, and\nyou went and blurted it out here. You lie if you deny it. Who else\ncould have told them? Devil take it, sir, who could have told them except\nyourself? Didn't the old woman as good as hint as much to me?\"\n\n\"If she hinted to you who told her you must know best, of course; but I\nnever said a word about it.\"\n\n\"Did you give my note? Is there an answer?\" interrupted Gania,\nimpatiently.\n\nBut at this moment Aglaya came back, and the prince had no time to\nreply.\n\n\"There, prince,\" said she, \"there's my album. Now choose a page and\nwrite me something, will you? There's a pen, a new one; do you mind a\nsteel one? I have heard that you caligraphists don't like steel pens.\"\n\nConversing with the prince, Aglaya did not even seem to notice that\nGania was in the room. But while the prince was getting his pen ready,\nfinding a page, and making his preparations to write, Gania came up to\nthe fireplace where Aglaya was standing, to the right of the prince, and\nin trembling, broken accents said, almost in her ear:\n\n\"One word, just one word from you, and I'm saved.\"\n\nThe prince turned sharply round and looked at both of them. Gania's\nface was full of real despair; he seemed to have said the words almost\nunconsciously and on the impulse of the moment.\n\nAglaya gazed at him for some seconds with precisely the same composure\nand calm astonishment as she had shown a little while before, when the\nprince handed her the note, and it appeared that this calm surprise and\nseemingly absolute incomprehension of what was said to her, were more\nterribly overwhelming to Gania than even the most plainly expressed\ndisdain would have been.\n\n\"What shall I write?\" asked the prince.\n\n\"I'll dictate to you,\" said Aglaya, coming up to the table. \"Now then,\nare you ready? Write, 'I never condescend to bargain!' Now put your name\nand the date. Let me see it.\"\n\nThe prince handed her the album.\n\n\"Capital! How beautifully you have written it! Thanks so much. _Au\nrevoir_, prince. Wait a minute,\"; she added, \"I want to give you\nsomething for a keepsake. Come with me this way, will you?\"\n\nThe prince followed her. Arrived at the dining-room, she stopped.\n\n\"Read this,\" she said, handing him Gania's note.\n\nThe prince took it from her hand, but gazed at her in bewilderment.\n\n\"Oh! I _know_ you haven't read it, and that you could never be that\nman's accomplice. Read it, I wish you to read it.\"\n\nThe letter had evidently been written in a hurry:\n\n\"My fate is to be decided today\" (it ran), \"you know how. This day I\nmust give my word irrevocably. I have no right to ask your help, and I\ndare not allow myself to indulge in any hopes; but once you said just\none word, and that word lighted up the night of my life, and became the\nbeacon of my days. Say one more such word, and save me from utter ruin.\nOnly tell me, 'break off the whole thing!' and I will do so this very\nday. Oh! what can it cost you to say just this one word? In doing so you\nwill but be giving me a sign of your sympathy for me, and of your pity;\nonly this, only this; nothing more, _nothing_. I dare not indulge in any\nhope, because I am unworthy of it. But if you say but this word, I will\ntake up my cross again with joy, and return once more to my battle with\npoverty. I shall meet the storm and be glad of it; I shall rise up with\nrenewed strength.\n\n\"Send me back then this one word of sympathy, only sympathy, I swear\nto you; and oh! do not be angry with the audacity of despair, with the\ndrowning man who has dared to make this last effort to save himself from\nperishing beneath the waters.\n\n\"G.L.\"\n\n\"This man assures me,\" said Aglaya, scornfully, when the prince had\nfinished reading the letter, \"that the words 'break off everything'\ndo not commit me to anything whatever; and himself gives me a written\nguarantee to that effect, in this letter. Observe how ingenuously he\nunderlines certain words, and how crudely he glosses over his hidden\nthoughts. He must know that if he 'broke off everything,' _first_, by\nhimself, and without telling me a word about it or having the slightest\nhope on my account, that in that case I should perhaps be able to change\nmy opinion of him, and even accept his--friendship. He must know that,\nbut his soul is such a wretched thing. He knows it and cannot make\nup his mind; he knows it and yet asks for guarantees. He cannot bring\nhimself to _trust_, he wants me to give him hopes of myself before he lets\ngo of his hundred thousand roubles. As to the 'former word' which he\ndeclares 'lighted up the night of his life,' he is simply an impudent\nliar; I merely pitied him once. But he is audacious and shameless. He\nimmediately began to hope, at that very moment. I saw it. He has tried\nto catch me ever since; he is still fishing for me. Well, enough of\nthis. Take the letter and give it back to him, as soon as you have left\nour house; not before, of course.\"\n\n\"And what shall I tell him by way of answer?\"\n\n\"Nothing--of course! That's the best answer. Is it the case that you are\ngoing to live in his house?\"\n\n\"Yes, your father kindly recommended me to him.\"\n\n\"Then look out for him, I warn you! He won't forgive you easily, for\ntaking back the letter.\"\n\nAglaya pressed the prince's hand and left the room. Her face was serious\nand frowning; she did not even smile as she nodded good-bye to him at\nthe door.\n\n\"I'll just get my parcel and we'll go,\" said the prince to Gania, as he\nre-entered the drawing-room. Gania stamped his foot with impatience. His\nface looked dark and gloomy with rage.\n\nAt last they left the house behind them, the prince carrying his bundle.\n\n\"The answer--quick--the answer!\" said Gania, the instant they were\noutside. \"What did she say? Did you give the letter?\" The prince\nsilently held out the note. Gania was struck motionless with amazement.\n\n\"How, what? my letter?\" he cried. \"He never delivered it! I might have\nguessed it, oh! curse him! Of course she did not understand what I\nmeant, naturally! Why--why--_why_ didn't you give her the note, you--\"\n\n\"Excuse me; I was able to deliver it almost immediately after receiving\nyour commission, and I gave it, too, just as you asked me to. It has\ncome into my hands now because Aglaya Ivanovna has just returned it to\nme.\"\n\n\"How? When?\"\n\n\"As soon as I finished writing in her album for her, and when she asked\nme to come out of the room with her (you heard?), we went into the\ndining-room, and she gave me your letter to read, and then told me to\nreturn it.\"\n\n\"To _read?_\" cried Gania, almost at the top of his voice; \"to _read_,\nand you read it?\"\n\nAnd again he stood like a log in the middle of the pavement; so amazed\nthat his mouth remained open after the last word had left it.\n\n\"Yes, I have just read it.\"\n\n\"And she gave it you to read herself--_herself?_\"\n\n\"Yes, herself; and you may believe me when I tell you that I would not\nhave read it for anything without her permission.\"\n\nGania was silent for a minute or two, as though thinking out some\nproblem. Suddenly he cried:\n\n\"It's impossible, she cannot have given it to you to read! You are\nlying. You read it yourself!\"\n\n\"I am telling you the truth,\" said the prince in his former composed\ntone of voice; \"and believe me, I am extremely sorry that the\ncircumstance should have made such an unpleasant impression upon you!\"\n\n\"But, you wretched man, at least she must have said something? There\nmust be _some_ answer from her!\"\n\n\"Yes, of course, she did say something!\"\n\n\"Out with it then, damn it! Out with it at once!\" and Gania stamped his\nfoot twice on the pavement.\n\n\"As soon as I had finished reading it, she told me that you were fishing\nfor her; that you wished to compromise her so far as to receive some\nhopes from her, trusting to which hopes you might break with the\nprospect of receiving a hundred thousand roubles. She said that if you\nhad done this without bargaining with her, if you had broken with the\nmoney prospects without trying to force a guarantee out of her first,\nshe might have been your friend. That's all, I think. Oh no, when I\nasked her what I was to say, as I took the letter, she replied that 'no\nanswer is the best answer.' I think that was it. Forgive me if I do\nnot use her exact expressions. I tell you the sense as I understood it\nmyself.\"\n\nUngovernable rage and madness took entire possession of Gania, and his\nfury burst out without the least attempt at restraint.\n\n\"Oh! that's it, is it!\" he yelled. \"She throws my letters out of the\nwindow, does she! Oh! and she does not condescend to bargain, while I\n_do_, eh? We shall see, we shall see! I shall pay her out for this.\"\n\nHe twisted himself about with rage, and grew paler and paler; he shook\nhis fist. So the pair walked along a few steps. Gania did not stand on\nceremony with the prince; he behaved just as though he were alone in\nhis room. He clearly counted the latter as a nonentity. But suddenly he\nseemed to have an idea, and recollected himself.\n\n\"But how was it?\" he asked, \"how was it that you (idiot that you are),\"\nhe added to himself, \"were so very confidential a couple of hours after\nyour first meeting with these people? How was that, eh?\"\n\nUp to this moment jealousy had not been one of his torments; now it\nsuddenly gnawed at his heart.\n\n\"That is a thing I cannot undertake to explain,\" replied the prince.\nGania looked at him with angry contempt.\n\n\"Oh! I suppose the present she wished to make to you, when she took you\ninto the dining-room, was her confidence, eh?\"\n\n\"I suppose that was it; I cannot explain it otherwise?\"\n\n\"But why, _why?_ Devil take it, what did you do in there? Why did they\nfancy you? Look here, can't you remember exactly what you said to them,\nfrom the very beginning? Can't you remember?\"\n\n\"Oh, we talked of a great many things. When first I went in we began to\nspeak of Switzerland.\"\n\n\"Oh, the devil take Switzerland!\"\n\n\"Then about executions.\"\n\n\"Executions?\"\n\n\"Yes--at least about one. Then I told the whole three years' story of my\nlife, and the history of a poor peasant girl--\"\n\n\"Oh, damn the peasant girl! go on, go on!\" said Gania, impatiently.\n\n\"Then how Schneider told me about my childish nature, and--\"\n\n\"Oh, _curse_ Schneider and his dirty opinions! Go on.\"\n\n\"Then I began to talk about faces, at least about the _expressions_ of\nfaces, and said that Aglaya Ivanovna was nearly as lovely as Nastasia\nPhilipovna. It was then I blurted out about the portrait--\"\n\n\"But you didn't repeat what you heard in the study? You didn't repeat\nthat--eh?\"\n\n\"No, I tell you I did _not_.\"\n\n\"Then how did they--look here! Did Aglaya show my letter to the old\nlady?\"\n\n\"Oh, there I can give you my fullest assurance that she did _not_. I was\nthere all the while--she had no time to do it!\"\n\n\"But perhaps you may not have observed it, oh, you damned idiot, you!\"\nhe shouted, quite beside himself with fury. \"You can't even describe\nwhat went on.\"\n\nGania having once descended to abuse, and receiving no check, very soon\nknew no bounds or limit to his licence, as is often the way in such\ncases. His rage so blinded him that he had not even been able to detect\nthat this \"idiot,\" whom he was abusing to such an extent, was very\nfar from being slow of comprehension, and had a way of taking in\nan impression, and afterwards giving it out again, which was very\nun-idiotic indeed. But something a little unforeseen now occurred.\n\n\"I think I ought to tell you, Gavrila Ardalionovitch,\" said the prince,\nsuddenly, \"that though I once was so ill that I really was little better\nthan an idiot, yet now I am almost recovered, and that, therefore, it is\nnot altogether pleasant to be called an idiot to my face. Of course your\nanger is excusable, considering the treatment you have just experienced;\nbut I must remind you that you have twice abused me rather rudely. I\ndo not like this sort of thing, and especially so at the first time\nof meeting a man, and, therefore, as we happen to be at this moment\nstanding at a crossroad, don't you think we had better part, you to the\nleft, homewards, and I to the right, here? I have twenty-five roubles,\nand I shall easily find a lodging.\"\n\nGania was much confused, and blushed for shame \"Do forgive me, prince!\"\nhe cried, suddenly changing his abusive tone for one of great courtesy.\n\"For Heaven's sake, forgive me! You see what a miserable plight I am\nin, but you hardly know anything of the facts of the case as yet. If you\ndid, I am sure you would forgive me, at least partially. Of course it\nwas inexcusable of me, I know, but--\"\n\n\"Oh, dear me, I really do not require such profuse apologies,\" replied\nthe prince, hastily. \"I quite understand how unpleasant your position\nis, and that is what made you abuse me. So come along to your house,\nafter all. I shall be delighted--\"\n\n\"I am not going to let him go like this,\" thought Gania, glancing\nangrily at the prince as they walked along. \"The fellow has sucked\neverything out of me, and now he takes off his mask--there's something\nmore than appears, here we shall see. It shall all be as clear as water\nby tonight, everything!\"\n\nBut by this time they had reached Gania's house.\n\nVIII.\n\nThe flat occupied by Gania and his family was on the third floor of the\nhouse. It was reached by a clean light staircase, and consisted of seven\nrooms, a nice enough lodging, and one would have thought a little too\ngood for a clerk on two thousand roubles a year. But it was designed\nto accommodate a few lodgers on board terms, and had been taken a few\nmonths since, much to the disgust of Gania, at the urgent request of his\nmother and his sister, Varvara Ardalionovna, who longed to do something\nto increase the family income a little, and fixed their hopes upon\nletting lodgings. Gania frowned upon the idea. He thought it _infra dig_,\nand did not quite like appearing in society afterwards--that society in\nwhich he had been accustomed to pose up to now as a young man of rather\nbrilliant prospects. All these concessions and rebuffs of fortune,\nof late, had wounded his spirit severely, and his temper had become\nextremely irritable, his wrath being generally quite out of proportion\nto the cause. But if he had made up his mind to put up with this sort of\nlife for a while, it was only on the plain understanding with his inner\nself that he would very soon change it all, and have things as he\nchose again. Yet the very means by which he hoped to make this change\nthreatened to involve him in even greater difficulties than he had had\nbefore.\n\nThe flat was divided by a passage which led straight out of the\nentrance-hall. Along one side of this corridor lay the three rooms which\nwere designed for the accommodation of the \"highly recommended\" lodgers.\nBesides these three rooms there was another small one at the end of the\npassage, close to the kitchen, which was allotted to General Ivolgin,\nthe nominal master of the house, who slept on a wide sofa, and was\nobliged to pass into and out of his room through the kitchen, and up\nor down the back stairs. Colia, Gania's young brother, a school-boy of\nthirteen, shared this room with his father. He, too, had to sleep on\nan old sofa, a narrow, uncomfortable thing with a torn rug over it; his\nchief duty being to look after his father, who needed to be watched more\nand more every day.\n\nThe prince was given the middle room of the three, the first being\noccupied by one Ferdishenko, while the third was empty.\n\nBut Gania first conducted the prince to the family apartments. These\nconsisted of a \"salon,\" which became the dining-room when required; a\ndrawing-room, which was only a drawing-room in the morning, and became\nGania's study in the evening, and his bedroom at night; and lastly Nina\nAlexandrovna's and Varvara's bedroom, a small, close chamber which they\nshared together.\n\nIn a word, the whole place was confined, and a \"tight fit\" for the\nparty. Gania used to grind his teeth with rage over the state of\naffairs; though he was anxious to be dutiful and polite to his mother.\nHowever, it was very soon apparent to anyone coming into the house, that\nGania was the tyrant of the family.\n\nNina Alexandrovna and her daughter were both seated in the drawing-room,\nengaged in knitting, and talking to a visitor, Ivan Petrovitch Ptitsin.\n\nThe lady of the house appeared to be a woman of about fifty years of\nage, thin-faced, and with black lines under the eyes. She looked ill and\nrather sad; but her face was a pleasant one for all that; and from the\nfirst word that fell from her lips, any stranger would at once conclude\nthat she was of a serious and particularly sincere nature. In spite of\nher sorrowful expression, she gave the idea of possessing considerable\nfirmness and decision.\n\nHer dress was modest and simple to a degree, dark and elderly in style;\nbut both her face and appearance gave evidence that she had seen better\ndays.\n\nVarvara was a girl of some twenty-three summers, of middle height, thin,\nbut possessing a face which, without being actually beautiful, had\nthe rare quality of charm, and might fascinate even to the extent of\npassionate regard.\n\nShe was very like her mother: she even dressed like her, which proved\nthat she had no taste for smart clothes. The expression of her grey eyes\nwas merry and gentle, when it was not, as lately, too full of thought\nand anxiety. The same decision and firmness was to be observed in her\nface as in her mother's, but her strength seemed to be more vigorous\nthan that of Nina Alexandrovna. She was subject to outbursts of temper,\nof which even her brother was a little afraid.\n\nThe present visitor, Ptitsin, was also afraid of her. This was a young\nfellow of something under thirty, dressed plainly, but neatly. His\nmanners were good, but rather ponderously so. His dark beard bore\nevidence to the fact that he was not in any government employ. He could\nspeak well, but preferred silence. On the whole he made a decidedly\nagreeable impression. He was clearly attracted by Varvara, and made no\nsecret of his feelings. She trusted him in a friendly way, but had not\nshown him any decided encouragement as yet, which fact did not quell his\nardour in the least.\n\nNina Alexandrovna was very fond of him, and had grown quite confidential\nwith him of late. Ptitsin, as was well known, was engaged in the\nbusiness of lending out money on good security, and at a good rate of\ninterest. He was a great friend of Gania's.\n\nAfter a formal introduction by Gania (who greeted his mother very\nshortly, took no notice of his sister, and immediately marched Ptitsin\nout of the room), Nina Alexandrovna addressed a few kind words to the\nprince and forthwith requested Colia, who had just appeared at the door,\nto show him to the \"middle room.\"\n\nColia was a nice-looking boy. His expression was simple and confiding,\nand his manners were very polite and engaging.\n\n\"Where's your luggage?\" he asked, as he led the prince away to his room.\n\n\"I had a bundle; it's in the entrance hall.\"\n\n\"I'll bring it you directly. We only have a cook and one maid, so I have\nto help as much as I can. Varia looks after things, generally, and\nloses her temper over it. Gania says you have only just arrived from\nSwitzerland?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Is it jolly there?\"\n\n\"Very.\"\n\n\"Mountains?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I'll go and get your bundle.\"\n\nHere Varvara joined them.\n\n\"The maid shall bring your bed-linen directly. Have you a portmanteau?\"\n\n\"No; a bundle--your brother has just gone to the hall for it.\"\n\n\"There's nothing there except this,\" said Colia, returning at this\nmoment. \"Where did you put it?\"\n\n\"Oh! but that's all I have,\" said the prince, taking it.\n\n\"Ah! I thought perhaps Ferdishenko had taken it.\"\n\n\"Don't talk nonsense,\" said Varia, severely. She seemed put out, and was\nonly just polite with the prince.\n\n\"Oho!\" laughed the boy, \"you can be nicer than that to _me_, you know--I'm\nnot Ptitsin!\"\n\n\"You ought to be whipped, Colia, you silly boy. If you want anything\"\n(to the prince) \"please apply to the servant. We dine at half-past four.\nYou can take your dinner with us, or have it in your room, just as you\nplease. Come along, Colia, don't disturb the prince.\"\n\nAt the door they met Gania coming in.\n\n\"Is father in?\" he asked. Colia whispered something in his ear and went\nout.\n\n\"Just a couple of words, prince, if you'll excuse me. Don't blab over\n_there_ about what you may see here, or in this house as to all that about\nAglaya and me, you know. Things are not altogether pleasant in this\nestablishment--devil take it all! You'll see. At all events keep your\ntongue to yourself for _today_.\"\n\n\"I assure you I 'blabbed' a great deal less than you seem to suppose,\"\nsaid the prince, with some annoyance. Clearly the relations between\nGania and himself were by no means improving.\n\n\"Oh I well; I caught it quite hot enough today, thanks to you. However,\nI forgive you.\"\n\n\"I think you might fairly remember that I was not in any way bound, I\nhad no reason to be silent about that portrait. You never asked me not\nto mention it.\"\n\n\"Pfu! what a wretched room this is--dark, and the window looking\ninto the yard. Your coming to our house is, in no respect, opportune.\nHowever, it's not _my_ affair. I don't keep the lodgings.\"\n\nPtitsin here looked in and beckoned to Gania, who hastily left the room,\nin spite of the fact that he had evidently wished to say something more\nand had only made the remark about the room to gain time. The prince had\nhardly had time to wash and tidy himself a little when the door opened\nonce more, and another figure appeared.\n\nThis was a gentleman of about thirty, tall, broad-shouldered, and\nred-haired; his face was red, too, and he possessed a pair of thick\nlips, a wide nose, small eyes, rather bloodshot, and with an ironical\nexpression in them; as though he were perpetually winking at someone.\nHis whole appearance gave one the idea of impudence; his dress was\nshabby.\n\nHe opened the door just enough to let his head in. His head remained so\nplaced for a few seconds while he quietly scrutinized the room; the door\nthen opened enough to admit his body; but still he did not enter. He\nstood on the threshold and examined the prince carefully. At last he\ngave the door a final shove, entered, approached the prince, took his\nhand and seated himself and the owner of the room on two chairs side by\nside.\n\n\"Ferdishenko,\" he said, gazing intently and inquiringly into the\nprince's eyes.\n\n\"Very well, what next?\" said the latter, almost laughing in his face.\n\n\"A lodger here,\" continued the other, staring as before.\n\n\"Do you wish to make acquaintance?\" asked the prince.\n\n\"Ah!\" said the visitor, passing his fingers through his hair and\nsighing. He then looked over to the other side of the room and around\nit. \"Got any money?\" he asked, suddenly.\n\n\"Not much.\"\n\n\"How much?\"\n\n\"Twenty-five roubles.\"\n\n\"Let's see it.\"\n\nThe prince took his banknote out and showed it to Ferdishenko. The\nlatter unfolded it and looked at it; then he turned it round and\nexamined the other side; then he held it up to the light.\n\n\"How strange that it should have browned so,\" he said, reflectively.\n\"These twenty-five rouble notes brown in a most extraordinary way, while\nother notes often grow paler. Take it.\"\n\nThe prince took his note. Ferdishenko rose.\n\n\"I came here to warn you,\" he said. \"In the first place, don't lend me\nany money, for I shall certainly ask you to.\"\n\n\"Very well.\"\n\n\"Shall you pay here?\"\n\n\"Yes, I intend to.\"\n\n\"Oh! I _don't_ intend to. Thanks. I live here, next door to you; you\nnoticed a room, did you? Don't come to me very often; I shall see you\nhere quite often enough. Have you seen the general?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Nor heard him?\"\n\n\"No; of course not.\"\n\n\"Well, you'll both hear and see him soon; he even tries to borrow money\nfrom me. _Avis au lecteur._ Good-bye; do you think a man can possibly\nlive with a name like Ferdishenko?\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Good-bye.\"\n\nAnd so he departed. The prince found out afterwards that this gentleman\nmade it his business to amaze people with his originality and wit, but\nthat it did not as a rule \"come off.\" He even produced a bad impression\non some people, which grieved him sorely; but he did not change his ways\nfor all that.\n\nAs he went out of the prince's room, he collided with yet another\nvisitor coming in. Ferdishenko took the opportunity of making several\nwarning gestures to the prince from behind the new arrival's back, and\nleft the room in conscious pride.\n\nThis next arrival was a tall red-faced man of about fifty-five, with\ngreyish hair and whiskers, and large eyes which stood out of their\nsockets. His appearance would have been distinguished had it not been\nthat he gave the idea of being rather dirty. He was dressed in an old\ncoat, and he smelled of vodka when he came near. His walk was effective,\nand he clearly did his best to appear dignified, and to impress people\nby his manner.\n\nThis gentleman now approached the prince slowly, and with a most\ncourteous smile; silently took his hand and held it in his own, as he\nexamined the prince's features as though searching for familiar traits\ntherein.\n\n\"'Tis he, 'tis he!\" he said at last, quietly, but with much solemnity.\n\"As though he were alive once more. I heard the familiar name-the\ndear familiar name--and, oh! how it reminded me of the irrevocable\npast--Prince Muishkin, I believe?\"\n\n\"Exactly so.\"\n\n\"General Ivolgin--retired and unfortunate. May I ask your Christian and\ngeneric names?\"\n\n\"Lef Nicolaievitch.\"\n\n\"So, so--the son of my old, I may say my childhood's friend, Nicolai\nPetrovitch.\"\n\n\"My father's name was Nicolai Lvovitch.\"\n\n\"Lvovitch,\" repeated the general without the slightest haste, and with\nperfect confidence, just as though he had not committed himself the\nleast in the world, but merely made a little slip of the tongue. He sat\ndown, and taking the prince's hand, drew him to a seat next to himself.\n\n\"I carried you in my arms as a baby,\" he observed.\n\n\"Really?\" asked the prince. \"Why, it's twenty years since my father\ndied.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes--twenty years and three months. We were educated together; I\nwent straight into the army, and he--\"\n\n\"My father went into the army, too. He was a sub-lieutenant in the\nVasiliefsky regiment.\"\n\n\"No, sir--in the Bielomirsky; he changed into the latter shortly before\nhis death. I was at his bedside when he died, and gave him my blessing\nfor eternity. Your mother--\" The general paused, as though overcome with\nemotion.\n\n\"She died a few months later, from a cold,\" said the prince.\n\n\"Oh, not cold--believe an old man--not from a cold, but from grief for\nher prince. Oh--your mother, your mother! heigh-ho! Youth--youth! Your\nfather and I--old friends as we were--nearly murdered each other for her\nsake.\"\n\nThe prince began to be a little incredulous.\n\n\"I was passionately in love with her when she was engaged--engaged to my\nfriend. The prince noticed the fact and was furious. He came and woke me\nat seven o'clock one morning. I rise and dress in amazement; silence on\nboth sides. I understand it all. He takes a couple of pistols out of his\npocket--across a handkerchief--without witnesses. Why invite witnesses\nwhen both of us would be walking in eternity in a couple of minutes? The\npistols are loaded; we stretch the handkerchief and stand opposite one\nanother. We aim the pistols at each other's hearts. Suddenly tears start\nto our eyes, our hands shake; we weep, we embrace--the battle is one of\nself-sacrifice now! The prince shouts, 'She is yours;' I cry, 'She is\nyours--' in a word, in a word--You've come to live with us, hey?\"\n\n\"Yes--yes--for a while, I think,\" stammered the prince.\n\n\"Prince, mother begs you to come to her,\" said Colia, appearing at the\ndoor.\n\nThe prince rose to go, but the general once more laid his hand in a\nfriendly manner on his shoulder, and dragged him down on to the sofa.\n\n\"As the true friend of your father, I wish to say a few words to you,\"\nhe began. \"I have suffered--there was a catastrophe. I suffered without\na trial; I had no trial. Nina Alexandrovna my wife, is an excellent\nwoman, so is my daughter Varvara. We have to let lodgings because we are\npoor--a dreadful, unheard-of come-down for us--for me, who should\nhave been a governor-general; but we are very glad to have _you_, at all\nevents. Meanwhile there is a tragedy in the house.\"\n\nThe prince looked inquiringly at the other.\n\n\"Yes, a marriage is being arranged--a marriage between a questionable\nwoman and a young fellow who might be a flunkey. They wish to bring this\nwoman into the house where my wife and daughter reside, but while I\nlive and breathe she shall never enter my doors. I shall lie at the\nthreshold, and she shall trample me underfoot if she does. I hardly\ntalk to Gania now, and avoid him as much as I can. I warn you of this\nbeforehand, but you cannot fail to observe it. But you are the son of my\nold friend, and I hope--\"\n\n\"Prince, be so kind as to come to me for a moment in the drawing-room,\"\nsaid Nina Alexandrovna herself, appearing at the door.\n\n\"Imagine, my dear,\" cried the general, \"it turns out that I have nursed\nthe prince on my knee in the old days.\" His wife looked searchingly at\nhim, and glanced at the prince, but said nothing. The prince rose and\nfollowed her; but hardly had they reached the drawing-room, and Nina\nAlexandrovna had begun to talk hurriedly, when in came the general.\nShe immediately relapsed into silence. The master of the house may have\nobserved this, but at all events he did not take any notice of it; he\nwas in high good humour.\n\n\"A son of my old friend, dear,\" he cried; \"surely you must remember\nPrince Nicolai Lvovitch? You saw him at--at Tver.\"\n\n\"I don't remember any Nicolai Lvovitch. Was that your father?\" she\ninquired of the prince.\n\n\"Yes, but he died at Elizabethgrad, not at Tver,\" said the prince,\nrather timidly. \"So Pavlicheff told me.\"\n\n\"No, Tver,\" insisted the general; \"he removed just before his death. You\nwere very small and cannot remember; and Pavlicheff, though an excellent\nfellow, may have made a mistake.\"\n\n\"You knew Pavlicheff then?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes--a wonderful fellow; but I was present myself. I gave him my\nblessing.\"\n\n\"My father was just about to be tried when he died,\" said the prince,\n\"although I never knew of what he was accused. He died in hospital.\"\n\n\"Oh! it was the Kolpakoff business, and of course he would have been\nacquitted.\"\n\n\"Yes? Do you know that for a fact?\" asked the prince, whose curiosity\nwas aroused by the general's words.\n\n\"I should think so indeed!\" cried the latter. \"The court-martial came to\nno decision. It was a mysterious, an impossible business, one might say!\nCaptain Larionoff, commander of the company, had died; his command\nwas handed over to the prince for the moment. Very well. This soldier,\nKolpakoff, stole some leather from one of his comrades, intending to\nsell it, and spent the money on drink. Well! The prince--you understand\nthat what follows took place in the presence of the sergeant-major, and\na corporal--the prince rated Kolpakoff soundly, and threatened to have\nhim flogged. Well, Kolpakoff went back to the barracks, lay down on\na camp bedstead, and in a quarter of an hour was dead: you quite\nunderstand? It was, as I said, a strange, almost impossible, affair.\nIn due course Kolpakoff was buried; the prince wrote his report, the\ndeceased's name was removed from the roll. All as it should be, is it\nnot? But exactly three months later at the inspection of the brigade,\nthe man Kolpakoff was found in the third company of the second battalion\nof infantry, Novozemlianski division, just as if nothing had happened!\"\n\n\"What?\" said the prince, much astonished.\n\n\"It did not occur--it's a mistake!\" said Nina Alexandrovna quickly,\nlooking, at the prince rather anxiously. \"_Mon mari se trompe_,\" she\nadded, speaking in French.\n\n\"My dear, '_se trompe_' is easily said. Do you remember any case at all\nlike it? Everybody was at their wits' end. I should be the first to say\n'_qu'on se trompe_,' but unfortunately I was an eye-witness, and was also\non the commission of inquiry. Everything proved that it was really he,\nthe very same soldier Kolpakoff who had been given the usual military\nfuneral to the sound of the drum. It is of course a most curious\ncase--nearly an impossible one. I recognize that... but--\"\n\n\"Father, your dinner is ready,\" said Varvara at this point, putting her\nhead in at the door.\n\n\"Very glad, I'm particularly hungry. Yes, yes, a strange\ncoincidence--almost a psychological--\"\n\n\"Your soup'll be cold; do come.\"\n\n\"Coming, coming,\" said the general. \"Son of my old friend--\" he was\nheard muttering as he went down the passage.\n\n\"You will have to excuse very much in my husband, if you stay with us,\"\nsaid Nina Alexandrovna; \"but he will not disturb you often. He dines\nalone. Everyone has his little peculiarities, you know, and some people\nperhaps have more than those who are most pointed at and laughed at.\nOne thing I must beg of you--if my husband applies to you for payment\nfor board and lodging, tell him that you have already paid me. Of course\nanything paid by you to the general would be as fully settled as if\npaid to me, so far as you are concerned; but I wish it to be so, if you\nplease, for convenience' sake. What is it, Varia?\"\n\nVaria had quietly entered the room, and was holding out the portrait of\nNastasia Philipovna to her mother.\n\nNina Alexandrovna started, and examined the photograph intently, gazing\nat it long and sadly. At last she looked up inquiringly at Varia.\n\n\"It's a present from herself to him,\" said Varia; \"the question is to be\nfinally decided this evening.\"\n\n\"This evening!\" repeated her mother in a tone of despair, but softly,\nas though to herself. \"Then it's all settled, of course, and there's no\nhope left to us. She has anticipated her answer by the present of her\nportrait. Did he show it you himself?\" she added, in some surprise.\n\n\"You know we have hardly spoken to each other for a whole month. Ptitsin\ntold me all about it; and the photo was lying under the table, and I\npicked it up.\"\n\n\"Prince,\" asked Nina Alexandrovna, \"I wanted to inquire whether you have\nknown my son long? I think he said that you had only arrived today from\nsomewhere.\"\n\nThe prince gave a short narrative of what we have heard before, leaving\nout the greater part. The two ladies listened intently.\n\n\"I did not ask about Gania out of curiosity,\" said the elder, at last.\n\"I wish to know how much you know about him, because he said just now\nthat we need not stand on ceremony with you. What, exactly, does that\nmean?\"\n\nAt this moment Gania and Ptitsin entered the room together, and Nina\nAlexandrovna immediately became silent again. The prince remained seated\nnext to her, but Varia moved to the other end of the room; the portrait\nof Nastasia Philipovna remained lying as before on the work-table. Gania\nobserved it there, and with a frown of annoyance snatched it up and\nthrew it across to his writing-table, which stood at the other end of\nthe room.\n\n\"Is it today, Gania?\" asked Nina Alexandrovna, at last.\n\n\"Is what today?\" cried the former. Then suddenly recollecting himself,\nhe turned sharply on the prince. \"Oh,\" he growled, \"I see, you are here,\nthat explains it! Is it a disease, or what, that you can't hold your\ntongue? Look here, understand once for all, prince--\"\n\n\"I am to blame in this, Gania--no one else,\" said Ptitsin.\n\nGania glanced inquiringly at the speaker.\n\n\"It's better so, you know, Gania--especially as, from one point of view,\nthe matter may be considered as settled,\" said Ptitsin; and sitting\ndown a little way from the table he began to study a paper covered with\npencil writing.\n\nGania stood and frowned, he expected a family scene. He never thought of\napologizing to the prince, however.\n\n\"If it's all settled, Gania, then of course Mr. Ptitsin is right,\" said\nNina Alexandrovna. \"Don't frown. You need not worry yourself, Gania;\nI shall ask you no questions. You need not tell me anything you don't\nlike. I assure you I have quite submitted to your will.\" She said all\nthis, knitting away the while as though perfectly calm and composed.\n\nGania was surprised, but cautiously kept silence and looked at his\nmother, hoping that she would express herself more clearly. Nina\nAlexandrovna observed his cautiousness and added, with a bitter smile:\n\n\"You are still suspicious, I see, and do not believe me; but you may\nbe quite at your ease. There shall be no more tears, nor questions--not\nfrom my side, at all events. All I wish is that you may be happy, you\nknow that. I have submitted to my fate; but my heart will always be\nwith you, whether we remain united, or whether we part. Of course I only\nanswer for myself--you can hardly expect your sister--\"\n\n\"My sister again,\" cried Gania, looking at her with contempt and almost\nhate. \"Look here, mother, I have already given you my word that I shall\nalways respect you fully and absolutely, and so shall everyone else in\nthis house, be it who it may, who shall cross this threshold.\"\n\nGania was so much relieved that he gazed at his mother almost\naffectionately.\n\n\"I was not at all afraid for myself, Gania, as you know well. It was not\nfor my own sake that I have been so anxious and worried all this time!\nThey say it is all to be settled to-day. What is to be settled?\"\n\n\"She has promised to tell me tonight at her own house whether she\nconsents or not,\" replied Gania.\n\n\"We have been silent on this subject for three weeks,\" said his mother,\n\"and it was better so; and now I will only ask you one question. How can\nshe give her consent and make you a present of her portrait when you do\nnot love her? How can such a--such a--\"\n\n\"Practised hand--eh?\"\n\n\"I was not going to express myself so. But how could you so blind her?\"\n\nNina Alexandrovna's question betrayed intense annoyance. Gania waited a\nmoment and then said, without taking the trouble to conceal the irony of\nhis tone:\n\n\"There you are, mother, you are always like that. You begin by promising\nthat there are to be no reproaches or insinuations or questions, and\nhere you are beginning them at once. We had better drop the subject--we\nhad, really. I shall never leave you, mother; any other man would cut\nand run from such a sister as this. See how she is looking at me at this\nmoment! Besides, how do you know that I am blinding Nastasia Philipovna?\nAs for Varia, I don't care--she can do just as she pleases. There,\nthat's quite enough!\"\n\nGania's irritation increased with every word he uttered, as he walked up\nand down the room. These conversations always touched the family sores\nbefore long.\n\n\"I have said already that the moment she comes in I go out, and I shall\nkeep my word,\" remarked Varia.\n\n\"Out of obstinacy\" shouted Gania. \"You haven't married, either, thanks\nto your obstinacy. Oh, you needn't frown at me, Varvara! You can go at\nonce for all I care; I am sick enough of your company. What, you are\ngoing to leave us are you, too?\" he cried, turning to the prince, who\nwas rising from his chair.\n\nGania's voice was full of the most uncontrolled and uncontrollable\nirritation.\n\nThe prince turned at the door to say something, but perceiving in\nGania's expression that there was but that one drop wanting to make the\ncup overflow, he changed his mind and left the room without a word.\nA few minutes later he was aware from the noisy voices in the drawing\nroom, that the conversation had become more quarrelsome than ever after\nhis departure.\n\nHe crossed the salon and the entrance-hall, so as to pass down the\ncorridor into his own room. As he came near the front door he heard\nsomeone outside vainly endeavouring to ring the bell, which was\nevidently broken, and only shook a little, without emitting any sound.\n\nThe prince took down the chain and opened the door. He started back in\namazement--for there stood Nastasia Philipovna. He knew her at once from\nher photograph. Her eyes blazed with anger as she looked at him. She\nquickly pushed by him into the hall, shouldering him out of her way, and\nsaid, furiously, as she threw off her fur cloak:\n\n\"If you are too lazy to mend your bell, you should at least wait in\nthe hall to let people in when they rattle the bell handle. There, now,\nyou've dropped my fur cloak--dummy!\"\n\nSure enough the cloak was lying on the ground. Nastasia had thrown it\noff her towards the prince, expecting him to catch it, but the prince\nhad missed it.\n\n\"Now then--announce me, quick!\"\n\nThe prince wanted to say something, but was so confused and astonished\nthat he could not. However, he moved off towards the drawing-room with\nthe cloak over his arm.\n\n\"Now then, where are you taking my cloak to? Ha, ha, ha! Are you mad?\"\n\nThe prince turned and came back, more confused than ever. When she burst\nout laughing, he smiled, but his tongue could not form a word as yet. At\nfirst, when he had opened the door and saw her standing before him, he\nhad become as pale as death; but now the red blood had rushed back to\nhis cheeks in a torrent.\n\n\"Why, what an idiot it is!\" cried Nastasia, stamping her foot with\nirritation. \"Go on, do! Whom are you going to announce?\"\n\n\"Nastasia Philipovna,\" murmured the prince.\n\n\"And how do you know that?\" she asked him, sharply.\n\n\"I have never seen you before!\"\n\n\"Go on, announce me--what's that noise?\"\n\n\"They are quarrelling,\" said the prince, and entered the drawing-room,\njust as matters in there had almost reached a crisis. Nina Alexandrovna\nhad forgotten that she had \"submitted to everything!\" She was defending\nVaria. Ptitsin was taking her part, too. Not that Varia was afraid of\nstanding up for herself. She was by no means that sort of a girl; but\nher brother was becoming ruder and more intolerable every moment. Her\nusual practice in such cases as the present was to say nothing, but\nstare at him, without taking her eyes off his face for an instant. This\nmanoeuvre, as she well knew, could drive Gania distracted.\n\nJust at this moment the door opened and the prince entered, announcing:\n\n\"Nastasia Philipovna!\"\n\nIX.\n\nSilence immediately fell on the room; all looked at the prince as though\nthey neither understood, nor hoped to understand. Gania was motionless\nwith horror.\n\nNastasia's arrival was a most unexpected and overwhelming event to all\nparties. In the first place, she had never been before. Up to now she\nhad been so haughty that she had never even asked Gania to introduce her\nto his parents. Of late she had not so much as mentioned them. Gania was\npartly glad of this; but still he had put it to her debit in the account\nto be settled after marriage.\n\nHe would have borne anything from her rather than this visit. But one\nthing seemed to him quite clear-her visit now, and the present of her\nportrait on this particular day, pointed out plainly enough which way\nshe intended to make her decision!\n\nThe incredulous amazement with which all regarded the prince did not\nlast long, for Nastasia herself appeared at the door and passed in,\npushing by the prince again.\n\n\"At last I've stormed the citadel! Why do you tie up your bell?\" she\nsaid, merrily, as she pressed Gania's hand, the latter having rushed\nup to her as soon as she made her appearance. \"What are you looking so\nupset about? Introduce me, please!\"\n\nThe bewildered Gania introduced her first to Varia, and both women,\nbefore shaking hands, exchanged looks of strange import. Nastasia,\nhowever, smiled amiably; but Varia did not try to look amiable, and kept\nher gloomy expression. She did not even vouchsafe the usual courteous\nsmile of etiquette. Gania darted a terrible glance of wrath at her\nfor this, but Nina Alexandrovna mended matters a little when Gania\nintroduced her at last. Hardly, however, had the old lady begun about\nher \"highly gratified feelings,\" and so on, when Nastasia left her, and\nflounced into a chair by Gania's side in the corner by the window, and\ncried: \"Where's your study? and where are the--the lodgers? You do take\nin lodgers, don't you?\"\n\nGania looked dreadfully put out, and tried to say something in reply,\nbut Nastasia interrupted him:\n\n\"Why, where are you going to squeeze lodgers in here? Don't you use\na study? Does this sort of thing pay?\" she added, turning to Nina\nAlexandrovna.\n\n\"Well, it is troublesome, rather,\" said the latter; \"but I suppose it\nwill 'pay' pretty well. We have only just begun, however--\"\n\nAgain Nastasia Philipovna did not hear the sentence out. She glanced at\nGania, and cried, laughing, \"What a face! My goodness, what a face you\nhave on at this moment!\"\n\nIndeed, Gania did not look in the least like himself. His bewilderment\nand his alarmed perplexity passed off, however, and his lips now\ntwitched with rage as he continued to stare evilly at his laughing\nguest, while his countenance became absolutely livid.\n\nThere was another witness, who, though standing at the door motionless\nand bewildered himself, still managed to remark Gania's death-like\npallor, and the dreadful change that had come over his face. This\nwitness was the prince, who now advanced in alarm and muttered to Gania:\n\n\"Drink some water, and don't look like that!\"\n\nIt was clear that he came out with these words quite spontaneously, on\nthe spur of the moment. But his speech was productive of much--for\nit appeared that all Gania's rage now overflowed upon the prince. He\nseized him by the shoulder and gazed with an intensity of loathing and\nrevenge at him, but said nothing--as though his feelings were too strong\nto permit of words.\n\nGeneral agitation prevailed. Nina Alexandrovna gave a little cry of\nanxiety; Ptitsin took a step forward in alarm; Colia and Ferdishenko\nstood stock still at the door in amazement;--only Varia remained coolly\nwatching the scene from under her eyelashes. She did not sit down,\nbut stood by her mother with folded hands. However, Gania recollected\nhimself almost immediately. He let go of the prince and burst out\nlaughing.\n\n\"Why, are you a doctor, prince, or what?\" he asked, as naturally as\npossible. \"I declare you quite frightened me! Nastasia Philipovna, let\nme introduce this interesting character to you--though I have only known\nhim myself since the morning.\"\n\nNastasia gazed at the prince in bewilderment. \"Prince? He a Prince? Why,\nI took him for the footman, just now, and sent him in to announce me!\nHa, ha, ha, isn't that good!\"\n\n\"Not bad that, not bad at all!\" put in Ferdishenko, \"_se non è vero_--\"\n\n\"I rather think I pitched into you, too, didn't I? Forgive me--do! Who\nis he, did you say? What prince? Muishkin?\" she added, addressing Gania.\n\n\"He is a lodger of ours,\" explained the latter.\n\n\"An idiot!\"--the prince distinctly heard the word half whispered from\nbehind him. This was Ferdishenko's voluntary information for Nastasia's\nbenefit.\n\n\"Tell me, why didn't you put me right when I made such a dreadful\nmistake just now?\" continued the latter, examining the prince from head\nto foot without the slightest ceremony. She awaited the answer as though\nconvinced that it would be so foolish that she must inevitably fail to\nrestrain her laughter over it.\n\n\"I was astonished, seeing you so suddenly--\" murmured the prince.\n\n\"How did you know who I was? Where had you seen me before? And why were\nyou so struck dumb at the sight of me? What was there so overwhelming\nabout me?\"\n\n\"Oho! ho, ho, ho!\" cried Ferdishenko. \"_Now_ then, prince! My word,\nwhat things I would say if I had such a chance as that! My goodness,\nprince--go on!\"\n\n\"So should I, in your place, I've no doubt!\" laughed the prince to\nFerdishenko; then continued, addressing Nastasia: \"Your portrait struck\nme very forcibly this morning; then I was talking about you to the\nEpanchins; and then, in the train, before I reached Petersburg, Parfen\nRogojin told me a good deal about you; and at the very moment that I\nopened the door to you I happened to be thinking of you, when--there you\nstood before me!\"\n\n\"And how did you recognize me?\"\n\n\"From the portrait!\"\n\n\"What else?\"\n\n\"I seemed to imagine you exactly as you are--I seemed to have seen you\nsomewhere.\"\n\n\"Where--where?\"\n\n\"I seem to have seen your eyes somewhere; but it cannot be! I have not\nseen you--I never was here before. I may have dreamed of you, I don't\nknow.\"\n\nThe prince said all this with manifest effort--in broken sentences, and\nwith many drawings of breath. He was evidently much agitated. Nastasia\nPhilipovna looked at him inquisitively, but did not laugh.\n\n\"Bravo, prince!\" cried Ferdishenko, delighted.\n\nAt this moment a loud voice from behind the group which hedged in the\nprince and Nastasia Philipovna, divided the crowd, as it were, and\nbefore them stood the head of the family, General Ivolgin. He was\ndressed in evening clothes; his moustache was dyed.\n\nThis apparition was too much for Gania. Vain and ambitious almost to\nmorbidness, he had had much to put up with in the last two months, and\nwas seeking feverishly for some means of enabling himself to lead a more\npresentable kind of existence. At home, he now adopted an attitude\nof absolute cynicism, but he could not keep this up before Nastasia\nPhilipovna, although he had sworn to make her pay after marriage for all\nhe suffered now. He was experiencing a last humiliation, the bitterest\nof all, at this moment--the humiliation of blushing for his own kindred\nin his own house. A question flashed through his mind as to whether the\ngame was really worth the candle.\n\nFor that had happened at this moment, which for two months had been his\nnightmare; which had filled his soul with dread and shame--the meeting\nbetween his father and Nastasia Philipovna. He had often tried to\nimagine such an event, but had found the picture too mortifying and\nexasperating, and had quietly dropped it. Very likely he anticipated\nfar worse things than was at all necessary; it is often so with vain\npersons. He had long since determined, therefore, to get his father\nout of the way, anywhere, before his marriage, in order to avoid such\na meeting; but when Nastasia entered the room just now, he had been so\noverwhelmed with astonishment, that he had not thought of his father,\nand had made no arrangements to keep him out of the way. And now it was\ntoo late--there he was, and got up, too, in a dress coat and white tie,\nand Nastasia in the very humour to heap ridicule on him and his family\ncircle; of this last fact, he felt quite persuaded. What else had she\ncome for? There were his mother and his sister sitting before her, and\nshe seemed to have forgotten their very existence already; and if she\nbehaved like that, he thought, she must have some object in view.\n\nFerdishenko led the general up to Nastasia Philipovna.\n\n\"Ardalion Alexandrovitch Ivolgin,\" said the smiling general, with a low\nbow of great dignity, \"an old soldier, unfortunate, and the father\nof this family; but happy in the hope of including in that family so\nexquisite--\"\n\nHe did not finish his sentence, for at this moment Ferdishenko pushed\na chair up from behind, and the general, not very firm on his legs,\nat this post-prandial hour, flopped into it backwards. It was always a\ndifficult thing to put this warrior to confusion, and his sudden\ndescent left him as composed as before. He had sat down just opposite to\nNastasia, whose fingers he now took, and raised to his lips with great\nelegance, and much courtesy. The general had once belonged to a very\nselect circle of society, but he had been turned out of it two or three\nyears since on account of certain weaknesses, in which he now indulged\nwith all the less restraint; but his good manners remained with him to\nthis day, in spite of all.\n\nNastasia Philipovna seemed delighted at the appearance of this latest\narrival, of whom she had of course heard a good deal by report.\n\n\"I have heard that my son--\" began Ardalion Alexandrovitch.\n\n\"Your son, indeed! A nice papa you are! _You_ might have come to see me\nanyhow, without compromising anyone. Do you hide yourself, or does your\nson hide you?\"\n\n\"The children of the nineteenth century, and their parents--\" began the\ngeneral, again.\n\n\"Nastasia Philipovna, will you excuse the general for a moment?\nSomeone is inquiring for him,\" said Nina Alexandrovna in a loud voice,\ninterrupting the conversation.\n\n\"Excuse him? Oh no, I have wished to see him too long for that. Why,\nwhat business can he have? He has retired, hasn't he? You won't leave\nme, general, will you?\"\n\n\"I give you my word that he shall come and see you--but he--he needs\nrest just now.\"\n\n\"General, they say you require rest,\" said Nastasia Philipovna, with the\nmelancholy face of a child whose toy is taken away.\n\nArdalion Alexandrovitch immediately did his best to make his foolish\nposition a great deal worse.\n\n\"My dear, my dear!\" he said, solemnly and reproachfully, looking at his\nwife, with one hand on his heart.\n\n\"Won't you leave the room, mamma?\" asked Varia, aloud.\n\n\"No, Varia, I shall sit it out to the end.\"\n\nNastasia must have overheard both question and reply, but her vivacity\nwas not in the least damped. On the contrary, it seemed to increase. She\nimmediately overwhelmed the general once more with questions, and within\nfive minutes that gentleman was as happy as a king, and holding forth at\nthe top of his voice, amid the laughter of almost all who heard him.\n\nColia jogged the prince's arm.\n\n\"Can't _you_ get him out of the room, somehow? _Do_, please,\" and tears\nof annoyance stood in the boy's eyes. \"Curse that Gania!\" he muttered,\nbetween his teeth.\n\n\"Oh yes, I knew General Epanchin well,\" General Ivolgin was saying at\nthis moment; \"he and Prince Nicolai Ivanovitch Muishkin--whose son I\nhave this day embraced after an absence of twenty years--and I,\nwere three inseparables. Alas one is in the grave, torn to pieces by\ncalumnies and bullets; another is now before you, still battling with\ncalumnies and bullets--\"\n\n\"Bullets?\" cried Nastasia.\n\n\"Yes, here in my chest. I received them at the siege of Kars, and I feel\nthem in bad weather now. And as to the third of our trio, Epanchin, of\ncourse after that little affair with the poodle in the railway carriage,\nit was all _up_ between us.\"\n\n\"Poodle? What was that? And in a railway carriage? Dear me,\" said\nNastasia, thoughtfully, as though trying to recall something to mind.\n\n\"Oh, just a silly, little occurrence, really not worth telling, about\nPrincess Bielokonski's governess, Miss Smith, and--oh, it is really not\nworth telling!\"\n\n\"No, no, we must have it!\" cried Nastasia merrily.\n\n\"Yes, of course,\" said Ferdishenko. \"C'est du nouveau.\"\n\n\"Ardalion,\" said Nina Alexandrovitch, entreatingly.\n\n\"Papa, you are wanted!\" cried Colia.\n\n\"Well, it is a silly little story, in a few words,\" began the delighted\ngeneral. \"A couple of years ago, soon after the new railway was opened,\nI had to go somewhere or other on business. Well, I took a first-class\nticket, sat down, and began to smoke, or rather _continued_ to smoke, for\nI had lighted up before. I was alone in the carriage. Smoking is not\nallowed, but is not prohibited either; it is half allowed--so to speak,\nwinked at. I had the window open.\"\n\n\"Suddenly, just before the whistle, in came two ladies with a little\npoodle, and sat down opposite to me; not bad-looking women; one was in\nlight blue, the other in black silk. The poodle, a beauty with a silver\ncollar, lay on light blue's knee. They looked haughtily about, and\ntalked English together. I took no notice, just went on smoking. I\nobserved that the ladies were getting angry--over my cigar, doubtless.\nOne looked at me through her tortoise-shell eyeglass.\n\n\"I took no notice, because they never said a word. If they didn't like\nthe cigar, why couldn't they say so? Not a word, not a hint! Suddenly,\nand without the very slightest suspicion of warning, 'light blue' seizes\nmy cigar from between my fingers, and, wheugh! out of the window with\nit! Well, on flew the train, and I sat bewildered, and the young woman,\ntall and fair, and rather red in the face, too red, glared at me with\nflashing eyes.\n\n\"I didn't say a word, but with extreme courtesy, I may say with most\nrefined courtesy, I reached my finger and thumb over towards the poodle,\ntook it up delicately by the nape of the neck, and chucked it out of\nthe window, after the cigar. The train went flying on, and the poodle's\nyells were lost in the distance.\"\n\n\"Oh, you naughty man!\" cried Nastasia, laughing and clapping her hands\nlike a child.\n\n\"Bravo!\" said Ferdishenko. Ptitsin laughed too, though he had been very\nsorry to see the general appear. Even Colia laughed and said, \"Bravo!\"\n\n\"And I was right, truly right,\" cried the general, with warmth and\nsolemnity, \"for if cigars are forbidden in railway carriages, poodles\nare much more so.\"\n\n\"Well, and what did the lady do?\" asked Nastasia, impatiently.\n\n\"She--ah, that's where all the mischief of it lies!\" replied Ivolgin,\nfrowning. \"Without a word, as it were, of warning, she slapped me on the\ncheek! An extraordinary woman!\"\n\n\"And you?\"\n\nThe general dropped his eyes, and elevated his brows; shrugged his\nshoulders, tightened his lips, spread his hands, and remained silent. At\nlast he blurted out:\n\n\"I lost my head!\"\n\n\"Did you hit her?\"\n\n\"No, oh no!--there was a great flare-up, but I didn't hit her! I had to\nstruggle a little, purely to defend myself; but the very devil was\nin the business. It turned out that 'light blue' was an Englishwoman,\ngoverness or something, at Princess Bielokonski's, and the other woman\nwas one of the old-maid princesses Bielokonski. Well, everybody knows\nwhat great friends the princess and Mrs. Epanchin are, so there was a\npretty kettle of fish. All the Bielokonskis went into mourning for the\npoodle. Six princesses in tears, and the Englishwoman shrieking!\n\n\"Of course I wrote an apology, and called, but they would not receive\neither me or my apology, and the Epanchins cut me, too!\"\n\n\"But wait,\" said Nastasia. \"How is it that, five or six days since,\nI read exactly the same story in the paper, as happening between a\nFrenchman and an English girl? The cigar was snatched away exactly as\nyou describe, and the poodle was chucked out of the window after it. The\nslapping came off, too, as in your case; and the girl's dress was light\nblue!\"\n\nThe general blushed dreadfully; Colia blushed too; and Ptitsin turned\nhastily away. Ferdishenko was the only one who laughed as gaily as\nbefore. As to Gania, I need not say that he was miserable; he stood dumb\nand wretched and took no notice of anybody.\n\n\"I assure you,\" said the general, \"that exactly the same thing happened\nto myself!\"\n\n\"I remembered there was some quarrel between father and Miss Smith, the\nBielokonski's governess,\" said Colia.\n\n\"How very curious, point for point the same anecdote, and happening at\ndifferent ends of Europe! Even the light blue dress the same,\" continued\nthe pitiless Nastasia. \"I must really send you the paper.\"\n\n\"You must observe,\" insisted the general, \"that my experience was two\nyears earlier.\"\n\n\"Ah! that's it, no doubt!\"\n\nNastasia Philipovna laughed hysterically.\n\n\"Father, will you hear a word from me outside!\" said Gania, his voice\nshaking with agitation, as he seized his father by the shoulder. His\neyes shone with a blaze of hatred.\n\nAt this moment there was a terrific bang at the front door, almost\nenough to break it down. Some most unusual visitor must have arrived.\nColia ran to open.\n\nX.\n\nThe entrance-hall suddenly became full of noise and people. To judge\nfrom the sounds which penetrated to the drawing-room, a number of people\nhad already come in, and the stampede continued. Several voices were\ntalking and shouting at once; others were talking and shouting on the\nstairs outside; it was evidently a most extraordinary visit that was\nabout to take place.\n\nEveryone exchanged startled glances. Gania rushed out towards the\ndining-room, but a number of men had already made their way in, and met\nhim.\n\n\"Ah! here he is, the Judas!\" cried a voice which the prince recognized\nat once. \"How d'ye do, Gania, you old blackguard?\"\n\n\"Yes, that's the man!\" said another voice.\n\nThere was no room for doubt in the prince's mind: one of the voices was\nRogojin's, and the other Lebedeff's.\n\nGania stood at the door like a block and looked on in silence, putting\nno obstacle in the way of their entrance, and ten or a dozen men\nmarched in behind Parfen Rogojin. They were a decidedly mixed-looking\ncollection, and some of them came in in their furs and caps. None of\nthem were quite drunk, but all appeared to be considerably excited.\n\nThey seemed to need each other's support, morally, before they dared\ncome in; not one of them would have entered alone but with the rest each\none was brave enough. Even Rogojin entered rather cautiously at the head\nof his troop; but he was evidently preoccupied. He appeared to be gloomy\nand morose, and had clearly come with some end in view. All the rest\nwere merely chorus, brought in to support the chief character. Besides\nLebedeff there was the dandy Zalesheff, who came in without his coat\nand hat, two or three others followed his example; the rest were\nmore uncouth. They included a couple of young merchants, a man in\na great-coat, a medical student, a little Pole, a small fat man who\nlaughed continuously, and an enormously tall stout one who apparently\nput great faith in the strength of his fists. A couple of \"ladies\" of\nsome sort put their heads in at the front door, but did not dare come\nany farther. Colia promptly banged the door in their faces and locked\nit.\n\n\"Hallo, Gania, you blackguard! You didn't expect Rogojin, eh?\" said the\nlatter, entering the drawing-room, and stopping before Gania.\n\nBut at this moment he saw, seated before him, Nastasia Philipovna.\nHe had not dreamed of meeting her here, evidently, for her appearance\nproduced a marvellous effect upon him. He grew pale, and his lips became\nactually blue.\n\n\"I suppose it is true, then!\" he muttered to himself, and his face took\non an expression of despair. \"So that's the end of it! Now you, sir,\nwill you answer me or not?\" he went on suddenly, gazing at Gania with\nineffable malice. \"Now then, you--\"\n\nHe panted, and could hardly speak for agitation. He advanced into the\nroom mechanically; but perceiving Nina Alexandrovna and Varia he became\nmore or less embarrassed, in spite of his excitement. His followers\nentered after him, and all paused a moment at sight of the ladies. Of\ncourse their modesty was not fated to be long-lived, but for a moment\nthey were abashed. Once let them begin to shout, however, and nothing on\nearth should disconcert them.\n\n\"What, you here too, prince?\" said Rogojin, absently, but a little\nsurprised all the same \"Still in your gaiters, eh?\" He sighed, and\nforgot the prince next moment, and his wild eyes wandered over to\nNastasia again, as though attracted in that direction by some magnetic\nforce.\n\nNastasia looked at the new arrivals with great curiosity. Gania\nrecollected himself at last.\n\n\"Excuse me, sirs,\" he said, loudly, \"but what does all this mean?\"\nHe glared at the advancing crowd generally, but addressed his remarks\nespecially to their captain, Rogojin. \"You are not in a stable,\ngentlemen, though you may think it--my mother and sister are present.\"\n\n\"Yes, I see your mother and sister,\" muttered Rogojin, through his\nteeth; and Lebedeff seemed to feel himself called upon to second the\nstatement.\n\n\"At all events, I must request you to step into the salon,\" said Gania,\nhis rage rising quite out of proportion to his words, \"and then I shall\ninquire--\"\n\n\"What, he doesn't know me!\" said Rogojin, showing his teeth\ndisagreeably. \"He doesn't recognize Rogojin!\" He did not move an inch,\nhowever.\n\n\"I have met you somewhere, I believe, but--\"\n\n\"Met me somewhere, pfu! Why, it's only three months since I lost two\nhundred roubles of my father's money to you, at cards. The old fellow\ndied before he found out. Ptitsin knows all about it. Why, I've only to\npull out a three-rouble note and show it to you, and you'd crawl on your\nhands and knees to the other end of the town for it; that's the sort of\nman you are. Why, I've come now, at this moment, to buy you up! Oh, you\nneedn't think that because I wear these boots I have no money. I have\nlots of money, my beauty,--enough to buy up you and all yours together.\nSo I shall, if I like to! I'll buy you up! I will!\" he yelled,\napparently growing more and more intoxicated and excited. \"Oh, Nastasia\nPhilipovna! don't turn me out! Say one word, do! Are you going to marry\nthis man, or not?\"\n\nRogojin asked his question like a lost soul appealing to some divinity,\nwith the reckless daring of one appointed to die, who has nothing to\nlose.\n\nHe awaited the reply in deadly anxiety.\n\nNastasia Philipovna gazed at him with a haughty, ironical expression of\nface; but when she glanced at Nina Alexandrovna and Varia, and from them\nto Gania, she changed her tone, all of a sudden.\n\n\"Certainly not; what are you thinking of? What could have induced you\nto ask such a question?\" she replied, quietly and seriously, and even,\napparently, with some astonishment.\n\n\"No? No?\" shouted Rogojin, almost out of his mind with joy. \"You are\nnot going to, after all? And they told me--oh, Nastasia Philipovna--they\nsaid you had promised to marry him, _him!_ As if you _could_ do\nit!--him--pooh! I don't mind saying it to everyone--I'd buy him off\nfor a hundred roubles, any day pfu! Give him a thousand, or three if he\nlikes, poor devil, and he'd cut and run the day before his wedding, and\nleave his bride to me! Wouldn't you, Gania, you blackguard? You'd take\nthree thousand, wouldn't you? Here's the money! Look, I've come on\npurpose to pay you off and get your receipt, formally. I said I'd buy\nyou up, and so I will.\"\n\n\"Get out of this, you drunken beast!\" cried Gania, who was red and white\nby turns.\n\nRogojin's troop, who were only waiting for an excuse, set up a howl at\nthis. Lebedeff stepped forward and whispered something in Parfen's ear.\n\n\"You're right, clerk,\" said the latter, \"you're right, tipsy\nspirit--you're right!--Nastasia Philipovna,\" he added, looking at her\nlike some lunatic, harmless generally, but suddenly wound up to a pitch\nof audacity, \"here are eighteen thousand roubles, and--and you shall\nhave more--.\" Here he threw a packet of bank-notes tied up in white\npaper, on the table before her, not daring to say all he wished to say.\n\n\"No--no--no!\" muttered Lebedeff, clutching at his arm. He was clearly\naghast at the largeness of the sum, and thought a far smaller amount\nshould have been tried first.\n\n\"No, you fool--you don't know whom you are dealing with--and it appears\nI am a fool, too!\" said Parfen, trembling beneath the flashing glance\nof Nastasia. \"Oh, curse it all! What a fool I was to listen to you!\" he\nadded, with profound melancholy.\n\nNastasia Philipovna, observing his woe-begone expression, suddenly burst\nout laughing.\n\n\"Eighteen thousand roubles, for me? Why, you declare yourself a fool at\nonce,\" she said, with impudent familiarity, as she rose from the sofa\nand prepared to go. Gania watched the whole scene with a sinking of the\nheart.\n\n\"Forty thousand, then--forty thousand roubles instead of eighteen!\nPtitsin and another have promised to find me forty thousand roubles by\nseven o'clock tonight. Forty thousand roubles--paid down on the nail!\"\n\nThe scene was growing more and more disgraceful; but Nastasia Philipovna\ncontinued to laugh and did not go away. Nina Alexandrovna and Varia had\nboth risen from their places and were waiting, in silent horror, to\nsee what would happen. Varia's eyes were all ablaze with anger; but\nthe scene had a different effect on Nina Alexandrovna. She paled and\ntrembled, and looked more and more like fainting every moment.\n\n\"Very well then, a _hundred_ thousand! a hundred thousand! paid this\nvery day. Ptitsin! find it for me. A good share shall stick to your\nfingers--come!\"\n\n\"You are mad!\" said Ptitsin, coming up quickly and seizing him by the\nhand. \"You're drunk--the police will be sent for if you don't look out.\nThink where you are.\"\n\n\"Yes, he's boasting like a drunkard,\" added Nastasia, as though with the\nsole intention of goading him.\n\n\"I do _not_ boast! You shall have a hundred thousand, this very day.\nPtitsin, get the money, you gay usurer! Take what you like for it, but\nget it by the evening! I'll show that I'm in earnest!\" cried Rogojin,\nworking himself up into a frenzy of excitement.\n\n\"Come, come; what's all this?\" cried General Ivolgin, suddenly and\nangrily, coming close up to Rogojin. The unexpectedness of this sally on\nthe part of the hitherto silent old man caused some laughter among the\nintruders.\n\n\"Halloa! what's this now?\" laughed Rogojin. \"You come along with me, old\nfellow! You shall have as much to drink as you like.\"\n\n\"Oh, it's too horrible!\" cried poor Colia, sobbing with shame and\nannoyance.\n\n\"Surely there must be someone among all of you here who will turn this\nshameless creature out of the room?\" cried Varia, suddenly. She was\nshaking and trembling with rage.\n\n\"That's me, I suppose. I'm the shameless creature!\" cried Nastasia\nPhilipovna, with amused indifference. \"Dear me, and I came--like a fool,\nas I am--to invite them over to my house for the evening! Look how your\nsister treats me, Gavrila Ardalionovitch.\"\n\nFor some moments Gania stood as if stunned or struck by lightning, after\nhis sister's speech. But seeing that Nastasia Philipovna was really\nabout to leave the room this time, he sprang at Varia and seized her by\nthe arm like a madman.\n\n\"What have you done?\" he hissed, glaring at her as though he would like\nto annihilate her on the spot. He was quite beside himself, and could\nhardly articulate his words for rage.\n\n\"What have I done? Where are you dragging me to?\"\n\n\"Do you wish me to beg pardon of this creature because she has come here\nto insult our mother and disgrace the whole household, you low, base\nwretch?\" cried Varia, looking back at her brother with proud defiance.\n\nA few moments passed as they stood there face to face, Gania still\nholding her wrist tightly. Varia struggled once--twice--to get free;\nthen could restrain herself no longer, and spat in his face.\n\n\"There's a girl for you!\" cried Nastasia Philipovna. \"Mr. Ptitsin, I\ncongratulate you on your choice.\"\n\nGania lost his head. Forgetful of everything he aimed a blow at Varia,\nwhich would inevitably have laid her low, but suddenly another hand\ncaught his. Between him and Varia stood the prince.\n\n\"Enough--enough!\" said the latter, with insistence, but all of a tremble\nwith excitement.\n\n\"Are you going to cross my path for ever, damn you!\" cried Gania; and,\nloosening his hold on Varia, he slapped the prince's face with all his\nforce.\n\nExclamations of horror arose on all sides. The prince grew pale as\ndeath; he gazed into Gania's eyes with a strange, wild, reproachful\nlook; his lips trembled and vainly endeavoured to form some words; then\nhis mouth twisted into an incongruous smile.\n\n\"Very well--never mind about me; but I shall not allow you to strike\nher!\" he said, at last, quietly. Then, suddenly, he could bear it no\nlonger, and covering his face with his hands, turned to the wall, and\nmurmured in broken accents:\n\n\"Oh! how ashamed you will be of this afterwards!\"\n\nGania certainly did look dreadfully abashed. Colia rushed up to comfort\nthe prince, and after him crowded Varia, Rogojin and all, even the\ngeneral.\n\n\"It's nothing, it's nothing!\" said the prince, and again he wore the\nsmile which was so inconsistent with the circumstances.\n\n\"Yes, he will be ashamed!\" cried Rogojin. \"You will be properly ashamed\nof yourself for having injured such a--such a sheep\" (he could not find\na better word). \"Prince, my dear fellow, leave this and come away with\nme. I'll show you how Rogojin shows his affection for his friends.\"\n\nNastasia Philipovna was also much impressed, both with Gania's action\nand with the prince's reply.\n\nHer usually thoughtful, pale face, which all this while had been so\nlittle in harmony with the jests and laughter which she had seemed to\nput on for the occasion, was now evidently agitated by new feelings,\nthough she tried to conceal the fact and to look as though she were as\nready as ever for jesting and irony.\n\n\"I really think I must have seen him somewhere!\" she murmured seriously\nenough.\n\n\"Oh, aren't you ashamed of yourself--aren't you ashamed? Are you really\nthe sort of woman you are trying to represent yourself to be? Is\nit possible?\" The prince was now addressing Nastasia, in a tone of\nreproach, which evidently came from his very heart.\n\nNastasia Philipovna looked surprised, and smiled, but evidently\nconcealed something beneath her smile and with some confusion and a\nglance at Gania she left the room.\n\nHowever, she had not reached the outer hall when she turned round,\nwalked quickly up to Nina Alexandrovna, seized her hand and lifted it to\nher lips.\n\n\"He guessed quite right. I am not that sort of woman,\" she whispered\nhurriedly, flushing red all over. Then she turned again and left the\nroom so quickly that no one could imagine what she had come back for.\nAll they saw was that she said something to Nina Alexandrovna in a\nhurried whisper, and seemed to kiss her hand. Varia, however, both saw\nand heard all, and watched Nastasia out of the room with an expression\nof wonder.\n\nGania recollected himself in time to rush after her in order to show her\nout, but she had gone. He followed her to the stairs.\n\n\"Don't come with me,\" she cried, \"_Au revoir_, till the evening--do you\nhear? _Au revoir!_\"\n\nHe returned thoughtful and confused; the riddle lay heavier than ever on\nhis soul. He was troubled about the prince, too, and so bewildered that\nhe did not even observe Rogojin's rowdy band crowd past him and step on\nhis toes, at the door as they went out. They were all talking at once.\nRogojin went ahead of the others, talking to Ptitsin, and apparently\ninsisting vehemently upon something very important.\n\n\"You've lost the game, Gania\" he cried, as he passed the latter.\n\nGania gazed after him uneasily, but said nothing.\n\nXI.\n\nThe prince now left the room and shut himself up in his own chamber.\nColia followed him almost at once, anxious to do what he could to\nconsole him. The poor boy seemed to be already so attached to him that\nhe could hardly leave him.\n\n\"You were quite right to go away!\" he said. \"The row will rage there\nworse than ever now; and it's like this every day with us--and all\nthrough that Nastasia Philipovna.\"\n\n\"You have so many sources of trouble here, Colia,\" said the prince.\n\n\"Yes, indeed, and it is all our own fault. But I have a great friend who\nis much worse off even than we are. Would you like to know him?\"\n\n\"Yes, very much. Is he one of your school-fellows?\"\n\n\"Well, not exactly. I will tell you all about him some day.... What do\nyou think of Nastasia Philipovna? She is beautiful, isn't she? I\nhad never seen her before, though I had a great wish to do so. She\nfascinated me. I could forgive Gania if he were to marry her for love,\nbut for money! Oh dear! that is horrible!\"\n\n\"Yes, your brother does not attract me much.\"\n\n\"I am not surprised at that. After what you... But I do hate that way\nof looking at things! Because some fool, or a rogue pretending to be a\nfool, strikes a man, that man is to be dishonoured for his whole life,\nunless he wipes out the disgrace with blood, or makes his assailant beg\nforgiveness on his knees! I think that so very absurd and tyrannical.\nLermontoff's Bal Masque is based on that idea--a stupid and unnatural\none, in my opinion; but he was hardly more than a child when he wrote\nit.\"\n\n\"I like your sister very much.\"\n\n\"Did you see how she spat in Gania's face! Varia is afraid of no one.\nBut you did not follow her example, and yet I am sure it was not through\ncowardice. Here she comes! Speak of a wolf and you see his tail! I felt\nsure that she would come. She is very generous, though of course she has\nher faults.\"\n\nVaria pounced upon her brother.\n\n\"This is not the place for you,\" said she. \"Go to father. Is he plaguing\nyou, prince?\"\n\n\"Not in the least; on the contrary, he interests me.\"\n\n\"Scolding as usual, Varia! It is the worst thing about her. After all,\nI believe father may have started off with Rogojin. No doubt he is sorry\nnow. Perhaps I had better go and see what he is doing,\" added Colia,\nrunning off.\n\n\"Thank God, I have got mother away, and put her to bed without another\nscene! Gania is worried--and ashamed--not without reason! What a\nspectacle! I have come to thank you once more, prince, and to ask you if\nyou knew Nastasia Philipovna before?\"\n\n\"No, I have never known her.\"\n\n\"Then what did you mean, when you said straight out to her that she was\nnot really 'like that'? You guessed right, I fancy. It is quite possible\nshe was not herself at the moment, though I cannot fathom her meaning.\nEvidently she meant to hurt and insult us. I have heard curious tales\nabout her before now, but if she came to invite us to her house, why\ndid she behave so to my mother? Ptitsin knows her very well; he says he\ncould not understand her today. With Rogojin, too! No one with a spark\nof self-respect could have talked like that in the house of her...\nMother is extremely vexed on your account, too...\n\n\"That is nothing!\" said the prince, waving his hand.\n\n\"But how meek she was when you spoke to her!\"\n\n\"Meek! What do you mean?\"\n\n\"You told her it was a shame for her to behave so, and her manner\nchanged at once; she was like another person. You have some influence\nover her, prince,\" added Varia, smiling a little.\n\nThe door opened at this point, and in came Gania most unexpectedly.\n\nHe was not in the least disconcerted to see Varia there, but he stood a\nmoment at the door, and then approached the prince quietly.\n\n\"Prince,\" he said, with feeling, \"I was a blackguard. Forgive me!\" His\nface gave evidence of suffering. The prince was considerably amazed,\nand did not reply at once. \"Oh, come, forgive me, forgive me!\" Gania\ninsisted, rather impatiently. \"If you like, I'll kiss your hand. There!\"\n\nThe prince was touched; he took Gania's hands, and embraced him\nheartily, while each kissed the other.\n\n\"I never, never thought you were like that,\" said Muishkin, drawing a\ndeep breath. \"I thought you--you weren't capable of--\"\n\n\"Of what? Apologizing, eh? And where on earth did I get the idea\nthat you were an idiot? You always observe what other people pass by\nunnoticed; one could talk sense to you, but--\"\n\n\"Here is another to whom you should apologize,\" said the prince,\npointing to Varia.\n\n\"No, no! they are all enemies! I've tried them often enough, believe\nme,\" and Gania turned his back on Varia with these words.\n\n\"But if I beg you to make it up?\" said Varia.\n\n\"And you'll go to Nastasia Philipovna's this evening--\"\n\n\"If you insist: but, judge for yourself, can I go, ought I to go?\"\n\n\"But she is not that sort of woman, I tell you!\" said Gania, angrily.\n\"She was only acting.\"\n\n\"I know that--I know that; but what a part to play! And think what she\nmust take _you_ for, Gania! I know she kissed mother's hand, and all that,\nbut she laughed at you, all the same. All this is not good enough\nfor seventy-five thousand roubles, my dear boy. You are capable of\nhonourable feelings still, and that's why I am talking to you so. Oh! _do_\ntake care what you are doing! Don't you know yourself that it will end\nbadly, Gania?\"\n\nSo saying, and in a state of violent agitation, Varia left the room.\n\n\"There, they are all like that,\" said Gania, laughing, \"just as if I do\nnot know all about it much better than they do.\"\n\nHe sat down with these words, evidently intending to prolong his visit.\n\n\"If you know it so well,\" said the prince a little timidly, \"why do you\nchoose all this worry for the sake of the seventy-five thousand, which,\nyou confess, does not cover it?\"\n\n\"I didn't mean that,\" said Gania; \"but while we are upon the subject,\nlet me hear your opinion. Is all this worry worth seventy-five thousand\nor not?\n\n\"Certainly not.\"\n\n\"Of course! And it would be a disgrace to marry so, eh?\"\n\n\"A great disgrace.\"\n\n\"Oh, well, then you may know that I shall certainly do it, now. I shall\ncertainly marry her. I was not quite sure of myself before, but now I\nam. Don't say a word: I know what you want to tell me--\"\n\n\"No. I was only going to say that what surprises me most of all is your\nextraordinary confidence.\"\n\n\"How so? What in?\"\n\n\"That Nastasia Philipovna will accept you, and that the question is as\ngood as settled; and secondly, that even if she did, you would be able\nto pocket the money. Of course, I know very little about it, but that's\nmy view. When a man marries for money it often happens that the wife\nkeeps the money in her own hands.\"\n\n\"Of course, you don't know all; but, I assure you, you needn't be\nafraid, it won't be like that in our case. There are circumstances,\"\nsaid Gania, rather excitedly. \"And as to her answer to me, there's no\ndoubt about that. Why should you suppose she will refuse me?\"\n\n\"Oh, I only judge by what I see. Varvara Ardalionovna said just now--\"\n\n\"Oh she--they don't know anything about it! Nastasia was only chaffing\nRogojin. I was alarmed at first, but I have thought better of it now;\nshe was simply laughing at him. She looks on me as a fool because I show\nthat I meant her money, and doesn't realize that there are other men\nwho would deceive her in far worse fashion. I'm not going to pretend\nanything, and you'll see she'll marry me, all right. If she likes to\nlive quietly, so she shall; but if she gives me any of her nonsense, I\nshall leave her at once, but I shall keep the money. I'm not going to\nlook a fool; that's the first thing, not to look a fool.\"\n\n\"But Nastasia Philipovna seems to me to be such a _sensible_ woman, and,\nas such, why should she run blindly into this business? That's what\npuzzles me so,\" said the prince.\n\n\"You don't know all, you see; I tell you there are things--and besides,\nI'm sure that she is persuaded that I love her to distraction, and I\ngive you my word I have a strong suspicion that she loves me, too--in\nher own way, of course. She thinks she will be able to make a sort of\nslave of me all my life; but I shall prepare a little surprise for her.\nI don't know whether I ought to be confidential with you, prince; but,\nI assure you, you are the only decent fellow I have come across. I have\nnot spoken so sincerely as I am doing at this moment for years. There\nare uncommonly few honest people about, prince; there isn't one honester\nthan Ptitsin, he's the best of the lot. Are you laughing? You don't\nknow, perhaps, that blackguards like honest people, and being one myself\nI like you. _Why_ am I a blackguard? Tell me honestly, now. They all call\nme a blackguard because of her, and I have got into the way of thinking\nmyself one. That's what is so bad about the business.\"\n\n\"_I_ for one shall never think you a blackguard again,\" said the prince.\n\"I confess I had a poor opinion of you at first, but I have been so\njoyfully surprised about you just now; it's a good lesson for me. I\nshall never judge again without a thorough trial. I see now that you are\nnot only not a blackguard, but are not even quite spoiled. I see that\nyou are quite an ordinary man, not original in the least degree, but\nrather weak.\"\n\nGania laughed sarcastically, but said nothing. The prince, seeing that\nhe did not quite like the last remark, blushed, and was silent too.\n\n\"Has my father asked you for money?\" asked Gania, suddenly.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Don't give it to him if he does. Fancy, he was a decent, respectable\nman once! He was received in the best society; he was not always the\nliar he is now. Of course, wine is at the bottom of it all; but he is a\ngood deal worse than an innocent liar now. Do you know that he keeps a\nmistress? I can't understand how mother is so long-suffering. Did he\ntell you the story of the siege of Kars? Or perhaps the one about his\ngrey horse that talked? He loves to enlarge on these absurd histories.\"\nAnd Gania burst into a fit of laughter. Suddenly he turned to the prince\nand asked: \"Why are you looking at me like that?\"\n\n\"I am surprised to see you laugh in that way, like a child. You came\nto make friends with me again just now, and you said, 'I will kiss your\nhand, if you like,' just as a child would have said it. And then, all at\nonce you are talking of this mad project--of these seventy-five thousand\nroubles! It all seems so absurd and impossible.\"\n\n\"Well, what conclusion have you reached?\"\n\n\"That you are rushing madly into the undertaking, and that you would\ndo well to think it over again. It is more than possible that Varvara\nArdalionovna is right.\"\n\n\"Ah! now you begin to moralize! I know that I am only a child, very\nwell,\" replied Gania impatiently. \"That is proved by my having this\nconversation with you. It is not for money only, prince, that I am\nrushing into this affair,\" he continued, hardly master of his words,\nso closely had his vanity been touched. \"If I reckoned on that I should\ncertainly be deceived, for I am still too weak in mind and character.\nI am obeying a passion, an impulse perhaps, because I have but one aim,\none that overmasters all else. You imagine that once I am in possession\nof these seventy-five thousand roubles, I shall rush to buy a\ncarriage... No, I shall go on wearing the old overcoat I have worn for\nthree years, and I shall give up my club. I shall follow the example of\nmen who have made their fortunes. When Ptitsin was seventeen he slept\nin the street, he sold pen-knives, and began with a copeck; now he has\nsixty thousand roubles, but to get them, what has he not done? Well,\nI shall be spared such a hard beginning, and shall start with a little\ncapital. In fifteen years people will say, 'Look, that's Ivolgin, the\nking of the Jews!' You say that I have no originality. Now mark this,\nprince--there is nothing so offensive to a man of our time and race\nthan to be told that he is wanting in originality, that he is weak\nin character, has no particular talent, and is, in short, an ordinary\nperson. You have not even done me the honour of looking upon me as a\nrogue. Do you know, I could have knocked you down for that just now! You\nwounded me more cruelly than Epanchin, who thinks me capable of selling\nhim my wife! Observe, it was a perfectly gratuitous idea on his part,\nseeing there has never been any discussion of it between us! This has\nexasperated me, and I am determined to make a fortune! I will do it!\nOnce I am rich, I shall be a genius, an extremely original man. One of\nthe vilest and most hateful things connected with money is that it can\nbuy even talent; and will do so as long as the world lasts. You will say\nthat this is childish--or romantic. Well, that will be all the better\nfor me, but the thing shall be done. I will carry it through. He laughs\nmost, who laughs last. Why does Epanchin insult me? Simply because,\nsocially, I am a nobody. However, enough for the present. Colia has put\nhis nose in to tell us dinner is ready, twice. I'm dining out. I shall\ncome and talk to you now and then; you shall be comfortable enough with\nus. They are sure to make you one of the family. I think you and I\nwill either be great friends or enemies. Look here now, supposing I had\nkissed your hand just now, as I offered to do in all sincerity, should I\nhave hated you for it afterwards?\"\n\n\"Certainly, but not always. You would not have been able to keep it up,\nand would have ended by forgiving me,\" said the prince, after a pause\nfor reflection, and with a pleasant smile.\n\n\"Oho, how careful one has to be with you, prince! Haven't you put a drop\nof poison in that remark now, eh? By the way--ha, ha, ha!--I forgot to\nask, was I right in believing that you were a good deal struck yourself\nwith Nastasia Philipovna.\"\n\n\"Ye-yes.\"\n\n\"Are you in love with her?\"\n\n\"N-no.\"\n\n\"And yet you flush up as red as a rosebud! Come--it's all right. I'm not\ngoing to laugh at you. Do you know she is a very virtuous woman? Believe\nit or not, as you like. You think she and Totski--not a bit of it, not a\nbit of it! Not for ever so long! _Au revoir!_\"\n\nGania left the room in great good humour. The prince stayed behind, and\nmeditated alone for a few minutes. At length, Colia popped his head in\nonce more.\n\n\"I don't want any dinner, thanks, Colia. I had too good a lunch at\nGeneral Epanchin's.\"\n\nColia came into the room and gave the prince a note; it was from the\ngeneral and was carefully sealed up. It was clear from Colia's face how\npainful it was to him to deliver the missive. The prince read it, rose,\nand took his hat.\n\n\"It's only a couple of yards,\" said Colia, blushing.\n\n\"He's sitting there over his bottle--and how they can give him credit,\nI cannot understand. Don't tell mother I brought you the note, prince;\nI have sworn not to do it a thousand times, but I'm always so sorry for\nhim. Don't stand on ceremony, give him some trifle, and let that end\nit.\"\n\n\"Come along, Colia, I want to see your father. I have an idea,\" said the\nprince.\n\nXII.\n\nColia took the prince to a public-house in the Litaynaya, not far off.\nIn one of the side rooms there sat at a table--looking like one of the\nregular guests of the establishment--Ardalion Alexandrovitch, with a\nbottle before him, and a newspaper on his knee. He was waiting for\nthe prince, and no sooner did the latter appear than he began a long\nharangue about something or other; but so far gone was he that the\nprince could hardly understand a word.\n\n\"I have not got a ten-rouble note,\" said the prince; \"but here is a\ntwenty-five. Change it and give me back the fifteen, or I shall be left\nwithout a farthing myself.\"\n\n\"Oh, of course, of course; and you quite understand that I--\"\n\n\"Yes; and I have another request to make, general. Have you ever been at\nNastasia Philipovna's?\"\n\n\"I? I? Do you mean me? Often, my friend, often! I only pretended I\nhad not in order to avoid a painful subject. You saw today, you were a\nwitness, that I did all that a kind, an indulgent father could do. Now\na father of altogether another type shall step into the scene. You shall\nsee; the old soldier shall lay bare this intrigue, or a shameless woman\nwill force her way into a respectable and noble family.\"\n\n\"Yes, quite so. I wished to ask you whether you could show me the way\nto Nastasia Philipovna's tonight. I must go; I have business with her; I\nwas not invited but I was introduced. Anyhow I am ready to trespass the\nlaws of propriety if only I can get in somehow or other.\"\n\n\"My dear young friend, you have hit on my very idea. It was not for this\nrubbish I asked you to come over here\" (he pocketed the money, however,\nat this point), \"it was to invite your alliance in the campaign against\nNastasia Philipovna tonight. How well it sounds, 'General Ivolgin and\nPrince Muishkin.' That'll fetch her, I think, eh? Capital! We'll go at\nnine; there's time yet.\"\n\n\"Where does she live?\"\n\n\"Oh, a long way off, near the Great Theatre, just in the square\nthere--It won't be a large party.\"\n\nThe general sat on and on. He had ordered a fresh bottle when the prince\narrived; this took him an hour to drink, and then he had another, and\nanother, during the consumption of which he told pretty nearly the whole\nstory of his life. The prince was in despair. He felt that though he had\nbut applied to this miserable old drunkard because he saw no other way\nof getting to Nastasia Philipovna's, yet he had been very wrong to put\nthe slightest confidence in such a man.\n\nAt last he rose and declared that he would wait no longer. The general\nrose too, drank the last drops that he could squeeze out of the bottle,\nand staggered into the street.\n\nMuishkin began to despair. He could not imagine how he had been so\nfoolish as to trust this man. He only wanted one thing, and that was to\nget to Nastasia Philipovna's, even at the cost of a certain amount\nof impropriety. But now the scandal threatened to be more than he\nhad bargained for. By this time Ardalion Alexandrovitch was quite\nintoxicated, and he kept his companion listening while he discoursed\neloquently and pathetically on subjects of all kinds, interspersed with\ntorrents of recrimination against the members of his family. He insisted\nthat all his troubles were caused by their bad conduct, and time alone\nwould put an end to them.\n\nAt last they reached the Litaynaya. The thaw increased steadily, a warm,\nunhealthy wind blew through the streets, vehicles splashed through the\nmud, and the iron shoes of horses and mules rang on the paving stones.\nCrowds of melancholy people plodded wearily along the footpaths, with\nhere and there a drunken man among them.\n\n\"Do you see those brightly-lighted windows?\" said the general. \"Many of\nmy old comrades-in-arms live about here, and I, who served longer, and\nsuffered more than any of them, am walking on foot to the house of\na woman of rather questionable reputation! A man, look you, who has\nthirteen bullets on his breast!... You don't believe it? Well, I can\nassure you it was entirely on my account that Pirogoff telegraphed\nto Paris, and left Sebastopol at the greatest risk during the siege.\nNelaton, the Tuileries surgeon, demanded a safe conduct, in the name\nof science, into the besieged city in order to attend my wounds. The\ngovernment knows all about it. 'That's the Ivolgin with thirteen bullets\nin him!' That's how they speak of me.... Do you see that house, prince?\nOne of my old friends lives on the first floor, with his large family.\nIn this and five other houses, three overlooking Nevsky, two in the\nMorskaya, are all that remain of my personal friends. Nina Alexandrovna\ngave them up long ago, but I keep in touch with them still... I may\nsay I find refreshment in this little coterie, in thus meeting my old\nacquaintances and subordinates, who worship me still, in spite of all.\nGeneral Sokolovitch (by the way, I have not called on him lately, or\nseen Anna Fedorovna)... You know, my dear prince, when a person does\nnot receive company himself, he gives up going to other people's houses\ninvoluntarily. And yet... well... you look as if you didn't believe\nme.... Well now, why should I not present the son of my old friend\nand companion to this delightful family--General Ivolgin and Prince\nMuishkin? You will see a lovely girl--what am I saying--a lovely girl?\nNo, indeed, two, three! Ornaments of this city and of society: beauty,\neducation, culture--the woman question--poetry--everything! Added to\nwhich is the fact that each one will have a dot of at least eighty\nthousand roubles. No bad thing, eh?... In a word I absolutely must\nintroduce you to them: it is a duty, an obligation. General Ivolgin and\nPrince Muishkin. Tableau!\"\n\n\"At once? Now? You must have forgotten...\" began the prince.\n\n\"No, I have forgotten nothing. Come! This is the house--up this\nmagnificent staircase. I am surprised not to see the porter, but .... it\nis a holiday... and the man has gone off... Drunken fool! Why have they\nnot got rid of him? Sokolovitch owes all the happiness he has had in\nthe service and in his private life to me, and me alone, but... here we\nare.\"\n\nThe prince followed quietly, making no further objection for fear of\nirritating the old man. At the same time he fervently hoped that General\nSokolovitch and his family would fade away like a mirage in the desert,\nso that the visitors could escape, by merely returning downstairs. But\nto his horror he saw that General Ivolgin was quite familiar with the\nhouse, and really seemed to have friends there. At every step he named\nsome topographical or biographical detail that left nothing to be\ndesired on the score of accuracy. When they arrived at last, on the\nfirst floor, and the general turned to ring the bell to the right,\nthe prince decided to run away, but a curious incident stopped him\nmomentarily.\n\n\"You have made a mistake, general,\" said he. \"The name on the door is\nKoulakoff, and you were going to see General Sokolovitch.\"\n\n\"Koulakoff... Koulakoff means nothing. This is Sokolovitch's flat, and\nI am ringing at his door.... What do I care for Koulakoff?... Here comes\nsomeone to open.\"\n\nIn fact, the door opened directly, and the footman informed the\nvisitors that the family were all away.\n\n\"What a pity! What a pity! It's just my luck!\" repeated Ardalion\nAlexandrovitch over and over again, in regretful tones. \"When your\nmaster and mistress return, my man, tell them that General Ivolgin\nand Prince Muishkin desired to present themselves, and that they were\nextremely sorry, excessively grieved...\"\n\nJust then another person belonging to the household was seen at the\nback of the hall. It was a woman of some forty years, dressed in sombre\ncolours, probably a housekeeper or a governess. Hearing the names she\ncame forward with a look of suspicion on her face.\n\n\"Marie Alexandrovna is not at home,\" said she, staring hard at the\ngeneral. \"She has gone to her mother's, with Alexandra Michailovna.\"\n\n\"Alexandra Michailovna out, too! How disappointing! Would you believe\nit, I am always so unfortunate! May I most respectfully ask you to\npresent my compliments to Alexandra Michailovna, and remind her... tell\nher, that with my whole heart I wish for her what she wished for herself\non Thursday evening, while she was listening to Chopin's Ballade. She\nwill remember. I wish it with all sincerity. General Ivolgin and Prince\nMuishkin!\"\n\nThe woman's face changed; she lost her suspicious expression.\n\n\"I will not fail to deliver your message,\" she replied, and bowed them\nout.\n\nAs they went downstairs the general regretted repeatedly that he had\nfailed to introduce the prince to his friends.\n\n\"You know I am a bit of a poet,\" said he. \"Have you noticed it? The\npoetic soul, you know.\" Then he added suddenly--\"But after all...\nafter all I believe we made a mistake this time! I remember that the\nSokolovitch's live in another house, and what is more, they are just\nnow in Moscow. Yes, I certainly was at fault. However, it is of no\nconsequence.\"\n\n\"Just tell me,\" said the prince in reply, \"may I count still on your\nassistance? Or shall I go on alone to see Nastasia Philipovna?\"\n\n\"Count on my assistance? Go alone? How can you ask me that question,\nwhen it is a matter on which the fate of my family so largely depends?\nYou don't know Ivolgin, my friend. To trust Ivolgin is to trust a rock;\nthat's how the first squadron I commanded spoke of me. 'Depend upon\nIvolgin,' said they all, 'he is as steady as a rock.' But, excuse me,\nI must just call at a house on our way, a house where I have found\nconsolation and help in all my trials for years.\"\n\n\"You are going home?\"\n\n\"No... I wish... to visit Madame Terentieff, the widow of Captain\nTerentieff, my old subordinate and friend. She helps me to keep up my\ncourage, and to bear the trials of my domestic life, and as I have an\nextra burden on my mind today...\"\n\n\"It seems to me,\" interrupted the prince, \"that I was foolish to trouble\nyou just now. However, at present you... Good-bye!\"\n\n\"Indeed, you must not go away like that, young man, you must not!\" cried\nthe general. \"My friend here is a widow, the mother of a family; her\nwords come straight from her heart, and find an echo in mine. A visit\nto her is merely an affair of a few minutes; I am quite at home in her\nhouse. I will have a wash, and dress, and then we can drive to the Grand\nTheatre. Make up your mind to spend the evening with me.... We are\njust there--that's the house... Why, Colia! you here! Well, is Marfa\nBorisovna at home or have you only just come?\"\n\n\"Oh no! I have been here a long while,\" replied Colia, who was at the\nfront door when the general met him. \"I am keeping Hippolyte company.\nHe is worse, and has been in bed all day. I came down to buy some cards.\nMarfa Borisovna expects you. But what a state you are in, father!\" added\nthe boy, noticing his father's unsteady gait. \"Well, let us go in.\"\n\nOn meeting Colia the prince determined to accompany the general, though\nhe made up his mind to stay as short a time as possible. He wanted\nColia, but firmly resolved to leave the general behind. He could not\nforgive himself for being so simple as to imagine that Ivolgin would be\nof any use. The three climbed up the long staircase until they reached\nthe fourth floor where Madame Terentieff lived.\n\n\"You intend to introduce the prince?\" asked Colia, as they went up.\n\n\"Yes, my boy. I wish to present him: General Ivolgin and Prince\nMuishkin! But what's the matter?... what?... How is Marfa Borisovna?\"\n\n\"You know, father, you would have done much better not to come at all!\nShe is ready to eat you up! You have not shown yourself since the day\nbefore yesterday and she is expecting the money. Why did you promise her\nany? You are always the same! Well, now you will have to get out of it\nas best you can.\"\n\nThey stopped before a somewhat low doorway on the fourth floor. Ardalion\nAlexandrovitch, evidently much out of countenance, pushed Muishkin in\nfront.\n\n\"I will wait here,\" he stammered. \"I should like to surprise her. ....\"\n\nColia entered first, and as the door stood open, the mistress of the\nhouse peeped out. The surprise of the general's imagination fell very\nflat, for she at once began to address him in terms of reproach.\n\nMarfa Borisovna was about forty years of age. She wore a\ndressing-jacket, her feet were in slippers, her face painted, and her\nhair was in dozens of small plaits. No sooner did she catch sight of\nArdalion Alexandrovitch than she screamed:\n\n\"There he is, that wicked, mean wretch! I knew it was he! My heart\nmisgave me!\"\n\nThe old man tried to put a good face on the affair.\n\n\"Come, let us go in--it's all right,\" he whispered in the prince's ear.\n\nBut it was more serious than he wished to think. As soon as the visitors\nhad crossed the low dark hall, and entered the narrow reception-room,\nfurnished with half a dozen cane chairs, and two small card-tables,\nMadame Terentieff, in the shrill tones habitual to her, continued her\nstream of invectives.\n\n\"Are you not ashamed? Are you not ashamed? You barbarian! You tyrant!\nYou have robbed me of all I possessed--you have sucked my bones to the\nmarrow. How long shall I be your victim? Shameless, dishonourable man!\"\n\n\"Marfa Borisovna! Marfa Borisovna! Here is... the Prince Muishkin!\nGeneral Ivolgin and Prince Muishkin,\" stammered the disconcerted old\nman.\n\n\"Would you believe,\" said the mistress of the house, suddenly addressing\nthe prince, \"would you believe that that man has not even spared my\norphan children? He has stolen everything I possessed, sold everything,\npawned everything; he has left me nothing--nothing! What am I to do with\nyour IOU's, you cunning, unscrupulous rogue? Answer, devourer! answer,\nheart of stone! How shall I feed my orphans? with what shall I nourish\nthem? And now he has come, he is drunk! He can scarcely stand. How, oh\nhow, have I offended the Almighty, that He should bring this curse upon\nme! Answer, you worthless villain, answer!\"\n\nBut this was too much for the general.\n\n\"Here are twenty-five roubles, Marfa Borisovna... it is all that I\ncan give... and I owe even these to the prince's generosity--my noble\nfriend. I have been cruelly deceived. Such is... life... Now... Excuse\nme, I am very weak,\" he continued, standing in the centre of the\nroom, and bowing to all sides. \"I am faint; excuse me! Lenotchka... a\ncushion... my dear!\"\n\nLenotchka, a little girl of eight, ran to fetch the cushion at once, and\nplaced it on the rickety old sofa. The general meant to have said much\nmore, but as soon as he had stretched himself out, he turned his face to\nthe wall, and slept the sleep of the just.\n\nWith a grave and ceremonious air, Marfa Borisovna motioned the prince to\na chair at one of the card-tables. She seated herself opposite, leaned\nher right cheek on her hand, and sat in silence, her eyes fixed on\nMuishkin, now and again sighing deeply. The three children, two little\ngirls and a boy, Lenotchka being the eldest, came and leant on the\ntable and also stared steadily at him. Presently Colia appeared from the\nadjoining room.\n\n\"I am very glad indeed to have met you here, Colia,\" said the prince.\n\"Can you do something for me? I must see Nastasia Philipovna, and I\nasked Ardalion Alexandrovitch just now to take me to her house, but he\nhas gone to sleep, as you see. Will you show me the way, for I do not\nknow the street? I have the address, though; it is close to the Grand\nTheatre.\"\n\n\"Nastasia Philipovna? She does not live there, and to tell you the truth\nmy father has never been to her house! It is strange that you should\nhave depended on him! She lives near Wladimir Street, at the Five\nCorners, and it is quite close by. Will you go directly? It is just\nhalf-past nine. I will show you the way with pleasure.\"\n\nColia and the prince went off together. Alas! the latter had no money to\npay for a cab, so they were obliged to walk.\n\n\"I should have liked to have taken you to see Hippolyte,\" said Colia.\n\"He is the eldest son of the lady you met just now, and was in the next\nroom. He is ill, and has been in bed all day. But he is rather strange,\nand extremely sensitive, and I thought he might be upset considering\nthe circumstances in which you came... Somehow it touches me less, as\nit concerns my father, while it is _his_ mother. That, of course, makes\na great difference. What is a terrible disgrace to a woman, does not\ndisgrace a man, at least not in the same way. Perhaps public opinion\nis wrong in condemning one sex, and excusing the other. Hippolyte is\nan extremely clever boy, but so prejudiced. He is really a slave to his\nopinions.\"\n\n\"Do you say he is consumptive?\"\n\n\"Yes. It really would be happier for him to die young. If I were in his\nplace I should certainly long for death. He is unhappy about his brother\nand sisters, the children you saw. If it were possible, if we only had a\nlittle money, we should leave our respective families, and live together\nin a little apartment of our own. It is our dream. But, do you know,\nwhen I was talking over your affair with him, he was angry, and said\nthat anyone who did not call out a man who had given him a blow was a\ncoward. He is very irritable to-day, and I left off arguing the matter\nwith him. So Nastasia Philipovna has invited you to go and see her?\"\n\n\"To tell the truth, she has not.\"\n\n\"Then how do you come to be going there?\" cried Colia, so much\nastonished that he stopped short in the middle of the pavement. \"And...\nand are you going to her 'At Home' in that costume?\"\n\n\"I don't know, really, whether I shall be allowed in at all. If she will\nreceive me, so much the better. If not, the matter is ended. As to my\nclothes--what can I do?\"\n\n\"Are you going there for some particular reason, or only as a way of\ngetting into her society, and that of her friends?\"\n\n\"No, I have really an object in going... That is, I am going on business\nit is difficult to explain, but...\"\n\n\"Well, whether you go on business or not is your affair, I do not want\nto know. The only important thing, in my eyes, is that you should not\nbe going there simply for the pleasure of spending your evening in such\ncompany--cocottes, generals, usurers! If that were the case I should\ndespise and laugh at you. There are terribly few honest people here,\nand hardly any whom one can respect, although people put on airs--Varia\nespecially! Have you noticed, prince, how many adventurers there are\nnowadays? Especially here, in our dear Russia. How it has happened I\nnever can understand. There used to be a certain amount of solidity in\nall things, but now what happens? Everything is exposed to the public\ngaze, veils are thrown back, every wound is probed by careless fingers.\nWe are for ever present at an orgy of scandalous revelations. Parents\nblush when they remember their old-fashioned morality. At Moscow lately\na father was heard urging his son to stop at nothing--at nothing, mind\nyou!--to get money! The press seized upon the story, of course, and now\nit is public property. Look at my father, the general! See what he is,\nand yet, I assure you, he is an honest man! Only... he drinks too much,\nand his morals are not all we could desire. Yes, that's true! I pity\nhim, to tell the truth, but I dare not say so, because everybody would\nlaugh at me--but I do pity him! And who are the really clever men, after\nall? Money-grubbers, every one of them, from the first to the last.\nHippolyte finds excuses for money-lending, and says it is a necessity.\nHe talks about the economic movement, and the ebb and flow of capital;\nthe devil knows what he means. It makes me angry to hear him talk so,\nbut he is soured by his troubles. Just imagine-the general keeps his\nmother-but she lends him money! She lends it for a week or ten days\nat very high interest! Isn't it disgusting? And then, you would hardly\nbelieve it, but my mother--Nina Alexandrovna--helps Hippolyte in all\nsorts of ways, sends him money and clothes. She even goes as far as\nhelping the children, through Hippolyte, because their mother cares\nnothing about them, and Varia does the same.\"\n\n\"Well, just now you said there were no honest nor good people about,\nthat there were only money-grubbers--and here they are quite close at\nhand, these honest and good people, your mother and Varia! I think\nthere is a good deal of moral strength in helping people in such\ncircumstances.\"\n\n\"Varia does it from pride, and likes showing off, and giving herself\nairs. As to my mother, I really do admire her--yes, and honour her.\nHippolyte, hardened as he is, feels it. He laughed at first, and thought\nit vulgar of her--but now, he is sometimes quite touched and overcome by\nher kindness. H'm! You call that being strong and good? I will remember\nthat! Gania knows nothing about it. He would say that it was encouraging\nvice.\"\n\n\"Ah, Gania knows nothing about it? It seems there are many things that\nGania does not know,\" exclaimed the prince, as he considered Colia's\nlast words.\n\n\"Do you know, I like you very much indeed, prince? I shall never forget\nabout this afternoon.\"\n\n\"I like you too, Colia.\"\n\n\"Listen to me! You are going to live here, are you not?\" said Colia.\n\"I mean to get something to do directly, and earn money. Then shall we\nthree live together? You, and I, and Hippolyte? We will hire a flat, and\nlet the general come and visit us. What do you say?\"\n\n\"It would be very pleasant,\" returned the prince. \"But we must see. I am\nreally rather worried just now. What! are we there already? Is that the\nhouse? What a long flight of steps! And there's a porter! Well, Colia I\ndon't know what will come of it all.\"\n\nThe prince seemed quite distracted for the moment.\n\n\"You must tell me all about it tomorrow! Don't be afraid. I wish you\nsuccess; we agree so entirely I that can do so, although I do not\nunderstand why you are here. Good-bye!\" cried Colia excitedly. \"Now I\nwill rush back and tell Hippolyte all about our plans and proposals! But\nas to your getting in--don't be in the least afraid. You will see her.\nShe is so original about everything. It's the first floor. The porter\nwill show you.\"\n\nXIII.\n\nThe prince was very nervous as he reached the outer door; but he did his\nbest to encourage himself with the reflection that the worst thing that\ncould happen to him would be that he would not be received, or, perhaps,\nreceived, then laughed at for coming.\n\nBut there was another question, which terrified him considerably,\nand that was: what was he going to do when he _did_ get in? And to this\nquestion he could fashion no satisfactory reply.\n\nIf only he could find an opportunity of coming close up to Nastasia\nPhilipovna and saying to her: \"Don't ruin yourself by marrying this man.\nHe does not love you, he only loves your money. He told me so himself,\nand so did Aglaya Ivanovna, and I have come on purpose to warn you\"--but\neven that did not seem quite a legitimate or practicable thing to do.\nThen, again, there was another delicate question, to which he could not\nfind an answer; dared not, in fact, think of it; but at the very idea\nof which he trembled and blushed. However, in spite of all his fears and\nheart-quakings he went in, and asked for Nastasia Philipovna.\n\nNastasia occupied a medium-sized, but distinctly tasteful, flat,\nbeautifully furnished and arranged. At one period of these five years\nof Petersburg life, Totski had certainly not spared his expenditure upon\nher. He had calculated upon her eventual love, and tried to tempt her\nwith a lavish outlay upon comforts and luxuries, knowing too well how\neasily the heart accustoms itself to comforts, and how difficult it is\nto tear one's self away from luxuries which have become habitual and,\nlittle by little, indispensable.\n\nNastasia did not reject all this, she even loved her comforts and\nluxuries, but, strangely enough, never became, in the least degree,\ndependent upon them, and always gave the impression that she could do\njust as well without them. In fact, she went so far as to inform Totski\non several occasions that such was the case, which the latter gentleman\nconsidered a very unpleasant communication indeed.\n\nBut, of late, Totski had observed many strange and original features\nand characteristics in Nastasia, which he had neither known nor reckoned\nupon in former times, and some of these fascinated him, even now, in\nspite of the fact that all his old calculations with regard to her were\nlong ago cast to the winds.\n\nA maid opened the door for the prince (Nastasia's servants were all\nfemales) and, to his surprise, received his request to announce him to\nher mistress without any astonishment. Neither his dirty boots, nor his\nwide-brimmed hat, nor his sleeveless cloak, nor his evident confusion of\nmanner, produced the least impression upon her. She helped him off with\nhis cloak, and begged him to wait a moment in the ante-room while she\nannounced him.\n\nThe company assembled at Nastasia Philipovna's consisted of none but her\nmost intimate friends, and formed a very small party in comparison with\nher usual gatherings on this anniversary.\n\nIn the first place there were present Totski, and General Epanchin.\nThey were both highly amiable, but both appeared to be labouring under\na half-hidden feeling of anxiety as to the result of Nastasia's\ndeliberations with regard to Gania, which result was to be made public\nthis evening.\n\nThen, of course, there was Gania who was by no means so amiable as\nhis elders, but stood apart, gloomy, and miserable, and silent. He had\ndetermined not to bring Varia with him; but Nastasia had not even asked\nafter her, though no sooner had he arrived than she had reminded him of\nthe episode between himself and the prince. The general, who had heard\nnothing of it before, began to listen with some interest, while Gania,\ndrily, but with perfect candour, went through the whole history,\nincluding the fact of his apology to the prince. He finished by\ndeclaring that the prince was a most extraordinary man, and goodness\nknows why he had been considered an idiot hitherto, for he was very far\nfrom being one.\n\nNastasia listened to all this with great interest; but the conversation\nsoon turned to Rogojin and his visit, and this theme proved of the\ngreatest attraction to both Totski and the general.\n\nPtitsin was able to afford some particulars as to Rogojin's conduct\nsince the afternoon. He declared that he had been busy finding money for\nthe latter ever since, and up to nine o'clock, Rogojin having declared\nthat he must absolutely have a hundred thousand roubles by the evening.\nHe added that Rogojin was drunk, of course; but that he thought the\nmoney would be forthcoming, for the excited and intoxicated rapture of\nthe fellow impelled him to give any interest or premium that was asked\nof him, and there were several others engaged in beating up the money,\nalso.\n\nAll this news was received by the company with somewhat gloomy interest.\nNastasia was silent, and would not say what she thought about it. Gania\nwas equally uncommunicative. The general seemed the most anxious of all,\nand decidedly uneasy. The present of pearls which he had prepared with\nso much joy in the morning had been accepted but coldly, and Nastasia\nhad smiled rather disagreeably as she took it from him. Ferdishenko was\nthe only person present in good spirits.\n\nTotski himself, who had the reputation of being a capital talker, and\nwas usually the life and soul of these entertainments, was as silent\nas any on this occasion, and sat in a state of, for him, most uncommon\nperturbation.\n\nThe rest of the guests (an old tutor or schoolmaster, goodness knows\nwhy invited; a young man, very timid, and shy and silent; a rather\nloud woman of about forty, apparently an actress; and a very pretty,\nwell-dressed German lady who hardly said a word all the evening) not\nonly had no gift for enlivening the proceedings, but hardly knew what to\nsay for themselves when addressed. Under these circumstances the arrival\nof the prince came almost as a godsend.\n\nThe announcement of his name gave rise to some surprise and to some\nsmiles, especially when it became evident, from Nastasia's astonished\nlook, that she had not thought of inviting him. But her astonishment\nonce over, Nastasia showed such satisfaction that all prepared to greet\nthe prince with cordial smiles of welcome.\n\n\"Of course,\" remarked General Epanchin, \"he does this out of pure\ninnocence. It's a little dangerous, perhaps, to encourage this sort of\nfreedom; but it is rather a good thing that he has arrived just at this\nmoment. He may enliven us a little with his originalities.\"\n\n\"Especially as he asked himself,\" said Ferdishenko.\n\n\"What's that got to do with it?\" asked the general, who loathed\nFerdishenko.\n\n\"Why, he must pay toll for his entrance,\" explained the latter.\n\n\"H'm! Prince Muishkin is not Ferdishenko,\" said the general,\nimpatiently. This worthy gentleman could never quite reconcile himself\nto the idea of meeting Ferdishenko in society, and on an equal footing.\n\n\"Oh general, spare Ferdishenko!\" replied the other, smiling. \"I have\nspecial privileges.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by special privileges?\"\n\n\"Once before I had the honour of stating them to the company. I will\nrepeat the explanation to-day for your excellency's benefit. You see,\nexcellency, all the world is witty and clever except myself. I am\nneither. As a kind of compensation I am allowed to tell the truth, for\nit is a well-known fact that only stupid people tell 'the truth.' Added\nto this, I am a spiteful man, just because I am not clever. If I am\noffended or injured I bear it quite patiently until the man injuring\nme meets with some misfortune. Then I remember, and take my revenge. I\nreturn the injury sevenfold, as Ivan Petrovitch Ptitsin says. (Of course\nhe never does so himself.) Excellency, no doubt you recollect Kryloff's\nfable, 'The Lion and the Ass'? Well now, that's you and I. That fable\nwas written precisely for us.\"\n\n\"You seem to be talking nonsense again, Ferdishenko,\" growled the\ngeneral.\n\n\"What is the matter, excellency? I know how to keep my place. When I\nsaid just now that we, you and I, were the lion and the ass of Kryloff's\nfable, of course it is understood that I take the role of the ass. Your\nexcellency is the lion of which the fable remarks:\n\n  'A mighty lion, terror of the woods,\n   Was shorn of his great prowess by old age.'\n\nAnd I, your excellency, am the ass.\"\n\n\"I am of your opinion on that last point,\" said Ivan Fedorovitch, with\nill-concealed irritation.\n\nAll this was no doubt extremely coarse, and moreover it was\npremeditated, but after all Ferdishenko had persuaded everyone to accept\nhim as a buffoon.\n\n\"If I am admitted and tolerated here,\" he had said one day, \"it is\nsimply because I talk in this way. How can anyone possibly receive\nsuch a man as I am? I quite understand. Now, could I, a Ferdishenko,\nbe allowed to sit shoulder to shoulder with a clever man like Afanasy\nIvanovitch? There is one explanation, only one. I am given the position\nbecause it is so entirely inconceivable!\"\n\nBut these vulgarities seemed to please Nastasia Philipovna, although too\noften they were both rude and offensive. Those who wished to go to her\nhouse were forced to put up with Ferdishenko. Possibly the latter was\nnot mistaken in imagining that he was received simply in order to annoy\nTotski, who disliked him extremely. Gania also was often made the butt\nof the jester's sarcasms, who used this method of keeping in Nastasia\nPhilipovna's good graces.\n\n\"The prince will begin by singing us a fashionable ditty,\" remarked\nFerdishenko, and looked at the mistress of the house, to see what she\nwould say.\n\n\"I don't think so, Ferdishenko; please be quiet,\" answered Nastasia\nPhilipovna dryly.\n\n\"A-ah! if he is to be under special patronage, I withdraw my claws.\"\n\nBut Nastasia Philipovna had now risen and advanced to meet the prince.\n\n\"I was so sorry to have forgotten to ask you to come, when I saw you,\"\nshe said, \"and I am delighted to be able to thank you personally now,\nand to express my pleasure at your resolution.\"\n\nSo saying she gazed into his eyes, longing to see whether she could make\nany guess as to the explanation of his motive in coming to her house.\nThe prince would very likely have made some reply to her kind words, but\nhe was so dazzled by her appearance that he could not speak.\n\nNastasia noticed this with satisfaction. She was in full dress this\nevening; and her appearance was certainly calculated to impress all\nbeholders. She took his hand and led him towards her other guests. But\njust before they reached the drawing-room door, the prince stopped her,\nand hurriedly and in great agitation whispered to her:\n\n\"You are altogether perfection; even your pallor and thinness are\nperfect; one could not wish you otherwise. I did so wish to come and see\nyou. I--forgive me, please--\"\n\n\"Don't apologize,\" said Nastasia, laughing; \"you spoil the whole\noriginality of the thing. I think what they say about you must be true,\nthat you are so original.--So you think me perfection, do you?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"H'm! Well, you may be a good reader of riddles but you are wrong\n_there_, at all events. I'll remind you of this, tonight.\"\n\nNastasia introduced the prince to her guests, to most of whom he was\nalready known.\n\nTotski immediately made some amiable remark. All seemed to brighten up at\nonce, and the conversation became general. Nastasia made the prince sit\ndown next to herself.\n\n\"Dear me, there's nothing so very curious about the prince dropping in,\nafter all,\" remarked Ferdishenko.\n\n\"It's quite a clear case,\" said the hitherto silent Gania. \"I have\nwatched the prince almost all day, ever since the moment when he first\nsaw Nastasia Philipovna's portrait, at General Epanchin's. I remember\nthinking at the time what I am now pretty sure of; and what, I may say\nin passing, the prince confessed to myself.\"\n\nGania said all this perfectly seriously, and without the slightest\nappearance of joking; indeed, he seemed strangely gloomy.\n\n\"I did not confess anything to you,\" said the prince, blushing. \"I only\nanswered your question.\"\n\n\"Bravo! That's frank, at any rate!\" shouted Ferdishenko, and there was\ngeneral laughter.\n\n\"Oh prince, prince! I never should have thought it of you;\" said General\nEpanchin. \"And I imagined you a philosopher! Oh, you silent fellows!\"\n\n\"Judging from the fact that the prince blushed at this innocent joke,\nlike a young girl, I should think that he must, as an honourable man,\nharbour the noblest intentions,\" said the old toothless schoolmaster,\nmost unexpectedly; he had not so much as opened his mouth before.\nThis remark provoked general mirth, and the old fellow himself laughed\nloudest of the lot, but ended with a stupendous fit of coughing.\n\nNastasia Philipovna, who loved originality and drollery of all kinds,\nwas apparently very fond of this old man, and rang the bell for more tea\nto stop his coughing. It was now half-past ten o'clock.\n\n\"Gentlemen, wouldn't you like a little champagne now?\" she asked. \"I\nhave it all ready; it will cheer us up--do now--no ceremony!\"\n\nThis invitation to drink, couched, as it was, in such informal terms,\ncame very strangely from Nastasia Philipovna. Her usual entertainments\nwere not quite like this; there was more style about them. However, the\nwine was not refused; each guest took a glass excepting Gania, who drank\nnothing.\n\nIt was extremely difficult to account for Nastasia's strange condition\nof mind, which became more evident each moment, and which none could\navoid noticing.\n\nShe took her glass, and vowed she would empty it three times that\nevening. She was hysterical, and laughed aloud every other minute\nwith no apparent reason--the next moment relapsing into gloom and\nthoughtfulness.\n\nSome of her guests suspected that she must be ill; but concluded at last\nthat she was expecting something, for she continued to look at her watch\nimpatiently and unceasingly; she was most absent and strange.\n\n\"You seem to be a little feverish tonight,\" said the actress.\n\n\"Yes; I feel quite ill. I have been obliged to put on this shawl--I feel\nso cold,\" replied Nastasia. She certainly had grown very pale, and every\nnow and then she tried to suppress a trembling in her limbs.\n\n\"Had we not better allow our hostess to retire?\" asked Totski of the\ngeneral.\n\n\"Not at all, gentlemen, not at all! Your presence is absolutely\nnecessary to me tonight,\" said Nastasia, significantly.\n\nAs most of those present were aware that this evening a certain very\nimportant decision was to be taken, these words of Nastasia Philipovna's\nappeared to be fraught with much hidden interest. The general and Totski\nexchanged looks; Gania fidgeted convulsively in his chair.\n\n\"Let's play at some game!\" suggested the actress.\n\n\"I know a new and most delightful game, added Ferdishenko.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked the actress.\n\n\"Well, when we tried it we were a party of people, like this, for\ninstance; and somebody proposed that each of us, without leaving his\nplace at the table, should relate something about himself. It had to be\nsomething that he really and honestly considered the very worst action\nhe had ever committed in his life. But he was to be honest--that was the\nchief point! He wasn't to be allowed to lie.\"\n\n\"What an extraordinary idea!\" said the general.\n\n\"That's the beauty of it, general!\"\n\n\"It's a funny notion,\" said Totski, \"and yet quite natural--it's only a\nnew way of boasting.\"\n\n\"Perhaps that is just what was so fascinating about it.\"\n\n\"Why, it would be a game to cry over--not to laugh at!\" said the\nactress.\n\n\"Did it succeed?\" asked Nastasia Philipovna. \"Come, let's try it, let's\ntry it; we really are not quite so jolly as we might be--let's try it!\nWe may like it; it's original, at all events!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Ferdishenko; \"it's a good idea--come along--the men begin.\nOf course no one need tell a story if he prefers to be disobliging. We\nmust draw lots! Throw your slips of paper, gentlemen, into this hat, and\nthe prince shall draw for turns. It's a very simple game; all you have\nto do is to tell the story of the worst action of your life. It's as\nsimple as anything. I'll prompt anyone who forgets the rules!\"\n\nNo one liked the idea much. Some smiled, some frowned some objected,\nbut faintly, not wishing to oppose Nastasia's wishes; for this new idea\nseemed to be rather well received by her. She was still in an excited,\nhysterical state, laughing convulsively at nothing and everything. Her\neyes were blazing, and her cheeks showed two bright red spots against\nthe white. The melancholy appearance of some of her guests seemed to add\nto her sarcastic humour, and perhaps the very cynicism and cruelty of\nthe game proposed by Ferdishenko pleased her. At all events she was\nattracted by the idea, and gradually her guests came round to her side;\nthe thing was original, at least, and might turn out to be amusing. \"And\nsupposing it's something that one--one can't speak about before ladies?\"\nasked the timid and silent young man.\n\n\"Why, then of course, you won't say anything about it. As if there\nare not plenty of sins to your score without the need of those!\" said\nFerdishenko.\n\n\"But I really don't know which of my actions is the worst,\" said the\nlively actress.\n\n\"Ladies are exempted if they like.\"\n\n\"And how are you to know that one isn't lying? And if one lies the whole\npoint of the game is lost,\" said Gania.\n\n\"Oh, but think how delightful to hear how one's friends lie! Besides\nyou needn't be afraid, Gania; everybody knows what your worst action is\nwithout the need of any lying on your part. Only think, gentlemen,\"--and\nFerdishenko here grew quite enthusiastic, \"only think with what eyes we\nshall observe one another tomorrow, after our tales have been told!\"\n\n\"But surely this is a joke, Nastasia Philipovna?\" asked Totski. \"You\ndon't really mean us to play this game.\"\n\n\"Whoever is afraid of wolves had better not go into the wood,\" said\nNastasia, smiling.\n\n\"But, pardon me, Mr. Ferdishenko, is it possible to make a game out of\nthis kind of thing?\" persisted Totski, growing more and more uneasy. \"I\nassure you it can't be a success.\"\n\n\"And why not? Why, the last time I simply told straight off about how I\nstole three roubles.\"\n\n\"Perhaps so; but it is hardly possible that you told it so that it\nseemed like truth, or so that you were believed. And, as Gavrila\nArdalionovitch has said, the least suggestion of a falsehood takes all\npoint out of the game. It seems to me that sincerity, on the other hand,\nis only possible if combined with a kind of bad taste that would be\nutterly out of place here.\"\n\n\"How subtle you are, Afanasy Ivanovitch! You astonish me,\" cried\nFerdishenko. \"You will remark, gentleman, that in saying that I\ncould not recount the story of my theft so as to be believed, Afanasy\nIvanovitch has very ingeniously implied that I am not capable of\nthieving--(it would have been bad taste to say so openly); and all the\ntime he is probably firmly convinced, in his own mind, that I am very\nwell capable of it! But now, gentlemen, to business! Put in your slips,\nladies and gentlemen--is yours in, Mr. Totski? So--then we are all\nready; now prince, draw, please.\" The prince silently put his hand into\nthe hat, and drew the names. Ferdishenko was first, then Ptitsin, then\nthe general, Totski next, his own fifth, then Gania, and so on; the\nladies did not draw.\n\n\"Oh, dear! oh, dear!\" cried Ferdishenko. \"I did so hope the prince would\ncome out first, and then the general. Well, gentlemen, I suppose I\nmust set a good example! What vexes me much is that I am such an\ninsignificant creature that it matters nothing to anybody whether I have\ndone bad actions or not! Besides, which am I to choose? It's an _embarras\nde richesse_. Shall I tell how I became a thief on one occasion only, to\nconvince Afanasy Ivanovitch that it is possible to steal without being a\nthief?\"\n\n\"Do go on, Ferdishenko, and don't make unnecessary preface, or you'll\nnever finish,\" said Nastasia Philipovna. All observed how irritable and\ncross she had become since her last burst of laughter; but none the less\nobstinately did she stick to her absurd whim about this new game. Totski\nsat looking miserable enough. The general lingered over his champagne,\nand seemed to be thinking of some story for the time when his turn\nshould come.\n\nXIV.\n\n\"I have no wit, Nastasia Philipovna,\" began Ferdishenko, \"and therefore\nI talk too much, perhaps. Were I as witty, now, as Mr. Totski or the\ngeneral, I should probably have sat silent all the evening, as they\nhave. Now, prince, what do you think?--are there not far more thieves\nthan honest men in this world? Don't you think we may say there does\nnot exist a single person so honest that he has never stolen anything\nwhatever in his life?\"\n\n\"What a silly idea,\" said the actress. \"Of course it is not the case. I\nhave never stolen anything, for one.\"\n\n\"H'm! very well, Daria Alexeyevna; you have not stolen anything--agreed.\nBut how about the prince, now--look how he is blushing!\"\n\n\"I think you are partially right, but you exaggerate,\" said the prince,\nwho had certainly blushed up, of a sudden, for some reason or other.\n\n\"Ferdishenko--either tell us your story, or be quiet, and mind your own\nbusiness. You exhaust all patience,\" cuttingly and irritably remarked\nNastasia Philipovna.\n\n\"Immediately, immediately! As for my story, gentlemen, it is too stupid\nand absurd to tell you.\n\n\"I assure you I am not a thief, and yet I have stolen; I cannot explain\nwhy. It was at Semeon Ivanovitch Ishenka's country house, one Sunday. He\nhad a dinner party. After dinner the men stayed at the table over their\nwine. It struck me to ask the daughter of the house to play something\non the piano; so I passed through the corner room to join the ladies. In\nthat room, on Maria Ivanovna's writing-table, I observed a three-rouble\nnote. She must have taken it out for some purpose, and left it lying\nthere. There was no one about. I took up the note and put it in my\npocket; why, I can't say. I don't know what possessed me to do it, but\nit was done, and I went quickly back to the dining-room and reseated\nmyself at the dinner-table. I sat and waited there in a great state of\nexcitement. I talked hard, and told lots of stories, and laughed like\nmad; then I joined the ladies.\n\n\"In half an hour or so the loss was discovered, and the servants were\nbeing put under examination. Daria, the housemaid was suspected. I\nexhibited the greatest interest and sympathy, and I remember that\npoor Daria quite lost her head, and that I began assuring her, before\neveryone, that I would guarantee her forgiveness on the part of her\nmistress, if she would confess her guilt. They all stared at the girl,\nand I remember a wonderful attraction in the reflection that here was I\nsermonizing away, with the money in my own pocket all the while. I went\nand spent the three roubles that very evening at a restaurant. I went in\nand asked for a bottle of Lafite, and drank it up; I wanted to be rid of\nthe money.\n\n\"I did not feel much remorse either then or afterwards; but I would not\nrepeat the performance--believe it or not as you please. There--that's\nall.\"\n\n\"Only, of course that's not nearly your worst action,\" said the actress,\nwith evident dislike in her face.\n\n\"That was a psychological phenomenon, not an action,\" remarked Totski.\n\n\"And what about the maid?\" asked Nastasia Philipovna, with undisguised\ncontempt.\n\n\"Oh, she was turned out next day, of course. It's a very strict\nhousehold, there!\"\n\n\"And you allowed it?\"\n\n\"I should think so, rather! I was not going to return and confess\nnext day,\" laughed Ferdishenko, who seemed a little surprised at the\ndisagreeable impression which his story had made on all parties.\n\n\"How mean you were!\" said Nastasia.\n\n\"Bah! you wish to hear a man tell of his worst actions, and you expect\nthe story to come out goody-goody! One's worst actions always are mean.\nWe shall see what the general has to say for himself now. All is not\ngold that glitters, you know; and because a man keeps his carriage he\nneed not be specially virtuous, I assure you, all sorts of people keep\ncarriages. And by what means?\"\n\nIn a word, Ferdishenko was very angry and rapidly forgetting himself;\nhis whole face was drawn with passion. Strange as it may appear, he had\nexpected much better success for his story. These little errors of taste\non Ferdishenko's part occurred very frequently. Nastasia trembled with\nrage, and looked fixedly at him, whereupon he relapsed into alarmed\nsilence. He realized that he had gone a little too far.\n\n\"Had we not better end this game?\" asked Totski.\n\n\"It's my turn, but I plead exemption,\" said Ptitsin.\n\n\"You don't care to oblige us?\" asked Nastasia.\n\n\"I cannot, I assure you. I confess I do not understand how anyone can\nplay this game.\"\n\n\"Then, general, it's your turn,\" continued Nastasia Philipovna, \"and if\nyou refuse, the whole game will fall through, which will disappoint me\nvery much, for I was looking forward to relating a certain 'page of my\nown life.' I am only waiting for you and Afanasy Ivanovitch to have your\nturns, for I require the support of your example,\" she added, smiling.\n\n\"Oh, if you put it in that way,\" cried the general, excitedly, \"I'm\nready to tell the whole story of my life, but I must confess that I\nprepared a little story in anticipation of my turn.\"\n\nNastasia smiled amiably at him; but evidently her depression and\nirritability were increasing with every moment. Totski was dreadfully\nalarmed to hear her promise a revelation out of her own life.\n\n\"I, like everyone else,\" began the general, \"have committed certain not\naltogether graceful actions, so to speak, during the course of my life.\nBut the strangest thing of all in my case is, that I should consider the\nlittle anecdote which I am now about to give you as a confession of\nthe worst of my 'bad actions.' It is thirty-five years since it all\nhappened, and yet I cannot to this very day recall the circumstances\nwithout, as it were, a sudden pang at the heart.\n\n\"It was a silly affair--I was an ensign at the time. You know\nensigns--their blood is boiling water, their circumstances generally\npenurious. Well, I had a servant Nikifor who used to do everything for\nme in my quarters, economized and managed for me, and even laid hands on\nanything he could find (belonging to other people), in order to augment\nour household goods; but a faithful, honest fellow all the same.\n\n\"I was strict, but just by nature. At that time we were stationed in\na small town. I was quartered at an old widow's house, a lieutenant's\nwidow of eighty years of age. She lived in a wretched little wooden\nhouse, and had not even a servant, so poor was she.\n\n\"Her relations had all died off--her husband was dead and buried forty\nyears since; and a niece, who had lived with her and bullied her up to\nthree years ago, was dead too; so that she was quite alone.\n\n\"Well, I was precious dull with her, especially as she was so childish\nthat there was nothing to be got out of her. Eventually, she stole a\nfowl of mine; the business is a mystery to this day; but it could have\nbeen no one but herself. I requested to be quartered somewhere else,\nand was shifted to the other end of the town, to the house of a merchant\nwith a large family, and a long beard, as I remember him. Nikifor and I\nwere delighted to go; but the old lady was not pleased at our departure.\n\n\"Well, a day or two afterwards, when I returned from drill, Nikifor\nsays to me: 'We oughtn't to have left our tureen with the old lady, I've\nnothing to serve the soup in.'\n\n\"I asked how it came about that the tureen had been left. Nikifor\nexplained that the old lady refused to give it up, because, she said,\nwe had broken her bowl, and she must have our tureen in place of it; she\nhad declared that I had so arranged the matter with herself.\n\n\"This baseness on her part of course aroused my young blood to fever\nheat; I jumped up, and away I flew.\n\n\"I arrived at the old woman's house beside myself. She was sitting in\na corner all alone, leaning her face on her hand. I fell on her like a\nclap of thunder. 'You old wretch!' I yelled and all that sort of thing,\nin real Russian style. Well, when I began cursing at her, a strange\nthing happened. I looked at her, and she stared back with her eyes\nstarting out of her head, but she did not say a word. She seemed to\nsway about as she sat, and looked and looked at me in the strangest\nway. Well, I soon stopped swearing and looked closer at her, asked her\nquestions, but not a word could I get out of her. The flies were buzzing\nabout the room and only this sound broke the silence; the sun was\nsetting outside; I didn't know what to make of it, so I went away.\n\n\"Before I reached home I was met and summoned to the major's, so that it\nwas some while before I actually got there. When I came in, Nikifor met\nme. 'Have you heard, sir, that our old lady is dead?' '_dead_, when?' 'Oh,\nan hour and a half ago.' That meant nothing more nor less than that she\nwas dying at the moment when I pounced on her and began abusing her.\n\n\"This produced a great effect upon me. I used to dream of the poor old\nwoman at nights. I really am not superstitious, but two days after, I\nwent to her funeral, and as time went on I thought more and more about\nher. I said to myself, 'This woman, this human being, lived to a great\nage. She had children, a husband and family, friends and relations; her\nhousehold was busy and cheerful; she was surrounded by smiling faces;\nand then suddenly they are gone, and she is left alone like a solitary\nfly... like a fly, cursed with the burden of her age. At last, God calls\nher to Himself. At sunset, on a lovely summer's evening, my little old\nwoman passes away--a thought, you will notice, which offers much food\nfor reflection--and behold! instead of tears and prayers to start her\non her last journey, she has insults and jeers from a young ensign, who\nstands before her with his hands in his pockets, making a terrible row\nabout a soup tureen!' Of course I was to blame, and even now that I have\ntime to look back at it calmly, I pity the poor old thing no less.\nI repeat that I wonder at myself, for after all I was not really\nresponsible. Why did she take it into her head to die at that moment?\nBut the more I thought of it, the more I felt the weight of it upon my\nmind; and I never got quite rid of the impression until I put a couple\nof old women into an almshouse and kept them there at my own expense.\nThere, that's all. I repeat I dare say I have committed many a grievous\nsin in my day; but I cannot help always looking back upon this as the\nworst action I have ever perpetrated.\"\n\n\"H'm! and instead of a bad action, your excellency has detailed one of\nyour noblest deeds,\" said Ferdishenko. \"Ferdishenko is 'done.'\"\n\n\"Dear me, general,\" said Nastasia Philipovna, absently, \"I really never\nimagined you had such a good heart.\"\n\nThe general laughed with great satisfaction, and applied himself once\nmore to the champagne.\n\nIt was now Totski's turn, and his story was awaited with great\ncuriosity--while all eyes turned on Nastasia Philipovna, as though\nanticipating that his revelation must be connected somehow with her.\nNastasia, during the whole of his story, pulled at the lace trimming of\nher sleeve, and never once glanced at the speaker. Totski was a handsome\nman, rather stout, with a very polite and dignified manner. He was\nalways well dressed, and his linen was exquisite. He had plump white\nhands, and wore a magnificent diamond ring on one finger.\n\n\"What simplifies the duty before me considerably, in my opinion,\" he\nbegan, \"is that I am bound to recall and relate the very worst action of\nmy life. In such circumstances there can, of course, be no doubt. One's\nconscience very soon informs one what is the proper narrative to tell. I\nadmit, that among the many silly and thoughtless actions of my life, the\nmemory of one comes prominently forward and reminds me that it lay long\nlike a stone on my heart. Some twenty years since, I paid a visit to\nPlaton Ordintzeff at his country-house. He had just been elected marshal\nof the nobility, and had come there with his young wife for the winter\nholidays. Anfisa Alexeyevna's birthday came off just then, too, and\nthere were two balls arranged. At that time Dumas-fils' beautiful work,\n_La Dame aux Camélias_--a novel which I consider imperishable--had just\ncome into fashion. In the provinces all the ladies were in raptures over\nit, those who had read it, at least. Camellias were all the fashion.\nEveryone inquired for them, everybody wanted them; and a grand lot of\ncamellias are to be got in a country town--as you all know--and two\nballs to provide for!\n\n\"Poor Peter Volhofskoi was desperately in love with Anfisa Alexeyevna.\nI don't know whether there was anything--I mean I don't know whether\nhe could possibly have indulged in any hope. The poor fellow was beside\nhimself to get her a bouquet of camellias. Countess Sotski and Sophia\nBespalova, as everyone knew, were coming with white camellia bouquets.\nAnfisa wished for red ones, for effect. Well, her husband Platon was\ndriven desperate to find some. And the day before the ball, Anfisa's\nrival snapped up the only red camellias to be had in the place, from\nunder Platon's nose, and Platon--wretched man--was done for. Now if\nPeter had only been able to step in at this moment with a red bouquet,\nhis little hopes might have made gigantic strides. A woman's gratitude\nunder such circumstances would have been boundless--but it was\npractically an impossibility.\n\n\"The night before the ball I met Peter, looking radiant. 'What is it?'\nI ask. 'I've found them, Eureka!' 'No! where, where?' 'At Ekshaisk (a\nlittle town fifteen miles off) there's a rich old merchant, who keeps\na lot of canaries, has no children, and he and his wife are devoted to\nflowers. He's got some camellias.' 'And what if he won't let you have\nthem?' 'I'll go on my knees and implore till I get them. I won't go\naway.' 'When shall you start?' 'Tomorrow morning at five o'clock.' 'Go\non,' I said, 'and good luck to you.'\n\n\"I was glad for the poor fellow, and went home. But an idea got hold of\nme somehow. I don't know how. It was nearly two in the morning. I rang\nthe bell and ordered the coachman to be waked up and sent to me. He\ncame. I gave him a tip of fifteen roubles, and told him to get the\ncarriage ready at once. In half an hour it was at the door. I got in and\noff we went.\n\n\"By five I drew up at the Ekshaisky inn. I waited there till dawn, and\nsoon after six I was off, and at the old merchant Trepalaf's.\n\n\"'Camellias!' I said, 'father, save me, save me, let me have some\ncamellias!' He was a tall, grey old man--a terrible-looking old\ngentleman. 'Not a bit of it,' he says. 'I won't.' Down I went on my\nknees. 'Don't say so, don't--think what you're doing!' I cried; 'it's a\nmatter of life and death!' 'If that's the case, take them,' says he.\nSo up I get, and cut such a bouquet of red camellias! He had a whole\ngreenhouse full of them--lovely ones. The old fellow sighs. I pull out a\nhundred roubles. 'No, no!' says he, 'don't insult me that way.' 'Oh, if\nthat's the case, give it to the village hospital,' I say. 'Ah,' he says,\n'that's quite a different matter; that's good of you and generous. I'll\npay it in there for you with pleasure.' I liked that old fellow, Russian\nto the core, _de la vraie souche_. I went home in raptures, but took\nanother road in order to avoid Peter. Immediately on arriving I sent up\nthe bouquet for Anfisa to see when she awoke.\n\n\"You may imagine her ecstasy, her gratitude. The wretched Platon, who\nhad almost died since yesterday of the reproaches showered upon him,\nwept on my shoulder. Of course poor Peter had no chance after this.\n\n\"I thought he would cut my throat at first, and went about armed ready\nto meet him. But he took it differently; he fainted, and had brain fever\nand convulsions. A month after, when he had hardly recovered, he went\noff to the Crimea, and there he was shot.\n\n\"I assure you this business left me no peace for many a long year. Why\ndid I do it? I was not in love with her myself; I'm afraid it was simply\nmischief--pure 'cussedness' on my part.\n\n\"If I hadn't seized that bouquet from under his nose he might have been\nalive now, and a happy man. He might have been successful in life, and\nnever have gone to fight the Turks.\"\n\nTotski ended his tale with the same dignity that had characterized its\ncommencement.\n\nNastasia Philipovna's eyes were flashing in a most unmistakable way,\nnow; and her lips were all a-quiver by the time Totski finished his\nstory.\n\nAll present watched both of them with curiosity.\n\n\"You were right, Totski,\" said Nastasia, \"it is a dull game and a stupid\none. I'll just tell my story, as I promised, and then we'll play cards.\"\n\n\"Yes, but let's have the story first!\" cried the general.\n\n\"Prince,\" said Nastasia Philipovna, unexpectedly turning to Muishkin,\n\"here are my old friends, Totski and General Epanchin, who wish to marry\nme off. Tell me what you think. Shall I marry or not? As you decide, so\nshall it be.\"\n\nTotski grew white as a sheet. The general was struck dumb. All present\nstarted and listened intently. Gania sat rooted to his chair.\n\n\"Marry whom?\" asked the prince, faintly.\n\n\"Gavrila Ardalionovitch Ivolgin,\" said Nastasia, firmly and evenly.\n\nThere were a few seconds of dead silence.\n\nThe prince tried to speak, but could not form his words; a great weight\nseemed to lie upon his breast and suffocate him.\n\n\"N-no! don't marry him!\" he whispered at last, drawing his breath with\nan effort.\n\n\"So be it, then. Gavrila Ardalionovitch,\" she spoke solemnly and\nforcibly, \"you hear the prince's decision? Take it as my decision; and\nlet that be the end of the matter for good and all.\"\n\n\"Nastasia Philipovna!\" cried Totski, in a quaking voice.\n\n\"Nastasia Philipovna!\" said the general, in persuasive but agitated\ntones.\n\nEveryone in the room fidgeted in their places, and waited to see what\nwas coming next.\n\n\"Well, gentlemen!\" she continued, gazing around in apparent\nastonishment; \"what do you all look so alarmed about? Why are you so\nupset?\"\n\n\"But--recollect, Nastasia Philipovna.\" stammered Totski, \"you gave a\npromise, quite a free one, and--and you might have spared us this. I am\nconfused and bewildered, I know; but, in a word, at such a moment, and\nbefore company, and all so-so-irregular, finishing off a game with a\nserious matter like this, a matter of honour, and of heart, and--\"\n\n\"I don't follow you, Afanasy Ivanovitch; you are losing your head. In\nthe first place, what do you mean by 'before company'? Isn't the company\ngood enough for you? And what's all that about 'a game'? I wished to\ntell my little story, and I told it! Don't you like it? You heard what\nI said to the prince? 'As you decide, so it shall be!' If he had said\n'yes,' I should have given my consent! But he said 'no,' so I refused.\nHere was my whole life hanging on his one word! Surely I was serious\nenough?\"\n\n\"The prince! What on earth has the prince got to do with it? Who the\ndeuce is the prince?\" cried the general, who could conceal his wrath no\nlonger.\n\n\"The prince has this to do with it--that I see in him for the first\ntime in all my life, a man endowed with real truthfulness of spirit, and\nI trust him. He trusted me at first sight, and I trust him!\"\n\n\"It only remains for me, then, to thank Nastasia Philipovna for the\ngreat delicacy with which she has treated me,\" said Gania, as pale as\ndeath, and with quivering lips. \"That is my plain duty, of course; but\nthe prince--what has he to do in the matter?\"\n\n\"I see what you are driving at,\" said Nastasia Philipovna. \"You imply\nthat the prince is after the seventy-five thousand roubles--I quite\nunderstand you. Mr. Totski, I forgot to say, 'Take your seventy-five\nthousand roubles'--I don't want them. I let you go free for nothing--take\nyour freedom! You must need it. Nine years and three months' captivity\nis enough for anybody. Tomorrow I shall start afresh--today I am a free\nagent for the first time in my life.\n\n\"General, you must take your pearls back, too--give them to your\nwife--here they are! Tomorrow I shall leave this flat altogether, and\nthen there'll be no more of these pleasant little social gatherings,\nladies and gentlemen.\"\n\nSo saying, she scornfully rose from her seat as though to depart.\n\n\"Nastasia Philipovna! Nastasia Philipovna!\"\n\nThe words burst involuntarily from every mouth. All present started up\nin bewildered excitement; all surrounded her; all had listened uneasily\nto her wild, disconnected sentences. All felt that something had\nhappened, something had gone very far wrong indeed, but no one could\nmake head or tail of the matter.\n\nAt this moment there was a furious ring at the bell, and a great knock\nat the door--exactly similar to the one which had startled the company\nat Gania's house in the afternoon.\n\n\"Ah, ah! here's the climax at last, at half-past twelve!\" cried Nastasia\nPhilipovna. \"Sit down, gentlemen, I beg you. Something is about to\nhappen.\"\n\nSo saying, she reseated herself; a strange smile played on her lips. She\nsat quite still, but watched the door in a fever of impatience.\n\n\"Rogojin and his hundred thousand roubles, no doubt of it,\" muttered\nPtitsin to himself.\n\nXV.\n\nKatia, the maid-servant, made her appearance, terribly frightened.\n\n\"Goodness knows what it means, ma'am,\" she said. \"There is a whole\ncollection of men come--all tipsy--and want to see you. They say that\n'it's Rogojin, and she knows all about it.'\"\n\n\"It's all right, Katia, let them all in at once.\"\n\n\"Surely not _all_, ma'am? They seem so disorderly--it's dreadful to see\nthem.\"\n\n\"Yes _all_, Katia, all--every one of them. Let them in, or they'll come\nin whether you like or no. Listen! what a noise they are making! Perhaps\nyou are offended, gentlemen, that I should receive such guests in your\npresence? I am very sorry, and ask your forgiveness, but it cannot be\nhelped--and I should be very grateful if you could all stay and witness\nthis climax. However, just as you please, of course.\"\n\nThe guests exchanged glances; they were annoyed and bewildered by the\nepisode; but it was clear enough that all this had been pre-arranged and\nexpected by Nastasia Philipovna, and that there was no use in trying to\nstop her now--for she was little short of insane.\n\nBesides, they were naturally inquisitive to see what was to happen.\nThere was nobody who would be likely to feel much alarm. There were\nbut two ladies present; one of whom was the lively actress, who was not\neasily frightened, and the other the silent German beauty who, it turned\nout, did not understand a word of Russian, and seemed to be as stupid as\nshe was lovely.\n\nHer acquaintances invited her to their \"At Homes\" because she was so\ndecorative. She was exhibited to their guests like a valuable picture,\nor vase, or statue, or firescreen. As for the men, Ptitsin was one of\nRogojin's friends; Ferdishenko was as much at home as a fish in the sea,\nGania, not yet recovered from his amazement, appeared to be chained to\na pillory. The old professor did not in the least understand what was\nhappening; but when he noticed how extremely agitated the mistress of\nthe house, and her friends, seemed, he nearly wept, and trembled with\nfright: but he would rather have died than leave Nastasia Philipovna at\nsuch a crisis, for he loved her as if she were his own granddaughter.\nAfanasy Ivanovitch greatly disliked having anything to do with the\naffair, but he was too much interested to leave, in spite of the mad\nturn things had taken; and a few words that had dropped from the lips\nof Nastasia puzzled him so much, that he felt he could not go without\nan explanation. He resolved therefore, to see it out, and to adopt the\nattitude of silent spectator, as most suited to his dignity. General\nEpanchin alone determined to depart. He was annoyed at the manner in\nwhich his gift had been returned, as though he had condescended, under\nthe influence of passion, to place himself on a level with Ptitsin and\nFerdishenko, his self-respect and sense of duty now returned together\nwith a consciousness of what was due to his social rank and official\nimportance. In short, he plainly showed his conviction that a man in his\nposition could have nothing to do with Rogojin and his companions. But\nNastasia interrupted him at his first words.\n\n\"Ah, general!\" she cried, \"I was forgetting! If I had only foreseen\nthis unpleasantness! I won't insist on keeping you against your will,\nalthough I should have liked you to be beside me now. In any case, I am\nmost grateful to you for your visit, and flattering attention... but if\nyou are afraid...\"\n\n\"Excuse me, Nastasia Philipovna,\" interrupted the general, with\nchivalric generosity. \"To whom are you speaking? I have remained until\nnow simply because of my devotion to you, and as for danger, I am only\nafraid that the carpets may be ruined, and the furniture smashed!... You\nshould shut the door on the lot, in my opinion. But I confess that I am\nextremely curious to see how it ends.\"\n\n\"Rogojin!\" announced Ferdishenko.\n\n\"What do you think about it?\" said the general in a low voice to Totski.\n\"Is she mad? I mean mad in the medical sense of the word .... eh?\"\n\n\"I've always said she was predisposed to it,\" whispered Afanasy\nIvanovitch slyly. \"Perhaps it is a fever!\"\n\nSince their visit to Gania's home, Rogojin's followers had been\nincreased by two new recruits--a dissolute old man, the hero of some\nancient scandal, and a retired sub-lieutenant. A laughable story was\ntold of the former. He possessed, it was said, a set of false teeth, and\none day when he wanted money for a drinking orgy, he pawned them, and\nwas never able to reclaim them! The officer appeared to be a rival of\nthe gentleman who was so proud of his fists. He was known to none of\nRogojin's followers, but as they passed by the Nevsky, where he stood\nbegging, he had joined their ranks. His claim for the charity he desired\nseemed based on the fact that in the days of his prosperity he had given\naway as much as fifteen roubles at a time. The rivals seemed more than\na little jealous of one another. The athlete appeared injured at the\nadmission of the \"beggar\" into the company. By nature taciturn, he now\nmerely growled occasionally like a bear, and glared contemptuously\nupon the \"beggar,\" who, being somewhat of a man of the world, and a\ndiplomatist, tried to insinuate himself into the bear's good graces.\nHe was a much smaller man than the athlete, and doubtless was conscious\nthat he must tread warily. Gently and without argument he alluded to\nthe advantages of the English style in boxing, and showed himself a\nfirm believer in Western institutions. The athlete's lips curled\ndisdainfully, and without honouring his adversary with a formal denial,\nhe exhibited, as if by accident, that peculiarly Russian object--an\nenormous fist, clenched, muscular, and covered with red hairs! The sight\nof this pre-eminently national attribute was enough to convince anybody,\nwithout words, that it was a serious matter for those who should happen\nto come into contact with it.\n\nNone of the band were very drunk, for the leader had kept his intended\nvisit to Nastasia in view all day, and had done his best to prevent\nhis followers from drinking too much. He was sober himself, but the\nexcitement of this chaotic day--the strangest day of his life--had\naffected him so that he was in a dazed, wild condition, which almost\nresembled drunkenness.\n\nHe had kept but one idea before him all day, and for that he had worked\nin an agony of anxiety and a fever of suspense. His lieutenants had\nworked so hard from five o'clock until eleven, that they actually had\ncollected a hundred thousand roubles for him, but at such terrific\nexpense, that the rate of interest was only mentioned among them in\nwhispers and with bated breath.\n\nAs before, Rogojin walked in advance of his troop, who followed him with\nmingled self-assertion and timidity. They were specially frightened of\nNastasia Philipovna herself, for some reason.\n\nMany of them expected to be thrown downstairs at once, without further\nceremony, the elegant and irresistible Zaleshoff among them. But\nthe party led by the athlete, without openly showing their hostile\nintentions, silently nursed contempt and even hatred for Nastasia\nPhilipovna, and marched into her house as they would have marched into\nan enemy's fortress. Arrived there, the luxury of the rooms seemed to\ninspire them with a kind of respect, not unmixed with alarm. So many\nthings were entirely new to their experience--the choice furniture, the\npictures, the great statue of Venus. They followed their chief into the\nsalon, however, with a kind of impudent curiosity. There, the sight of\nGeneral Epanchin among the guests, caused many of them to beat a hasty\nretreat into the adjoining room, the \"boxer\" and \"beggar\" being among\nthe first to go. A few only, of whom Lebedeff made one, stood their\nground; he had contrived to walk side by side with Rogojin, for he quite\nunderstood the importance of a man who had a fortune of a million odd\nroubles, and who at this moment carried a hundred thousand in his hand.\nIt may be added that the whole company, not excepting Lebedeff, had the\nvaguest idea of the extent of their powers, and of how far they could\nsafely go. At some moments Lebedeff was sure that right was on their\nside; at others he tried uneasily to remember various cheering and\nreassuring articles of the Civil Code.\n\nRogojin, when he stepped into the room, and his eyes fell upon Nastasia,\nstopped short, grew white as a sheet, and stood staring; it was clear\nthat his heart was beating painfully. So he stood, gazing intently, but\ntimidly, for a few seconds. Suddenly, as though bereft of his senses, he\nmoved forward, staggering helplessly, towards the table. On his way he\ncollided against Ptitsin's chair, and put his dirty foot on the lace\nskirt of the silent lady's dress; but he neither apologized for this,\nnor even noticed it.\n\nOn reaching the table, he placed upon it a strange-looking object, which\nhe had carried with him into the drawing-room. This was a paper packet,\nsome six or seven inches thick, and eight or nine in length, wrapped in\nan old newspaper, and tied round three or four times with string.\n\nHaving placed this before her, he stood with drooped arms and head, as\nthough awaiting his sentence.\n\nHis costume was the same as it had been in the morning, except for a new\nsilk handkerchief round his neck, bright green and red, fastened with a\nhuge diamond pin, and an enormous diamond ring on his dirty forefinger.\n\nLebedeff stood two or three paces behind his chief; and the rest of the\nband waited about near the door.\n\nThe two maid-servants were both peeping in, frightened and amazed at\nthis unusual and disorderly scene.\n\n\"What is that?\" asked Nastasia Philipovna, gazing intently at Rogojin,\nand indicating the paper packet.\n\n\"A hundred thousand,\" replied the latter, almost in a whisper.\n\n\"Oh! so he kept his word--there's a man for you! Well, sit down,\nplease--take that chair. I shall have something to say to you presently.\nWho are all these with you? The same party? Let them come in and sit\ndown. There's room on that sofa, there are some chairs and there's\nanother sofa! Well, why don't they sit down?\"\n\nSure enough, some of the brave fellows entirely lost their heads at this\npoint, and retreated into the next room. Others, however, took the hint\nand sat down, as far as they could from the table, however; feeling\nbraver in proportion to their distance from Nastasia.\n\nRogojin took the chair offered him, but he did not sit long; he soon\nstood up again, and did not reseat himself. Little by little he began\nto look around him and discern the other guests. Seeing Gania, he smiled\nvenomously and muttered to himself, \"Look at that!\"\n\nHe gazed at Totski and the general with no apparent confusion, and with\nvery little curiosity. But when he observed that the prince was seated\nbeside Nastasia Philipovna, he could not take his eyes off him for\na long while, and was clearly amazed. He could not account for the\nprince's presence there. It was not in the least surprising that Rogojin\nshould be, at this time, in a more or less delirious condition; for not\nto speak of the excitements of the day, he had spent the night before in\nthe train, and had not slept more than a wink for forty-eight hours.\n\n\"This, gentlemen, is a hundred thousand roubles,\" said Nastasia\nPhilipovna, addressing the company in general, \"here, in this dirty\nparcel. This afternoon Rogojin yelled, like a madman, that he would\nbring me a hundred thousand in the evening, and I have been waiting for\nhim all the while. He was bargaining for me, you know; first he offered\nme eighteen thousand; then he rose to forty, and then to a hundred\nthousand. And he has kept his word, see! My goodness, how white he is!\nAll this happened this afternoon, at Gania's. I had gone to pay his\nmother a visit--my future family, you know! And his sister said to my\nvery face, surely somebody will turn this shameless creature out. After\nwhich she spat in her brother Gania's face--a girl of character, that!\"\n\n\"Nastasia Philipovna!\" began the general, reproachfully. He was\nbeginning to put his own interpretation on the affair.\n\n\"Well, what, general? Not quite good form, eh? Oh, nonsense! Here have\nI been sitting in my box at the French theatre for the last five years\nlike a statue of inaccessible virtue, and kept out of the way of all\nadmirers, like a silly little idiot! Now, there's this man, who comes\nand pays down his hundred thousand on the table, before you all, in\nspite of my five years of innocence and proud virtue, and I dare be\nsworn he has his sledge outside waiting to carry me off. He values me\nat a hundred thousand! I see you are still angry with me, Gania!\nWhy, surely you never really wished to take _me_ into your family? _me_,\nRogojin's mistress! What did the prince say just now?\"\n\n\"I never said you were Rogojin's mistress--you are _not!_\" said the\nprince, in trembling accents.\n\n\"Nastasia Philipovna, dear soul!\" cried the actress, impatiently, \"do\nbe calm, dear! If it annoys you so--all this--do go away and rest! Of\ncourse you would never go with this wretched fellow, in spite of his\nhundred thousand roubles! Take his money and kick him out of the house;\nthat's the way to treat him and the likes of him! Upon my word, if it\nwere my business, I'd soon clear them all out!\"\n\nThe actress was a kind-hearted woman, and highly impressionable. She was\nvery angry now.\n\n\"Don't be cross, Daria Alexeyevna!\" laughed Nastasia. \"I was not angry\nwhen I spoke; I wasn't reproaching Gania. I don't know how it was that I\never could have indulged the whim of entering an honest family like his.\nI saw his mother--and kissed her hand, too. I came and stirred up all\nthat fuss, Gania, this afternoon, on purpose to see how much you could\nswallow--you surprised me, my friend--you did, indeed. Surely you could\nnot marry a woman who accepts pearls like those you knew the general was\ngoing to give me, on the very eve of her marriage? And Rogojin! Why, in\nyour own house and before your own brother and sister, he bargained with\nme! Yet you could come here and expect to be betrothed to me before you\nleft the house! You almost brought your sister, too. Surely what Rogojin\nsaid about you is not really true: that you would crawl all the way to\nthe other end of the town, on hands and knees, for three roubles?\"\n\n\"Yes, he would!\" said Rogojin, quietly, but with an air of absolute\nconviction.\n\n\"H'm! and he receives a good salary, I'm told. Well, what should you get\nbut disgrace and misery if you took a wife you hated into your family\n(for I know very well that you do hate me)? No, no! I believe now that a\nman like you would murder anyone for money--sharpen a razor and come\nup behind his best friend and cut his throat like a sheep--I've read\nof such people. Everyone seems money-mad nowadays. No, no! I may be\nshameless, but you are far worse. I don't say a word about that other--\"\n\n\"Nastasia Philipovna, is this really you? You, once so refined and\ndelicate of speech. Oh, what a tongue! What dreadful things you are\nsaying,\" cried the general, wringing his hands in real grief.\n\n\"I am intoxicated, general. I am having a day out, you know--it's my\nbirthday! I have long looked forward to this happy occasion. Daria\nAlexeyevna, you see that nosegay-man, that Monsieur aux Camelias,\nsitting there laughing at us?\"\n\n\"I am not laughing, Nastasia Philipovna; I am only listening with all my\nattention,\" said Totski, with dignity.\n\n\"Well, why have I worried him, for five years, and never let him go\nfree? Is he worth it? He is only just what he ought to be--nothing\nparticular. He thinks I am to blame, too. He gave me my education, kept\nme like a countess. Money--my word! What a lot of money he spent over\nme! And he tried to find me an honest husband first, and then this\nGania, here. And what do you think? All these five years I did not\nlive with him, and yet I took his money, and considered I was quite\njustified.\n\n\"You say, take the hundred thousand and kick that man out. It is true,\nit is an abominable business, as you say. I might have married long ago,\nnot Gania--Oh, no!--but that would have been abominable too.\n\n\"Would you believe it, I had some thoughts of marrying Totski, four\nyears ago! I meant mischief, I confess--but I could have had him, I give\nyou my word; he asked me himself. But I thought, no! it's not worthwhile\nto take such advantage of him. No! I had better go on to the streets, or\naccept Rogojin, or become a washerwoman or something--for I have nothing\nof my own, you know. I shall go away and leave everything behind, to\nthe last rag--he shall have it all back. And who would take me without\nanything? Ask Gania, there, whether he would. Why, even Ferdishenko\nwouldn't have me!\"\n\n\"No, Ferdishenko would not; he is a candid fellow, Nastasia Philipovna,\"\nsaid that worthy. \"But the prince would. You sit here making complaints,\nbut just look at the prince. I've been observing him for a long while.\"\n\nNastasia Philipovna looked keenly round at the prince.\n\n\"Is that true?\" she asked.\n\n\"Quite true,\" whispered the prince.\n\n\"You'll take me as I am, with nothing?\"\n\n\"I will, Nastasia Philipovna.\"\n\n\"Here's a pretty business!\" cried the general. \"However, it might have\nbeen expected of him.\"\n\nThe prince continued to regard Nastasia with a sorrowful, but intent and\npiercing, gaze.\n\n\"Here's another alternative for me,\" said Nastasia, turning once more to\nthe actress; \"and he does it out of pure kindness of heart. I know him.\nI've found a benefactor. Perhaps, though, what they say about him may be\ntrue--that he's an--we know what. And what shall you live on, if you are\nreally so madly in love with Rogojin's mistress, that you are ready to\nmarry her--eh?\"\n\n\"I take you as a good, honest woman, Nastasia Philipovna--not as\nRogojin's mistress.\"\n\n\"Who? I?--good and honest?\"\n\n\"Yes, you.\"\n\n\"Oh, you get those ideas out of novels, you know. Times are changed\nnow, dear prince; the world sees things as they really are. That's all\nnonsense. Besides, how can you marry? You need a nurse, not a wife.\"\n\nThe prince rose and began to speak in a trembling, timid tone, but with\nthe air of a man absolutely sure of the truth of his words.\n\n\"I know nothing, Nastasia Philipovna. I have seen nothing. You are right\nso far; but I consider that you would be honouring me, and not I you. I\nam a nobody. You have suffered, you have passed through hell and emerged\npure, and that is very much. Why do you shame yourself by desiring to\ngo with Rogojin? You are delirious. You have returned to Mr. Totski his\nseventy-five thousand roubles, and declared that you will leave this\nhouse and all that is in it, which is a line of conduct that not one\nperson here would imitate. Nastasia Philipovna, I love you! I would die\nfor you. I shall never let any man say one word against you, Nastasia\nPhilipovna! and if we are poor, I can work for both.\"\n\nAs the prince spoke these last words a titter was heard from\nFerdishenko; Lebedeff laughed too. The general grunted with irritation;\nPtitsin and Totski barely restrained their smiles. The rest all sat\nlistening, open-mouthed with wonder.\n\n\"But perhaps we shall not be poor; we may be very rich, Nastasia\nPhilipovna,\" continued the prince, in the same timid, quivering tones.\n\"I don't know for certain, and I'm sorry to say I haven't had an\nopportunity of finding out all day; but I received a letter from Moscow,\nwhile I was in Switzerland, from a Mr. Salaskin, and he acquaints me\nwith the fact that I am entitled to a very large inheritance. This\nletter--\"\n\nThe prince pulled a letter out of his pocket.\n\n\"Is he raving?\" said the general. \"Are we really in a mad-house?\"\n\nThere was silence for a moment. Then Ptitsin spoke.\n\n\"I think you said, prince, that your letter was from Salaskin? Salaskin\nis a very eminent man, indeed, in his own world; he is a wonderfully\nclever solicitor, and if he really tells you this, I think you may be\npretty sure that he is right. It so happens, luckily, that I know his\nhandwriting, for I have lately had business with him. If you would allow\nme to see it, I should perhaps be able to tell you.\"\n\nThe prince held out the letter silently, but with a shaking hand.\n\n\"What, what?\" said the general, much agitated.\n\n\"What's all this? Is he really heir to anything?\"\n\nAll present concentrated their attention upon Ptitsin, reading the\nprince's letter. The general curiosity had received a new fillip.\nFerdishenko could not sit still. Rogojin fixed his eyes first on the\nprince, and then on Ptitsin, and then back again; he was extremely\nagitated. Lebedeff could not stand it. He crept up and read over\nPtitsin's shoulder, with the air of a naughty boy who expects a box on\nthe ear every moment for his indiscretion.\n\nXVI.\n\n\"It's good business,\" said Ptitsin, at last, folding the letter and\nhanding it back to the prince. \"You will receive, without the slightest\ntrouble, by the last will and testament of your aunt, a very large sum\nof money indeed.\"\n\n\"Impossible!\" cried the general, starting up as if he had been shot.\n\nPtitsin explained, for the benefit of the company, that the prince's\naunt had died five months since. He had never known her, but she was his\nmother's own sister, the daughter of a Moscow merchant, one Paparchin,\nwho had died a bankrupt. But the elder brother of this same Paparchin,\nhad been an eminent and very rich merchant. A year since it had so\nhappened that his only two sons had both died within the same month.\nThis sad event had so affected the old man that he, too, had died very\nshortly after. He was a widower, and had no relations left, excepting\nthe prince's aunt, a poor woman living on charity, who was herself at\nthe point of death from dropsy; but who had time, before she died,\nto set Salaskin to work to find her nephew, and to make her will\nbequeathing her newly-acquired fortune to him.\n\nIt appeared that neither the prince, nor the doctor with whom he lived\nin Switzerland, had thought of waiting for further communications;\nbut the prince had started straight away with Salaskin's letter in his\npocket.\n\n\"One thing I may tell you, for certain,\" concluded Ptitsin, addressing\nthe prince, \"that there is no question about the authenticity of this\nmatter. Anything that Salaskin writes you as regards your unquestionable\nright to this inheritance, you may look upon as so much money in your\npocket. I congratulate you, prince; you may receive a million and a half\nof roubles, perhaps more; I don't know. All I _do_ know is that Paparchin\nwas a very rich merchant indeed.\"\n\n\"Hurrah!\" cried Lebedeff, in a drunken voice. \"Hurrah for the last of\nthe Muishkins!\"\n\n\"My goodness me! and I gave him twenty-five roubles this morning as\nthough he were a beggar,\" blurted out the general, half senseless with\namazement. \"Well, I congratulate you, I congratulate you!\" And the\ngeneral rose from his seat and solemnly embraced the prince. All came\nforward with congratulations; even those of Rogojin's party who had\nretreated into the next room, now crept softly back to look on. For the\nmoment even Nastasia Philipovna was forgotten.\n\nBut gradually the consciousness crept back into the minds of each one\npresent that the prince had just made her an offer of marriage. The\nsituation had, therefore, become three times as fantastic as before.\n\nTotski sat and shrugged his shoulders, bewildered. He was the only guest\nleft sitting at this time; the others had thronged round the table in\ndisorder, and were all talking at once.\n\nIt was generally agreed, afterwards, in recalling that evening, that\nfrom this moment Nastasia Philipovna seemed entirely to lose her senses.\nShe continued to sit still in her place, looking around at her guests\nwith a strange, bewildered expression, as though she were trying to\ncollect her thoughts, and could not. Then she suddenly turned to the\nprince, and glared at him with frowning brows; but this only lasted one\nmoment. Perhaps it suddenly struck her that all this was a jest, but his\nface seemed to reassure her. She reflected, and smiled again, vaguely.\n\n\"So I am really a princess,\" she whispered to herself, ironically,\nand glancing accidentally at Daria Alexeyevna's face, she burst out\nlaughing.\n\n\"Ha, ha, ha!\" she cried, \"this is an unexpected climax, after all. I\ndidn't expect this. What are you all standing up for, gentlemen? Sit\ndown; congratulate me and the prince! Ferdishenko, just step out and\norder some more champagne, will you? Katia, Pasha,\" she added suddenly,\nseeing the servants at the door, \"come here! I'm going to be married,\ndid you hear? To the prince. He has a million and a half of roubles; he\nis Prince Muishkin, and has asked me to marry him. Here, prince, come\nand sit by me; and here comes the wine. Now then, ladies and gentlemen,\nwhere are your congratulations?\"\n\n\"Hurrah!\" cried a number of voices. A rush was made for the wine by\nRogojin's followers, though, even among them, there seemed some sort of\nrealization that the situation had changed. Rogojin stood and looked on,\nwith an incredulous smile, screwing up one side of his mouth.\n\n\"Prince, my dear fellow, do remember what you are about,\" said the\ngeneral, approaching Muishkin, and pulling him by the coat sleeve.\n\nNastasia Philipovna overheard the remark, and burst out laughing.\n\n\"No, no, general!\" she cried. \"You had better look out! I am the\nprincess now, you know. The prince won't let you insult me. Afanasy\nIvanovitch, why don't you congratulate me? I shall be able to sit at\ntable with your new wife, now. Aha! you see what I gain by marrying\na prince! A million and a half, and a prince, and an idiot into the\nbargain, they say. What better could I wish for? Life is only just about\nto commence for me in earnest. Rogojin, you are a little too late. Away\nwith your paper parcel! I'm going to marry the prince; I'm richer than\nyou are now.\"\n\nBut Rogojin understood how things were tending, at last. An\ninexpressibly painful expression came over his face. He wrung his hands;\na groan made its way up from the depths of his soul.\n\n\"Surrender her, for God's sake!\" he said to the prince.\n\nAll around burst out laughing.\n\n\"What? Surrender her to _you?_\" cried Daria Alexeyevna. \"To a fellow who\ncomes and bargains for a wife like a moujik! The prince wishes to marry\nher, and you--\"\n\n\"So do I, so do I! This moment, if I could! I'd give every farthing I\nhave to do it.\"\n\n\"You drunken moujik,\" said Daria Alexeyevna, once more. \"You ought to be\nkicked out of the place.\"\n\nThe laughter became louder than ever.\n\n\"Do you hear, prince?\" said Nastasia Philipovna. \"Do you hear how this\nmoujik of a fellow goes on bargaining for your bride?\"\n\n\"He is drunk,\" said the prince, quietly, \"and he loves you very much.\"\n\n\"Won't you be ashamed, afterwards, to reflect that your wife very nearly\nran away with Rogojin?\"\n\n\"Oh, you were raving, you were in a fever; you are still half\ndelirious.\"\n\n\"And won't you be ashamed when they tell you, afterwards, that your wife\nlived at Totski's expense so many years?\"\n\n\"No; I shall not be ashamed of that. You did not so live by your own\nwill.\"\n\n\"And you'll never reproach me with it?\"\n\n\"Never.\"\n\n\"Take care, don't commit yourself for a whole lifetime.\"\n\n\"Nastasia Philipovna.\" said the prince, quietly, and with deep emotion,\n\"I said before that I shall esteem your consent to be my wife as a great\nhonour to myself, and shall consider that it is you who will honour\nme, not I you, by our marriage. You laughed at these words, and others\naround us laughed as well; I heard them. Very likely I expressed myself\nfunnily, and I may have looked funny, but, for all that, I believe I\nunderstand where honour lies, and what I said was but the literal truth.\nYou were about to ruin yourself just now, irrevocably; you would\nnever have forgiven yourself for so doing afterwards; and yet, you\nare absolutely blameless. It is impossible that your life should be\naltogether ruined at your age. What matter that Rogojin came bargaining\nhere, and that Gavrila Ardalionovitch would have deceived you if he\ncould? Why do you continually remind us of these facts? I assure you\nonce more that very few could find it in them to act as you have acted\nthis day. As for your wish to go with Rogojin, that was simply the idea\nof a delirious and suffering brain. You are still quite feverish; you\nought to be in bed, not here. You know quite well that if you had gone\nwith Rogojin, you would have become a washer-woman next day, rather than\nstay with him. You are proud, Nastasia Philipovna, and perhaps you have\nreally suffered so much that you imagine yourself to be a desperately\nguilty woman. You require a great deal of petting and looking after,\nNastasia Philipovna, and I will do this. I saw your portrait this\nmorning, and it seemed quite a familiar face to me; it seemed to me that\nthe portrait-face was calling to me for help. I--I shall respect you all\nmy life, Nastasia Philipovna,\" concluded the prince, as though suddenly\nrecollecting himself, and blushing to think of the sort of company\nbefore whom he had said all this.\n\nPtitsin bowed his head and looked at the ground, overcome by a mixture\nof feelings. Totski muttered to himself: \"He may be an idiot, but he\nknows that flattery is the best road to success here.\"\n\nThe prince observed Gania's eyes flashing at him, as though they would\ngladly annihilate him then and there.\n\n\"That's a kind-hearted man, if you like,\" said Daria Alexeyevna, whose\nwrath was quickly evaporating.\n\n\"A refined man, but--lost,\" murmured the general.\n\nTotski took his hat and rose to go. He and the general exchanged\nglances, making a private arrangement, thereby, to leave the house\ntogether.\n\n\"Thank you, prince; no one has ever spoken to me like that before,\"\nbegan Nastasia Philipovna. \"Men have always bargained for me, before\nthis; and not a single respectable man has ever proposed to marry me. Do\nyou hear, Afanasy Ivanovitch? What do _you_ think of what the prince has\njust been saying? It was almost immodest, wasn't it? You, Rogojin, wait\na moment, don't go yet! I see you don't intend to move however. Perhaps\nI may go with you yet. Where did you mean to take me to?\"\n\n\"To Ekaterinhof,\" replied Lebedeff. Rogojin simply stood staring, with\ntrembling lips, not daring to believe his ears. He was stunned, as\nthough from a blow on the head.\n\n\"What are you thinking of, my dear Nastasia?\" said Daria Alexeyevna in\nalarm. \"What are you saying?\" \"You are not going mad, are you?\"\n\nNastasia Philipovna burst out laughing and jumped up from the sofa.\n\n\"You thought I should accept this good child's invitation to ruin\nhim, did you?\" she cried. \"That's Totski's way, not mine. He's fond of\nchildren. Come along, Rogojin, get your money ready! We won't talk about\nmarrying just at this moment, but let's see the money at all events.\nCome! I may not marry you, either. I don't know. I suppose you thought\nyou'd keep the money, if I did! Ha, ha, ha! nonsense! I have no sense of\nshame left. I tell you I have been Totski's concubine. Prince, you\nmust marry Aglaya Ivanovna, not Nastasia Philipovna, or this fellow\nFerdishenko will always be pointing the finger of scorn at you. You\naren't afraid, I know; but I should always be afraid that I had ruined\nyou, and that you would reproach me for it. As for what you say about\nmy doing you honour by marrying you-well, Totski can tell you all about\nthat. You had your eye on Aglaya, Gania, you know you had; and you might\nhave married her if you had not come bargaining. You are all like\nthis. You should choose, once for all, between disreputable women, and\nrespectable ones, or you are sure to get mixed. Look at the general, how\nhe's staring at me!\"\n\n\"This is too horrible,\" said the general, starting to his feet. All were\nstanding up now. Nastasia was absolutely beside herself.\n\n\"I am very proud, in spite of what I am,\" she continued. \"You called me\n'perfection' just now, prince. A nice sort of perfection to throw up a\nprince and a million and a half of roubles in order to be able to boast\nof the fact afterwards! What sort of a wife should I make for you, after\nall I have said? Afanasy Ivanovitch, do you observe I have really and\ntruly thrown away a million of roubles? And you thought that I should\nconsider your wretched seventy-five thousand, with Gania thrown in for a\nhusband, a paradise of bliss! Take your seventy-five thousand back, sir;\nyou did not reach the hundred thousand. Rogojin cut a better dash than\nyou did. I'll console Gania myself; I have an idea about that. But now I\nmust be off! I've been in prison for ten years. I'm free at last! Well,\nRogojin, what are you waiting for? Let's get ready and go.\"\n\n\"Come along!\" shouted Rogojin, beside himself with joy. \"Hey! all of you\nfellows! Wine! Round with it! Fill the glasses!\"\n\n\"Get away!\" he shouted frantically, observing that Daria Alexeyevna\nwas approaching to protest against Nastasia's conduct. \"Get away, she's\nmine, everything's mine! She's a queen, get away!\"\n\nHe was panting with ecstasy. He walked round and round Nastasia\nPhilipovna and told everybody to \"keep their distance.\"\n\nAll the Rogojin company were now collected in the drawing-room; some\nwere drinking, some laughed and talked: all were in the highest and\nwildest spirits. Ferdishenko was doing his best to unite himself to\nthem; the general and Totski again made an attempt to go. Gania, too\nstood hat in hand ready to go; but seemed to be unable to tear his eyes\naway from the scene before him.\n\n\"Get out, keep your distance!\" shouted Rogojin.\n\n\"What are you shouting about there!\" cried Nastasia \"I'm not yours yet.\nI may kick you out for all you know I haven't taken your money yet;\nthere it all is on the table. Here, give me over that packet! Is there a\nhundred thousand roubles in that one packet? Pfu! what abominable stuff\nit looks! Oh! nonsense, Daria Alexeyevna; you surely did not expect me\nto ruin _him?_\" (indicating the prince). \"Fancy him nursing me! Why, he\nneeds a nurse himself! The general, there, will be his nurse now, you'll\nsee. Here, prince, look here! Your bride is accepting money. What a\ndisreputable woman she must be! And you wished to marry her! What are\nyou crying about? Is it a bitter dose? Never mind, you shall laugh yet.\nTrust to time.\" (In spite of these words there were two large tears\nrolling down Nastasia's own cheeks.) \"It's far better to think twice\nof it now than afterwards. Oh! you mustn't cry like that! There's Katia\ncrying, too. What is it, Katia, dear? I shall leave you and Pasha a lot\nof things, I've laid them out for you already; but good-bye, now. I made\nan honest girl like you serve a low woman like myself. It's better so,\nprince, it is indeed. You'd begin to despise me afterwards--we should\nnever be happy. Oh! you needn't swear, prince, I shan't believe you, you\nknow. How foolish it would be, too! No, no; we'd better say good-bye and\npart friends. I am a bit of a dreamer myself, and I used to dream of you\nonce. Very often during those five years down at his estate I used to\ndream and think, and I always imagined just such a good, honest, foolish\nfellow as you, one who should come and say to me: 'You are an innocent\nwoman, Nastasia Philipovna, and I adore you.' I dreamt of you often. I\nused to think so much down there that I nearly went mad; and then this\nfellow here would come down. He would stay a couple of months out of the\ntwelve, and disgrace and insult and deprave me, and then go; so that I\nlonged to drown myself in the pond a thousand times over; but I did not\ndare do it. I hadn't the heart, and now--well, are you ready, Rogojin?\"\n\n\"Ready--keep your distance, all of you!\"\n\n\"We're all ready,\" said several of his friends. \"The troikas [Sledges\ndrawn by three horses abreast.] are at the door, bells and all.\"\n\nNastasia Philipovna seized the packet of bank-notes.\n\n\"Gania, I have an idea. I wish to recompense you--why should you\nlose all? Rogojin, would he crawl for three roubles as far as the\nVassiliostrof?\n\n\"Oh, wouldn't he just!\"\n\n\"Well, look here, Gania. I wish to look into your heart once more, for\nthe last time. You've worried me for the last three months--now it's my\nturn. Do you see this packet? It contains a hundred thousand roubles.\nNow, I'm going to throw it into the fire, here--before all these\nwitnesses. As soon as the fire catches hold of it, you put your hands\ninto the fire and pick it out--without gloves, you know. You must have\nbare hands, and you must turn your sleeves up. Pull it out, I say, and\nit's all yours. You may burn your fingers a little, of course; but then\nit's a hundred thousand roubles, remember--it won't take you long to lay\nhold of it and snatch it out. I shall so much admire you if you put your\nhands into the fire for my money. All here present may be witnesses that\nthe whole packet of money is yours if you get it out. If you don't get\nit out, it shall burn. I will let no one else come; away--get away, all\nof you--it's my money! Rogojin has bought me with it. Is it my money,\nRogojin?\"\n\n\"Yes, my queen; it's your own money, my joy.\"\n\n\"Get away then, all of you. I shall do as I like with my own--don't\nmeddle! Ferdishenko, make up the fire, quick!\"\n\n\"Nastasia Philipovna, I can't; my hands won't obey me,\" said\nFerdishenko, astounded and helpless with bewilderment.\n\n\"Nonsense,\" cried Nastasia Philipovna, seizing the poker and raking a\ncouple of logs together. No sooner did a tongue of flame burst out than\nshe threw the packet of notes upon it.\n\nEveryone gasped; some even crossed themselves.\n\n\"She's mad--she's mad!\" was the cry.\n\n\"Oughtn't-oughtn't we to secure her?\" asked the general of Ptitsin, in\na whisper; \"or shall we send for the authorities? Why, she's mad, isn't\nshe--isn't she, eh?\"\n\n\"N-no, I hardly think she is actually mad,\" whispered Ptitsin, who was\nas white as his handkerchief, and trembling like a leaf. He could not\ntake his eyes off the smouldering packet.\n\n\"She's mad surely, isn't she?\" the general appealed to Totski.\n\n\"I told you she wasn't an ordinary woman,\" replied the latter, who was\nas pale as anyone.\n\n\"Oh, but, positively, you know--a hundred thousand roubles!\"\n\n\"Goodness gracious! good heavens!\" came from all quarters of the room.\n\nAll now crowded round the fire and thronged to see what was going on;\neveryone lamented and gave vent to exclamations of horror and woe. Some\njumped up on chairs in order to get a better view. Daria Alexeyevna\nran into the next room and whispered excitedly to Katia and Pasha. The\nbeautiful German disappeared altogether.\n\n\"My lady! my sovereign!\" lamented Lebedeff, falling on his knees before\nNastasia Philipovna, and stretching out his hands towards the fire;\n\"it's a hundred thousand roubles, it is indeed, I packed it up myself,\nI saw the money! My queen, let me get into the fire after it--say the\nword-I'll put my whole grey head into the fire for it! I have a poor\nlame wife and thirteen children. My father died of starvation last week.\nNastasia Philipovna, Nastasia Philipovna!\" The wretched little man wept,\nand groaned, and crawled towards the fire.\n\n\"Away, out of the way!\" cried Nastasia. \"Make room, all of you! Gania,\nwhat are you standing there for? Don't stand on ceremony. Put in your\nhand! There's your whole happiness smouldering away, look! Quick!\"\n\nBut Gania had borne too much that day, and especially this evening, and\nhe was not prepared for this last, quite unexpected trial.\n\nThe crowd parted on each side of him and he was left face to face with\nNastasia Philipovna, three paces from her. She stood by the fire and\nwaited, with her intent gaze fixed upon him.\n\nGania stood before her, in his evening clothes, holding his white gloves\nand hat in his hand, speechless and motionless, with arms folded and\neyes fixed on the fire.\n\nA silly, meaningless smile played on his white, death-like lips. He\ncould not take his eyes off the smouldering packet; but it appeared that\nsomething new had come to birth in his soul--as though he were vowing to\nhimself that he would bear this trial. He did not move from his place.\nIn a few seconds it became evident to all that he did not intend to\nrescue the money.\n\n\"Hey! look at it, it'll burn in another minute or two!\" cried Nastasia\nPhilipovna. \"You'll hang yourself afterwards, you know, if it does! I'm\nnot joking.\"\n\nThe fire, choked between a couple of smouldering pieces of wood, had\ndied down for the first few moments after the packet was thrown upon it.\nBut a little tongue of fire now began to lick the paper from below,\nand soon, gathering courage, mounted the sides of the parcel, and crept\naround it. In another moment, the whole of it burst into flames, and the\nexclamations of woe and horror were redoubled.\n\n\"Nastasia Philipovna!\" lamented Lebedeff again, straining towards the\nfireplace; but Rogojin dragged him away, and pushed him to the rear once\nmore.\n\nThe whole of Rogojin's being was concentrated in one rapturous gaze of\necstasy. He could not take his eyes off Nastasia. He stood drinking her\nin, as it were. He was in the seventh heaven of delight.\n\n\"Oh, what a queen she is!\" he ejaculated, every other minute, throwing\nout the remark for anyone who liked to catch it. \"That's the sort of\nwoman for me! Which of you would think of doing a thing like that, you\nblackguards, eh?\" he yelled. He was hopelessly and wildly beside himself\nwith ecstasy.\n\nThe prince watched the whole scene, silent and dejected.\n\n\"I'll pull it out with my teeth for one thousand,\" said Ferdishenko.\n\n\"So would I,\" said another, from behind, \"with pleasure. Devil take the\nthing!\" he added, in a tempest of despair, \"it will all be burnt up in a\nminute--It's burning, it's burning!\"\n\n\"It's burning, it's burning!\" cried all, thronging nearer and nearer to\nthe fire in their excitement.\n\n\"Gania, don't be a fool! I tell you for the last time.\"\n\n\"Get on, quick!\" shrieked Ferdishenko, rushing wildly up to Gania, and\ntrying to drag him to the fire by the sleeve of his coat. \"Get it, you\ndummy, it's burning away fast! Oh--_damn_ the thing!\"\n\nGania hurled Ferdishenko from him; then he turned sharp round and made\nfor the door. But he had not gone a couple of steps when he tottered and\nfell to the ground.\n\n\"He's fainted!\" the cry went round.\n\n\"And the money's burning still,\" Lebedeff lamented.\n\n\"Burning for nothing,\" shouted others.\n\n\"Katia-Pasha! Bring him some water!\" cried Nastasia Philipovna. Then she\ntook the tongs and fished out the packet.\n\nNearly the whole of the outer covering was burned away, but it was\nsoon evident that the contents were hardly touched. The packet had been\nwrapped in a threefold covering of newspaper, and the notes were safe.\nAll breathed more freely.\n\n\"Some dirty little thousand or so may be touched,\" said Lebedeff,\nimmensely relieved, \"but there's very little harm done, after all.\"\n\n\"It's all his--the whole packet is for him, do you hear--all of you?\"\ncried Nastasia Philipovna, placing the packet by the side of Gania.\n\"He restrained himself, and didn't go after it; so his self-respect is\ngreater than his thirst for money. All right--he'll come to directly--he\nmust have the packet or he'll cut his throat afterwards. There! He's\ncoming to himself. General, Totski, all of you, did you hear me? The\nmoney is all Gania's. I give it to him, fully conscious of my action, as\nrecompense for--well, for anything he thinks best. Tell him so. Let it\nlie here beside him. Off we go, Rogojin! Goodbye, prince. I have seen\na man for the first time in my life. Goodbye, Afanasy Ivanovitch--and\nthanks!\"\n\nThe Rogojin gang followed their leader and Nastasia Philipovna to the\nentrance-hall, laughing and shouting and whistling.\n\nIn the hall the servants were waiting, and handed her her fur cloak.\nMartha, the cook, ran in from the kitchen. Nastasia kissed them all\nround.\n\n\"Are you really throwing us all over, little mother? Where, where are\nyou going to? And on your birthday, too!\" cried the four girls, crying\nover her and kissing her hands.\n\n\"I am going out into the world, Katia; perhaps I shall be a laundress. I\ndon't know. No more of Afanasy Ivanovitch, anyhow. Give him my respects.\nDon't think badly of me, girls.\"\n\nThe prince hurried down to the front gate where the party were settling\ninto the troikas, all the bells tinkling a merry accompaniment the\nwhile. The general caught him up on the stairs:\n\n\"Prince, prince!\" he cried, seizing hold of his arm, \"recollect\nyourself! Drop her, prince! You see what sort of a woman she is. I am\nspeaking to you like a father.\"\n\nThe prince glanced at him, but said nothing. He shook himself free, and\nrushed on downstairs.\n\nThe general was just in time to see the prince take the first sledge he\ncould get, and, giving the order to Ekaterinhof, start off in pursuit\nof the troikas. Then the general's fine grey horse dragged that worthy\nhome, with some new thoughts, and some new hopes and calculations\ndeveloping in his brain, and with the pearls in his pocket, for he had\nnot forgotten to bring them along with him, being a man of business.\nAmid his new thoughts and ideas there came, once or twice, the image of\nNastasia Philipovna. The general sighed.\n\n\"I'm sorry, really sorry,\" he muttered. \"She's a ruined woman. Mad! mad!\nHowever, the prince is not for Nastasia Philipovna now,--perhaps it's as\nwell.\"\n\nTwo more of Nastasia's guests, who walked a short distance together,\nindulged in high moral sentiments of a similar nature.\n\n\"Do you know, Totski, this is all very like what they say goes on\namong the Japanese?\" said Ptitsin. \"The offended party there, they say,\nmarches off to his insulter and says to him, 'You insulted me, so I have\ncome to rip myself open before your eyes;' and with these words he\ndoes actually rip his stomach open before his enemy, and considers,\ndoubtless, that he is having all possible and necessary satisfaction and\nrevenge. There are strange characters in the world, sir!\"\n\n\"H'm! and you think there was something of this sort here, do you? Dear\nme--a very remarkable comparison, you know! But you must have observed,\nmy dear Ptitsin, that I did all I possibly could. I could do no more\nthan I did. And you must admit that there are some rare qualities in\nthis woman. I felt I could not speak in that Bedlam, or I should have\nbeen tempted to cry out, when she reproached me, that she herself was\nmy best justification. Such a woman could make anyone forget all\nreason--everything! Even that moujik, Rogojin, you saw, brought her\na hundred thousand roubles! Of course, all that happened tonight\nwas ephemeral, fantastic, unseemly--yet it lacked neither colour nor\noriginality. My God! What might not have been made of such a character\ncombined with such beauty! Yet in spite of all efforts--in spite of all\neducation, even--all those gifts are wasted! She is an uncut diamond....\nI have often said so.\"\n\nAnd Afanasy Ivanovitch heaved a deep sigh.\n\n\n\n\nPART II\n\nI.\n\nTwo days after the strange conclusion to Nastasia Philipovna's birthday\nparty, with the record of which we concluded the first part of this\nstory, Prince Muishkin hurriedly left St. Petersburg for Moscow, in\norder to see after some business connected with the receipt of his\nunexpected fortune.\n\nIt was said that there were other reasons for his hurried departure; but\nas to this, and as to his movements in Moscow, and as to his\nprolonged absence from St. Petersburg, we are able to give very little\ninformation.\n\nThe prince was away for six months, and even those who were most\ninterested in his destiny were able to pick up very little news about\nhim all that while. True, certain rumours did reach his friends, but\nthese were both strange and rare, and each one contradicted the last.\n\nOf course the Epanchin family was much interested in his movements,\nthough he had not had time to bid them farewell before his departure.\nThe general, however, had had an opportunity of seeing him once or twice\nsince the eventful evening, and had spoken very seriously with him;\nbut though he had seen the prince, as I say, he told his family nothing\nabout the circumstance. In fact, for a month or so after his departure\nit was considered not the thing to mention the prince's name in the\nEpanchin household. Only Mrs. Epanchin, at the commencement of this\nperiod, had announced that she had been \"cruelly mistaken in the\nprince!\" and a day or two after, she had added, evidently alluding\nto him, but not mentioning his name, that it was an unalterable\ncharacteristic of hers to be mistaken in people. Then once more, ten\ndays later, after some passage of arms with one of her daughters, she\nhad remarked sententiously. \"We have had enough of mistakes. I shall be\nmore careful in future!\" However, it was impossible to avoid remarking\nthat there was some sense of oppression in the household--something\nunspoken, but felt; something strained. All the members of the family\nwore frowning looks. The general was unusually busy; his family hardly\never saw him.\n\nAs to the girls, nothing was said openly, at all events; and probably\nvery little in private. They were proud damsels, and were not always\nperfectly confidential even among themselves. But they understood each\nother thoroughly at the first word on all occasions; very often at the\nfirst glance, so that there was no need of much talking as a rule.\n\nOne fact, at least, would have been perfectly plain to an outsider, had\nany such person been on the spot; and that was, that the prince had made\na very considerable impression upon the family, in spite of the fact\nthat he had but once been inside the house, and then only for a short\ntime. Of course, if analyzed, this impression might have proved to be\nnothing more than a feeling of curiosity; but be it what it might, there\nit undoubtedly was.\n\nLittle by little, the rumours spread about town became lost in a maze of\nuncertainty. It was said that some foolish young prince, name unknown,\nhad suddenly come into possession of a gigantic fortune, and had married\na French ballet dancer. This was contradicted, and the rumour circulated\nthat it was a young merchant who had come into the enormous fortune and\nmarried the great ballet dancer, and that at the wedding the drunken\nyoung fool had burned seventy thousand roubles at a candle out of pure\nbravado.\n\nHowever, all these rumours soon died down, to which circumstance certain\nfacts largely contributed. For instance, the whole of the Rogojin troop\nhad departed, with him at their head, for Moscow. This was exactly a\nweek after a dreadful orgy at the Ekaterinhof gardens, where Nastasia\nPhilipovna had been present. It became known that after this orgy\nNastasia Philipovna had entirely disappeared, and that she had since\nbeen traced to Moscow; so that the exodus of the Rogojin band was found\nconsistent with this report.\n\nThere were rumours current as to Gania, too; but circumstances soon\ncontradicted these. He had fallen seriously ill, and his illness\nprecluded his appearance in society, and even at business, for over a\nmonth. As soon as he had recovered, however, he threw up his situation\nin the public company under General Epanchin's direction, for some\nunknown reason, and the post was given to another. He never went\nnear the Epanchins' house at all, and was exceedingly irritable and\ndepressed.\n\nVarvara Ardalionovna married Ptitsin this winter, and it was said that\nthe fact of Gania's retirement from business was the ultimate cause of\nthe marriage, since Gania was now not only unable to support his family,\nbut even required help himself.\n\nWe may mention that Gania was no longer mentioned in the Epanchin\nhousehold any more than the prince was; but that a certain circumstance\nin connection with the fatal evening at Nastasia's house became known\nto the general, and, in fact, to all the family the very next day. This\nfact was that Gania had come home that night, but had refused to go to\nbed. He had awaited the prince's return from Ekaterinhof with feverish\nimpatience.\n\nOn the latter's arrival, at six in the morning, Gania had gone to him\nin his room, bringing with him the singed packet of money, which he had\ninsisted that the prince should return to Nastasia Philipovna without\ndelay. It was said that when Gania entered the prince's room, he came\nwith anything but friendly feelings, and in a condition of despair and\nmisery; but that after a short conversation, he had stayed on for a\ncouple of hours with him, sobbing continuously and bitterly the whole\ntime. They had parted upon terms of cordial friendship.\n\nThe Epanchins heard about this, as well as about the episode at Nastasia\nPhilipovna's. It was strange, perhaps, that the facts should become so\nquickly, and fairly accurately, known. As far as Gania was concerned,\nit might have been supposed that the news had come through Varvara\nArdalionovna, who had suddenly become a frequent visitor of the Epanchin\ngirls, greatly to their mother's surprise. But though Varvara had seen\nfit, for some reason, to make friends with them, it was not likely\nthat she would have talked to them about her brother. She had plenty of\npride, in spite of the fact that in thus acting she was seeking intimacy\nwith people who had practically shown her brother the door. She and the\nEpanchin girls had been acquainted in childhood, although of late\nthey had met but rarely. Even now Varvara hardly ever appeared in the\ndrawing-room, but would slip in by a back way. Lizabetha Prokofievna,\nwho disliked Varvara, although she had a great respect for her mother,\nwas much annoyed by this sudden intimacy, and put it down to the general\n\"contrariness\" of her daughters, who were \"always on the lookout for\nsome new way of opposing her.\" Nevertheless, Varvara continued her\nvisits.\n\nA month after Muishkin's departure, Mrs. Epanchin received a letter from\nher old friend Princess Bielokonski (who had lately left for Moscow),\nwhich letter put her into the greatest good humour. She did not divulge\nits contents either to her daughters or the general, but her conduct\ntowards the former became affectionate in the extreme. She even made\nsome sort of confession to them, but they were unable to understand what\nit was about. She actually relaxed towards the general a little--he had\nbeen long disgraced--and though she managed to quarrel with them all the\nnext day, yet she soon came round, and from her general behaviour it was\nto be concluded that she had had good news of some sort, which she would\nlike, but could not make up her mind, to disclose.\n\nHowever, a week later she received another letter from the same source,\nand at last resolved to speak.\n\nShe solemnly announced that she had heard from old Princess Bielokonski,\nwho had given her most comforting news about \"that queer young prince.\"\nHer friend had hunted him up, and found that all was going well with\nhim. He had since called in person upon her, making an extremely\nfavourable impression, for the princess had received him each day since,\nand had introduced him into several good houses.\n\nThe girls could see that their mother concealed a great deal from them,\nand left out large pieces of the letter in reading it to them.\n\nHowever, the ice was broken, and it suddenly became possible to mention\nthe prince's name again. And again it became evident how very strong was\nthe impression the young man had made in the household by his one visit\nthere. Mrs. Epanchin was surprised at the effect which the news from\nMoscow had upon the girls, and they were no less surprised that after\nsolemnly remarking that her most striking characteristic was \"being\nmistaken in people\" she should have troubled to obtain for the prince\nthe favour and protection of so powerful an old lady as the Princess\nBielokonski. As soon as the ice was thus broken, the general lost no\ntime in showing that he, too, took the greatest interest in the subject.\nHe admitted that he was interested, but said that it was merely in the\nbusiness side of the question. It appeared that, in the interests of\nthe prince, he had made arrangements in Moscow for a careful watch to be\nkept upon the prince's business affairs, and especially upon Salaskin.\nAll that had been said as to the prince being an undoubted heir to a\nfortune turned out to be perfectly true; but the fortune proved to be\nmuch smaller than was at first reported. The estate was considerably\nencumbered with debts; creditors turned up on all sides, and the prince,\nin spite of all advice and entreaty, insisted upon managing all matters\nof claim himself--which, of course, meant satisfying everybody all\nround, although half the claims were absolutely fraudulent.\n\nMrs. Epanchin confirmed all this. She said the princess had written to\nmuch the same effect, and added that there was no curing a fool. But\nit was plain, from her expression of face, how strongly she approved of\nthis particular young fool's doings. In conclusion, the general observed\nthat his wife took as great an interest in the prince as though he were\nher own son; and that she had commenced to be especially affectionate\ntowards Aglaya was a self-evident fact.\n\nAll this caused the general to look grave and important. But, alas! this\nagreeable state of affairs very soon changed once more.\n\nA couple of weeks went by, and suddenly the general and his wife were\nonce more gloomy and silent, and the ice was as firm as ever. The fact\nwas, the general, who had heard first, how Nastasia Philipovna had fled\nto Moscow and had been discovered there by Rogojin; that she had then\ndisappeared once more, and been found again by Rogojin, and how after\nthat she had almost promised to marry him, now received news that she\nhad once more disappeared, almost on the very day fixed for her wedding,\nflying somewhere into the interior of Russia this time, and that\nPrince Muishkin had left all his affairs in the hands of Salaskin and\ndisappeared also--but whether he was with Nastasia, or had only set off\nin search of her, was unknown.\n\nLizabetha Prokofievna received confirmatory news from the princess--and\nalas, two months after the prince's first departure from St. Petersburg,\ndarkness and mystery once more enveloped his whereabouts and actions,\nand in the Epanchin family the ice of silence once more formed over the\nsubject. Varia, however, informed the girls of what had happened, she\nhaving received the news from Ptitsin, who generally knew more than most\npeople.\n\nTo make an end, we may say that there were many changes in the Epanchin\nhousehold in the spring, so that it was not difficult to forget the\nprince, who sent no news of himself.\n\nThe Epanchin family had at last made up their minds to spend the summer\nabroad, all except the general, who could not waste time in \"travelling\nfor enjoyment,\" of course. This arrangement was brought about by the\npersistence of the girls, who insisted that they were never allowed\nto go abroad because their parents were too anxious to marry them off.\nPerhaps their parents had at last come to the conclusion that husbands\nmight be found abroad, and that a summer's travel might bear fruit. The\nmarriage between Alexandra and Totski had been broken off. Since the\nprince's departure from St. Petersburg no more had been said about it;\nthe subject had been dropped without ceremony, much to the joy of Mrs.\nGeneral, who, announced that she was \"ready to cross herself with both\nhands\" in gratitude for the escape. The general, however, regretted\nTotski for a long while. \"Such a fortune!\" he sighed, \"and such a good,\neasy-going fellow!\"\n\nAfter a time it became known that Totski had married a French marquise,\nand was to be carried off by her to Paris, and then to Brittany.\n\n\"Oh, well,\" thought the general, \"he's lost to us for good, now.\"\n\nSo the Epanchins prepared to depart for the summer.\n\nBut now another circumstance occurred, which changed all the plans once\nmore, and again the intended journey was put off, much to the delight of\nthe general and his spouse.\n\nA certain Prince S---- arrived in St. Petersburg from Moscow, an eminent\nand honourable young man. He was one of those active persons who always\nfind some good work with which to employ themselves. Without forcing\nhimself upon the public notice, modest and unobtrusive, this young\nprince was concerned with much that happened in the world in general.\n\nHe had served, at first, in one of the civil departments, had then\nattended to matters connected with the local government of provincial\ntowns, and had of late been a corresponding member of several important\nscientific societies. He was a man of excellent family and solid means,\nabout thirty-five years of age.\n\nPrince S---- made the acquaintance of the general's family, and\nAdelaida, the second girl, made a great impression upon him. Towards\nthe spring he proposed to her, and she accepted him. The general and his\nwife were delighted. The journey abroad was put off, and the wedding was\nfixed for a day not very distant.\n\nThe trip abroad might have been enjoyed later on by Mrs. Epanchin and\nher two remaining daughters, but for another circumstance.\n\nIt so happened that Prince S---- introduced a distant relation of his\nown into the Epanchin family--one Evgenie Pavlovitch, a young officer\nof about twenty-eight years of age, whose conquests among the ladies in\nMoscow had been proverbial. This young gentleman no sooner set eyes on\nAglaya than he became a frequent visitor at the house. He was witty,\nwell-educated, and extremely wealthy, as the general very soon\ndiscovered. His past reputation was the only thing against him.\n\nNothing was said; there were not even any hints dropped; but still, it\nseemed better to the parents to say nothing more about going abroad\nthis season, at all events. Aglaya herself perhaps was of a different\nopinion.\n\nAll this happened just before the second appearance of our hero upon the\nscene.\n\nBy this time, to judge from appearances, poor Prince Muishkin had been\nquite forgotten in St. Petersburg. If he had appeared suddenly among his\nacquaintances, he would have been received as one from the skies; but we\nmust just glance at one more fact before we conclude this preface.\n\nColia Ivolgin, for some time after the prince's departure, continued his\nold life. That is, he went to school, looked after his father, helped\nVaria in the house, and ran her errands, and went frequently to see his\nfriend, Hippolyte.\n\nThe lodgers had disappeared very quickly--Ferdishenko soon after the\nevents at Nastasia Philipovna's, while the prince went to Moscow, as\nwe know. Gania and his mother went to live with Varia and Ptitsin\nimmediately after the latter's wedding, while the general was housed\nin a debtor's prison by reason of certain IOU's given to the captain's\nwidow under the impression that they would never be formally\nused against him. This unkind action much surprised poor Ardalion\nAlexandrovitch, the victim, as he called himself, of an \"unbounded trust\nin the nobility of the human heart.\"\n\nWhen he signed those notes of hand he never dreamt that they would be a\nsource of future trouble. The event showed that he was mistaken. \"Trust\nin anyone after this! Have the least confidence in man or woman!\" he\ncried in bitter tones, as he sat with his new friends in prison, and\nrecounted to them his favourite stories of the siege of Kars, and the\nresuscitated soldier. On the whole, he accommodated himself very well\nto his new position. Ptitsin and Varia declared that he was in the right\nplace, and Gania was of the same opinion. The only person who deplored\nhis fate was poor Nina Alexandrovna, who wept bitter tears over him,\nto the great surprise of her household, and, though always in feeble\nhealth, made a point of going to see him as often as possible.\n\nSince the general's \"mishap,\" as Colia called it, and the marriage of\nhis sister, the boy had quietly possessed himself of far more freedom.\nHis relations saw little of him, for he rarely slept at home. He made\nmany new friends; and was moreover, a frequent visitor at the debtor's\nprison, to which he invariably accompanied his mother. Varia, who used\nto be always correcting him, never spoke to him now on the subject of\nhis frequent absences, and the whole household was surprised to see\nGania, in spite of his depression, on quite friendly terms with his\nbrother. This was something new, for Gania had been wont to look upon\nColia as a kind of errand-boy, treating him with contempt, threatening\nto \"pull his ears,\" and in general driving him almost wild with\nirritation. It seemed now that Gania really needed his brother, and the\nlatter, for his part, felt as if he could forgive Gania much since he\nhad returned the hundred thousand roubles offered to him by Nastasia\nPhilipovna. Three months after the departure of the prince, the Ivolgin\nfamily discovered that Colia had made acquaintance with the Epanchins,\nand was on very friendly terms with the daughters. Varia heard of it\nfirst, though Colia had not asked her to introduce him. Little by little\nthe family grew quite fond of him. Madame Epanchin at first looked on\nhim with disdain, and received him coldly, but in a short time he\ngrew to please her, because, as she said, he \"was candid and no\nflatterer\"----a very true description. From the first he put himself\non an equality with his new friends, and though he sometimes read\nnewspapers and books to the mistress of the house, it was simply because\nhe liked to be useful.\n\nOne day, however, he and Lizabetha Prokofievna quarrelled seriously\nabout the \"woman question,\" in the course of a lively discussion on that\nburning subject. He told her that she was a tyrant, and that he would\nnever set foot in her house again. It may seem incredible, but a day\nor two after, Madame Epanchin sent a servant with a note begging him to\nreturn, and Colia, without standing on his dignity, did so at once.\n\nAglaya was the only one of the family whose good graces he could not\ngain, and who always spoke to him haughtily, but it so happened that the\nboy one day succeeded in giving the proud maiden a surprise.\n\nIt was about Easter, when, taking advantage of a momentary tête-à-tête\nColia handed Aglaya a letter, remarking that he \"had orders to deliver\nit to her privately.\" She stared at him in amazement, but he did not\nwait to hear what she had to say, and went out. Aglaya broke the seal,\nand read as follows:\n\n\"Once you did me the honour of giving me your confidence. Perhaps you\nhave quite forgotten me now! How is it that I am writing to you? I do\nnot know; but I am conscious of an irresistible desire to remind you of\nmy existence, especially you. How many times I have needed all three of\nyou; but only you have dwelt always in my mind's eye. I need you--I need\nyou very much. I will not write about myself. I have nothing to tell\nyou. But I long for you to be happy. _Are_ you happy? That is all I wished\nto say to you--Your brother,\n\n\"PR. L. MUISHKIN.\"\n\nOn reading this short and disconnected note, Aglaya suddenly blushed all\nover, and became very thoughtful.\n\nIt would be difficult to describe her thoughts at that moment. One of\nthem was, \"Shall I show it to anyone?\" But she was ashamed to show it.\nSo she ended by hiding it in her table drawer, with a very strange,\nironical smile upon her lips.\n\nNext day, she took it out, and put it into a large book, as she usually\ndid with papers which she wanted to be able to find easily. She laughed\nwhen, about a week later, she happened to notice the name of the book,\nand saw that it was Don Quixote, but it would be difficult to say\nexactly why.\n\nI cannot say, either, whether she showed the letter to her sisters.\n\nBut when she had read it herself once more, it suddenly struck her\nthat surely that conceited boy, Colia, had not been the one chosen\ncorrespondent of the prince all this while. She determined to ask him,\nand did so with an exaggerated show of carelessness. He informed her\nhaughtily that though he had given the prince his permanent address when\nthe latter left town, and had offered his services, the prince had never\nbefore given him any commission to perform, nor had he written until the\nfollowing lines arrived, with Aglaya's letter. Aglaya took the note, and\nread it.\n\n\n\"DEAR COLIA,--Please be so kind as to give the enclosed sealed letter to\nAglaya Ivanovna. Keep well--Ever your loving,\n\n\"PR. L. MUISHKIN.\"\n\n\n\"It seems absurd to trust a little pepper-box like you,\" said Aglaya,\nas she returned the note, and walked past the \"pepper-box\" with an\nexpression of great contempt.\n\nThis was more than Colia could bear. He had actually borrowed Gania's\nnew green tie for the occasion, without saying why he wanted it, in\norder to impress her. He was very deeply mortified.\n\nII.\n\nIt was the beginning of June, and for a whole week the weather in\nSt. Petersburg had been magnificent. The Epanchins had a luxurious\ncountry-house at Pavlofsk, [One of the fashionable summer resorts near\nSt. Petersburg.] and to this spot Mrs. Epanchin determined to proceed\nwithout further delay. In a couple of days all was ready, and the family\nhad left town. A day or two after this removal to Pavlofsk, Prince\nMuishkin arrived in St. Petersburg by the morning train from Moscow. No\none met him; but, as he stepped out of the carriage, he suddenly became\naware of two strangely glowing eyes fixed upon him from among the crowd\nthat met the train. On endeavouring to re-discover the eyes, and see\nto whom they belonged, he could find nothing to guide him. It must have\nbeen a hallucination. But the disagreeable impression remained, and\nwithout this, the prince was sad and thoughtful already, and seemed to\nbe much preoccupied.\n\nHis cab took him to a small and bad hotel near the Litaynaya. Here\nhe engaged a couple of rooms, dark and badly furnished. He washed and\nchanged, and hurriedly left the hotel again, as though anxious to\nwaste no time. Anyone who now saw him for the first time since he\nleft Petersburg would judge that he had improved vastly so far as his\nexterior was concerned. His clothes certainly were very different; they\nwere more fashionable, perhaps even too much so, and anyone inclined to\nmockery might have found something to smile at in his appearance. But\nwhat is there that people will not smile at?\n\nThe prince took a cab and drove to a street near the Nativity, where he\nsoon discovered the house he was seeking. It was a small wooden villa,\nand he was struck by its attractive and clean appearance; it stood in\na pleasant little garden, full of flowers. The windows looking on the\nstreet were open, and the sound of a voice, reading aloud or making\na speech, came through them. It rose at times to a shout, and was\ninterrupted occasionally by bursts of laughter.\n\nPrince Muishkin entered the court-yard, and ascended the steps. A cook\nwith her sleeves turned up to the elbows opened the door. The visitor\nasked if Mr. Lebedeff were at home.\n\n\"He is in there,\" said she, pointing to the salon.\n\nThe room had a blue wall-paper, and was well, almost pretentiously,\nfurnished, with its round table, its divan, and its bronze clock under\na glass shade. There was a narrow pier-glass against the wall, and a\nchandelier adorned with lustres hung by a bronze chain from the ceiling.\n\nWhen the prince entered, Lebedeff was standing in the middle of the\nroom, his back to the door. He was in his shirt-sleeves, on account of\nthe extreme heat, and he seemed to have just reached the peroration of\nhis speech, and was impressively beating his breast.\n\nHis audience consisted of a youth of about fifteen years of age with a\nclever face, who had a book in his hand, though he was not reading; a\nyoung lady of twenty, in deep mourning, stood near him with an infant in\nher arms; another girl of thirteen, also in black, was laughing loudly,\nher mouth wide open; and on the sofa lay a handsome young man,\nwith black hair and eyes, and a suspicion of beard and whiskers. He\nfrequently interrupted the speaker and argued with him, to the great\ndelight of the others.\n\n\"Lukian Timofeyovitch! Lukian Timofeyovitch! Here's someone to see you!\nLook here!... a gentleman to speak to you!... Well, it's not my fault!\"\nand the cook turned and went away red with anger.\n\nLebedeff started, and at sight of the prince stood like a statue for a\nmoment. Then he moved up to him with an ingratiating smile, but stopped\nshort again.\n\n\"Prince! ex-ex-excellency!\" he stammered. Then suddenly he ran towards\nthe girl with the infant, a movement so unexpected by her that she\nstaggered and fell back, but next moment he was threatening the other\nchild, who was standing, still laughing, in the doorway. She screamed,\nand ran towards the kitchen. Lebedeff stamped his foot angrily;\nthen, seeing the prince regarding him with amazement, he murmured\napologetically--\"Pardon to show respect!... he-he!\"\n\n\"You are quite wrong...\" began the prince.\n\n\"At once... at once... in one moment!\"\n\nHe rushed like a whirlwind from the room, and Muishkin looked\ninquiringly at the others.\n\nThey were all laughing, and the guest joined in the chorus.\n\n\"He has gone to get his coat,\" said the boy.\n\n\"How annoying!\" exclaimed the prince. \"I thought... Tell me, is he...\"\n\n\"You think he is drunk?\" cried the young man on the sofa. \"Not in the\nleast. He's only had three or four small glasses, perhaps five; but what\nis that? The usual thing!\"\n\nAs the prince opened his mouth to answer, he was interrupted by the\ngirl, whose sweet face wore an expression of absolute frankness.\n\n\"He never drinks much in the morning; if you have come to talk business\nwith him, do it now. It is the best time. He sometimes comes back drunk\nin the evening; but just now he passes the greater part of the evening\nin tears, and reads passages of Holy Scripture aloud, because our mother\ndied five weeks ago.\"\n\n\"No doubt he ran off because he did not know what to say to you,\"\nsaid the youth on the divan. \"I bet he is trying to cheat you, and is\nthinking how best to do it.\"\n\nJust then Lebedeff returned, having put on his coat.\n\n\"Five weeks!\" said he, wiping his eyes. \"Only five weeks! Poor orphans!\"\n\n\"But why wear a coat in holes,\" asked the girl, \"when your new one is\nhanging behind the door? Did you not see it?\"\n\n\"Hold your tongue, dragon-fly!\" he scolded. \"What a plague you are!\" He\nstamped his foot irritably, but she only laughed, and answered:\n\n\"Are you trying to frighten me? I am not Tania, you know, and I don't\nintend to run away. Look, you are waking Lubotchka, and she will have\nconvulsions again. Why do you shout like that?\"\n\n\"Well, well! I won't again,\" said the master of the house his anxiety\ngetting the better of his temper. He went up to his daughter, and looked\nat the child in her arms, anxiously making the sign of the cross over\nher three times. \"God bless her! God bless her!\" he cried with emotion.\n\"This little creature is my daughter Luboff,\" addressing the prince. \"My\nwife, Helena, died--at her birth; and this is my big daughter Vera, in\nmourning, as you see; and this, this, oh, this pointing to the young man\non the divan...\n\n\"Well, go on! never mind me!\" mocked the other. \"Don't be afraid!\"\n\n\"Excellency! Have you read that account of the murder of the Zemarin\nfamily, in the newspaper?\" cried Lebedeff, all of a sudden.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Muishkin, with some surprise.\n\n\"Well, that is the murderer! It is he--in fact--\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" asked the visitor.\n\n\"I am speaking allegorically, of course; but he will be the murderer of\na Zemarin family in the future. He is getting ready. ...\"\n\nThey all laughed, and the thought crossed the prince's mind that perhaps\nLebedeff was really trifling in this way because he foresaw inconvenient\nquestions, and wanted to gain time.\n\n\"He is a traitor! a conspirator!\" shouted Lebedeff, who seemed to have\nlost all control over himself. \"A monster! a slanderer! Ought I to treat\nhim as a nephew, the son of my sister Anisia?\"\n\n\"Oh! do be quiet! You must be drunk! He has taken it into his head to\nplay the lawyer, prince, and he practices speechifying, and is always\nrepeating his eloquent pleadings to his children. And who do you think\nwas his last client? An old woman who had been robbed of five hundred\nroubles, her all, by some rogue of a usurer, besought him to take up\nher case, instead of which he defended the usurer himself, a Jew named\nZeidler, because this Jew promised to give him fifty roubles....\"\n\n\"It was to be fifty if I won the case, only five if I lost,\" interrupted\nLebedeff, speaking in a low tone, a great contrast to his earlier\nmanner.\n\n\"Well! naturally he came to grief: the law is not administered as it\nused to be, and he only got laughed at for his pains. But he was much\npleased with himself in spite of that. 'Most learned judge!' said he,\n'picture this unhappy man, crippled by age and infirmities, who gains\nhis living by honourable toil--picture him, I repeat, robbed of his all,\nof his last mouthful; remember, I entreat you, the words of that learned\nlegislator, \"Let mercy and justice alike rule the courts of law.\"' Now,\nwould you believe it, excellency, every morning he recites this\nspeech to us from beginning to end, exactly as he spoke it before the\nmagistrate. To-day we have heard it for the fifth time. He was just\nstarting again when you arrived, so much does he admire it. He is now\npreparing to undertake another case. I think, by the way, that you are\nPrince Muishkin? Colia tells me you are the cleverest man he has ever\nknown....\"\n\n\"The cleverest in the world,\" interrupted his uncle hastily.\n\n\"I do not pay much attention to that opinion,\" continued the young man\ncalmly. \"Colia is very fond of you, but he,\" pointing to Lebedeff, \"is\nflattering you. I can assure you I have no intention of flattering you,\nor anyone else, but at least you have some common-sense. Well, will you\njudge between us? Shall we ask the prince to act as arbitrator?\" he went\non, addressing his uncle.\n\n\"I am so glad you chanced to come here, prince.\"\n\n\"I agree,\" said Lebedeff, firmly, looking round involuntarily at his\ndaughter, who had come nearer, and was listening attentively to the\nconversation.\n\n\"What is it all about?\" asked the prince, frowning. His head ached, and\nhe felt sure that Lebedeff was trying to cheat him in some way, and only\ntalking to put off the explanation that he had come for.\n\n\"I will tell you all the story. I am his nephew; he did speak the truth\nthere, although he is generally telling lies. I am at the University,\nand have not yet finished my course. I mean to do so, and I shall, for\nI have a determined character. I must, however, find something to do\nfor the present, and therefore I have got employment on the railway at\ntwenty-four roubles a month. I admit that my uncle has helped me once\nor twice before. Well, I had twenty roubles in my pocket, and I gambled\nthem away. Can you believe that I should be so low, so base, as to lose\nmoney in that way?\"\n\n\"And the man who won it is a rogue, a rogue whom you ought not to have\npaid!\" cried Lebedeff.\n\n\"Yes, he is a rogue, but I was obliged to pay him,\" said the young man.\n\"As to his being a rogue, he is assuredly that, and I am not saying it\nbecause he beat you. He is an ex-lieutenant, prince, dismissed from the\nservice, a teacher of boxing, and one of Rogojin's followers. They are\nall lounging about the pavements now that Rogojin has turned them off.\nOf course, the worst of it is that, knowing he was a rascal, and a\ncard-sharper, I none the less played palki with him, and risked my last\nrouble. To tell the truth, I thought to myself, 'If I lose, I will go\nto my uncle, and I am sure he will not refuse to help me.' Now that was\nbase-cowardly and base!\"\n\n\"That is so,\" observed Lebedeff quietly; \"cowardly and base.\"\n\n\"Well, wait a bit, before you begin to triumph,\" said the nephew\nviciously; for the words seemed to irritate him. \"He is delighted! I\ncame to him here and told him everything: I acted honourably, for I did\nnot excuse myself. I spoke most severely of my conduct, as everyone here\ncan witness. But I must smarten myself up before I take up my new post,\nfor I am really like a tramp. Just look at my boots! I cannot possibly\nappear like this, and if I am not at the bureau at the time appointed,\nthe job will be given to someone else; and I shall have to try for\nanother. Now I only beg for fifteen roubles, and I give my word that\nI will never ask him for anything again. I am also ready to promise to\nrepay my debt in three months' time, and I will keep my word, even if I\nhave to live on bread and water. My salary will amount to seventy-five\nroubles in three months. The sum I now ask, added to what I have\nborrowed already, will make a total of about thirty-five roubles, so\nyou see I shall have enough to pay him and confound him! if he wants\ninterest, he shall have that, too! Haven't I always paid back the money\nhe lent me before? Why should he be so mean now? He grudges my having\npaid that lieutenant; there can be no other reason! That's the kind he\nis--a dog in the manger!\"\n\n\"And he won't go away!\" cried Lebedeff. \"He has installed himself here,\nand here he remains!\"\n\n\"I have told you already, that I will not go away until I have got what\nI ask. Why are you smiling, prince? You look as if you disapproved of\nme.\"\n\n\"I am not smiling, but I really think you are in the wrong, somewhat,\"\nreplied Muishkin, reluctantly.\n\n\"Don't shuffle! Say plainly that you think that I am quite wrong,\nwithout any 'somewhat'! Why 'somewhat'?\"\n\n\"I will say you are quite wrong, if you wish.\"\n\n\"If I wish! That's good, I must say! Do you think I am deceived as to\nthe flagrant impropriety of my conduct? I am quite aware that his money\nis his own, and that my action--As much like an attempt at extortion.\nBut you-you don't know what life is! If people don't learn by\nexperience, they never understand. They must be taught. My intentions\nare perfectly honest; on my conscience he will lose nothing, and I will\npay back the money with interest. Added to which he has had the moral\nsatisfaction of seeing me disgraced. What does he want more? and what\nis he good for if he never helps anyone? Look what he does himself! just\nask him about his dealings with others, how he deceives people! How did\nhe manage to buy this house? You may cut off my head if he has not let\nyou in for something--and if he is not trying to cheat you again. You are\nsmiling. You don't believe me?\"\n\n\"It seems to me that all this has nothing to do with your affairs,\"\nremarked the prince.\n\n\"I have lain here now for three days,\" cried the young man without\nnoticing, \"and I have seen a lot! Fancy! he suspects his daughter, that\nangel, that orphan, my cousin--he suspects her, and every evening he\nsearches her room, to see if she has a lover hidden in it! He comes\nhere too on tiptoe, creeping softly--oh, so softly--and looks under the\nsofa--my bed, you know. He is mad with suspicion, and sees a thief in\nevery corner. He runs about all night long; he was up at least seven\ntimes last night, to satisfy himself that the windows and doors were\nbarred, and to peep into the oven. That man who appears in court for\nscoundrels, rushes in here in the night and prays, lying prostrate,\nbanging his head on the ground by the half-hour--and for whom do you\nthink he prays? Who are the sinners figuring in his drunken petitions?\nI have heard him with my own ears praying for the repose of the soul\nof the Countess du Barry! Colia heard it too. He is as mad as a March\nhare!\"\n\n\"You hear how he slanders me, prince,\" said Lebedeff, almost beside\nhimself with rage. \"I may be a drunkard, an evil-doer, a thief, but at\nleast I can say one thing for myself. He does not know--how should he,\nmocker that he is?--that when he came into the world it was I who washed\nhim, and dressed him in his swathing-bands, for my sister Anisia had\nlost her husband, and was in great poverty. I was very little better\noff than she, but I sat up night after night with her, and nursed both\nmother and child; I used to go downstairs and steal wood for them from\nthe house-porter. How often did I sing him to sleep when I was half dead\nwith hunger! In short, I was more than a father to him, and now--now he\njeers at me! Even if I did cross myself, and pray for the repose of the\nsoul of the Comtesse du Barry, what does it matter? Three days ago,\nfor the first time in my life, I read her biography in an historical\ndictionary. Do you know who she was? You there!\" addressing his nephew.\n\"Speak! do you know?\"\n\n\"Of course no one knows anything about her but you,\" muttered the young\nman in a would-be jeering tone.\n\n\"She was a Countess who rose from shame to reign like a Queen. An\nEmpress wrote to her, with her own hand, as '_Ma chère cousine_.' At\na _lever-du-roi_ one morning (do you know what a _lever-du-roi_ was?)--a\nCardinal, a Papal legate, offered to put on her stockings; a high and\nholy person like that looked on it as an honour! Did you know this? I\nsee by your expression that you did not! Well, how did she die? Answer!\"\n\n\"Oh! do stop--you are too absurd!\"\n\n\"This is how she died. After all this honour and glory, after having\nbeen almost a Queen, she was guillotined by that butcher, Samson. She\nwas quite innocent, but it had to be done, for the satisfaction of the\nfishwives of Paris. She was so terrified, that she did not understand\nwhat was happening. But when Samson seized her head, and pushed her\nunder the knife with his foot, she cried out: 'Wait a moment! wait a\nmoment, monsieur!' Well, because of that moment of bitter suffering,\nperhaps the Saviour will pardon her other faults, for one cannot imagine\na greater agony. As I read the story my heart bled for her. And what\ndoes it matter to you, little worm, if I implored the Divine mercy for\nher, great sinner as she was, as I said my evening prayer? I might have\ndone it because I doubted if anyone had ever crossed himself for her\nsake before. It may be that in the other world she will rejoice to think\nthat a sinner like herself has cried to heaven for the salvation of her\nsoul. Why are you laughing? You believe nothing, atheist! And your story\nwas not even correct! If you had listened to what I was saying, you\nwould have heard that I did not only pray for the Comtesse du Barry. I\nsaid, 'Oh Lord! give rest to the soul of that great sinner, the Comtesse\ndu Barry, and to all unhappy ones like her.' You see that is quite a\ndifferent thing, for how many sinners there are, how many women, who\nhave passed through the trials of this life, are now suffering and\ngroaning in purgatory! I prayed for you, too, in spite of your insolence\nand impudence, also for your fellows, as it seems that you claim to know\nhow I pray...\"\n\n\"Oh! that's enough in all conscience! Pray for whom you choose, and the\ndevil take them and you! We have a scholar here; you did not know that,\nprince?\" he continued, with a sneer. \"He reads all sorts of books and\nmemoirs now.\"\n\n\"At any rate, your uncle has a kind heart,\" remarked the prince, who\nreally had to force himself to speak to the nephew, so much did he\ndislike him.\n\n\"Oh, now you are going to praise him! He will be set up! He puts his\nhand on his heart, and he is delighted! I never said he was a man\nwithout heart, but he is a rascal--that's the pity of it. And then, he\nis addicted to drink, and his mind is unhinged, like that of most\npeople who have taken more than is good for them for years. He loves his\nchildren--oh, I know that well enough! He respected my aunt, his late\nwife... and he even has a sort of affection for me. He has remembered me\nin his will.\"\n\n\"I shall leave you nothing!\" exclaimed his uncle angrily.\n\n\"Listen to me, Lebedeff,\" said the prince in a decided voice, turning\nhis back on the young man. \"I know by experience that when you choose,\nyou can be business-like.. I. I have very little time to spare, and\nif you... By the way--excuse me--what is your Christian name? I have\nforgotten it.\"\n\n\"Ti-Ti-Timofey.\"\n\n\"And?\"\n\n\"Lukianovitch.\"\n\nEveryone in the room began to laugh.\n\n\"He is telling lies!\" cried the nephew. \"Even now he cannot speak\nthe truth. He is not called Timofey Lukianovitch, prince, but Lukian\nTimofeyovitch. Now do tell us why you must needs lie about it? Lukian or\nTimofey, it is all the same to you, and what difference can it make to\nthe prince? He tells lies without the least necessity, simply by force\nof habit, I assure you.\"\n\n\"Is that true?\" said the prince impatiently.\n\n\"My name really is Lukian Timofeyovitch,\" acknowledged Lebedeff,\nlowering his eyes, and putting his hand on his heart.\n\n\"Well, for God's sake, what made you say the other?\"\n\n\"To humble myself,\" murmured Lebedeff.\n\n\"What on earth do you mean? Oh I if only I knew where Colia was at this\nmoment!\" cried the prince, standing up, as if to go.\n\n\"I can tell you all about Colia,\" said the young man\n\n\"Oh! no, no!\" said Lebedeff, hurriedly.\n\n\"Colia spent the night here, and this morning went after his father,\nwhom you let out of prison by paying his debts--Heaven only knows why!\nYesterday the general promised to come and lodge here, but he did not\nappear. Most probably he slept at the hotel close by. No doubt Colia\nis there, unless he has gone to Pavlofsk to see the Epanchins. He had a\nlittle money, and was intending to go there yesterday. He must be either\nat the hotel or at Pavlofsk.\"\n\n\"At Pavlofsk! He is at Pavlofsk, undoubtedly!\" interrupted Lebedeff....\n\"But come--let us go into the garden--we will have coffee there....\" And\nLebedeff seized the prince's arm, and led him from the room. They went\nacross the yard, and found themselves in a delightful little garden\nwith the trees already in their summer dress of green, thanks to the\nunusually fine weather. Lebedeff invited his guest to sit down on a\ngreen seat before a table of the same colour fixed in the earth, and\ntook a seat facing him. In a few minutes the coffee appeared, and the\nprince did not refuse it. The host kept his eyes fixed on Muishkin, with\nan expression of passionate servility.\n\n\"I knew nothing about your home before,\" said the prince absently, as if\nhe were thinking of something else.\n\n\"Poor orphans,\" began Lebedeff, his face assuming a mournful air, but he\nstopped short, for the other looked at him inattentively, as if he had\nalready forgotten his own remark. They waited a few minutes in silence,\nwhile Lebedeff sat with his eyes fixed mournfully on the young man's\nface.\n\n\"Well!\" said the latter, at last rousing himself. \"Ah! yes! You know why\nI came, Lebedeff. Your letter brought me. Speak! Tell me all about it.\"\n\nThe clerk, rather confused, tried to say something, hesitated, began to\nspeak, and again stopped. The prince looked at him gravely.\n\n\"I think I understand, Lukian Timofeyovitch: you were not sure that I\nshould come. You did not think I should start at the first word from\nyou, and you merely wrote to relieve your conscience. However, you\nsee now that I have come, and I have had enough of trickery. Give up\nserving, or trying to serve, two masters. Rogojin has been here these\nthree weeks. Have you managed to sell her to him as you did before? Tell\nme the truth.\"\n\n\"He discovered everything, the monster... himself......\"\n\n\"Don't abuse him; though I dare say you have something to complain\nof....\"\n\n\"He beat me, he thrashed me unmercifully!\" replied Lebedeff vehemently.\n\"He set a dog on me in Moscow, a bloodhound, a terrible beast that\nchased me all down the street.\"\n\n\"You seem to take me for a child, Lebedeff. Tell me, is it a fact that\nshe left him while they were in Moscow?\"\n\n\"Yes, it is a fact, and this time, let me tell you, on the very eve of\ntheir marriage! It was a question of minutes when she slipped off to\nPetersburg. She came to me directly she arrived--'Save me, Lukian! find\nme some refuge, and say nothing to the prince!' She is afraid of you,\neven more than she is of him, and in that she shows her wisdom!\" And\nLebedeff slily put his finger to his brow as he said the last words.\n\n\"And now it is you who have brought them together again?\"\n\n\"Excellency, how could I, how could I prevent it?\"\n\n\"That will do. I can find out for myself. Only tell me, where is she\nnow? At his house? With him?\"\n\n\"Oh no! Certainly not! 'I am free,' she says; you know how she insists\non that point. 'I am entirely free.' She repeats it over and over again.\nShe is living in Petersburgskaia, with my sister-in-law, as I told you\nin my letter.\"\n\n\"She is there at this moment?\"\n\n\"Yes, unless she has gone to Pavlofsk: the fine weather may have tempted\nher, perhaps, into the country, with Daria Alexeyevna. 'I am quite\nfree,' she says. Only yesterday she boasted of her freedom to Nicolai\nArdalionovitch--a bad sign,\" added Lebedeff, smiling.\n\n\"Colia goes to see her often, does he not?\"\n\n\"He is a strange boy, thoughtless, and inclined to be indiscreet.\"\n\n\"Is it long since you saw her?\"\n\n\"I go to see her every day, every day.\"\n\n\"Then you were there yesterday?\"\n\n\"N-no: I have not been these three last days.\"\n\n\"It is a pity you have taken too much wine, Lebedeff I want to ask you\nsomething... but...\"\n\n\"All right! all right! I am not drunk,\" replied the clerk, preparing to\nlisten.\n\n\"Tell me, how was she when you left her?\"\n\n\"She is a woman who is seeking...\"\n\n\"Seeking?\"\n\n\"She seems always to be searching about, as if she had lost something.\nThe mere idea of her coming marriage disgusts her; she looks on it as\nan insult. She cares as much for _him_ as for a piece of orange-peel--not\nmore. Yet I am much mistaken if she does not look on him with fear and\ntrembling. She forbids his name to be mentioned before her, and they\nonly meet when unavoidable. He understands, well enough! But it must be\ngone through. She is restless, mocking, deceitful, violent....\"\n\n\"Deceitful and violent?\"\n\n\"Yes, violent. I can give you a proof of it. A few days ago she tried\nto pull my hair because I said something that annoyed her. I tried to\nsoothe her by reading the Apocalypse aloud.\"\n\n\"What?\" exclaimed the prince, thinking he had not heard aright.\n\n\"By reading the Apocalypse. The lady has a restless imagination, he-he!\nShe has a liking for conversation on serious subjects, of any kind; in\nfact they please her so much, that it flatters her to discuss them. Now\nfor fifteen years at least I have studied the Apocalypse, and she agrees\nwith me in thinking that the present is the epoch represented by the\nthird horse, the black one whose rider holds a measure in his hand. It\nseems to me that everything is ruled by measure in our century; all men\nare clamouring for their rights; 'a measure of wheat for a penny, and\nthree measures of barley for a penny.' But, added to this, men desire\nfreedom of mind and body, a pure heart, a healthy life, and all God's\ngood gifts. Now by pleading their rights alone, they will never attain\nall this, so the white horse, with his rider Death, comes next, and\nis followed by Hell. We talked about this matter when we met, and it\nimpressed her very much.\"\n\n\"Do you believe all this?\" asked Muishkin, looking curiously at his\ncompanion.\n\n\"I both believe it and explain it. I am but a poor creature, a beggar,\nan atom in the scale of humanity. Who has the least respect for\nLebedeff? He is a target for all the world, the butt of any fool who\nchooses to kick him. But in interpreting revelation I am the equal\nof anyone, great as he may be! Such is the power of the mind and\nthe spirit. I have made a lordly personage tremble, as he sat in his\narmchair... only by talking to him of things concerning the spirit.\nTwo years ago, on Easter Eve, His Excellency Nil Alexeyovitch, whose\nsubordinate I was then, wished to hear what I had to say, and sent a\nmessage by Peter Zakkaritch to ask me to go to his private room. 'They\ntell me you expound the prophecies relating to Antichrist,' said he,\nwhen we were alone. 'Is that so?' 'Yes,' I answered unhesitatingly, and\nI began to give some comments on the Apostle's allegorical vision. At\nfirst he smiled, but when we reached the numerical computations and\ncorrespondences, he trembled, and turned pale. Then he begged me to\nclose the book, and sent me away, promising to put my name on the reward\nlist. That took place as I said on the eve of Easter, and eight days\nlater his soul returned to God.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"It is the truth. One evening after dinner he stumbled as he stepped\nout of his carriage. He fell, and struck his head on the curb, and died\nimmediately. He was seventy-three years of age, and had a red face, and\nwhite hair; he deluged himself with scent, and was always smiling like\na child. Peter Zakkaritch recalled my interview with him, and said, '_you\nforetold his death._'\"\n\nThe prince rose from his seat, and Lebedeff, surprised to see his\nguest preparing to go so soon, remarked: \"You are not interested?\" in a\nrespectful tone.\n\n\"I am not very well, and my head aches. Doubtless the effect of the\njourney,\" replied the prince, frowning.\n\n\"You should go into the country,\" said Lebedeff timidly.\n\nThe prince seemed to be considering the suggestion.\n\n\"You see, I am going into the country myself in three days, with my\nchildren and belongings. The little one is delicate; she needs change\nof air; and during our absence this house will be done up. I am going to\nPavlofsk.\"\n\n\"You are going to Pavlofsk too?\" asked the prince sharply. \"Everybody\nseems to be going there. Have you a house in that neighbourhood?\"\n\n\"I don't know of many people going to Pavlofsk, and as for the house,\nIvan Ptitsin has let me one of his villas rather cheaply. It is a\npleasant place, lying on a hill surrounded by trees, and one can live\nthere for a mere song. There is good music to be heard, so no wonder it\nis popular. I shall stay in the lodge. As to the villa itself...\"\n\n\"Have you let it?\"\n\n\"N-no--not exactly.\"\n\n\"Let it to me,\" said the prince.\n\nNow this was precisely what Lebedeff had made up his mind to do in the\nlast three minutes. Not that he had any difficulty in finding a tenant;\nin fact the house was occupied at present by a chance visitor, who had\ntold Lebedeff that he would perhaps take it for the summer months. The\nclerk knew very well that this \"_perhaps_\" meant \"_certainly_,\" but as he\nthought he could make more out of a tenant like the prince, he felt\njustified in speaking vaguely about the present inhabitant's intentions.\n\"This is quite a coincidence,\" thought he, and when the subject of price\nwas mentioned, he made a gesture with his hand, as if to waive away a\nquestion of so little importance.\n\n\"Oh well, as you like!\" said Muishkin. \"I will think it over. You shall\nlose nothing!\"\n\nThey were walking slowly across the garden.\n\n\"But if you... I could...\" stammered Lebedeff, \"if... if you please,\nprince, tell you something on the subject which would interest you, I am\nsure.\" He spoke in wheedling tones, and wriggled as he walked along.\n\nMuishkin stopped short.\n\n\"Daria Alexeyevna also has a villa at Pavlofsk.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"A certain person is very friendly with her, and intends to visit her\npretty often.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Aglaya Ivanovna...\"\n\n\"Oh stop, Lebedeff!\" interposed Muishkin, feeling as if he had been\ntouched on an open wound. \"That... that has nothing to do with me. I\nshould like to know when you are going to start. The sooner the better\nas far as I am concerned, for I am at an hotel.\"\n\nThey had left the garden now, and were crossing the yard on their way to\nthe gate.\n\n\"Well, leave your hotel at once and come here; then we can all go\ntogether to Pavlofsk the day after tomorrow.\"\n\n\"I will think about it,\" said the prince dreamily, and went off.\n\nThe clerk stood looking after his guest, struck by his sudden\nabsent-mindedness. He had not even remembered to say goodbye, and\nLebedeff was the more surprised at the omission, as he knew by\nexperience how courteous the prince usually was.\n\nIII.\n\nIt was now close on twelve o'clock.\n\nThe prince knew that if he called at the Epanchins' now he would only\nfind the general, and that the latter might probably carry him straight\noff to Pavlofsk with him; whereas there was one visit he was most\nanxious to make without delay.\n\nSo at the risk of missing General Epanchin altogether, and thus\npostponing his visit to Pavlofsk for a day, at least, the prince decided\nto go and look for the house he desired to find.\n\nThe visit he was about to pay was, in some respects, a risky one. He was\nin two minds about it, but knowing that the house was in the Gorohovaya,\nnot far from the Sadovaya, he determined to go in that direction, and to\ntry to make up his mind on the way.\n\nArrived at the point where the Gorohovaya crosses the Sadovaya, he was\nsurprised to find how excessively agitated he was. He had no idea that\nhis heart could beat so painfully.\n\nOne house in the Gorohovaya began to attract his attention long before\nhe reached it, and the prince remembered afterwards that he had said\nto himself: \"That is the house, I'm sure of it.\" He came up to it quite\ncurious to discover whether he had guessed right, and felt that he would\nbe disagreeably impressed to find that he had actually done so. The\nhouse was a large gloomy-looking structure, without the slightest claim\nto architectural beauty, in colour a dirty green. There are a few of\nthese old houses, built towards the end of the last century, still\nstanding in that part of St. Petersburg, and showing little change\nfrom their original form and colour. They are solidly built, and are\nremarkable for the thickness of their walls, and for the fewness\nof their windows, many of which are covered by gratings. On the\nground-floor there is usually a money-changer's shop, and the owner\nlives over it. Without as well as within, the houses seem inhospitable\nand mysterious--an impression which is difficult to explain, unless it\nhas something to do with the actual architectural style. These houses\nare almost exclusively inhabited by the merchant class.\n\nArrived at the gate, the prince looked up at the legend over it, which\nran:\n\n\"House of Rogojin, hereditary and honourable citizen.\"\n\nHe hesitated no longer; but opened the glazed door at the bottom of the\nouter stairs and made his way up to the second storey. The place was\ndark and gloomy-looking; the walls of the stone staircase were painted\na dull red. Rogojin and his mother and brother occupied the whole of\nthe second floor. The servant who opened the door to Muishkin led him,\nwithout taking his name, through several rooms and up and down many\nsteps until they arrived at a door, where he knocked.\n\nParfen Rogojin opened the door himself.\n\nOn seeing the prince he became deadly white, and apparently fixed to the\nground, so that he was more like a marble statue than a human being. The\nprince had expected some surprise, but Rogojin evidently considered his\nvisit an impossible and miraculous event. He stared with an expression\nalmost of terror, and his lips twisted into a bewildered smile.\n\n\"Parfen! perhaps my visit is ill-timed. I--I can go away again if you\nlike,\" said Muishkin at last, rather embarrassed.\n\n\"No, no; it's all right, come in,\" said Parfen, recollecting himself.\n\nThey were evidently on quite familiar terms. In Moscow they had had many\noccasions of meeting; indeed, some few of those meetings were but too\nvividly impressed upon their memories. They had not met now, however,\nfor three months.\n\nThe deathlike pallor, and a sort of slight convulsion about the lips,\nhad not left Rogojin's face. Though he welcomed his guest, he was still\nobviously much disturbed. As he invited the prince to sit down near the\ntable, the latter happened to turn towards him, and was startled by the\nstrange expression on his face. A painful recollection flashed into\nhis mind. He stood for a time, looking straight at Rogojin, whose eyes\nseemed to blaze like fire. At last Rogojin smiled, though he still\nlooked agitated and shaken.\n\n\"What are you staring at me like that for?\" he muttered. \"Sit down.\"\n\nThe prince took a chair.\n\n\"Parfen,\" he said, \"tell me honestly, did you know that I was coming to\nPetersburg or no?\"\n\n\"Oh, I supposed you were coming,\" the other replied, smiling\nsarcastically, \"and I was right in my supposition, you see; but how was I\nto know that you would come _today?_\"\n\nA certain strangeness and impatience in his manner impressed the prince\nvery forcibly.\n\n\"And if you had known that I was coming today, why be so irritated about\nit?\" he asked, in quiet surprise.\n\n\"Why did you ask me?\"\n\n\"Because when I jumped out of the train this morning, two eyes glared at\nme just as yours did a moment since.\"\n\n\"Ha! and whose eyes may they have been?\" said Rogojin, suspiciously. It\nseemed to the prince that he was trembling.\n\n\"I don't know; I thought it was a hallucination. I often have\nhallucinations nowadays. I feel just as I did five years ago when my\nfits were about to come on.\"\n\n\"Well, perhaps it was a hallucination, I don't know,\" said Parfen.\n\nHe tried to give the prince an affectionate smile, and it seemed to the\nlatter as though in this smile of his something had broken, and that he\ncould not mend it, try as he would.\n\n\"Shall you go abroad again then?\" he asked, and suddenly added, \"Do you\nremember how we came up in the train from Pskoff together? You and your\ncloak and leggings, eh?\"\n\nAnd Rogojin burst out laughing, this time with unconcealed malice, as\nthough he were glad that he had been able to find an opportunity for\ngiving vent to it.\n\n\"Have you quite taken up your quarters here?\" asked the prince\n\n\"Yes, I'm at home. Where else should I go to?\"\n\n\"We haven't met for some time. Meanwhile I have heard things about you\nwhich I should not have believed to be possible.\"\n\n\"What of that? People will say anything,\" said Rogojin drily.\n\n\"At all events, you've disbanded your troop--and you are living in your\nown house instead of being fast and loose about the place; that's all\nvery good. Is this house all yours, or joint property?\"\n\n\"It is my mother's. You get to her apartments by that passage.\"\n\n\"Where's your brother?\"\n\n\"In the other wing.\"\n\n\"Is he married?\"\n\n\"Widower. Why do you want to know all this?\"\n\nThe prince looked at him, but said nothing. He had suddenly relapsed\ninto musing, and had probably not heard the question at all. Rogojin did\nnot insist upon an answer, and there was silence for a few moments.\n\n\"I guessed which was your house from a hundred yards off,\" said the\nprince at last.\n\n\"Why so?\"\n\n\"I don't quite know. Your house has the aspect of yourself and all your\nfamily; it bears the stamp of the Rogojin life; but ask me why I think\nso, and I can tell you nothing. It is nonsense, of course. I am nervous\nabout this kind of thing troubling me so much. I had never before\nimagined what sort of a house you would live in, and yet no sooner did I\nset eyes on this one than I said to myself that it must be yours.\"\n\n\"Really!\" said Rogojin vaguely, not taking in what the prince meant by\nhis rather obscure remarks.\n\nThe room they were now sitting in was a large one, lofty but dark, well\nfurnished, principally with writing-tables and desks covered with papers\nand books. A wide sofa covered with red morocco evidently served Rogojin\nfor a bed. On the table beside which the prince had been invited to seat\nhimself lay some books; one containing a marker where the reader had\nleft off, was a volume of Solovieff's History. Some oil-paintings in\nworn gilded frames hung on the walls, but it was impossible to make out\nwhat subjects they represented, so blackened were they by smoke and age.\nOne, a life-sized portrait, attracted the prince's attention. It showed\na man of about fifty, wearing a long riding-coat of German cut. He had\ntwo medals on his breast; his beard was white, short and thin; his face\nyellow and wrinkled, with a sly, suspicious expression in the eyes.\n\n\"That is your father, is it not?\" asked the prince.\n\n\"Yes, it is,\" replied Rogojin with an unpleasant smile, as if he\nhad expected his guest to ask the question, and then to make some\ndisagreeable remark.\n\n\"Was he one of the Old Believers?\"\n\n\"No, he went to church, but to tell the truth he really preferred the\nold religion. This was his study and is now mine. Why did you ask if he\nwere an Old Believer?\"\n\n\"Are you going to be married here?\"\n\n\"Ye-yes!\" replied Rogojin, starting at the unexpected question.\n\n\"Soon?\"\n\n\"You know yourself it does not depend on me.\"\n\n\"Parfen, I am not your enemy, and I do not intend to oppose your\nintentions in any way. I repeat this to you now just as I said it to you\nonce before on a very similar occasion. When you were arranging for your\nprojected marriage in Moscow, I did not interfere with you--you know I\ndid not. That first time she fled to me from you, from the very altar\nalmost, and begged me to 'save her from you.' Afterwards she ran away\nfrom me again, and you found her and arranged your marriage with her\nonce more; and now, I hear, she has run away from you and come to\nPetersburg. Is it true? Lebedeff wrote me to this effect, and that's\nwhy I came here. That you had once more arranged matters with Nastasia\nPhilipovna I only learned last night in the train from a friend of\nyours, Zaleshoff--if you wish to know.\n\n\"I confess I came here with an object. I wished to persuade Nastasia\nto go abroad for her health; she requires it. Both mind and body need a\nchange badly. I did not intend to take her abroad myself. I was going to\narrange for her to go without me. Now I tell you honestly, Parfen, if it\nis true that all is made up between you, I will not so much as set eyes\nupon her, and I will never even come to see you again.\n\n\"You know quite well that I am telling the truth, because I have always\nbeen frank with you. I have never concealed my own opinion from you.\nI have always told you that I consider a marriage between you and her\nwould be ruin to her. You would also be ruined, and perhaps even more\nhopelessly. If this marriage were to be broken off again, I admit I\nshould be greatly pleased; but at the same time I have not the slightest\nintention of trying to part you. You may be quite easy in your mind,\nand you need not suspect me. You know yourself whether I was ever really\nyour rival or not, even when she ran away and came to me.\n\n\"There, you are laughing at me--I know why you laugh. It is perfectly\ntrue that we lived apart from one another all the time, in different\ntowns. I told you before that I did not love her with love, but with\npity! You said then that you understood me; did you really understand\nme or not? What hatred there is in your eyes at this moment! I came\nto relieve your mind, because you are dear to me also. I love you\nvery much, Parfen; and now I shall go away and never come back again.\nGoodbye.\"\n\nThe prince rose.\n\n\"Stay a little,\" said Parfen, not leaving his chair and resting his head\non his right hand. \"I haven't seen you for a long time.\"\n\nThe prince sat down again. Both were silent for a few moments.\n\n\"When you are not with me I hate you, Lef Nicolaievitch. I have loathed\nyou every day of these three months since I last saw you. By heaven I\nhave!\" said Rogojin. \"I could have poisoned you at any minute. Now, you\nhave been with me but a quarter of an hour, and all my malice seems to\nhave melted away, and you are as dear to me as ever. Stay here a little\nlonger.\"\n\n\"When I am with you you trust me; but as soon as my back is turned you\nsuspect me,\" said the prince, smiling, and trying to hide his emotion.\n\n\"I trust your voice, when I hear you speak. I quite understand that you\nand I cannot be put on a level, of course.\"\n\n\"Why did you add that?--There! Now you are cross again,\" said the\nprince, wondering.\n\n\"We were not asked, you see. We were made different, with different\ntastes and feelings, without being consulted. You say you love her with\npity. I have no pity for her. She hates me--that's the plain truth of\nthe matter. I dream of her every night, and always that she is laughing\nat me with another man. And so she does laugh at me. She thinks no more\nof marrying me than if she were changing her shoe. Would you believe it,\nI haven't seen her for five days, and I daren't go near her. She asks me\nwhat I come for, as if she were not content with having disgraced me--\"\n\n\"Disgraced you! How?\"\n\n\"Just as though you didn't know! Why, she ran away from me, and went to\nyou. You admitted it yourself, just now.\"\n\n\"But surely you do not believe that she...\"\n\n\"That she did not disgrace me at Moscow with that officer. Zemtuznikoff?\nI know for certain she did, after having fixed our marriage-day\nherself!\"\n\n\"Impossible!\" cried the prince.\n\n\"I know it for a fact,\" replied Rogojin, with conviction.\n\n\"It is not like her, you say? My friend, that's absurd. Perhaps such an\nact would horrify her, if she were with you, but it is quite different\nwhere I am concerned. She looks on me as vermin. Her affair with Keller\nwas simply to make a laughing-stock of me. You don't know what a fool\nshe made of me in Moscow; and the money I spent over her! The money! the\nmoney!\"\n\n\"And you can marry her now, Parfen! What will come of it all?\" said the\nprince, with dread in his voice.\n\nRogojin gazed back gloomily, and with a terrible expression in his eyes,\nbut said nothing.\n\n\"I haven't been to see her for five days,\" he repeated, after a slight\npause. \"I'm afraid of being turned out. She says she's still her own\nmistress, and may turn me off altogether, and go abroad. She told me\nthis herself,\" he said, with a peculiar glance at Muishkin. \"I think she\noften does it merely to frighten me. She is always laughing at me, for\nsome reason or other; but at other times she's angry, and won't say a\nword, and that's what I'm afraid of. I took her a shawl one day, the\nlike of which she might never have seen, although she did live in luxury\nand she gave it away to her maid, Katia. Sometimes when I can keep away\nno longer, I steal past the house on the sly, and once I watched at the\ngate till dawn--I thought something was going on--and she saw me from\nthe window. She asked me what I should do if I found she had deceived\nme. I said, 'You know well enough.'\"\n\n\"What did she know?\" cried the prince.\n\n\"How was I to tell?\" replied Rogojin, with an angry laugh. \"I did my\nbest to catch her tripping in Moscow, but did not succeed. However, I\ncaught hold of her one day, and said: 'You are engaged to be married\ninto a respectable family, and do you know what sort of a woman you are?\n_That's_ the sort of woman you are,' I said.\"\n\n\"You told her that?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, go on.\"\n\n\"She said, 'I wouldn't even have you for a footman now, much less for\na husband.' 'I shan't leave the house,' I said, 'so it doesn't matter.'\n'Then I shall call somebody and have you kicked out,' she cried. So then\nI rushed at her, and beat her till she was bruised all over.\"\n\n\"Impossible!\" cried the prince, aghast.\n\n\"I tell you it's true,\" said Rogojin quietly, but with eyes ablaze with\npassion.\n\n\"Then for a day and a half I neither slept, nor ate, nor drank, and\nwould not leave her. I knelt at her feet: 'I shall die here,' I said,\n'if you don't forgive me; and if you have me turned out, I shall drown\nmyself; because, what should I be without you now?' She was like a\nmadwoman all that day; now she would cry; now she would threaten me with\na knife; now she would abuse me. She called in Zaleshoff and Keller,\nand showed me to them, shamed me in their presence. 'Let's all go to\nthe theatre,' she says, 'and leave him here if he won't go--it's not\nmy business. They'll give you some tea, Parfen Semeonovitch, while I\nam away, for you must be hungry.' She came back from the theatre alone.\n'Those cowards wouldn't come,' she said. 'They are afraid of you, and\ntried to frighten me, too. \"He won't go away as he came,\" they said,\n\"he'll cut your throat--see if he doesn't.\" Now, I shall go to my\nbedroom, and I shall not even lock my door, just to show you how much\nI am afraid of you. You must be shown that once for all. Did you have\ntea?' 'No,' I said, 'and I don't intend to.' 'Ha, ha! you are playing\noff your pride against your stomach! That sort of heroism doesn't sit\nwell on you,' she said.\n\n\"With that she did as she had said she would; she went to bed, and did\nnot lock her door. In the morning she came out. 'Are you quite mad?' she\nsaid, sharply. 'Why, you'll die of hunger like this.' 'Forgive me,'\nI said. 'No, I won't, and I won't marry you. I've said it. Surely you\nhaven't sat in this chair all night without sleeping?' 'I didn't\nsleep,' I said. 'H'm! how sensible of you. And are you going to have no\nbreakfast or dinner today?' 'I told you I wouldn't. Forgive me!' 'You've\nno idea how unbecoming this sort of thing is to you,' she said, 'it's\nlike putting a saddle on a cow's back. Do you think you are frightening\nme? My word, what a dreadful thing that you should sit here and eat no\nfood! How terribly frightened I am!' She wasn't angry long, and didn't\nseem to remember my offence at all. I was surprised, for she is a\nvindictive, resentful woman--but then I thought that perhaps she\ndespised me too much to feel any resentment against me. And that's the\ntruth.\n\n\"She came up to me and said, 'Do you know who the Pope of Rome is?'\n'I've heard of him,' I said. 'I suppose you've read the Universal\nHistory, Parfen Semeonovitch, haven't you?' she asked. 'I've learned\nnothing at all,' I said. 'Then I'll lend it to you to read. You must\nknow there was a Roman Pope once, and he was very angry with a certain\nEmperor; so the Emperor came and neither ate nor drank, but knelt before\nthe Pope's palace till he should be forgiven. And what sort of vows do\nyou think that Emperor was making during all those days on his knees?\nStop, I'll read it to you!' Then she read me a lot of verses, where it\nsaid that the Emperor spent all the time vowing vengeance against the\nPope. 'You don't mean to say you don't approve of the poem, Parfen\nSemeonovitch,' she says. 'All you have read out is perfectly true,' say\nI. 'Aha!' says she, 'you admit it's true, do you? And you are making\nvows to yourself that if I marry you, you will remind me of all this,\nand take it out of me.' 'I don't know,' I say, 'perhaps I was thinking\nlike that, and perhaps I was not. I'm not thinking of anything just\nnow.' 'What are your thoughts, then?' 'I'm thinking that when you rise\nfrom your chair and go past me, I watch you, and follow you with my\neyes; if your dress does but rustle, my heart sinks; if you leave the\nroom, I remember every little word and action, and what your voice\nsounded like, and what you said. I thought of nothing all last night,\nbut sat here listening to your sleeping breath, and heard you move a\nlittle, twice.' 'And as for your attack upon me,' she says, 'I suppose\nyou never once thought of _that?_' 'Perhaps I did think of it, and perhaps\nnot,' I say. And what if I don't either forgive you or marry, you'\n'I tell you I shall go and drown myself.' 'H'm!' she said, and then\nrelapsed into silence. Then she got angry, and went out. 'I suppose\nyou'd murder me before you drowned yourself, though!' she cried as she\nleft the room.\n\n\"An hour later, she came to me again, looking melancholy. 'I will marry\nyou, Parfen Semeonovitch,' she says, not because I'm frightened of you,\nbut because it's all the same to me how I ruin myself. And how can I do\nit better? Sit down; they'll bring you some dinner directly. And if I\ndo marry you, I'll be a faithful wife to you--you need not doubt that.'\nThen she thought a bit, and said, 'At all events, you are not a flunkey;\nat first, I thought you were no better than a flunkey.' And she arranged\nthe wedding and fixed the day straight away on the spot.\n\n\"Then, in another week, she had run away again, and came here to\nLebedeff's; and when I found her here, she said to me, 'I'm not going to\nrenounce you altogether, but I wish to put off the wedding a bit longer\nyet--just as long as I like--for I am still my own mistress; so you may\nwait, if you like.' That's how the matter stands between us now. What do\nyou think of all this, Lef Nicolaievitch?\"\n\n\"'What do you think of it yourself?\" replied the prince, looking sadly\nat Rogojin.\n\n\"As if I can think anything about it! I--\" He was about to say more, but\nstopped in despair.\n\nThe prince rose again, as if he would leave.\n\n\"At all events, I shall not interfere with you!\" he murmured, as though\nmaking answer to some secret thought of his own.\n\n\"I'll tell you what!\" cried Rogojin, and his eyes flashed fire. \"I can't\nunderstand your yielding her to me like this; I don't understand it.\nHave you given up loving her altogether? At first you suffered badly--I\nknow it--I saw it. Besides, why did you come post-haste after us? Out of\npity, eh? He, he, he!\" His mouth curved in a mocking smile.\n\n\"Do you think I am deceiving you?\" asked the prince.\n\n\"No! I trust you--but I can't understand. It seems to me that your pity\nis greater than my love.\" A hungry longing to speak his mind out seemed\nto flash in the man's eyes, combined with an intense anger.\n\n\"Your love is mingled with hatred, and therefore, when your love passes,\nthere will be the greater misery,\" said the prince. \"I tell you this,\nParfen--\"\n\n\"What! that I'll cut her throat, you mean?\"\n\nThe prince shuddered.\n\n\"You'll hate her afterwards for all your present love, and for all the\ntorment you are suffering on her account now. What seems to me the most\nextraordinary thing is, that she can again consent to marry you, after\nall that has passed between you. When I heard the news yesterday, I\ncould hardly bring myself to believe it. Why, she has run twice\nfrom you, from the very altar rails, as it were. She must have some\npresentiment of evil. What can she want with you now? Your money?\nNonsense! Besides, I should think you must have made a fairly large hole\nin your fortune already. Surely it is not because she is so very anxious\nto find a husband? She could find many a one besides yourself. Anyone\nwould be better than you, because you will murder her, and I feel sure\nshe must know that but too well by now. Is it because you love her so\npassionately? Indeed, that may be it. I have heard that there are women\nwho want just that kind of love... but still...\" The prince paused,\nreflectively.\n\n\"What are you grinning at my father's portrait again for?\" asked\nRogojin, suddenly. He was carefully observing every change in the\nexpression of the prince's face.\n\n\"I smiled because the idea came into my head that if it were not for\nthis unhappy passion of yours you might have, and would have, become\njust such a man as your father, and that very quickly, too. You'd have\nsettled down in this house of yours with some silent and obedient wife.\nYou would have spoken rarely, trusted no one, heeded no one, and thought\nof nothing but making money.\"\n\n\"Laugh away! She said exactly the same, almost word for word, when she\nsaw my father's portrait. It's remarkable how entirely you and she are\nat one now-a-days.\"\n\n\"What, has she been here?\" asked the prince with curiosity.\n\n\"Yes! She looked long at the portrait and asked all about my father.\n'You'd be just such another,' she said at last, and laughed. 'You have\nsuch strong passions, Parfen,' she said, 'that they'd have taken you to\nSiberia in no time if you had not, luckily, intelligence as well. For\nyou have a good deal of intelligence.' (She said this--believe it or\nnot. The first time I ever heard anything of that sort from her.) 'You'd\nsoon have thrown up all this rowdyism that you indulge in now, and you'd\nhave settled down to quiet, steady money-making, because you have little\neducation; and here you'd have stayed just like your father before you.\nAnd you'd have loved your money so that you'd amass not two million,\nlike him, but ten million; and you'd have died of hunger on your money\nbags to finish up with, for you carry everything to extremes.' There,\nthat's exactly word for word as she said it to me. She never talked to\nme like that before. She always talks nonsense and laughs when she's\nwith me. We went all over this old house together. 'I shall change all\nthis,' I said, 'or else I'll buy a new house for the wedding.' 'No, no!'\nshe said, 'don't touch anything; leave it all as it is; I shall live\nwith your mother when I marry you.'\n\n\"I took her to see my mother, and she was as respectful and kind as\nthough she were her own daughter. Mother has been almost demented ever\nsince father died--she's an old woman. She sits and bows from her chair\nto everyone she sees. If you left her alone and didn't feed her for\nthree days, I don't believe she would notice it. Well, I took her hand,\nand I said, 'Give your blessing to this lady, mother, she's going to be\nmy wife.' So Nastasia kissed mother's hand with great feeling. 'She must\nhave suffered terribly, hasn't she?' she said. She saw this book here\nlying before me. 'What! have you begun to read Russian history?' she\nasked. She told me once in Moscow, you know, that I had better get\nSolovieff's Russian History and read it, because I knew nothing. 'That's\ngood,' she said, 'you go on like that, reading books. I'll make you\na list myself of the books you ought to read first--shall I?' She had\nnever once spoken to me like this before; it was the first time I felt I\ncould breathe before her like a living creature.\"\n\n\"I'm very, very glad to hear of this, Parfen,\" said the prince, with\nreal feeling. \"Who knows? Maybe God will yet bring you near to one\nanother.\"\n\n\"Never, never!\" cried Rogojin, excitedly.\n\n\"Look here, Parfen; if you love her so much, surely you must be anxious\nto earn her respect? And if you do so wish, surely you may hope to? I\nsaid just now that I considered it extraordinary that she could still be\nready to marry you. Well, though I cannot yet understand it, I feel sure\nshe must have some good reason, or she wouldn't do it. She is sure\nof your love; but besides that, she must attribute _something_ else to\nyou--some good qualities, otherwise the thing would not be. What you\nhave just said confirms my words. You say yourself that she found it\npossible to speak to you quite differently from her usual manner. You\nare suspicious, you know, and jealous, therefore when anything annoying\nhappens to you, you exaggerate its significance. Of course, of course,\nshe does not think so ill of you as you say. Why, if she did, she would\nsimply be walking to death by drowning or by the knife, with her eyes\nwide open, when she married you. It is impossible! As if anybody would\ngo to their death deliberately!\"\n\nRogojin listened to the prince's excited words with a bitter smile. His\nconviction was, apparently, unalterable.\n\n\"How dreadfully you look at me, Parfen!\" said the prince, with a feeling\nof dread.\n\n\"Water or the knife?\" said the latter, at last. \"Ha, ha--that's exactly\nwhy she is going to marry me, because she knows for certain that the\nknife awaits her. Prince, can it be that you don't even yet see what's\nat the root of it all?\"\n\n\"I don't understand you.\"\n\n\"Perhaps he really doesn't understand me! They do say that you are\na--you know what! She loves another--there, you can understand that\nmuch! Just as I love her, exactly so she loves another man. And that\nother man is--do you know who? It's you. There--you didn't know that,\neh?\"\n\n\"I?\"\n\n\"You, you! She has loved you ever since that day, her birthday! Only\nshe thinks she cannot marry you, because it would be the ruin of you.\n'Everybody knows what sort of a woman I am,' she says. She told me all\nthis herself, to my very face! She's afraid of disgracing and ruining\nyou, she says, but it doesn't matter about me. She can marry me all\nright! Notice how much consideration she shows for me!\"\n\n\"But why did she run away to me, and then again from me to--\"\n\n\"From you to me? Ha, ha! that's nothing! Why, she always acts as though\nshe were in a delirium now-a-days! Either she says, 'Come on, I'll marry\nyou! Let's have the wedding quickly!' and fixes the day, and seems in a\nhurry for it, and when it begins to come near she feels frightened; or\nelse some other idea gets into her head--goodness knows! you've seen\nher--you know how she goes on--laughing and crying and raving! There's\nnothing extraordinary about her having run away from you! She ran away\nbecause she found out how dearly she loved you. She could not bear to be\nnear you. You said just now that I had found her at Moscow, when she ran\naway from you. I didn't do anything of the sort; she came to me herself,\nstraight from you. 'Name the day--I'm ready!' she said. 'Let's have\nsome champagne, and go and hear the gipsies sing!' I tell you she'd\nhave thrown herself into the water long ago if it were not for me! She\ndoesn't do it because I am, perhaps, even more dreadful to her than the\nwater! She's marrying me out of spite; if she marries me, I tell you, it\nwill be for spite!\"\n\n\"But how do you, how can you--\" began the prince, gazing with dread and\nhorror at Rogojin.\n\n\"Why don't you finish your sentence? Shall I tell you what you were\nthinking to yourself just then? You were thinking, 'How can she marry\nhim after this? How can it possibly be permitted?' Oh, I know what you\nwere thinking about!\"\n\n\"I didn't come here for that purpose, Parfen. That was not in my mind--\"\n\n\"That may be! Perhaps you didn't _come_ with the idea, but the idea is\ncertainly there _now!_ Ha, ha! well, that's enough! What are you upset\nabout? Didn't you really know it all before? You astonish me!\"\n\n\"All this is mere jealousy--it is some malady of yours, Parfen! You\nexaggerate everything,\" said the prince, excessively agitated. \"What are\nyou doing?\"\n\n\"Let go of it!\" said Parfen, seizing from the prince's hand a knife\nwhich the latter had at that moment taken up from the table, where it\nlay beside the history. Parfen replaced it where it had been.\n\n\"I seemed to know it--I felt it, when I was coming back to Petersburg,\"\ncontinued the prince, \"I did not want to come, I wished to forget all\nthis, to uproot it from my memory altogether! Well, good-bye--what is\nthe matter?\"\n\nHe had absently taken up the knife a second time, and again Rogojin\nsnatched it from his hand, and threw it down on the table. It was a\nplain looking knife, with a bone handle, a blade about eight inches long,\nand broad in proportion, it did not clasp.\n\nSeeing that the prince was considerably struck by the fact that he had\ntwice seized this knife out of his hand, Rogojin caught it up with\nsome irritation, put it inside the book, and threw the latter across to\nanother table.\n\n\"Do you cut your pages with it, or what?\" asked Muishkin, still rather\nabsently, as though unable to throw off a deep preoccupation into which\nthe conversation had thrown him.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"It's a garden knife, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Yes. Can't one cut pages with a garden knife?\"\n\n\"It's quite new.\"\n\n\"Well, what of that? Can't I buy a new knife if I like?\" shouted Rogojin\nfuriously, his irritation growing with every word.\n\nThe prince shuddered, and gazed fixedly at Parfen. Suddenly he burst out\nlaughing.\n\n\"Why, what an idea!\" he said. \"I didn't mean to ask you any of these\nquestions; I was thinking of something quite different! But my head is\nheavy, and I seem so absent-minded nowadays! Well, good-bye--I can't\nremember what I wanted to say--good-bye!\"\n\n\"Not that way,\" said Rogojin.\n\n\"There, I've forgotten that too!\"\n\n\"This way--come along--I'll show you.\"\n\nIV.\n\nThey passed through the same rooms which the prince had traversed on his\narrival. In the largest there were pictures on the walls, portraits and\nlandscapes of little interest. Over the door, however, there was one of\nstrange and rather striking shape; it was six or seven feet in length,\nand not more than a foot in height. It represented the Saviour just\ntaken from the cross.\n\nThe prince glanced at it, but took no further notice. He moved on\nhastily, as though anxious to get out of the house. But Rogojin suddenly\nstopped underneath the picture.\n\n\"My father picked up all these pictures very cheap at auctions, and so\non,\" he said; \"they are all rubbish, except the one over the door, and\nthat is valuable. A man offered five hundred roubles for it last week.\"\n\n\"Yes--that's a copy of a Holbein,\" said the prince, looking at it again,\n\"and a good copy, too, so far as I am able to judge. I saw the picture\nabroad, and could not forget it--what's the matter?\"\n\nRogojin had dropped the subject of the picture and walked on. Of course\nhis strange frame of mind was sufficient to account for his conduct;\nbut, still, it seemed queer to the prince that he should so abruptly\ndrop a conversation commenced by himself. Rogojin did not take any\nnotice of his question.\n\n\"Lef Nicolaievitch,\" said Rogojin, after a pause, during which the two\nwalked along a little further, \"I have long wished to ask you, do you\nbelieve in God?\"\n\n\"How strangely you speak, and how odd you look!\" said the other,\ninvoluntarily.\n\n\"I like looking at that picture,\" muttered Rogojin, not noticing,\napparently, that the prince had not answered his question.\n\n\"That picture! That picture!\" cried Muishkin, struck by a sudden idea.\n\"Why, a man's faith might be ruined by looking at that picture!\"\n\n\"So it is!\" said Rogojin, unexpectedly. They had now reached the front\ndoor.\n\nThe prince stopped.\n\n\"How?\" he said. \"What do you mean? I was half joking, and you took me up\nquite seriously! Why do you ask me whether I believe in God?\"\n\n\"Oh, no particular reason. I meant to ask you before--many people are\nunbelievers nowadays, especially Russians, I have been told. You ought\nto know--you've lived abroad.\"\n\nRogojin laughed bitterly as he said these words, and opening the door,\nheld it for the prince to pass out. Muishkin looked surprised, but went\nout. The other followed him as far as the landing of the outer stairs,\nand shut the door behind him. They both now stood facing one another, as\nthough oblivious of where they were, or what they had to do next.\n\n\"Well, good-bye!\" said the prince, holding out his hand.\n\n\"Good-bye,\" said Rogojin, pressing it hard, but quite mechanically.\n\nThe prince made one step forward, and then turned round.\n\n\"As to faith,\" he said, smiling, and evidently unwilling to leave\nRogojin in this state--\"as to faith, I had four curious conversations\nin two days, a week or so ago. One morning I met a man in the train, and\nmade acquaintance with him at once. I had often heard of him as a very\nlearned man, but an atheist; and I was very glad of the opportunity of\nconversing with so eminent and clever a person. He doesn't believe in\nGod, and he talked a good deal about it, but all the while it appeared\nto me that he was speaking _outside the subject_. And it has always struck\nme, both in speaking to such men and in reading their books, that they\ndo not seem really to be touching on that at all, though on the surface\nthey may appear to do so. I told him this, but I dare say I did not\nclearly express what I meant, for he could not understand me.\n\n\"That same evening I stopped at a small provincial hotel, and it so\nhappened that a dreadful murder had been committed there the night\nbefore, and everybody was talking about it. Two peasants--elderly men\nand old friends--had had tea together there the night before, and were\nto occupy the same bedroom. They were not drunk but one of them had\nnoticed for the first time that his friend possessed a silver watch\nwhich he was wearing on a chain. He was by no means a thief, and was, as\npeasants go, a rich man; but this watch so fascinated him that he could\nnot restrain himself. He took a knife, and when his friend turned his\nback, he came up softly behind, raised his eyes to heaven, crossed\nhimself, and saying earnestly--'God forgive me, for Christ's sake!' he\ncut his friend's throat like a sheep, and took the watch.\"\n\nRogojin roared with laughter. He laughed as though he were in a sort of\nfit. It was strange to see him laughing so after the sombre mood he had\nbeen in just before.\n\n\"Oh, I like that! That beats anything!\" he cried convulsively, panting\nfor breath. \"One is an absolute unbeliever; the other is such a\nthorough--going believer that he murders his friend to the tune of a\nprayer! Oh, prince, prince, that's too good for anything! You can't have\ninvented it. It's the best thing I've heard!\"\n\n\"Next morning I went out for a stroll through the town,\" continued the\nprince, so soon as Rogojin was a little quieter, though his laughter\nstill burst out at intervals, \"and soon observed a drunken-looking\nsoldier staggering about the pavement. He came up to me and said,\n'Buy my silver cross, sir! You shall have it for fourpence--it's real\nsilver.' I looked, and there he held a cross, just taken off his own\nneck, evidently, a large tin one, made after the Byzantine pattern. I\nfished out fourpence, and put his cross on my own neck, and I could see\nby his face that he was as pleased as he could be at the thought that he\nhad succeeded in cheating a foolish gentleman, and away he went to\ndrink the value of his cross. At that time everything that I saw made\na tremendous impression upon me. I had understood nothing about Russia\nbefore, and had only vague and fantastic memories of it. So I thought,\n'I will wait awhile before I condemn this Judas. Only God knows what may\nbe hidden in the hearts of drunkards.'\n\n\"Well, I went homewards, and near the hotel I came across a poor woman,\ncarrying a child--a baby of some six weeks old. The mother was quite a\ngirl herself. The baby was smiling up at her, for the first time in its\nlife, just at that moment; and while I watched the woman she suddenly\ncrossed herself, oh, so devoutly! 'What is it, my good woman I asked\nher. (I was never but asking questions then!) Exactly as is a mother's\njoy when her baby smiles for the first time into her eyes, so is God's\njoy when one of His children turns and prays to Him for the first time,\nwith all his heart!' This is what that poor woman said to me, almost\nword for word; and such a deep, refined, truly religious thought it\nwas--a thought in which the whole essence of Christianity was expressed\nin one flash--that is, the recognition of God as our Father, and of\nGod's joy in men as His own children, which is the chief idea of Christ.\nShe was a simple country-woman--a mother, it's true--and perhaps, who\nknows, she may have been the wife of the drunken soldier!\n\n\"Listen, Parfen; you put a question to me just now. This is my reply.\nThe essence of religious feeling has nothing to do with reason, or\natheism, or crime, or acts of any kind--it has nothing to do with these\nthings--and never had. There is something besides all this, something\nwhich the arguments of the atheists can never touch. But the principal\nthing, and the conclusion of my argument, is that this is most clearly\nseen in the heart of a Russian. This is a conviction which I have gained\nwhile I have been in this Russia of ours. Yes, Parfen! there is work to\nbe done; there is work to be done in this Russian world! Remember what\ntalks we used to have in Moscow! And I never wished to come here at\nall; and I never thought to meet you like this, Parfen! Well,\nwell--good-bye--good-bye! God be with you!\"\n\nHe turned and went downstairs.\n\n\"Lef Nicolaievitch!\" cried Parfen, before he had reached the next\nlanding. \"Have you got that cross you bought from the soldier with you?\"\n\n\"Yes, I have,\" and the prince stopped again.\n\n\"Show it me, will you?\"\n\nA new fancy! The prince reflected, and then mounted the stairs once\nmore. He pulled out the cross without taking it off his neck.\n\n\"Give it to me,\" said Parfen.\n\n\"Why? do you--\"\n\nThe prince would rather have kept this particular cross.\n\n\"I'll wear it; and you shall have mine. I'll take it off at once.\"\n\n\"You wish to exchange crosses? Very well, Parfen, if that's the case,\nI'm glad enough--that makes us brothers, you know.\"\n\nThe prince took off his tin cross, Parfen his gold one, and the exchange\nwas made.\n\nParfen was silent. With sad surprise the prince observed that the look\nof distrust, the bitter, ironical smile, had still not altogether left\nhis newly-adopted brother's face. At moments, at all events, it showed\nitself but too plainly,\n\nAt last Rogojin took the prince's hand, and stood so for some moments,\nas though he could not make up his mind. Then he drew him along,\nmurmuring almost inaudibly,\n\n\"Come!\"\n\nThey stopped on the landing, and rang the bell at a door opposite to\nParfen's own lodging.\n\nAn old woman opened to them and bowed low to Parfen, who asked her some\nquestions hurriedly, but did not wait to hear her answer. He led the\nprince on through several dark, cold-looking rooms, spotlessly clean,\nwith white covers over all the furniture.\n\nWithout the ceremony of knocking, Parfen entered a small apartment,\nfurnished like a drawing-room, but with a polished mahogany partition\ndividing one half of it from what was probably a bedroom. In one corner\nof this room sat an old woman in an arm-chair, close to the stove. She\ndid not look very old, and her face was a pleasant, round one; but she\nwas white-haired and, as one could detect at the first glance, quite\nin her second childhood. She wore a black woollen dress, with a black\nhandkerchief round her neck and shoulders, and a white cap with black\nribbons. Her feet were raised on a footstool. Beside her sat another old\nwoman, also dressed in mourning, and silently knitting a stocking; this\nwas evidently a companion. They both looked as though they never broke\nthe silence. The first old woman, so soon as she saw Rogojin and the\nprince, smiled and bowed courteously several times, in token of her\ngratification at their visit.\n\n\"Mother,\" said Rogojin, kissing her hand, \"here is my great friend,\nPrince Muishkin; we have exchanged crosses; he was like a real brother\nto me at Moscow at one time, and did a great deal for me. Bless him,\nmother, as you would bless your own son. Wait a moment, let me arrange\nyour hands for you.\"\n\nBut the old lady, before Parfen had time to touch her, raised her right\nhand, and, with three fingers held up, devoutly made the sign of the\ncross three times over the prince. She then nodded her head kindly at\nhim once more.\n\n\"There, come along, Lef Nicolaievitch; that's all I brought you here\nfor,\" said Rogojin.\n\nWhen they reached the stairs again he added:\n\n\"She understood nothing of what I said to her, and did not know what I\nwanted her to do, and yet she blessed you; that shows she wished to do\nso herself. Well, goodbye; it's time you went, and I must go too.\"\n\nHe opened his own door.\n\n\"Well, let me at least embrace you and say goodbye, you strange fellow!\"\ncried the prince, looking with gentle reproach at Rogojin, and advancing\ntowards him. But the latter had hardly raised his arms when he dropped\nthem again. He could not make up his mind to it; he turned away from the\nprince in order to avoid looking at him. He could not embrace him.\n\n\"Don't be afraid,\" he muttered, indistinctly, \"though I have taken your\ncross, I shall not murder you for your watch.\" So saying, he laughed\nsuddenly, and strangely. Then in a moment his face became transfigured;\nhe grew deadly white, his lips trembled, his eyes burned like fire. He\nstretched out his arms and held the prince tightly to him, and said in a\nstrangled voice:\n\n\"Well, take her! It's Fate! She's yours. I surrender her.... Remember\nRogojin!\" And pushing the prince from him, without looking back at him,\nhe hurriedly entered his own flat, and banged the door.\n\nV.\n\nIt was late now, nearly half-past two, and the prince did not find\nGeneral Epanchin at home. He left a card, and determined to look up\nColia, who had a room at a small hotel near. Colia was not in, but he\nwas informed that he might be back shortly, and had left word that if he\nwere not in by half-past three it was to be understood that he had gone\nto Pavlofsk to General Epanchin's, and would dine there. The prince\ndecided to wait till half-past three, and ordered some dinner. At\nhalf-past three there was no sign of Colia. The prince waited until four\no'clock, and then strolled off mechanically wherever his feet should\ncarry him.\n\nIn early summer there are often magnificent days in St.\nPetersburg--bright, hot and still. This happened to be such a day.\n\nFor some time the prince wandered about without aim or object. He did\nnot know the town well. He stopped to look about him on bridges, at\nstreet corners. He entered a confectioner's shop to rest, once. He was\nin a state of nervous excitement and perturbation; he noticed nothing\nand no one; and he felt a craving for solitude, to be alone with his\nthoughts and his emotions, and to give himself up to them passively. He\nloathed the idea of trying to answer the questions that would rise up\nin his heart and mind. \"I am not to blame for all this,\" he thought to\nhimself, half unconsciously.\n\nTowards six o'clock he found himself at the station of the\nTsarsko-Selski railway.\n\nHe was tired of solitude now; a new rush of feeling took hold of him,\nand a flood of light chased away the gloom, for a moment, from his soul.\nHe took a ticket to Pavlofsk, and determined to get there as fast as he\ncould, but something stopped him; a reality, and not a fantasy, as he\nwas inclined to think it. He was about to take his place in a carriage,\nwhen he suddenly threw away his ticket and came out again, disturbed and\nthoughtful. A few moments later, in the street, he recalled something\nthat had bothered him all the afternoon. He caught himself engaged in\na strange occupation which he now recollected he had taken up at odd\nmoments for the last few hours--it was looking about all around him for\nsomething, he did not know what. He had forgotten it for a while, half\nan hour or so, and now, suddenly, the uneasy search had recommenced.\n\nBut he had hardly become conscious of this curious phenomenon, when\nanother recollection suddenly swam through his brain, interesting him\nfor the moment, exceedingly. He remembered that the last time he had\nbeen engaged in looking around him for the unknown something, he was\nstanding before a cutler's shop, in the window of which were exposed\ncertain goods for sale. He was extremely anxious now to discover whether\nthis shop and these goods really existed, or whether the whole thing had\nbeen a hallucination.\n\nHe felt in a very curious condition today, a condition similar to that\nwhich had preceded his fits in bygone years.\n\nHe remembered that at such times he had been particularly absentminded,\nand could not discriminate between objects and persons unless he\nconcentrated special attention upon them.\n\nHe remembered seeing something in the window marked at sixty copecks.\nTherefore, if the shop existed and if this object were really in\nthe window, it would prove that he had been able to concentrate his\nattention on this article at a moment when, as a general rule,\nhis absence of mind would have been too great to admit of any such\nconcentration; in fact, very shortly after he had left the railway\nstation in such a state of agitation.\n\nSo he walked back looking about him for the shop, and his heart beat\nwith intolerable impatience. Ah! here was the very shop, and there was\nthe article marked \"60 cop.\" Of course, it's sixty copecks, he thought,\nand certainly worth no more. This idea amused him and he laughed.\n\nBut it was a hysterical laugh; he was feeling terribly oppressed. He\nremembered clearly that just here, standing before this window, he had\nsuddenly turned round, just as earlier in the day he had turned and\nfound the dreadful eyes of Rogojin fixed upon him. Convinced, therefore,\nthat in this respect at all events he had been under no delusion, he\nleft the shop and went on.\n\nThis must be thought out; it was clear that there had been no\nhallucination at the station then, either; something had actually\nhappened to him, on both occasions; there was no doubt of it. But again\na loathing for all mental exertion overmastered him; he would not\nthink it out now, he would put it off and think of something else.\nHe remembered that during his epileptic fits, or rather immediately\npreceding them, he had always experienced a moment or two when his whole\nheart, and mind, and body seemed to wake up to vigour and light; when\nhe became filled with joy and hope, and all his anxieties seemed to be\nswept away for ever; these moments were but presentiments, as it were,\nof the one final second (it was never more than a second) in which the\nfit came upon him. That second, of course, was inexpressible. When his\nattack was over, and the prince reflected on his symptoms, he used to\nsay to himself: \"These moments, short as they are, when I feel such\nextreme consciousness of myself, and consequently more of life than\nat other times, are due only to the disease--to the sudden rupture of\nnormal conditions. Therefore they are not really a higher kind of life,\nbut a lower.\" This reasoning, however, seemed to end in a paradox,\nand lead to the further consideration:--\"What matter though it be only\ndisease, an abnormal tension of the brain, if when I recall and analyze\nthe moment, it seems to have been one of harmony and beauty in the\nhighest degree--an instant of deepest sensation, overflowing with\nunbounded joy and rapture, ecstatic devotion, and completest life?\"\nVague though this sounds, it was perfectly comprehensible to Muishkin,\nthough he knew that it was but a feeble expression of his sensations.\n\nThat there was, indeed, beauty and harmony in those abnormal moments,\nthat they really contained the highest synthesis of life, he could not\ndoubt, nor even admit the possibility of doubt. He felt that they were\nnot analogous to the fantastic and unreal dreams due to intoxication\nby hashish, opium or wine. Of that he could judge, when the attack was\nover. These instants were characterized--to define it in a word--by\nan intense quickening of the sense of personality. Since, in the last\nconscious moment preceding the attack, he could say to himself, with\nfull understanding of his words: \"I would give my whole life for this\none instant,\" then doubtless to him it really was worth a lifetime.\nFor the rest, he thought the dialectical part of his argument of little\nworth; he saw only too clearly that the result of these ecstatic moments\nwas stupefaction, mental darkness, idiocy. No argument was possible\non that point. His conclusion, his estimate of the \"moment,\" doubtless\ncontained some error, yet the reality of the sensation troubled him.\nWhat's more unanswerable than a fact? And this fact had occurred. The\nprince had confessed unreservedly to himself that the feeling of intense\nbeatitude in that crowded moment made the moment worth a lifetime. \"I\nfeel then,\" he said one day to Rogojin in Moscow, \"I feel then as if I\nunderstood those amazing words--'There shall be no more time.'\" And he\nadded with a smile: \"No doubt the epileptic Mahomet refers to that same\nmoment when he says that he visited all the dwellings of Allah, in less\ntime than was needed to empty his pitcher of water.\" Yes, he had often\nmet Rogojin in Moscow, and many were the subjects they discussed. \"He\ntold me I had been a brother to him,\" thought the prince. \"He said so\ntoday, for the first time.\"\n\nHe was sitting in the Summer Garden on a seat under a tree, and his\nmind dwelt on the matter. It was about seven o'clock, and the place was\nempty. The stifling atmosphere foretold a storm, and the prince felt a\ncertain charm in the contemplative mood which possessed him. He found\npleasure, too, in gazing at the exterior objects around him. All the\ntime he was trying to forget some thing, to escape from some idea that\nhaunted him; but melancholy thoughts came back, though he would so\nwillingly have escaped from them. He remembered suddenly how he had been\ntalking to the waiter, while he dined, about a recently committed murder\nwhich the whole town was discussing, and as he thought of it something\nstrange came over him. He was seized all at once by a violent desire,\nalmost a temptation, against which he strove in vain.\n\nHe jumped up and walked off as fast as he could towards the \"Petersburg\nSide.\" [One of the quarters of St. Petersburg.] He had asked someone, a\nlittle while before, to show him which was the Petersburg Side, on the\nbanks of the Neva. He had not gone there, however; and he knew very\nwell that it was of no use to go now, for he would certainly not find\nLebedeff's relation at home. He had the address, but she must certainly\nhave gone to Pavlofsk, or Colia would have let him know. If he were to\ngo now, it would merely be out of curiosity, but a sudden, new idea had\ncome into his head.\n\nHowever, it was something to move on and know where he was going. A\nminute later he was still moving on, but without knowing anything. He\ncould no longer think out his new idea. He tried to take an interest in\nall he saw; in the sky, in the Neva. He spoke to some children he met.\nHe felt his epileptic condition becoming more and more developed. The\nevening was very close; thunder was heard some way off.\n\nThe prince was haunted all that day by the face of Lebedeff's nephew\nwhom he had seen for the first time that morning, just as one is haunted\nat times by some persistent musical refrain. By a curious association\nof ideas, the young man always appeared as the murderer of whom Lebedeff\nhad spoken when introducing him to Muishkin. Yes, he had read something\nabout the murder, and that quite recently. Since he came to Russia, he\nhad heard many stories of this kind, and was interested in them. His\nconversation with the waiter, an hour ago, chanced to be on the subject\nof this murder of the Zemarins, and the latter had agreed with him about\nit. He thought of the waiter again, and decided that he was no fool, but\na steady, intelligent man: though, said he to himself, \"God knows\nwhat he may really be; in a country with which one is unfamiliar it is\ndifficult to understand the people one meets.\" He was beginning to have\na passionate faith in the Russian soul, however, and what discoveries he\nhad made in the last six months, what unexpected discoveries! But every\nsoul is a mystery, and depths of mystery lie in the soul of a Russian.\nHe had been intimate with Rogojin, for example, and a brotherly\nfriendship had sprung up between them--yet did he really know him?\nWhat chaos and ugliness fills the world at times! What a self-satisfied\nrascal is that nephew of Lebedeff's! \"But what am I thinking,\" continued\nthe prince to himself. \"Can he really have committed that crime? Did he\nkill those six persons? I seem to be confusing things... how strange\nit all is.... My head goes round... And Lebedeff's daughter--how\nsympathetic and charming her face was as she held the child in her arms!\nWhat an innocent look and child-like laugh she had! It is curious that I\nhad forgotten her until now. I expect Lebedeff adores her--and I really\nbelieve, when I think of it, that as sure as two and two make four, he\nis fond of that nephew, too!\"\n\nWell, why should he judge them so hastily! Could he really say what they\nwere, after one short visit? Even Lebedeff seemed an enigma today.\nDid he expect to find him so? He had never seen him like that before.\nLebedeff and the Comtesse du Barry! Good Heavens! If Rogojin should\nreally kill someone, it would not, at any rate, be such a senseless,\nchaotic affair. A knife made to a special pattern, and six people killed\nin a kind of delirium. But Rogojin also had a knife made to a special\npattern. Can it be that Rogojin wishes to murder anyone? The prince\nbegan to tremble violently. \"It is a crime on my part to imagine\nanything so base, with such cynical frankness.\" His face reddened with\nshame at the thought; and then there came across him as in a flash\nthe memory of the incidents at the Pavlofsk station, and at the other\nstation in the morning; and the question asked him by Rogojin about\n_the eyes_ and Rogojin's cross, that he was even now wearing; and the\nbenediction of Rogojin's mother; and his embrace on the darkened\nstaircase--that last supreme renunciation--and now, to find himself full\nof this new \"idea,\" staring into shop-windows, and looking round for\nthings--how base he was!\n\nDespair overmastered his soul; he would not go on, he would go back to\nhis hotel; he even turned and went the other way; but a moment after he\nchanged his mind again and went on in the old direction.\n\nWhy, here he was on the Petersburg Side already, quite close to the\nhouse! Where was his \"idea\"? He was marching along without it now. Yes,\nhis malady was coming back, it was clear enough; all this gloom and\nheaviness, all these \"ideas,\" were nothing more nor less than a fit\ncoming on; perhaps he would have a fit this very day.\n\nBut just now all the gloom and darkness had fled, his heart felt full of\njoy and hope, there was no such thing as doubt. And yes, he hadn't\nseen her for so long; he really must see her. He wished he could meet\nRogojin; he would take his hand, and they would go to her together. His\nheart was pure, he was no rival of Parfen's. Tomorrow, he would go\nand tell him that he had seen her. Why, he had only come for the sole\npurpose of seeing her, all the way from Moscow! Perhaps she might be\nhere still, who knows? She might not have gone away to Pavlofsk yet.\n\nYes, all this must be put straight and above-board, there must be no\nmore passionate renouncements, such as Rogojin's. It must all be clear\nas day. Cannot Rogojin's soul bear the light? He said he did not love\nher with sympathy and pity; true, he added that \"your pity is greater\nthan my love,\" but he was not quite fair on himself there. Kin! Rogojin\nreading a book--wasn't that sympathy beginning? Did it not show that he\ncomprehended his relations with her? And his story of waiting day and\nnight for her forgiveness? That didn't look quite like passion alone.\n\nAnd as to her face, could it inspire nothing but passion? Could her\nface inspire passion at all now? Oh, it inspired suffering, grief,\noverwhelming grief of the soul! A poignant, agonizing memory swept over\nthe prince's heart.\n\nYes, agonizing. He remembered how he had suffered that first day when he\nthought he observed in her the symptoms of madness. He had almost fallen\ninto despair. How could he have lost his hold upon her when she ran away\nfrom him to Rogojin? He ought to have run after her himself, rather than\nwait for news as he had done. Can Rogojin have failed to observe, up\nto now, that she is mad? Rogojin attributes her strangeness to other\ncauses, to passion! What insane jealousy! What was it he had hinted at\nin that suggestion of his? The prince suddenly blushed, and shuddered to\nhis very heart.\n\nBut why recall all this? There was insanity on both sides. For him, the\nprince, to love this woman with passion, was unthinkable. It would be\ncruel and inhuman. Yes. Rogojin is not fair to himself; he has a large\nheart; he has aptitude for sympathy. When he learns the truth, and finds\nwhat a pitiable being is this injured, broken, half-insane creature, he\nwill forgive her all the torment she has caused him. He will become her\nslave, her brother, her friend. Compassion will teach even Rogojin,\nit will show him how to reason. Compassion is the chief law of human\nexistence. Oh, how guilty he felt towards Rogojin! And, for a few warm,\nhasty words spoken in Moscow, Parfen had called him \"brother,\" while\nhe--but no, this was delirium! It would all come right! That gloomy\nParfen had implied that his faith was waning; he must suffer dreadfully.\nHe said he liked to look at that picture; it was not that he liked\nit, but he felt the need of looking at it. Rogojin was not merely a\npassionate soul; he was a fighter. He was fighting for the restoration\nof his dying faith. He must have something to hold on to and believe,\nand someone to believe in. What a strange picture that of Holbein's is!\nWhy, this is the street, and here's the house, No. 16.\n\nThe prince rang the bell, and asked for Nastasia Philipovna. The lady of\nthe house came out, and stated that Nastasia had gone to stay with Daria\nAlexeyevna at Pavlofsk, and might be there some days.\n\nMadame Filisoff was a little woman of forty, with a cunning face, and\ncrafty, piercing eyes. When, with an air of mystery, she asked her\nvisitor's name, he refused at first to answer, but in a moment he\nchanged his mind, and left strict instructions that it should be given\nto Nastasia Philipovna. The urgency of his request seemed to impress\nMadame Filisoff, and she put on a knowing expression, as if to say, \"You\nneed not be afraid, I quite understand.\" The prince's name evidently\nwas a great surprise to her. He stood and looked absently at her for a\nmoment, then turned, and took the road back to his hotel. But he went\naway not as he came. A great change had suddenly come over him. He went\nblindly forward; his knees shook under him; he was tormented by \"ideas\";\nhis lips were blue, and trembled with a feeble, meaningless smile. His\ndemon was upon him once more.\n\nWhat had happened to him? Why was his brow clammy with drops of\nmoisture, his knees shaking beneath him, and his soul oppressed with a\ncold gloom? Was it because he had just seen these dreadful eyes again?\nWhy, he had left the Summer Garden on purpose to see them; that had been\nhis \"idea.\" He had wished to assure himself that he would see them once\nmore at that house. Then why was he so overwhelmed now, having seen them\nas he expected? just as though he had not expected to see them! Yes,\nthey were the very same eyes; and no doubt about it. The same that he\nhad seen in the crowd that morning at the station, the same that he\nhad surprised in Rogojin's rooms some hours later, when the latter had\nreplied to his inquiry with a sneering laugh, \"Well, whose eyes were\nthey?\" Then for the third time they had appeared just as he was getting\ninto the train on his way to see Aglaya. He had had a strong impulse to\nrush up to Rogojin, and repeat his words of the morning \"Whose eyes\nare they?\" Instead he had fled from the station, and knew nothing more,\nuntil he found himself gazing into the window of a cutler's shop, and\nwondering if a knife with a staghorn handle would cost more than sixty\ncopecks. And as the prince sat dreaming in the Summer Garden under a\nlime-tree, a wicked demon had come and whispered in his car: \"Rogojin\nhas been spying upon you and watching you all the morning in a frenzy\nof desperation. When he finds you have not gone to Pavlofsk--a terrible\ndiscovery for him--he will surely go at once to that house in Petersburg\nSide, and watch for you there, although only this morning you gave\nyour word of honour not to see _her_, and swore that you had not come to\nPetersburg for that purpose.\" And thereupon the prince had hastened off\nto that house, and what was there in the fact that he had met Rogojin\nthere? He had only seen a wretched, suffering creature, whose state of\nmind was gloomy and miserable, but most comprehensible. In the morning\nRogojin had seemed to be trying to keep out of the way; but at the\nstation this afternoon he had stood out, he had concealed himself,\nindeed, less than the prince himself; at the house, now, he had stood\nfifty yards off on the other side of the road, with folded hands,\nwatching, plainly in view and apparently desirous of being seen. He had\nstood there like an accuser, like a judge, not like a--a what?\n\nAnd why had not the prince approached him and spoken to him, instead\nof turning away and pretending he had seen nothing, although their eyes\nmet? (Yes, their eyes had met, and they had looked at each other.) Why,\nhe had himself wished to take Rogojin by the hand and go in together, he\nhad himself determined to go to him on the morrow and tell him that he\nhad seen her, he had repudiated the demon as he walked to the house, and\nhis heart had been full of joy.\n\nWas there something in the whole aspect of the man, today, sufficient\nto justify the prince's terror, and the awful suspicions of his demon?\nSomething seen, but indescribable, which filled him with dreadful\npresentiments? Yes, he was convinced of it--convinced of what? (Oh, how\nmean and hideous of him to feel this conviction, this presentiment! How\nhe blamed himself for it!) \"Speak if you dare, and tell me, what is the\npresentiment?\" he repeated to himself, over and over again. \"Put it into\nwords, speak out clearly and distinctly. Oh, miserable coward that I\nam!\" The prince flushed with shame for his own baseness. \"How shall I\never look this man in the face again? My God, what a day! And what a\nnightmare, what a nightmare!\"\n\nThere was a moment, during this long, wretched walk back from the\nPetersburg Side, when the prince felt an irresistible desire to go\nstraight to Rogojin's, wait for him, embrace him with tears of shame and\ncontrition, and tell him of his distrust, and finish with it--once for\nall.\n\nBut here he was back at his hotel.\n\nHow often during the day he had thought of this hotel with loathing--its\ncorridor, its rooms, its stairs. How he had dreaded coming back to it,\nfor some reason.\n\n\"What a regular old woman I am today,\" he had said to himself each time,\nwith annoyance. \"I believe in every foolish presentiment that comes into\nmy head.\"\n\nHe stopped for a moment at the door; a great flush of shame came over\nhim. \"I am a coward, a wretched coward,\" he said, and moved forward\nagain; but once more he paused.\n\nAmong all the incidents of the day, one recurred to his mind to the\nexclusion of the rest; although now that his self-control was regained,\nand he was no longer under the influence of a nightmare, he was able\nto think of it calmly. It concerned the knife on Rogojin's table. \"Why\nshould not Rogojin have as many knives on his table as he chooses?\"\nthought the prince, wondering at his suspicions, as he had done when he\nfound himself looking into the cutler's window. \"What could it have to\ndo with me?\" he said to himself again, and stopped as if rooted to the\nground by a kind of paralysis of limb such as attacks people under the\nstress of some humiliating recollection.\n\nThe doorway was dark and gloomy at any time; but just at this moment\nit was rendered doubly so by the fact that the thunder-storm had just\nbroken, and the rain was coming down in torrents.\n\nAnd in the semi-darkness the prince distinguished a man standing close\nto the stairs, apparently waiting.\n\nThere was nothing particularly significant in the fact that a man was\nstanding back in the doorway, waiting to come out or go upstairs; but\nthe prince felt an irresistible conviction that he knew this man, and\nthat it was Rogojin. The man moved on up the stairs; a moment later the\nprince passed up them, too. His heart froze within him. \"In a minute or\ntwo I shall know all,\" he thought.\n\nThe staircase led to the first and second corridors of the hotel, along\nwhich lay the guests' bedrooms. As is often the case in Petersburg\nhouses, it was narrow and very dark, and turned around a massive stone\ncolumn.\n\nOn the first landing, which was as small as the necessary turn of the\nstairs allowed, there was a niche in the column, about half a yard wide,\nand in this niche the prince felt convinced that a man stood concealed.\nHe thought he could distinguish a figure standing there. He would pass\nby quickly and not look. He took a step forward, but could bear the\nuncertainty no longer and turned his head.\n\nThe eyes--the same two eyes--met his! The man concealed in the niche had\nalso taken a step forward. For one second they stood face to face.\n\nSuddenly the prince caught the man by the shoulder and twisted him round\ntowards the light, so that he might see his face more clearly.\n\nRogojin's eyes flashed, and a smile of insanity distorted his\ncountenance. His right hand was raised, and something glittered in it.\nThe prince did not think of trying to stop it. All he could remember\nafterwards was that he seemed to have called out:\n\n\"Parfen! I won't believe it.\"\n\nNext moment something appeared to burst open before him: a wonderful\ninner light illuminated his soul. This lasted perhaps half a second, yet\nhe distinctly remembered hearing the beginning of the wail, the strange,\ndreadful wail, which burst from his lips of its own accord, and which no\neffort of will on his part could suppress.\n\nNext moment he was absolutely unconscious; black darkness blotted out\neverything.\n\nHe had fallen in an epileptic fit.\n\n\n*****\n\n\nAs is well known, these fits occur instantaneously. The face, especially\nthe eyes, become terribly disfigured, convulsions seize the limbs, a\nterrible cry breaks from the sufferer, a wail from which everything\nhuman seems to be blotted out, so that it is impossible to believe that\nthe man who has just fallen is the same who emitted the dreadful cry.\nIt seems more as though some other being, inside the stricken one,\nhad cried. Many people have borne witness to this impression; and many\ncannot behold an epileptic fit without a feeling of mysterious terror\nand dread.\n\nSuch a feeling, we must suppose, overtook Rogojin at this moment, and\nsaved the prince's life. Not knowing that it was a fit, and seeing\nhis victim disappear head foremost into the darkness, hearing his head\nstrike the stone steps below with a crash, Rogojin rushed downstairs,\nskirting the body, and flung himself headlong out of the hotel, like a\nraving madman.\n\nThe prince's body slipped convulsively down the steps till it rested at\nthe bottom. Very soon, in five minutes or so, he was discovered, and a\ncrowd collected around him.\n\nA pool of blood on the steps near his head gave rise to grave fears. Was\nit a case of accident, or had there been a crime? It was, however, soon\nrecognized as a case of epilepsy, and identification and proper measures\nfor restoration followed one another, owing to a fortunate circumstance.\nColia Ivolgin had come back to his hotel about seven o'clock, owing to\na sudden impulse which made him refuse to dine at the Epanchins',\nand, finding a note from the prince awaiting him, had sped away to the\nlatter's address. Arrived there, he ordered a cup of tea and sat sipping\nit in the coffee-room. While there he heard excited whispers of someone\njust found at the bottom of the stairs in a fit; upon which he had\nhurried to the spot, with a presentiment of evil, and at once recognized\nthe prince.\n\nThe sufferer was immediately taken to his room, and though he partially\nregained consciousness, he lay long in a semi-dazed condition.\n\nThe doctor stated that there was no danger to be apprehended from the\nwound on the head, and as soon as the prince could understand what\nwas going on around him, Colia hired a carriage and took him away\nto Lebedeff's. There he was received with much cordiality, and the\ndeparture to the country was hastened on his account. Three days later\nthey were all at Pavlofsk.\n\nVI.\n\nLebedeff's country-house was not large, but it was pretty and\nconvenient, especially the part which was let to the prince.\n\nA row of orange and lemon trees and jasmines, planted in green tubs,\nstood on the fairly wide terrace. According to Lebedeff, these trees\ngave the house a most delightful aspect. Some were there when he bought\nit, and he was so charmed with the effect that he promptly added to\ntheir number. When the tubs containing these plants arrived at the villa\nand were set in their places, Lebedeff kept running into the street to\nenjoy the view of the house, and every time he did so the rent to be\ndemanded from the future tenant went up with a bound.\n\nThis country villa pleased the prince very much in his state of physical\nand mental exhaustion. On the day that they left for Pavlofsk, that is\nthe day after his attack, he appeared almost well, though in reality he\nfelt very far from it. The faces of those around him for the last three\ndays had made a pleasant impression. He was pleased to see, not only\nColia, who had become his inseparable companion, but Lebedeff himself\nand all the family, except the nephew, who had left the house. He was\nalso glad to receive a visit from General Ivolgin, before leaving St.\nPetersburg.\n\nIt was getting late when the party arrived at Pavlofsk, but several\npeople called to see the prince, and assembled in the verandah. Gania\nwas the first to arrive. He had grown so pale and thin that the prince\ncould hardly recognize him. Then came Varia and Ptitsin, who were\nrusticating in the neighbourhood. As to General Ivolgin, he scarcely\nbudged from Lebedeff's house, and seemed to have moved to Pavlofsk with\nhim. Lebedeff did his best to keep Ardalion Alexandrovitch by him, and\nto prevent him from invading the prince's quarters. He chatted with\nhim confidentially, so that they might have been taken for old friends.\nDuring those three days the prince had noticed that they frequently held\nlong conversations; he often heard their voices raised in argument on\ndeep and learned subjects, which evidently pleased Lebedeff. He seemed\nas if he could not do without the general. But it was not only Ardalion\nAlexandrovitch whom Lebedeff kept out of the prince's way. Since they\nhad come to the villa, he treated his own family the same. Upon the\npretext that his tenant needed quiet, he kept him almost in isolation,\nand Muishkin protested in vain against this excess of zeal. Lebedeff\nstamped his feet at his daughters and drove them away if they attempted\nto join the prince on the terrace; not even Vera was excepted.\n\n\"They will lose all respect if they are allowed to be so free and easy;\nbesides it is not proper for them,\" he declared at last, in answer to a\ndirect question from the prince.\n\n\"Why on earth not?\" asked the latter. \"Really, you know, you are making\nyourself a nuisance, by keeping guard over me like this. I get bored\nall by myself; I have told you so over and over again, and you get on\nmy nerves more than ever by waving your hands and creeping in and out in\nthe mysterious way you do.\"\n\nIt was a fact that Lebedeff, though he was so anxious to keep everyone\nelse from disturbing the patient, was continually in and out of the\nprince's room himself. He invariably began by opening the door a crack\nand peering in to see if the prince was there, or if he had escaped;\nthen he would creep softly up to the arm-chair, sometimes making\nMuishkin jump by his sudden appearance. He always asked if the patient\nwanted anything, and when the latter replied that he only wanted to be\nleft in peace, he would turn away obediently and make for the door on\ntip-toe, with deprecatory gestures to imply that he had only just looked\nin, that he would not speak a word, and would go away and not intrude\nagain; which did not prevent him from reappearing in ten minutes or\na quarter of an hour. Colia had free access to the prince, at which\nLebedeff was quite disgusted and indignant. He would listen at the door\nfor half an hour at a time while the two were talking. Colia found this\nout, and naturally told the prince of his discovery.\n\n\"Do you think yourself my master, that you try to keep me under lock and\nkey like this?\" said the prince to Lebedeff. \"In the country, at least,\nI intend to be free, and you may make up your mind that I mean to see\nwhom I like, and go where I please.\"\n\n\"Why, of course,\" replied the clerk, gesticulating with his hands.\n\nThe prince looked him sternly up and down.\n\n\"Well, Lukian Timofeyovitch, have you brought the little cupboard that\nyou had at the head of your bed with you here?\"\n\n\"No, I left it where it was.\"\n\n\"Impossible!\"\n\n\"It cannot be moved; you would have to pull the wall down, it is so\nfirmly fixed.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you have one like it here?\"\n\n\"I have one that is even better, much better; that is really why I\nbought this house.\"\n\n\"Ah! What visitor did you turn away from my door, about an hour ago?\"\n\n\"The-the general. I would not let him in; there is no need for him to\nvisit you, prince... I have the deepest esteem for him, he is a--a great\nman. You don't believe it? Well, you will see, and yet, most excellent\nprince, you had much better not receive him.\"\n\n\"May I ask why? and also why you walk about on tiptoe and always seem as\nif you were going to whisper a secret in my ear whenever you come near\nme?\"\n\n\"I am vile, vile; I know it!\" cried Lebedeff, beating his breast with a\ncontrite air. \"But will not the general be too hospitable for you?\"\n\n\"Too hospitable?\"\n\n\"Yes. First, he proposes to come and live in my house. Well and good;\nbut he sticks at nothing; he immediately makes himself one of the\nfamily. We have talked over our respective relations several times, and\ndiscovered that we are connected by marriage. It seems also that you are\na sort of nephew on his mother's side; he was explaining it to me again\nonly yesterday. If you are his nephew, it follows that I must also be a\nrelation of yours, most excellent prince. Never mind about that, it is\nonly a foible; but just now he assured me that all his life, from the\nday he was made an ensign to the 11th of last June, he has entertained\nat least two hundred guests at his table every day. Finally, he went so\nfar as to say that they never rose from the table; they dined, supped,\nand had tea, for fifteen hours at a stretch. This went on for thirty\nyears without a break; there was barely time to change the table-cloth;\ndirectly one person left, another took his place. On feast-days he\nentertained as many as three hundred guests, and they numbered seven\nhundred on the thousandth anniversary of the foundation of the Russian\nEmpire. It amounts to a passion with him; it makes one uneasy to hear of\nit. It is terrible to have to entertain people who do things on such a\nscale. That is why I wonder whether such a man is not too hospitable for\nyou and me.\"\n\n\"But you seem to be on the best of terms with him?\"\n\n\"Quite fraternal--I look upon it as a joke. Let us be brothers-in-law,\nit is all the same to me,--rather an honour than not. But in spite of\nthe two hundred guests and the thousandth anniversary of the Russian\nEmpire, I can see that he is a very remarkable man. I am quite sincere.\nYou said just now that I always looked as if I was going to tell you a\nsecret; you are right. I have a secret to tell you: a certain person has\njust let me know that she is very anxious for a secret interview with\nyou.\"\n\n\"Why should it be secret? Not at all; I will call on her myself\ntomorrow.\"\n\n\"No, oh no!\" cried Lebedeff, waving his arms; \"if she is afraid, it is\nnot for the reason you think. By the way, do you know that the monster\ncomes every day to inquire after your health?\"\n\n\"You call him a monster so often that it makes me suspicious.\"\n\n\"You must have no suspicions, none whatever,\" said Lebedeff quickly. \"I\nonly want you to know that the person in question is not afraid of him,\nbut of something quite, quite different.\"\n\n\"What on earth is she afraid of, then? Tell me plainly, without any more\nbeating about the bush,\" said the prince, exasperated by the other's\nmysterious grimaces.\n\n\"Ah that is the secret,\" said Lebedeff, with a smile.\n\n\"Whose secret?\"\n\n\"Yours. You forbade me yourself to mention it before you, most excellent\nprince,\" murmured Lebedeff. Then, satisfied that he had worked up\nMuishkin's curiosity to the highest pitch, he added abruptly: \"She is\nafraid of Aglaya Ivanovna.\"\n\nThe prince frowned for a moment in silence, and then said suddenly:\n\n\"Really, Lebedeff, I must leave your house. Where are Gavrila\nArdalionovitch and the Ptitsins? Are they here? Have you chased them\naway, too?\"\n\n\"They are coming, they are coming; and the general as well. I will open\nall the doors; I will call all my daughters, all of them, this very\nminute,\" said Lebedeff in a low voice, thoroughly frightened, and waving\nhis hands as he ran from door to door.\n\nAt that moment Colia appeared on the terrace; he announced that\nLizabetha Prokofievna and her three daughters were close behind him.\n\nMoved by this news, Lebedeff hurried up to the prince.\n\n\"Shall I call the Ptitsins, and Gavrila Ardalionovitch? Shall I let the\ngeneral in?\" he asked.\n\n\"Why not? Let in anyone who wants to see me. I assure you, Lebedeff, you\nhave misunderstood my position from the very first; you have been wrong\nall along. I have not the slightest reason to hide myself from anyone,\"\nreplied the prince gaily.\n\nSeeing him laugh, Lebedeff thought fit to laugh also, and though much\nagitated his satisfaction was quite visible.\n\nColia was right; the Epanchin ladies were only a few steps behind him.\nAs they approached the terrace other visitors appeared from Lebedeff's\nside of the house-the Ptitsins, Gania, and Ardalion Alexandrovitch.\n\nThe Epanchins had only just heard of the prince's illness and of his\npresence in Pavlofsk, from Colia; and up to this time had been in a\nstate of considerable bewilderment about him. The general brought the\nprince's card down from town, and Mrs. Epanchin had felt convinced that\nhe himself would follow his card at once; she was much excited.\n\nIn vain the girls assured her that a man who had not written for six\nmonths would not be in such a dreadful hurry, and that probably he had\nenough to do in town without needing to bustle down to Pavlofsk to see\nthem. Their mother was quite angry at the very idea of such a thing, and\nannounced her absolute conviction that he would turn up the next day at\nlatest.\n\nSo next day the prince was expected all the morning, and at dinner, tea,\nand supper; and when he did not appear in the evening, Mrs. Epanchin\nquarrelled with everyone in the house, finding plenty of pretexts\nwithout so much as mentioning the prince's name.\n\nOn the third day there was no talk of him at all, until Aglaya remarked\nat dinner: \"Mamma is cross because the prince hasn't turned up,\" to\nwhich the general replied that it was not his fault.\n\nMrs. Epanchin misunderstood the observation, and rising from her place\nshe left the room in majestic wrath. In the evening, however, Colia came\nwith the story of the prince's adventures, so far as he knew them. Mrs.\nEpanchin was triumphant; although Colia had to listen to a long lecture.\n\"He idles about here the whole day long, one can't get rid of him; and\nthen when he is wanted he does not come. He might have sent a line if he\ndid not wish to inconvenience himself.\"\n\nAt the words \"one can't get rid of him,\" Colia was very angry, and\nnearly flew into a rage; but he resolved to be quiet for the time and\nshow his resentment later. If the words had been less offensive he\nmight have forgiven them, so pleased was he to see Lizabetha Prokofievna\nworried and anxious about the prince's illness.\n\nShe would have insisted on sending to Petersburg at once, for a certain\ngreat medical celebrity; but her daughters dissuaded her, though they\nwere not willing to stay behind when she at once prepared to go and\nvisit the invalid. Aglaya, however, suggested that it was a little\nunceremonious to go _en masse_ to see him.\n\n\"Very well then, stay at home,\" said Mrs. Epanchin, \"and a good thing\ntoo, for Evgenie Pavlovitch is coming down and there will be no one at\nhome to receive him.\"\n\nOf course, after this, Aglaya went with the rest. In fact, she had never\nhad the slightest intention of doing otherwise.\n\nPrince S., who was in the house, was requested to escort the ladies.\nHe had been much interested when he first heard of the prince from the\nEpanchins. It appeared that they had known one another before, and had\nspent some time together in a little provincial town three months\nago. Prince S. had greatly taken to him, and was delighted with the\nopportunity of meeting him again.\n\nThe general had not come down from town as yet, nor had Evgenie\nPavlovitch arrived.\n\nIt was not more than two or three hundred yards from the Epanchins'\nhouse to Lebedeff's. The first disagreeable impression experienced by\nMrs. Epanchin was to find the prince surrounded by a whole assembly of\nother guests--not to mention the fact that some of those present were\nparticularly detestable in her eyes. The next annoying circumstance was\nwhen an apparently strong and healthy young fellow, well dressed,\nand smiling, came forward to meet her on the terrace, instead of the\nhalf-dying unfortunate whom she had expected to see.\n\nShe was astonished and vexed, and her disappointment pleased Colia\nimmensely. Of course he could have undeceived her before she started,\nbut the mischievous boy had been careful not to do that, foreseeing the\nprobably laughable disgust that she would experience when she found her\ndear friend, the prince, in good health. Colia was indelicate enough to\nvoice the delight he felt at his success in managing to annoy Lizabetha\nProkofievna, with whom, in spite of their really amicable relations, he\nwas constantly sparring.\n\n\"Just wait a while, my boy!\" said she; \"don't be too certain of your\ntriumph.\" And she sat down heavily, in the arm-chair pushed forward by\nthe prince.\n\nLebedeff, Ptitsin, and General Ivolgin hastened to find chairs for\nthe young ladies. Varia greeted them joyfully, and they exchanged\nconfidences in ecstatic whispers.\n\n\"I must admit, prince, I was a little put out to see you up and about\nlike this--I expected to find you in bed; but I give you my word, I was\nonly annoyed for an instant, before I collected my thoughts properly. I\nam always wiser on second thoughts, and I dare say you are the same.\nI assure you I am as glad to see you well as though you were my own\nson,--yes, and more; and if you don't believe me the more shame to you,\nand it's not my fault. But that spiteful boy delights in playing all\nsorts of tricks. You are his patron, it seems. Well, I warn you that\none fine morning I shall deprive myself of the pleasure of his further\nacquaintance.\"\n\n\"What have I done wrong now?\" cried Colia. \"What was the good of telling\nyou that the prince was nearly well again? You would not have believed\nme; it was so much more interesting to picture him on his death-bed.\"\n\n\"How long do you remain here, prince?\" asked Madame Epanchin.\n\n\"All the summer, and perhaps longer.\"\n\n\"You are alone, aren't you,--not married?\"\n\n\"No, I'm not married!\" replied the prince, smiling at the ingenuousness\nof this little feeler.\n\n\"Oh, you needn't laugh! These things do happen, you know! Now then--why\ndidn't you come to us? We have a wing quite empty. But just as you like,\nof course. Do you lease it from _him?_--this fellow, I mean,\" she added,\nnodding towards Lebedeff. \"And why does he always wriggle so?\"\n\nAt that moment Vera, carrying the baby in her arms as usual, came out of\nthe house, on to the terrace. Lebedeff kept fidgeting among the chairs,\nand did not seem to know what to do with himself, though he had no\nintention of going away. He no sooner caught sight of his daughter, than\nhe rushed in her direction, waving his arms to keep her away; he even\nforgot himself so far as to stamp his foot.\n\n\"Is he mad?\" asked Madame Epanchin suddenly.\n\n\"No, he...\"\n\n\"Perhaps he is drunk? Your company is rather peculiar,\" she added, with\na glance at the other guests....\n\n\"But what a pretty girl! Who is she?\"\n\n\"That is Lebedeff's daughter--Vera Lukianovna.\"\n\n\"Indeed? She looks very sweet. I should like to make her acquaintance.\"\n\nThe words were hardly out of her mouth, when Lebedeff dragged Vera\nforward, in order to present her.\n\n\"Orphans, poor orphans!\" he began in a pathetic voice.\n\n\"The child she carries is an orphan, too. She is Vera's sister, my\ndaughter Luboff. The day this babe was born, six weeks ago, my wife\ndied, by the will of God Almighty.... Yes... Vera takes her mother's\nplace, though she is but her sister... nothing more... nothing more...\"\n\n\"And you! You are nothing more than a fool, if you'll excuse me! Well!\nwell! you know that yourself, I expect,\" said the lady indignantly.\n\nLebedeff bowed low. \"It is the truth,\" he replied, with extreme respect.\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Lebedeff, I am told you lecture on the Apocalypse. Is it true?\"\nasked Aglaya.\n\n\"Yes, that is so... for the last fifteen years.\"\n\n\"I have heard of you, and I think read of you in the newspapers.\"\n\n\"No, that was another commentator, whom the papers named. He is dead,\nhowever, and I have taken his place,\" said the other, much delighted.\n\n\"We are neighbours, so will you be so kind as to come over one day and\nexplain the Apocalypse to me?\" said Aglaya. \"I do not understand it in\nthe least.\"\n\n\"Allow me to warn you,\" interposed General Ivolgin, \"that he is the\ngreatest charlatan on earth.\" He had taken the chair next to the girl,\nand was impatient to begin talking. \"No doubt there are pleasures and\namusements peculiar to the country,\" he continued, \"and to listen to a\npretended student holding forth on the book of the Revelations may be\nas good as any other. It may even be original. But... you seem to\nbe looking at me with some surprise--may I introduce myself--General\nIvolgin--I carried you in my arms as a baby--\"\n\n\"Delighted, I'm sure,\" said Aglaya; \"I am acquainted with Varvara\nArdalionovna and Nina Alexandrovna.\" She was trying hard to restrain\nherself from laughing.\n\nMrs. Epanchin flushed up; some accumulation of spleen in her suddenly\nneeded an outlet. She could not bear this General Ivolgin whom she had\nonce known, long ago--in society.\n\n\"You are deviating from the truth, sir, as usual!\" she remarked, boiling\nover with indignation; \"you never carried her in your life!\"\n\n\"You have forgotten, mother,\" said Aglaya, suddenly. \"He really did\ncarry me about,--in Tver, you know. I was six years old, I remember.\nHe made me a bow and arrow, and I shot a pigeon. Don't you remember\nshooting a pigeon, you and I, one day?\"\n\n\"Yes, and he made me a cardboard helmet, and a little wooden sword--I\nremember!\" said Adelaida.\n\n\"Yes, I remember too!\" said Alexandra. \"You quarrelled about the wounded\npigeon, and Adelaida was put in the corner, and stood there with her\nhelmet and sword and all.\"\n\nThe poor general had merely made the remark about having carried Aglaya\nin his arms because he always did so begin a conversation with young\npeople. But it happened that this time he had really hit upon the truth,\nthough he had himself entirely forgotten the fact. But when Adelaida and\nAglaya recalled the episode of the pigeon, his mind became filled\nwith memories, and it is impossible to describe how this poor old man,\nusually half drunk, was moved by the recollection.\n\n\"I remember--I remember it all!\" he cried. \"I was captain then. You were\nsuch a lovely little thing--Nina Alexandrovna!--Gania, listen! I was\nreceived then by General Epanchin.\"\n\n\"Yes, and look what you have come to now!\" interrupted Mrs. Epanchin.\n\"However, I see you have not quite drunk your better feelings away. But\nyou've broken your wife's heart, sir--and instead of looking after\nyour children, you have spent your time in public-houses and debtors'\nprisons! Go away, my friend, stand in some corner and weep, and bemoan\nyour fallen dignity, and perhaps God will forgive you yet! Go, go! I'm\nserious! There's nothing so favourable for repentance as to think of the\npast with feelings of remorse!\"\n\nThere was no need to repeat that she was serious. The general, like all\ndrunkards, was extremely emotional and easily touched by recollections\nof his better days. He rose and walked quietly to the door, so meekly\nthat Mrs. Epanchin was instantly sorry for him.\n\n\"Ardalion Alexandrovitch,\" she cried after him, \"wait a moment, we are\nall sinners! When you feel that your conscience reproaches you a little\nless, come over to me and we'll have a talk about the past! I dare say I\nam fifty times more of a sinner than you are! And now go, go, good-bye,\nyou had better not stay here!\" she added, in alarm, as he turned as\nthough to come back.\n\n\"Don't go after him just now, Colia, or he'll be vexed, and the benefit\nof this moment will be lost!\" said the prince, as the boy was hurrying\nout of the room.\n\n\"Quite true! Much better to go in half an hour or so, said Mrs. Epanchin.\n\n\"That's what comes of telling the truth for once in one's life!\" said\nLebedeff. \"It reduced him to tears.\"\n\n\"Come, come! the less _you_ say about it the better--to judge from all I\nhave heard about you!\" replied Mrs. Epanchin.\n\nThe prince took the first opportunity of informing the Epanchin ladies\nthat he had intended to pay them a visit that day, if they had not\nthemselves come this afternoon, and Lizabetha Prokofievna replied that\nshe hoped he would still do so.\n\nBy this time some of the visitors had disappeared.\n\nPtitsin had tactfully retreated to Lebedeff's wing; and Gania soon\nfollowed him.\n\nThe latter had behaved modestly, but with dignity, on this occasion\nof his first meeting with the Epanchins since the rupture. Twice Mrs.\nEpanchin had deliberately examined him from head to foot; but he had\nstood fire without flinching. He was certainly much changed, as anyone\ncould see who had not met him for some time; and this fact seemed to\nafford Aglaya a good deal of satisfaction.\n\n\"That was Gavrila Ardalionovitch, who just went out, wasn't it?\" she\nasked suddenly, interrupting somebody else's conversation to make the\nremark.\n\n\"Yes, it was,\" said the prince.\n\n\"I hardly knew him; he is much changed, and for the better!\"\n\n\"I am very glad,\" said the prince.\n\n\"He has been very ill,\" added Varia.\n\n\"How has he changed for the better?\" asked Mrs. Epanchin. \"I don't see\nany change for the better! What's better in him? Where did you get _that_\nidea from? _What's_ better?\"\n\n\"There's nothing better than the 'poor knight'!\" said Colia, who was\nstanding near the last speaker's chair.\n\n\"I quite agree with you there!\" said Prince S., laughing.\n\n\"So do I,\" said Adelaida, solemnly.\n\n\"_What_ poor knight?\" asked Mrs. Epanchin, looking round at the face of\neach of the speakers in turn. Seeing, however, that Aglaya was blushing,\nshe added, angrily:\n\n\"What nonsense you are all talking! What do you mean by poor knight?\"\n\n\"It's not the first time this urchin, your favourite, has shown his\nimpudence by twisting other people's words,\" said Aglaya, haughtily.\n\nEvery time that Aglaya showed temper (and this was very often), there\nwas so much childish pouting, such \"school-girlishness,\" as it were, in\nher apparent wrath, that it was impossible to avoid smiling at her, to\nher own unutterable indignation. On these occasions she would say, \"How\ncan they, how _dare_ they laugh at me?\"\n\nThis time everyone laughed at her, her sisters, Prince S., Prince\nMuishkin (though he himself had flushed for some reason), and Colia.\nAglaya was dreadfully indignant, and looked twice as pretty in her\nwrath.\n\n\"He's always twisting round what one says,\" she cried.\n\n\"I am only repeating your own exclamation!\" said Colia. \"A month ago you\nwere turning over the pages of your Don Quixote, and suddenly called out\n'there is nothing better than the poor knight.' I don't know whom\nyou were referring to, of course, whether to Don Quixote, or Evgenie\nPavlovitch, or someone else, but you certainly said these words, and\nafterwards there was a long conversation...\"\n\n\"You are inclined to go a little too far, my good boy, with your\nguesses,\" said Mrs. Epanchin, with some show of annoyance.\n\n\"But it's not I alone,\" cried Colia. \"They all talked about it, and they\ndo still. Why, just now Prince S. and Adelaida Ivanovna declared that\nthey upheld 'the poor knight'; so evidently there does exist a 'poor\nknight'; and if it were not for Adelaida Ivanovna, we should have known\nlong ago who the 'poor knight' was.\"\n\n\"Why, how am I to blame?\" asked Adelaida, smiling.\n\n\"You wouldn't draw his portrait for us, that's why you are to blame!\nAglaya Ivanovna asked you to draw his portrait, and gave you the whole\nsubject of the picture. She invented it herself; and you wouldn't.\"\n\n\"What was I to draw? According to the lines she quoted:\n\n  \"'From his face he never lifted\n    That eternal mask of steel.'\"\n\n\"What sort of a face was I to draw? I couldn't draw a mask.\"\n\n\"I don't know what you are driving at; what mask do you mean?\" said\nMrs. Epanchin, irritably. She began to see pretty clearly though what\nit meant, and whom they referred to by the generally accepted title of\n\"poor knight.\" But what specially annoyed her was that the prince was\nlooking so uncomfortable, and blushing like a ten-year-old child.\n\n\"Well, have you finished your silly joke?\" she added, \"and am I to be\ntold what this 'poor knight' means, or is it a solemn secret which\ncannot be approached lightly?\"\n\nBut they all laughed on.\n\n\"It's simply that there is a Russian poem,\" began Prince S., evidently\nanxious to change the conversation, \"a strange thing, without beginning\nor end, and all about a 'poor knight.' A month or so ago, we were all\ntalking and laughing, and looking up a subject for one of Adelaida's\npictures--you know it is the principal business of this family to find\nsubjects for Adelaida's pictures. Well, we happened upon this 'poor\nknight.' I don't remember who thought of it first--\"\n\n\"Oh! Aglaya Ivanovna did,\" said Colia.\n\n\"Very likely--I don't recollect,\" continued Prince S.\n\n\"Some of us laughed at the subject; some liked it; but she declared\nthat, in order to make a picture of the gentleman, she must first see\nhis face. We then began to think over all our friends' faces to see\nif any of them would do, and none suited us, and so the matter stood;\nthat's all. I don't know why Nicolai Ardalionovitch has brought up\nthe joke now. What was appropriate and funny then, has quite lost all\ninterest by this time.\"\n\n\"Probably there's some new silliness about it,\" said Mrs. Epanchin,\nsarcastically.\n\n\"There is no silliness about it at all--only the profoundest respect,\"\nsaid Aglaya, very seriously. She had quite recovered her temper; in\nfact, from certain signs, it was fair to conclude that she was delighted\nto see this joke going so far; and a careful observer might have\nremarked that her satisfaction dated from the moment when the fact of\nthe prince's confusion became apparent to all.\n\n\"'Profoundest respect!' What nonsense! First, insane giggling, and then,\nall of a sudden, a display of 'profoundest respect.' Why respect? Tell\nme at once, why have you suddenly developed this 'profound respect,'\neh?\"\n\n\"Because,\" replied Aglaya gravely, \"in the poem the knight is described\nas a man capable of living up to an ideal all his life. That sort of\nthing is not to be found every day among the men of our times. In the\npoem it is not stated exactly what the ideal was, but it was evidently\nsome vision, some revelation of pure Beauty, and the knight wore round\nhis neck, instead of a scarf, a rosary. A device--A. N. B.--the meaning\nof which is not explained, was inscribed on his shield--\"\n\n\"No, A. N. D.,\" corrected Colia.\n\n\"I say A. N. B., and so it shall be!\" cried Aglaya, irritably. \"Anyway,\nthe 'poor knight' did not care what his lady was, or what she did. He\nhad chosen his ideal, and he was bound to serve her, and break lances\nfor her, and acknowledge her as the ideal of pure Beauty, whatever she\nmight say or do afterwards. If she had taken to stealing, he would have\nchampioned her just the same. I think the poet desired to embody in this\none picture the whole spirit of medieval chivalry and the platonic love\nof a pure and high-souled knight. Of course it's all an ideal, and in\nthe 'poor knight' that spirit reached the utmost limit of asceticism. He\nis a Don Quixote, only serious and not comical. I used not to understand\nhim, and laughed at him, but now I love the 'poor knight,' and respect\nhis actions.\"\n\nSo ended Aglaya; and, to look at her, it was difficult, indeed, to judge\nwhether she was joking or in earnest.\n\n\"Pooh! he was a fool, and his actions were the actions of a fool,\" said\nMrs. Epanchin; \"and as for you, young woman, you ought to know better.\nAt all events, you are not to talk like that again. What poem is it?\nRecite it! I want to hear this poem! I have hated poetry all my life.\nPrince, you must excuse this nonsense. We neither of us like this sort\nof thing! Be patient!\"\n\nThey certainly were put out, both of them.\n\nThe prince tried to say something, but he was too confused, and could\nnot get his words out. Aglaya, who had taken such liberties in her\nlittle speech, was the only person present, perhaps, who was not in the\nleast embarrassed. She seemed, in fact, quite pleased.\n\nShe now rose solemnly from her seat, walked to the centre of the\nterrace, and stood in front of the prince's chair. All looked on with\nsome surprise, and Prince S. and her sisters with feelings of decided\nalarm, to see what new frolic she was up to; it had gone quite far\nenough already, they thought. But Aglaya evidently thoroughly enjoyed\nthe affectation and ceremony with which she was introducing her\nrecitation of the poem.\n\nMrs. Epanchin was just wondering whether she would not forbid the\nperformance after all, when, at the very moment that Aglaya commenced\nher declamation, two new guests, both talking loudly, entered from the\nstreet. The new arrivals were General Epanchin and a young man.\n\nTheir entrance caused some slight commotion.\n\nVII.\n\nThe young fellow accompanying the general was about twenty-eight, tall,\nand well built, with a handsome and clever face, and bright black eyes,\nfull of fun and intelligence.\n\nAglaya did not so much as glance at the new arrivals, but went on with\nher recitation, gazing at the prince the while in an affected manner,\nand at him alone. It was clear to him that she was doing all this with\nsome special object.\n\nBut the new guests at least somewhat eased his strained and\nuncomfortable position. Seeing them approaching, he rose from his chair,\nand nodding amicably to the general, signed to him not to interrupt the\nrecitation. He then got behind his chair, and stood there with his left\nhand resting on the back of it. Thanks to this change of position,\nhe was able to listen to the ballad with far less embarrassment than\nbefore. Mrs. Epanchin had also twice motioned to the new arrivals to be\nquiet, and stay where they were.\n\nThe prince was much interested in the young man who had just entered. He\neasily concluded that this was Evgenie Pavlovitch Radomski, of whom he\nhad already heard mention several times. He was puzzled, however, by the\nyoung man's plain clothes, for he had always heard of Evgenie Pavlovitch\nas a military man. An ironical smile played on Evgenie's lips all the\nwhile the recitation was proceeding, which showed that he, too, was\nprobably in the secret of the 'poor knight' joke. But it had become\nquite a different matter with Aglaya. All the affectation of manner\nwhich she had displayed at the beginning disappeared as the ballad\nproceeded. She spoke the lines in so serious and exalted a manner, and\nwith so much taste, that she even seemed to justify the exaggerated\nsolemnity with which she had stepped forward. It was impossible to\ndiscern in her now anything but a deep feeling for the spirit of the\npoem which she had undertaken to interpret.\n\nHer eyes were aglow with inspiration, and a slight tremor of rapture\npassed over her lovely features once or twice. She continued to recite:\n\n  \"Once there came a vision glorious,\n   Mystic, dreadful, wondrous fair;\n   Burned itself into his spirit,\n   And abode for ever there!\n\n  \"Never more--from that sweet moment--\n   Gazéd he on womankind;\n   He was dumb to love and wooing\n   And to all their graces blind.\n\n  \"Full of love for that sweet vision,\n   Brave and pure he took the field;\n   With his blood he stained the letters\n   N. P. B. upon his shield.\n\n  \"'Lumen caeli, sancta Rosa!'\n   Shouting on the foe he fell,\n   And like thunder rang his war-cry\n   O'er the cowering infidel.\n\n  \"Then within his distant castle,\n   Home returned, he dreamed his days--\n   Silent, sad,--and when death took him\n   He was mad, the legend says.\"\n\nWhen recalling all this afterwards the prince could not for the life of\nhim understand how to reconcile the beautiful, sincere, pure nature of\nthe girl with the irony of this jest. That it was a jest there was no\ndoubt whatever; he knew that well enough, and had good reason, too,\nfor his conviction; for during her recitation of the ballad Aglaya had\ndeliberately changed the letters A. N. B. into N. P. B. He was quite\nsure she had not done this by accident, and that his ears had not\ndeceived him. At all events her performance--which was a joke, of\ncourse, if rather a crude one,--was premeditated. They had evidently\ntalked (and laughed) over the 'poor knight' for more than a month.\n\nYet Aglaya had brought out these letters N. P. B. not only without the\nslightest appearance of irony, or even any particular accentuation, but\nwith so even and unbroken an appearance of seriousness that assuredly\nanyone might have supposed that these initials were the original ones\nwritten in the ballad. The thing made an uncomfortable impression upon\nthe prince. Of course Mrs. Epanchin saw nothing either in the change of\ninitials or in the insinuation embodied therein. General Epanchin only\nknew that there was a recitation of verses going on, and took no further\ninterest in the matter. Of the rest of the audience, many had understood\nthe allusion and wondered both at the daring of the lady and at the\nmotive underlying it, but tried to show no sign of their feelings. But\nEvgenie Pavlovitch (as the prince was ready to wager) both comprehended\nand tried his best to show that he comprehended; his smile was too\nmocking to leave any doubt on that point.\n\n\"How beautiful that is!\" cried Mrs. Epanchin, with sincere admiration.\n\"Whose is it?\"\n\n\"Pushkin's, mama, of course! Don't disgrace us all by showing your\nignorance,\" said Adelaida.\n\n\"As soon as we reach home give it to me to read.\"\n\n\"I don't think we have a copy of Pushkin in the house.\"\n\n\"There are a couple of torn volumes somewhere; they have been lying\nabout from time immemorial,\" added Alexandra.\n\n\"Send Feodor or Alexey up by the very first train to buy a copy,\nthen.--Aglaya, come here--kiss me, dear, you recited beautifully! but,\"\nshe added in a whisper, \"if you were sincere I am sorry for you. If it\nwas a joke, I do not approve of the feelings which prompted you to do\nit, and in any case you would have done far better not to recite it at\nall. Do you understand?--Now come along, young woman; we've sat here too\nlong. I'll speak to you about this another time.\"\n\nMeanwhile the prince took the opportunity of greeting General Epanchin,\nand the general introduced Evgenie Pavlovitch to him.\n\n\"I caught him up on the way to your house,\" explained the general. \"He\nhad heard that we were all here.\"\n\n\"Yes, and I heard that you were here, too,\" added Evgenie Pavlovitch;\n\"and since I had long promised myself the pleasure of seeking not only\nyour acquaintance but your friendship, I did not wish to waste time, but\ncame straight on. I am sorry to hear that you are unwell.\"\n\n\"Oh, but I'm quite well now, thank you, and very glad to make your\nacquaintance. Prince S. has often spoken to me about you,\" said\nMuishkin, and for an instant the two men looked intently into one\nanother's eyes.\n\nThe prince remarked that Evgenie Pavlovitch's plain clothes had\nevidently made a great impression upon the company present, so much so\nthat all other interests seemed to be effaced before this surprising\nfact.\n\nHis change of dress was evidently a matter of some importance. Adelaida\nand Alexandra poured out a stream of questions; Prince S., a relative\nof the young man, appeared annoyed; and Ivan Fedorovitch quite excited.\nAglaya alone was not interested. She merely looked closely at Evgenie\nfor a minute, curious perhaps as to whether civil or military clothes\nbecame him best, then turned away and paid no more attention to him or\nhis costume. Lizabetha Prokofievna asked no questions, but it was clear\nthat she was uneasy, and the prince fancied that Evgenie was not in her\ngood graces.\n\n\"He has astonished me,\" said Ivan Fedorovitch. \"I nearly fell down with\nsurprise. I could hardly believe my eyes when I met him in Petersburg\njust now. Why this haste? That's what I want to know. He has always said\nhimself that there is no need to break windows.\"\n\nEvgenie Pavlovitch remarked here that he had spoken of his intention of\nleaving the service long ago. He had, however, always made more or less\nof a joke about it, so no one had taken him seriously. For that matter\nhe joked about everything, and his friends never knew what to believe,\nespecially if he did not wish them to understand him.\n\n\"I have only retired for a time,\" said he, laughing. \"For a few months;\nat most for a year.\"\n\n\"But there is no necessity for you to retire at all,\" complained the\ngeneral, \"as far as I know.\"\n\n\"I want to go and look after my country estates. You advised me to do\nthat yourself,\" was the reply. \"And then I wish to go abroad.\"\n\nAfter a few more expostulations, the conversation drifted into other\nchannels, but the prince, who had been an attentive listener, thought\nall this excitement about so small a matter very curious. \"There must be\nmore in it than appears,\" he said to himself.\n\n\"I see the 'poor knight' has come on the scene again,\" said Evgenie\nPavlovitch, stepping to Aglaya's side.\n\nTo the amazement of the prince, who overheard the remark, Aglaya looked\nhaughtily and inquiringly at the questioner, as though she would give\nhim to know, once for all, that there could be no talk between them\nabout the 'poor knight,' and that she did not understand his question.\n\n\"But not now! It is too late to send to town for a Pushkin now. It is\nmuch too late, I say!\" Colia was exclaiming in a loud voice. \"I have\ntold you so at least a hundred times.\"\n\n\"Yes, it is really much too late to send to town now,\" said Evgenie\nPavlovitch, who had escaped from Aglaya as rapidly as possible. \"I am\nsure the shops are shut in Petersburg; it is past eight o'clock,\" he\nadded, looking at his watch.\n\n\"We have done without him so far,\" interrupted Adelaida in her turn.\n\"Surely we can wait until to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Besides,\" said Colia, \"it is quite unusual, almost improper, for\npeople in our position to take any interest in literature. Ask Evgenie\nPavlovitch if I am not right. It is much more fashionable to drive a\nwaggonette with red wheels.\"\n\n\"You got that from some magazine, Colia,\" remarked Adelaida.\n\n\"He gets most of his conversation in that way,\" laughed Evgenie\nPavlovitch. \"He borrows whole phrases from the reviews. I have long\nhad the pleasure of knowing both Nicholai Ardalionovitch and his\nconversational methods, but this time he was not repeating something he\nhad read; he was alluding, no doubt, to my yellow waggonette, which has,\nor had, red wheels. But I have exchanged it, so you are rather behind\nthe times, Colia.\"\n\nThe prince had been listening attentively to Radomski's words, and\nthought his manner very pleasant. When Colia chaffed him about his\nwaggonette he had replied with perfect equality and in a friendly\nfashion. This pleased Muishkin.\n\nAt this moment Vera came up to Lizabetha Prokofievna, carrying several\nlarge and beautifully bound books, apparently quite new.\n\n\"What is it?\" demanded the lady.\n\n\"This is Pushkin,\" replied the girl. \"Papa told me to offer it to you.\"\n\n\"What? Impossible!\" exclaimed Mrs. Epanchin.\n\n\"Not as a present, not as a present! I should not have taken the\nliberty,\" said Lebedeff, appearing suddenly from behind his daughter.\n\"It is our own Pushkin, our family copy, Annenkoff's edition; it could\nnot be bought now. I beg to suggest, with great respect, that your\nexcellency should buy it, and thus quench the noble literary thirst\nwhich is consuming you at this moment,\" he concluded grandiloquently.\n\n\"Oh! if you will sell it, very good--and thank you. You shall not be a\nloser! But for goodness' sake, don't twist about like that, sir! I have\nheard of you; they tell me you are a very learned person. We must have a\ntalk one of these days. You will bring me the books yourself?\"\n\n\"With the greatest respect... and... and veneration,\" replied Lebedeff,\nmaking extraordinary grimaces.\n\n\"Well, bring them, with or without respect, provided always you do not\ndrop them on the way; but on the condition,\" went on the lady, looking\nfull at him, \"that you do not cross my threshold. I do not intend to\nreceive you today. You may send your daughter Vera at once, if you like.\nI am much pleased with her.\"\n\n\"Why don't you tell him about them?\" said Vera impatiently to her\nfather. \"They will come in, whether you announce them or not, and they\nare beginning to make a row. Lef Nicolaievitch,\"--she addressed herself\nto the prince--\"four men are here asking for you. They have waited some\ntime, and are beginning to make a fuss, and papa will not bring them\nin.\"\n\n\"Who are these people?\" said the prince.\n\n\"They say that they have come on business, and they are the kind of men,\nwho, if you do not see them here, will follow you about the street.\nIt would be better to receive them, and then you will get rid of them.\nGavrila Ardalionovitch and Ptitsin are both there, trying to make them\nhear reason.\"\n\n\"Pavlicheff's son! It is not worth while!\" cried Lebedeff. \"There is\nno necessity to see them, and it would be most unpleasant for your\nexcellency. They do not deserve...\"\n\n\"What? Pavlicheff's son!\" cried the prince, much perturbed. \"I know...\nI know--but I entrusted this matter to Gavrila Ardalionovitch. He told\nme...\"\n\nAt that moment Gania, accompanied by Ptitsin, came out to the terrace.\nFrom an adjoining room came a noise of angry voices, and General\nIvolgin, in loud tones, seemed to be trying to shout them down. Colia\nrushed off at once to investigate the cause of the uproar.\n\n\"This is most interesting!\" observed Evgenie Pavlovitch.\n\n\"I expect he knows all about it!\" thought the prince.\n\n\"What, the son of Pavlicheff? And who may this son of Pavlicheff be?\"\nasked General Epanchin with surprise; and looking curiously around him,\nhe discovered that he alone had no clue to the mystery. Expectation and\nsuspense were on every face, with the exception of that of the prince,\nwho stood gravely wondering how an affair so entirely personal could\nhave awakened such lively and widespread interest in so short a time.\n\nAglaya went up to him with a peculiarly serious look\n\n\"It will be well,\" she said, \"if you put an end to this affair yourself\n_at once_: but you must allow us to be your witnesses. They want to throw\nmud at you, prince, and you must be triumphantly vindicated. I give you\njoy beforehand!\"\n\n\"And I also wish for justice to be done, once for all,\" cried Madame\nEpanchin, \"about this impudent claim. Deal with them promptly, prince,\nand don't spare them! I am sick of hearing about the affair, and many a\nquarrel I have had in your cause. But I confess I am anxious to see what\nhappens, so do make them come out here, and we will remain. You have\nheard people talking about it, no doubt?\" she added, turning to Prince\nS.\n\n\"Of course,\" said he. \"I have heard it spoken about at your house, and I\nam anxious to see these young men!\"\n\n\"They are Nihilists, are they not?\"\n\n\"No, they are not Nihilists,\" explained Lebedeff, who seemed much\nexcited. \"This is another lot--a special group. According to my nephew\nthey are more advanced even than the Nihilists. You are quite wrong,\nexcellency, if you think that your presence will intimidate them;\nnothing intimidates them. Educated men, learned men even, are to be\nfound among Nihilists; these go further, in that they are men of action.\nThe movement is, properly speaking, a derivative from Nihilism--though\nthey are only known indirectly, and by hearsay, for they never advertise\ntheir doings in the papers. They go straight to the point. For them, it\nis not a question of showing that Pushkin is stupid, or that Russia must\nbe torn in pieces. No; but if they have a great desire for anything,\nthey believe they have a right to get it even at the cost of the lives,\nsay, of eight persons. They are checked by no obstacles. In fact,\nprince, I should not advise you...\"\n\nBut Muishkin had risen, and was on his way to open the door for his\nvisitors.\n\n\"You are slandering them, Lebedeff,\" said he, smiling.\n\n\"You are always thinking about your nephew's conduct. Don't believe\nhim, Lizabetha Prokofievna. I can assure you Gorsky and Daniloff are\nexceptions--and that these are only... mistaken. However, I do not care\nabout receiving them here, in public. Excuse me, Lizabetha Prokofievna.\nThey are coming, and you can see them, and then I will take them away.\nPlease come in, gentlemen!\"\n\nAnother thought tormented him: He wondered was this an arranged\nbusiness--arranged to happen when he had guests in his house, and in\nanticipation of his humiliation rather than of his triumph? But he\nreproached himself bitterly for such a thought, and felt as if he should\ndie of shame if it were discovered. When his new visitors appeared, he\nwas quite ready to believe himself infinitely less to be respected than\nany of them.\n\nFour persons entered, led by General Ivolgin, in a state of great\nexcitement, and talking eloquently.\n\n\"He is for me, undoubtedly!\" thought the prince, with a smile. Colia\nalso had joined the party, and was talking with animation to Hippolyte,\nwho listened with a jeering smile on his lips.\n\nThe prince begged the visitors to sit down. They were all so young that\nit made the proceedings seem even more extraordinary. Ivan Fedorovitch,\nwho really understood nothing of what was going on, felt indignant at\nthe sight of these youths, and would have interfered in some way had it\nnot been for the extreme interest shown by his wife in the affair.\nHe therefore remained, partly through curiosity, partly through\ngood-nature, hoping that his presence might be of some use. But the bow\nwith which General Ivolgin greeted him irritated him anew; he frowned,\nand decided to be absolutely silent.\n\nAs to the rest, one was a man of thirty, the retired officer, now a\nboxer, who had been with Rogojin, and in his happier days had given\nfifteen roubles at a time to beggars. Evidently he had joined the others\nas a comrade to give them moral, and if necessary material, support. The\nman who had been spoken of as \"Pavlicheff's son,\" although he gave the\nname of Antip Burdovsky, was about twenty-two years of age, fair,\nthin and rather tall. He was remarkable for the poverty, not to say\nuncleanliness, of his personal appearance: the sleeves of his overcoat\nwere greasy; his dirty waistcoat, buttoned up to his neck, showed not a\ntrace of linen; a filthy black silk scarf, twisted till it resembled a\ncord, was round his neck, and his hands were unwashed. He looked round\nwith an air of insolent effrontery. His face, covered with pimples,\nwas neither thoughtful nor even contemptuous; it wore an expression\nof complacent satisfaction in demanding his rights and in being an\naggrieved party. His voice trembled, and he spoke so fast, and with such\nstammerings, that he might have been taken for a foreigner, though\nthe purest Russian blood ran in his veins. Lebedeff's nephew, whom\nthe reader has seen already, accompanied him, and also the youth named\nHippolyte Terentieff. The latter was only seventeen or eighteen. He\nhad an intelligent face, though it was usually irritated and fretful\nin expression. His skeleton-like figure, his ghastly complexion, the\nbrightness of his eyes, and the red spots of colour on his cheeks,\nbetrayed the victim of consumption to the most casual glance. He coughed\npersistently, and panted for breath; it looked as though he had but\na few weeks more to live. He was nearly dead with fatigue, and fell,\nrather than sat, into a chair. The rest bowed as they came in; and being\nmore or less abashed, put on an air of extreme self-assurance. In short,\ntheir attitude was not that which one would have expected in men who\nprofessed to despise all trivialities, all foolish mundane conventions,\nand indeed everything, except their own personal interests.\n\n\"Antip Burdovsky,\" stuttered the son of Pavlicheff.\n\n\"Vladimir Doktorenko,\" said Lebedeff's nephew briskly, and with a\ncertain pride, as if he boasted of his name.\n\n\"Keller,\" murmured the retired officer.\n\n\"Hippolyte Terentieff,\" cried the last-named, in a shrill voice.\n\nThey sat now in a row facing the prince, and frowned, and played with\ntheir caps. All appeared ready to speak, and yet all were silent; the\ndefiant expression on their faces seemed to say, \"No, sir, you don't\ntake us in!\" It could be felt that the first word spoken by anyone\npresent would bring a torrent of speech from the whole deputation.\n\nVIII.\n\n\"I _did_ not expect you, gentlemen,\" began the prince. \"I have been ill\nuntil to-day. A month ago,\" he continued, addressing himself to Antip\nBurdovsky, \"I put your business into Gavrila Ardalionovitch Ivolgin's\nhands, as I told you then. I do not in the least object to having a\npersonal interview... but you will agree with me that this is hardly the\ntime... I propose that we go into another room, if you will not keep me\nlong... As you see, I have friends here, and believe me...\"\n\n\"Friends as many as you please, but allow me,\" interrupted the harsh\nvoice of Lebedeff's nephew--\"allow me to tell you that you might have\ntreated us rather more politely, and not have kept us waiting at least\ntwo hours...\n\n\"No doubt... and I... is that acting like a prince? And you... you may\nbe a general! But I... I am not your valet! And I... I...\" stammered\nAntip Burdovsky.\n\nHe was extremely excited; his lips trembled, and the resentment of an\nembittered soul was in his voice. But he spoke so indistinctly that\nhardly a dozen words could be gathered.\n\n\"It was a princely action!\" sneered Hippolyte.\n\n\"If anyone had treated me so,\" grumbled the boxer.\n\n\"I mean to say that if I had been in Burdovsky's place...I...\"\n\n\"Gentlemen, I did not know you were there; I have only just been\ninformed, I assure you,\" repeated Muishkin.\n\n\"We are not afraid of your friends, prince,\" remarked Lebedeff's nephew,\n\"for we are within our rights.\"\n\nThe shrill tones of Hippolyte interrupted him. \"What right have you...\nby what right do you demand us to submit this matter, about Burdovsky...\nto the judgment of your friends? We know only too well what the judgment\nof your friends will be!...\"\n\nThis beginning gave promise of a stormy discussion. The prince was\nmuch discouraged, but at last he managed to make himself heard amid the\nvociferations of his excited visitors.\n\n\"If you,\" he said, addressing Burdovsky--\"if you prefer not to speak\nhere, I offer again to go into another room with you... and as to your\nwaiting to see me, I repeat that I only this instant heard...\"\n\n\"Well, you have no right, you have no right, no right at all!... Your\nfriends indeed!\"... gabbled Burdovsky, defiantly examining the faces\nround him, and becoming more and more excited. \"You have no right!...\"\nAs he ended thus abruptly, he leant forward, staring at the prince with\nhis short-sighted, bloodshot eyes. The latter was so astonished, that he\ndid not reply, but looked steadily at him in return.\n\n\"Lef Nicolaievitch!\" interposed Madame Epanchin, suddenly, \"read this at\nonce, this very moment! It is about this business.\"\n\nShe held out a weekly comic paper, pointing to an article on one of\nits pages. Just as the visitors were coming in, Lebedeff, wishing to\ningratiate himself with the great lady, had pulled this paper from his\npocket, and presented it to her, indicating a few columns marked in\npencil. Lizabetha Prokofievna had had time to read some of it, and was\ngreatly upset.\n\n\"Would it not be better to peruse it alone...\" later asked the prince,\nnervously.\n\n\"No, no, read it--read it at once directly, and aloud, aloud!\" cried\nshe, calling Colia to her and giving him the journal.--\"Read it aloud,\nso that everyone may hear it!\"\n\nAn impetuous woman, Lizabetha Prokofievna sometimes weighed her anchors\nand put out to sea quite regardless of the possible storms she might\nencounter. Ivan Fedorovitch felt a sudden pang of alarm, but the others\nwere merely curious, and somewhat surprised. Colia unfolded the paper,\nand began to read, in his clear, high-pitched voice, the following\narticle:\n\n\"Proletarians and scions of nobility! An episode of the brigandage of\ntoday and every day! Progress! Reform! Justice!\"\n\n\"Strange things are going on in our so-called Holy Russia in this age of\nreform and great enterprises; this age of patriotism in which hundreds\nof millions are yearly sent abroad; in which industry is encouraged, and\nthe hands of Labour paralyzed, etc.; there is no end to this, gentlemen,\nso let us come to the point. A strange thing has happened to a scion\nof our defunct aristocracy. (_De profundis!_) The grandfathers of these\nscions ruined themselves at the gaming-tables; their fathers were forced\nto serve as officers or subalterns; some have died just as they were\nabout to be tried for innocent thoughtlessness in the handling of public\nfunds. Their children are sometimes congenital idiots, like the hero of\nour story; sometimes they are found in the dock at the Assizes, where\nthey are generally acquitted by the jury for edifying motives; sometimes\nthey distinguish themselves by one of those burning scandals that amaze\nthe public and add another blot to the stained record of our age. Six\nmonths ago--that is, last winter--this particular scion returned to\nRussia, wearing gaiters like a foreigner, and shivering with cold in\nan old scantily-lined cloak. He had come from Switzerland, where he\nhad just undergone a successful course of treatment for idiocy (_sic!_).\nCertainly Fortune favoured him, for, apart from the interesting malady\nof which he was cured in Switzerland (can there be a cure for idiocy?)\nhis story proves the truth of the Russian proverb that 'happiness is\nthe right of certain classes!' Judge for yourselves. Our subject was an\ninfant in arms when he lost his father, an officer who died just as\nhe was about to be court-martialled for gambling away the funds of his\ncompany, and perhaps also for flogging a subordinate to excess (remember\nthe good old days, gentlemen). The orphan was brought up by the charity\nof a very rich Russian landowner. In the good old days, this man,\nwhom we will call P----, owned four thousand souls as serfs (souls as\nserfs!--can you understand such an expression, gentlemen? I cannot; it\nmust be looked up in a dictionary before one can understand it; these\nthings of a bygone day are already unintelligible to us). He appears\nto have been one of those Russian parasites who lead an idle existence\nabroad, spending the summer at some spa, and the winter in Paris, to the\ngreater profit of the organizers of public balls. It may safely be said\nthat the manager of the Chateau des Fleurs (lucky man!) pocketed at\nleast a third of the money paid by Russian peasants to their lords in\nthe days of serfdom. However this may be, the gay P---- brought up the\norphan like a prince, provided him with tutors and governesses (pretty,\nof course!) whom he chose himself in Paris. But the little aristocrat,\nthe last of his noble race, was an idiot. The governesses, recruited at\nthe Chateau des Fleurs, laboured in vain; at twenty years of age their\npupil could not speak in any language, not even Russian. But ignorance\nof the latter was still excusable. At last P---- was seized with a\nstrange notion; he imagined that in Switzerland they could change an\nidiot into a mail of sense. After all, the idea was quite logical;\na parasite and landowner naturally supposed that intelligence was a\nmarketable commodity like everything else, and that in Switzerland\nespecially it could be bought for money. The case was entrusted to a\ncelebrated Swiss professor, and cost thousands of roubles; the\ntreatment lasted five years. Needless to say, the idiot did not become\nintelligent, but it is alleged that he grew into something more or less\nresembling a man. At this stage P---- died suddenly, and, as usual,\nhe had made no will and left his affairs in disorder. A crowd of eager\nclaimants arose, who cared nothing about any last scion of a noble race\nundergoing treatment in Switzerland, at the expense of the deceased, as\na congenital idiot. Idiot though he was, the noble scion tried to cheat\nhis professor, and they say he succeeded in getting him to continue\nthe treatment gratis for two years, by concealing the death of his\nbenefactor. But the professor himself was a charlatan. Getting anxious\nat last when no money was forthcoming, and alarmed above all by his\npatient's appetite, he presented him with a pair of old gaiters and a\nshabby cloak and packed him off to Russia, third class. It would seem\nthat Fortune had turned her back upon our hero. Not at all; Fortune,\nwho lets whole populations die of hunger, showered all her gifts at once\nupon the little aristocrat, like Kryloff's Cloud which passes over an\narid plain and empties itself into the sea. He had scarcely arrived in\nSt. Petersburg, when a relation of his mother's (who was of bourgeois\norigin, of course), died at Moscow. He was a merchant, an Old Believer,\nand he had no children. He left a fortune of several millions in good\ncurrent coin, and everything came to our noble scion, our gaitered\nbaron, formerly treated for idiocy in a Swiss lunatic asylum. Instantly\nthe scene changed, crowds of friends gathered round our baron, who\nmeanwhile had lost his head over a celebrated demi-mondaine; he even\ndiscovered some relations; moreover a number of young girls of high\nbirth burned to be united to him in lawful matrimony. Could anyone\npossibly imagine a better match? Aristocrat, millionaire, and idiot, he\nhas every advantage! One might hunt in vain for his equal, even with the\nlantern of Diogenes; his like is not to be had even by getting it made\nto order!\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know what this means\" cried Ivan Fedorovitch, transported\nwith indignation.\n\n\"Leave off, Colia,\" begged the prince. Exclamations arose on all sides.\n\n\"Let him go on reading at all costs!\" ordered Lizabetha Prokofievna,\nevidently preserving her composure by a desperate effort. \"Prince, if\nthe reading is stopped, you and I will quarrel.\"\n\nColia had no choice but to obey. With crimson cheeks he read on\nunsteadily:\n\n\"But while our young millionaire dwelt as it were in the Empyrean,\nsomething new occurred. One fine morning a man called upon him, calm and\nsevere of aspect, distinguished, but plainly dressed. Politely, but in\ndignified terms, as befitted his errand, he briefly explained the motive\nfor his visit. He was a lawyer of enlightened views; his client was a\nyoung man who had consulted him in confidence. This young man was no\nother than the son of P----, though he bears another name. In his youth\nP----, the sensualist, had seduced a young girl, poor but respectable. She\nwas a serf, but had received a European education. Finding that a child\nwas expected, he hastened her marriage with a man of noble character who\nhad loved her for a long time. He helped the young couple for a time,\nbut he was soon obliged to give up, for the high-minded husband refused\nto accept anything from him. Soon the careless nobleman forgot all about\nhis former mistress and the child she had borne him; then, as we know,\nhe died intestate. P----'s son, born after his mother's marriage, found\na true father in the generous man whose name he bore. But when he also\ndied, the orphan was left to provide for himself, his mother now being\nan invalid who had lost the use of her limbs. Leaving her in a distant\nprovince, he came to the capital in search of pupils. By dint of daily\ntoil he earned enough to enable him to follow the college courses, and\nat last to enter the university. But what can one earn by teaching the\nchildren of Russian merchants at ten copecks a lesson, especially with\nan invalid mother to keep? Even her death did not much diminish the\nhardships of the young man's struggle for existence. Now this is the\nquestion: how, in the name of justice, should our scion have argued the\ncase? Our readers will think, no doubt, that he would say to himself:\n'P---- showered benefits upon me all my life; he spent tens of thousands\nof roubles to educate me, to provide me with governesses, and to keep me\nunder treatment in Switzerland. Now I am a millionaire, and P----'s son,\na noble young man who is not responsible for the faults of his careless\nand forgetful father, is wearing himself out giving ill-paid lessons.\nAccording to justice, all that was done for me ought to have been done\nfor him. The enormous sums spent upon me were not really mine; they\ncame to me by an error of blind Fortune, when they ought to have gone to\nP----'s son. They should have gone to benefit him, not me, in whom P----\ninterested himself by a mere caprice, instead of doing his duty as a\nfather. If I wished to behave nobly, justly, and with delicacy, I ought\nto bestow half my fortune upon the son of my benefactor; but as economy\nis my favourite virtue, and I know this is not a case in which the law\ncan intervene, I will not give up half my millions. But it would be too\nopenly vile, too flagrantly infamous, if I did not at least restore to\nP----'s son the tens of thousands of roubles spent in curing my idiocy.\nThis is simply a case of conscience and of strict justice. Whatever\nwould have become of me if P---- had not looked after my education, and\nhad taken care of his own son instead of me?'\n\n\"No, gentlemen, our scions of the nobility do not reason thus. The\nlawyer, who had taken up the matter purely out of friendship to the\nyoung man, and almost against his will, invoked every consideration\nof justice, delicacy, honour, and even plain figures; in vain, the\nex-patient of the Swiss lunatic asylum was inflexible. All this might\npass, but the sequel is absolutely unpardonable, and not to be excused\nby any interesting malady. This millionaire, having but just discarded\nthe old gaiters of his professor, could not even understand that\nthe noble young man slaving away at his lessons was not asking for\ncharitable help, but for his rightful due, though the debt was not a\nlegal one; that, correctly speaking, he was not asking for anything, but\nit was merely his friends who had thought fit to bestir themselves on\nhis behalf. With the cool insolence of a bloated capitalist, secure in\nhis millions, he majestically drew a banknote for fifty roubles from his\npocket-book and sent it to the noble young man as a humiliating piece of\ncharity. You can hardly believe it, gentlemen! You are scandalized and\ndisgusted; you cry out in indignation! But that is what he did! Needless\nto say, the money was returned, or rather flung back in his face. The\ncase is not within the province of the law, it must be referred to the\ntribunal of public opinion; this is what we now do, guaranteeing the\ntruth of all the details which we have related.\"\n\nWhen Colia had finished reading, he handed the paper to the prince, and\nretired silently to a corner of the room, hiding his face in his\nhands. He was overcome by a feeling of inexpressible shame; his boyish\nsensitiveness was wounded beyond endurance. It seemed to him that\nsomething extraordinary, some sudden catastrophe had occurred, and that\nhe was almost the cause of it, because he had read the article aloud.\n\nYet all the others were similarly affected. The girls were uncomfortable\nand ashamed. Lizabetha Prokofievna restrained her violent anger by a\ngreat effort; perhaps she bitterly regretted her interference in the\nmatter; for the present she kept silence. The prince felt as very shy\npeople often do in such a case; he was so ashamed of the conduct of\nother people, so humiliated for his guests, that he dared not look them\nin the face. Ptitsin, Varia, Gania, and Lebedeff himself, all looked\nrather confused. Stranger still, Hippolyte and the \"son of Pavlicheff\"\nalso seemed slightly surprised, and Lebedeff's nephew was obviously\nfar from pleased. The boxer alone was perfectly calm; he twisted his\nmoustaches with affected dignity, and if his eyes were cast down it was\ncertainly not in confusion, but rather in noble modesty, as if he did\nnot wish to be insolent in his triumph. It was evident that he was\ndelighted with the article.\n\n\"The devil knows what it means,\" growled Ivan Fedorovitch, under his\nbreath; \"it must have taken the united wits of fifty footmen to write\nit.\"\n\n\"May I ask your reason for such an insulting supposition, sir?\" said\nHippolyte, trembling with rage.\n\n\"You will admit yourself, general, that for an honourable man, if the\nauthor is an honourable man, that is an--an insult,\" growled the boxer\nsuddenly, with convulsive jerkings of his shoulders.\n\n\"In the first place, it is not for you to address me as 'sir,' and,\nin the second place, I refuse to give you any explanation,\" said Ivan\nFedorovitch vehemently; and he rose without another word, and went and\nstood on the first step of the flight that led from the verandah to the\nstreet, turning his back on the company. He was indignant with Lizabetha\nProkofievna, who did not think of moving even now.\n\n\"Gentlemen, gentlemen, let me speak at last,\" cried the prince, anxious\nand agitated. \"Please let us understand one another. I say nothing about\nthe article, gentlemen, except that every word is false; I say this\nbecause you know it as well as I do. It is shameful. I should be\nsurprised if any one of you could have written it.\"\n\n\"I did not know of its existence till this moment,\" declared Hippolyte.\n\"I do not approve of it.\"\n\n\"I knew it had been written, but I would not have advised its\npublication,\" said Lebedeff's nephew, \"because it is premature.\"\n\n\"I knew it, but I have a right. I... I...\" stammered the \"son of\nPavlicheff.\"\n\n\"What! Did you write all that yourself? Is it possible?\" asked the\nprince, regarding Burdovsky with curiosity.\n\n\"One might dispute your right to ask such questions,\" observed\nLebedeff's nephew.\n\n\"I was only surprised that Mr. Burdovsky should have--however, this is\nwhat I have to say. Since you had already given the matter publicity,\nwhy did you object just now, when I began to speak of it to my friends?\"\n\n\"At last!\" murmured Lizabetha Prokofievna indignantly.\n\nLebedeff could restrain himself no longer; he made his way through the\nrow of chairs.\n\n\"Prince,\" he cried, \"you are forgetting that if you consented to receive\nand hear them, it was only because of your kind heart which has no\nequal, for they had not the least right to demand it, especially as you\nhad placed the matter in the hands of Gavrila Ardalionovitch, which\nwas also extremely kind of you. You are also forgetting, most excellent\nprince, that you are with friends, a select company; you cannot\nsacrifice them to these gentlemen, and it is only for you to have them\nturned out this instant. As the master of the house I shall have great\npleasure ....\"\n\n\"Quite right!\" agreed General Ivolgin in a loud voice.\n\n\"That will do, Lebedeff, that will do--\" began the prince, when an\nindignant outcry drowned his words.\n\n\"Excuse me, prince, excuse me, but now that will not do,\" shouted\nLebedeff's nephew, his voice dominating all the others. \"The matter must\nbe clearly stated, for it is obviously not properly understood. They\nare calling in some legal chicanery, and upon that ground they are\nthreatening to turn us out of the house! Really, prince, do you think we\nare such fools as not to be aware that this matter does not come within\nthe law, and that legally we cannot claim a rouble from you? But we are\nalso aware that if actual law is not on our side, human law is for us,\nnatural law, the law of common-sense and conscience, which is no less\nbinding upon every noble and honest man--that is, every man of sane\njudgment--because it is not to be found in miserable legal codes. If we\ncome here without fear of being turned out (as was threatened just now)\nbecause of the imperative tone of our demand, and the unseemliness of\nsuch a visit at this late hour (though it was not late when we arrived,\nwe were kept waiting in your anteroom), if, I say, we came in without\nfear, it is just because we expected to find you a man of sense; I mean,\na man of honour and conscience. It is quite true that we did not present\nourselves humbly, like your flatterers and parasites, but holding up our\nheads as befits independent men. We present no petition, but a proud and\nfree demand (note it well, we do not beseech, we demand!). We ask you\nfairly and squarely in a dignified manner. Do you believe that in this\naffair of Burdovsky you have right on your side? Do you admit that\nPavlicheff overwhelmed you with benefits, and perhaps saved your life?\nIf you admit it (which we take for granted), do you intend, now that you\nare a millionaire, and do you not think it in conformity with justice,\nto indemnify Burdovsky? Yes or no? If it is yes, or, in other words, if\nyou possess what you call honour and conscience, and we more justly call\ncommon-sense, then accede to our demand, and the matter is at an end.\nGive us satisfaction, without entreaties or thanks from us; do not\nexpect thanks from us, for what you do will be done not for our sake,\nbut for the sake of justice. If you refuse to satisfy us, that is, if\nyour answer is no, we will go away at once, and there will be an end of\nthe matter. But we will tell you to your face before the present company\nthat you are a man of vulgar and undeveloped mind; we will openly deny\nyou the right to speak in future of your honour and conscience, for you\nhave not paid the fair price of such a right. I have no more to say--I\nhave put the question before you. Now turn us out if you dare. You can\ndo it; force is on your side. But remember that we do not beseech, we\ndemand! We do not beseech, we demand!\"\n\nWith these last excited words, Lebedeff's nephew was silent.\n\n\"We demand, we demand, we demand, we do not beseech,\" spluttered\nBurdovsky, red as a lobster.\n\nThe speech of Lebedeff's nephew caused a certain stir among the company;\nmurmurs arose, though with the exception of Lebedeff, who was still\nvery much excited, everyone was careful not to interfere in the matter.\nStrangely enough, Lebedeff, although on the prince's side, seemed quite\nproud of his nephew's eloquence. Gratified vanity was visible in the\nglances he cast upon the assembled company.\n\n\"In my opinion, Mr. Doktorenko,\" said the prince, in rather a low\nvoice, \"you are quite right in at least half of what you say. I would\ngo further and say that you are altogether right, and that I quite agree\nwith you, if there were not something lacking in your speech. I cannot\nundertake to say precisely what it is, but you have certainly omitted\nsomething, and you cannot be quite just while there is something\nlacking. But let us put that aside and return to the point. Tell me what\ninduced you to publish this article. Every word of it is a calumny, and\nI think, gentlemen, that you have been guilty of a mean action.\"\n\n\"Allow me--\"\n\n\"Sir--\"\n\n\"What? What? What?\" cried all the visitors at once, in violent\nagitation.\n\n\"As to the article,\" said Hippolyte in his croaking voice, \"I have told\nyou already that we none of us approve of it! There is the writer,\" he\nadded, pointing to the boxer, who sat beside him. \"I quite admit that he\nhas written it in his old regimental manner, with an equal disregard\nfor style and decency. I know he is a cross between a fool and an\nadventurer; I make no bones about telling him so to his face every day.\nBut after all he is half justified; publicity is the lawful right of\nevery man; consequently, Burdovsky is not excepted. Let him answer for\nhis own blunders. As to the objection which I made just now in the name\nof all, to the presence of your friends, I think I ought to explain,\ngentlemen, that I only did so to assert our rights, though we really\nwished to have witnesses; we had agreed unanimously upon the point\nbefore we came in. We do not care who your witnesses may be, or\nwhether they are your friends or not. As they cannot fail to recognize\nBurdovsky's right (seeing that it is mathematically demonstrable), it is\njust as well that the witnesses should be your friends. The truth will\nonly be more plainly evident.\"\n\n\"It is quite true; we had agreed upon that point,\" said Lebedeff's\nnephew, in confirmation.\n\n\"If that is the case, why did you begin by making such a fuss about it?\"\nasked the astonished prince.\n\nThe boxer was dying to get in a few words; owing, no doubt, to the\npresence of the ladies, he was becoming quite jovial.\n\n\"As to the article, prince,\" he said, \"I admit that I wrote it, in spite\nof the severe criticism of my poor friend, in whom I always overlook\nmany things because of his unfortunate state of health. But I wrote and\npublished it in the form of a letter, in the paper of a friend. I showed\nit to no one but Burdovsky, and I did not read it all through, even to\nhim. He immediately gave me permission to publish it, but you will admit\nthat I might have done so without his consent. Publicity is a noble,\nbeneficent, and universal right. I hope, prince, that you are too\nprogressive to deny this?\"\n\n\"I deny nothing, but you must confess that your article--\"\n\n\"Is a bit thick, you mean? Well, in a way that is in the public\ninterest; you will admit that yourself, and after all one cannot\noverlook a blatant fact. So much the worse for the guilty parties,\nbut the public welfare must come before everything. As to certain\ninaccuracies and figures of speech, so to speak, you will also admit\nthat the motive, aim, and intention, are the chief thing. It is a\nquestion, above all, of making a wholesome example; the individual case\ncan be examined afterwards; and as to the style--well, the thing was\nmeant to be humorous, so to speak, and, after all, everybody writes like\nthat; you must admit it yourself! Ha, ha!\"\n\n\"But, gentlemen, I assure you that you are quite astray,\" exclaimed the\nprince. \"You have published this article upon the supposition that I\nwould never consent to satisfy Mr. Burdovsky. Acting on that conviction,\nyou have tried to intimidate me by this publication and to be revenged\nfor my supposed refusal. But what did you know of my intentions? It may\nbe that I have resolved to satisfy Mr. Burdovsky's claim. I now declare\nopenly, in the presence of these witnesses, that I will do so.\"\n\n\"The noble and intelligent word of an intelligent and most noble man, at\nlast!\" exclaimed the boxer.\n\n\"Good God!\" exclaimed Lizabetha Prokofievna involuntarily.\n\n\"This is intolerable,\" growled the general.\n\n\"Allow me, gentlemen, allow me,\" urged the prince.\n\n\"I will explain matters to you. Five weeks ago I received a visit from\nTchebaroff, your agent, Mr. Burdovsky. You have given a very flattering\ndescription of him in your article, Mr. Keller,\" he continued, turning\nto the boxer with a smile, \"but he did not please me at all. I saw at\nonce that Tchebaroff was the moving spirit in the matter, and, to speak\nfrankly, I thought he might have induced you, Mr. Burdovsky, to make\nthis claim, by taking advantage of your simplicity.\"\n\n\"You have no right.... I am not simple,\" stammered Burdovsky, much\nagitated.\n\n\"You have no sort of right to suppose such things,\" said Lebedeff's\nnephew in a tone of authority.\n\n\"It is most offensive!\" shrieked Hippolyte; \"it is an insulting\nsuggestion, false, and most ill-timed.\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon, gentlemen; please excuse me,\" said the prince. \"I\nthought absolute frankness on both sides would be best, but have it your\nown way. I told Tchebaroff that, as I was not in Petersburg, I would\ncommission a friend to look into the matter without delay, and that I\nwould let you know, Mr. Burdovsky. Gentlemen, I have no hesitation in\ntelling you that it was the fact of Tchebaroff's intervention that made\nme suspect a fraud. Oh! do not take offence at my words, gentlemen,\nfor Heaven's sake do not be so touchy!\" cried the prince, seeing that\nBurdovsky was getting excited again, and that the rest were preparing\nto protest. \"If I say I suspected a fraud, there is nothing personal in\nthat. I had never seen any of you then; I did not even know your names;\nI only judged by Tchebaroff; I am speaking quite generally--if you only\nknew how I have been 'done' since I came into my fortune!\"\n\n\"You are shockingly naive, prince,\" said Lebedeff's nephew in mocking\ntones.\n\n\"Besides, though you are a prince and a millionaire, and even though\nyou may really be simple and good-hearted, you can hardly be outside the\ngeneral law,\" Hippolyte declared loudly.\n\n\"Perhaps not; it is very possible,\" the prince agreed hastily, \"though I\ndo not know what general law you allude to. I will go on--only please\ndo not take offence without good cause. I assure you I do not mean to\noffend you in the least. Really, it is impossible to speak three words\nsincerely without your flying into a rage! At first I was amazed when\nTchebaroff told me that Pavlicheff had a son, and that he was in such\na miserable position. Pavlicheff was my benefactor, and my father's\nfriend. Oh, Mr. Keller, why does your article impute things to my father\nwithout the slightest foundation? He never squandered the funds of his\ncompany nor ill-treated his subordinates, I am absolutely certain of it;\nI cannot imagine how you could bring yourself to write such a calumny!\nBut your assertions concerning Pavlicheff are absolutely intolerable!\nYou do not scruple to make a libertine of that noble man; you call him a\nsensualist as coolly as if you were speaking the truth, and yet it would\nnot be possible to find a chaster man. He was even a scholar of note,\nand in correspondence with several celebrated scientists, and spent\nlarge sums in the interests of science. As to his kind heart and his\ngood actions, you were right indeed when you said that I was almost an\nidiot at that time, and could hardly understand anything--(I could\nspeak and understand Russian, though),--but now I can appreciate what I\nremember--\"\n\n\"Excuse me,\" interrupted Hippolyte, \"is not this rather sentimental? You\nsaid you wished to come to the point; please remember that it is after\nnine o'clock.\"\n\n\"Very well, gentlemen--very well,\" replied the prince. \"At first I\nreceived the news with mistrust, then I said to myself that I might be\nmistaken, and that Pavlicheff might possibly have had a son. But I was\nabsolutely amazed at the readiness with which the son had revealed\nthe secret of his birth at the expense of his mother's honour. For\nTchebaroff had already menaced me with publicity in our interview....\"\n\n\"What nonsense!\" Lebedeff's nephew interrupted violently.\n\n\"You have no right--you have no right!\" cried Burdovsky.\n\n\"The son is not responsible for the misdeeds of his father; and the\nmother is not to blame,\" added Hippolyte, with warmth.\n\n\"That seems to me all the more reason for sparing her,\" said the prince\ntimidly.\n\n\"Prince, you are not only simple, but your simplicity is almost past the\nlimit,\" said Lebedeff's nephew, with a sarcastic smile.\n\n\"But what right had you?\" said Hippolyte in a very strange tone.\n\n\"None--none whatever,\" agreed the prince hastily. \"I admit you are right\nthere, but it was involuntary, and I immediately said to myself that my\npersonal feelings had nothing to do with it,--that if I thought it right\nto satisfy the demands of Mr. Burdovsky, out of respect for the memory\nof Pavlicheff, I ought to do so in any case, whether I esteemed Mr.\nBurdovsky or not. I only mentioned this, gentlemen, because it seemed so\nunnatural to me for a son to betray his mother's secret in such a way.\nIn short, that is what convinced me that Tchebaroff must be a rogue, and\nthat he had induced Mr. Burdovsky to attempt this fraud.\"\n\n\"But this is intolerable!\" cried the visitors, some of them starting to\ntheir feet.\n\n\"Gentlemen, I supposed from this that poor Mr. Burdovsky must be a\nsimple-minded man, quite defenceless, and an easy tool in the hands\nof rogues. That is why I thought it my duty to try and help him\nas 'Pavlicheff's son'; in the first place by rescuing him from the\ninfluence of Tchebaroff, and secondly by making myself his friend. I\nhave resolved to give him ten thousand roubles; that is about the sum\nwhich I calculate that Pavlicheff must have spent on me.\"\n\n\"What, only ten thousand!\" cried Hippolyte.\n\n\"Well, prince, your arithmetic is not up to much, or else you are mighty\nclever at it, though you affect the air of a simpleton,\" said Lebedeff's\nnephew.\n\n\"I will not accept ten thousand roubles,\" said Burdovsky.\n\n\"Accept, Antip,\" whispered the boxer eagerly, leaning past the back of\nHippolyte's chair to give his friend this piece of advice. \"Take it for\nthe present; we can see about more later on.\"\n\n\"Look here, Mr. Muishkin,\" shouted Hippolyte, \"please understand that we\nare not fools, nor idiots, as your guests seem to imagine; these ladies\nwho look upon us with such scorn, and especially this fine gentleman\"\n(pointing to Evgenie Pavlovitch) \"whom I have not the honour of knowing,\nthough I think I have heard some talk about him--\"\n\n\"Really, really, gentlemen,\" cried the prince in great agitation, \"you\nare misunderstanding me again. In the first place, Mr. Keller, you have\ngreatly overestimated my fortune in your article. I am far from being\na millionaire. I have barely a tenth of what you suppose. Secondly, my\ntreatment in Switzerland was very far from costing tens of thousands of\nroubles. Schneider received six hundred roubles a year, and he was\nonly paid for the first three years. As to the pretty governesses whom\nPavlicheff is supposed to have brought from Paris, they only exist\nin Mr. Keller's imagination; it is another calumny. According to my\ncalculations, the sum spent on me was very considerably under ten\nthousand roubles, but I decided on that sum, and you must admit that\nin paying a debt I could not offer Mr. Burdovsky more, however kindly\ndisposed I might be towards him; delicacy forbids it; I should seem to\nbe offering him charity instead of rightful payment. I don't know how\nyou cannot see that, gentlemen! Besides, I had no intention of leaving\nthe matter there. I meant to intervene amicably later on and help to\nimprove poor Mr. Burdovsky's position. It is clear that he has been\ndeceived, or he would never have agreed to anything so vile as the\nscandalous revelations about his mother in Mr. Keller's article. But,\ngentlemen, why are you getting angry again? Are we never to come to an\nunderstanding? Well, the event has proved me right! I have just seen\nwith my own eyes the proof that my conjecture was correct!\" he added,\nwith increasing eagerness.\n\nHe meant to calm his hearers, and did not perceive that his words had\nonly increased their irritation.\n\n\"What do you mean? What are you convinced of?\" they demanded angrily.\n\n\"In the first place, I have had the opportunity of getting a correct\nidea of Mr. Burdovsky. I see what he is for myself. He is an innocent\nman, deceived by everyone! A defenceless victim, who deserves\nindulgence! Secondly, Gavrila Ardalionovitch, in whose hands I had\nplaced the matter, had his first interview with me barely an hour ago.\nI had not heard from him for some time, as I was away, and have been ill\nfor three days since my return to St. Petersburg. He tells me that he\nhas exposed the designs of Tchebaroff and has proof that justifies my\nopinion of him. I know, gentlemen, that many people think me an idiot.\nCounting upon my reputation as a man whose purse-strings are easily\nloosened, Tchebaroff thought it would be a simple matter to fleece me,\nespecially by trading on my gratitude to Pavlicheff. But the main\npoint is--listen, gentlemen, let me finish!--the main point is that Mr.\nBurdovsky is not Pavlicheff's son at all. Gavrila Ardalionovitch has\njust told me of his discovery, and assures me that he has positive\nproofs. Well, what do you think of that? It is scarcely credible, even\nafter all the tricks that have been played upon me. Please note that we\nhave positive proofs! I can hardly believe it myself, I assure you; I do\nnot yet believe it; I am still doubtful, because Gavrila Ardalionovitch\nhas not had time to go into details; but there can be no further doubt\nthat Tchebaroff is a rogue! He has deceived poor Mr. Burdovsky, and\nall of you, gentlemen, who have come forward so nobly to support your\nfriend--(he evidently needs support, I quite see that!). He has abused\nyour credulity and involved you all in an attempted fraud, for when all\nis said and done this claim is nothing else!\"\n\n\"What! a fraud? What, he is not Pavlicheff's son? Impossible!\"\n\nThese exclamations but feebly expressed the profound bewilderment into\nwhich the prince's words had plunged Burdovsky's companions.\n\n\"Certainly it is a fraud! Since Mr. Burdovsky is not Pavlicheff's son,\nhis claim is neither more nor less than attempted fraud (supposing, of\ncourse, that he had known the truth), but the fact is that he has been\ndeceived. I insist on this point in order to justify him; I repeat that\nhis simple-mindedness makes him worthy of pity, and that he cannot stand\nalone; otherwise he would have behaved like a scoundrel in this matter.\nBut I feel certain that he does not understand it! I was just the same\nmyself before I went to Switzerland; I stammered incoherently; one tries\nto express oneself and cannot. I understand that. I am all the better\nable to pity Mr. Burdovsky, because I know from experience what it is to\nbe like that, and so I have a right to speak. Well, though there is no\nsuch person as 'Pavlicheff's son,' and it is all nothing but a humbug,\nyet I will keep to my decision, and I am prepared to give up ten\nthousand roubles in memory of Pavlicheff. Before Mr. Burdovsky made this\nclaim, I proposed to found a school with this money, in memory of my\nbenefactor, but I shall honour his memory quite as well by giving\nthe ten thousand roubles to Mr. Burdovsky, because, though he was not\nPavlicheff's son, he was treated almost as though he were. That is\nwhat gave a rogue the opportunity of deceiving him; he really did\nthink himself Pavlicheff's son. Listen, gentlemen; this matter must\nbe settled; keep calm; do not get angry; and sit down! Gavrila\nArdalionovitch will explain everything to you at once, and I confess\nthat I am very anxious to hear all the details myself. He says that he\nhas even been to Pskoff to see your mother, Mr. Burdovsky; she is not\ndead, as the article which was just read to us makes out. Sit down,\ngentlemen, sit down!\"\n\nThe prince sat down, and at length prevailed upon Burdovsky's company\nto do likewise. During the last ten or twenty minutes, exasperated by\ncontinual interruptions, he had raised his voice, and spoken with\ngreat vehemence. Now, no doubt, he bitterly regretted several words and\nexpressions which had escaped him in his excitement. If he had not been\ndriven beyond the limits of endurance, he would not have ventured to\nexpress certain conjectures so openly. He had no sooner sat down than\nhis heart was torn by sharp remorse. Besides insulting Burdovsky\nwith the supposition, made in the presence of witnesses, that he was\nsuffering from the complaint for which he had himself been treated\nin Switzerland, he reproached himself with the grossest indelicacy in\nhaving offered him the ten thousand roubles before everyone. \"I ought\nto have waited till to-morrow and offered him the money when we were\nalone,\" thought Muishkin. \"Now it is too late, the mischief is done!\nYes, I am an idiot, an absolute idiot!\" he said to himself, overcome\nwith shame and regret.\n\nTill then Gavrila Ardalionovitch had sat apart in silence. When the\nprince called upon him, he came and stood by his side, and in a calm,\nclear voice began to render an account of the mission confided to him.\nAll conversation ceased instantly. Everyone, especially the Burdovsky\nparty, listened with the utmost curiosity.\n\nIX.\n\n\"You will not deny, I am sure,\" said Gavrila Ardalionovitch, turning\nto Burdovsky, who sat looking at him with wide-open eyes, perplexed and\nastonished. You will not deny, seriously, that you were born just two\nyears after your mother's legal marriage to Mr. Burdovsky, your father.\nNothing would be easier than to prove the date of your birth from\nwell-known facts; we can only look on Mr. Keller's version as a work of\nimagination, and one, moreover, extremely offensive both to you and your\nmother. Of course he distorted the truth in order to strengthen your\nclaim, and to serve your interests. Mr. Keller said that he previously\nconsulted you about his article in the paper, but did not read it to you\nas a whole. Certainly he could not have read that passage. ....\n\n\"As a matter of fact, I did not read it,\" interrupted the boxer, \"but\nits contents had been given me on unimpeachable authority, and I...\"\n\n\"Excuse me, Mr. Keller,\" interposed Gavrila Ardalionovitch. \"Allow me to\nspeak. I assure you your article shall be mentioned in its proper place,\nand you can then explain everything, but for the moment I would rather\nnot anticipate. Quite accidentally, with the help of my sister, Varvara\nArdalionovna Ptitsin, I obtained from one of her intimate friends,\nMadame Zoubkoff, a letter written to her twenty-five years ago,\nby Nicolai Andreevitch Pavlicheff, then abroad. After getting\ninto communication with this lady, I went by her advice to Timofei\nFedorovitch Viazovkin, a retired colonel, and one of Pavlicheff's oldest\nfriends. He gave me two more letters written by the latter when he was\nstill in foreign parts. These three documents, their dates, and the\nfacts mentioned in them, prove in the most undeniable manner, that\neighteen months before your birth, Nicolai Andreevitch went abroad,\nwhere he remained for three consecutive years. Your mother, as you are\nwell aware, has never been out of Russia.... It is too late to read the\nletters now; I am content to state the fact. But if you desire it, come\nto me tomorrow morning, bring witnesses and writing experts with you,\nand I will prove the absolute truth of my story. From that moment the\nquestion will be decided.\"\n\nThese words caused a sensation among the listeners, and there was a\ngeneral movement of relief. Burdovsky got up abruptly.\n\n\"If that is true,\" said he, \"I have been deceived, grossly deceived, but\nnot by Tchebaroff: and for a long time past, a long time. I do not\nwish for experts, not I, nor to go to see you. I believe you. I give it\nup.... But I refuse the ten thousand roubles. Good-bye.\"\n\n\"Wait five minutes more, Mr. Burdovsky,\" said Gavrila Ardalionovitch\npleasantly. \"I have more to say. Some rather curious and important facts\nhave come to light, and it is absolutely necessary, in my opinion, that\nyou should hear them. You will not regret, I fancy, to have the whole\nmatter thoroughly cleared up.\"\n\nBurdovsky silently resumed his seat, and bent his head as though in\nprofound thought. His friend, Lebedeff's nephew, who had risen to\naccompany him, also sat down again. He seemed much disappointed, though\nas self-confident as ever. Hippolyte looked dejected and sulky, as well\nas surprised. He had just been attacked by a violent fit of coughing,\nso that his handkerchief was stained with blood. The boxer looked\nthoroughly frightened.\n\n\"Oh, Antip!\" cried he in a miserable voice, \"I did say to you the\nother day--the day before yesterday--that perhaps you were not really\nPavlicheff's son!\"\n\nThere were sounds of half-smothered laughter at this.\n\n\"Now, that is a valuable piece of information, Mr. Keller,\" replied\nGania. \"However that may be, I have private information which convinces\nme that Mr. Burdovsky, though doubtless aware of the date of his birth,\nknew nothing at all about Pavlicheff's sojourn abroad. Indeed, he passed\nthe greater part of his life out of Russia, returning at intervals for\nshort visits. The journey in question is in itself too unimportant for\nhis friends to recollect it after more than twenty years; and of course\nMr. Burdovsky could have known nothing about it, for he was not born.\nAs the event has proved, it was not impossible to find evidence of his\nabsence, though I must confess that chance has helped me in a quest\nwhich might very well have come to nothing. It was really almost\nimpossible for Burdovsky or Tchebaroff to discover these facts, even if\nit had entered their heads to try. Naturally they never dreamt...\"\n\nHere the voice of Hippolyte suddenly intervened.\n\n\"Allow me, Mr. Ivolgin,\" he said irritably. \"What is the good of all\nthis rigmarole? Pardon me. All is now clear, and we acknowledge the\ntruth of your main point. Why go into these tedious details? You wish\nperhaps to boast of the cleverness of your investigation, to cry up your\ntalents as detective? Or perhaps your intention is to excuse Burdovsky,\nby roving that he took up the matter in ignorance? Well, I consider that\nextremely impudent on your part! You ought to know that Burdovsky has\nno need of being excused or justified by you or anyone else! It is an\ninsult! The affair is quite painful enough for him without that. Will\nnothing make you understand?\"\n\n\"Enough! enough! Mr. Terentieff,\" interrupted Gania.\n\n\"Don't excite yourself; you seem very ill, and I am sorry for that. I am\nalmost done, but there are a few facts to which I must briefly refer, as\nI am convinced that they ought to be clearly explained once for all....\"\nA movement of impatience was noticed in his audience as he resumed: \"I\nmerely wish to state, for the information of all concerned, that the\nreason for Mr. Pavlicheff's interest in your mother, Mr. Burdovsky, was\nsimply that she was the sister of a serf-girl with whom he was deeply in\nlove in his youth, and whom most certainly he would have married but for\nher sudden death. I have proofs that this circumstance is almost, if not\nquite, forgotten. I may add that when your mother was about ten years\nold, Pavlicheff took her under his care, gave her a good education, and\nlater, a considerable dowry. His relations were alarmed, and feared\nhe might go so far as to marry her, but she gave her hand to a young\nland-surveyor named Burdovsky when she reached the age of twenty. I\ncan even say definitely that it was a marriage of affection. After his\nwedding your father gave up his occupation as land-surveyor, and with\nhis wife's dowry of fifteen thousand roubles went in for commercial\nspeculations. As he had had no experience, he was cheated on all sides,\nand took to drink in order to forget his troubles. He shortened his life\nby his excesses, and eight years after his marriage he died. Your mother\nsays herself that she was left in the direst poverty, and would have\ndied of starvation had it not been for Pavlicheff, who generously\nallowed her a yearly pension of six hundred roubles. Many people recall\nhis extreme fondness for you as a little boy. Your mother confirms this,\nand agrees with others in thinking that he loved you the more because\nyou were a sickly child, stammering in your speech, and almost\ndeformed--for it is known that all his life Nicolai Andreevitch had a\npartiality for unfortunates of every kind, especially children. In my\nopinion this is most important. I may add that I discovered yet another\nfact, the last on which I employed my detective powers. Seeing how fond\nPavlicheff was of you,--it was thanks to him you went to school, and\nalso had the advantage of special teachers--his relations and servants\ngrew to believe that you were his son, and that your father had been\nbetrayed by his wife. I may point out that this idea was only accredited\ngenerally during the last years of Pavlicheff's life, when his\nnext-of-kin were trembling about the succession, when the earlier story\nwas quite forgotten, and when all opportunity for discovering the truth\nhad seemingly passed away. No doubt you, Mr. Burdovsky, heard this\nconjecture, and did not hesitate to accept it as true. I have had the\nhonour of making your mother's acquaintance, and I find that she knows\nall about these reports. What she does not know is that you, her son,\nshould have listened to them so complaisantly. I found your respected\nmother at Pskoff, ill and in deep poverty, as she has been ever since\nthe death of your benefactor. She told me with tears of gratitude how\nyou had supported her; she expects much of you, and believes fervently\nin your future success...\"\n\n\"Oh, this is unbearable!\" said Lebedeff's nephew impatiently. \"What is\nthe good of all this romancing?\"\n\n\"It is revolting and unseemly!\" cried Hippolyte, jumping up in a fury.\n\nBurdovsky alone sat silent and motionless.\n\n\"What is the good of it?\" repeated Gavrila Ardalionovitch, with\npretended surprise. \"Well, firstly, because now perhaps Mr. Burdovsky\nis quite convinced that Mr. Pavlicheff's love for him came simply from\ngenerosity of soul, and not from paternal duty. It was most necessary\nto impress this fact upon his mind, considering that he approved of the\narticle written by Mr. Keller. I speak thus because I look on you, Mr.\nBurdovsky, as an honourable man. Secondly, it appears that there was no\nintention of cheating in this case, even on the part of Tchebaroff. I\nwish to say this quite plainly, because the prince hinted a while\nago that I too thought it an attempt at robbery and extortion. On the\ncontrary, everyone has been quite sincere in the matter, and although\nTchebaroff may be somewhat of a rogue, in this business he has acted\nsimply as any sharp lawyer would do under the circumstances. He looked\nat it as a case that might bring him in a lot of money, and he did not\ncalculate badly; because on the one hand he speculated on the generosity\nof the prince, and his gratitude to the late Mr. Pavlicheff, and on\nthe other to his chivalrous ideas as to the obligations of honour and\nconscience. As to Mr. Burdovsky, allowing for his principles, we may\nacknowledge that he engaged in the business with very little personal\naim in view. At the instigation of Tchebaroff and his other friends,\nhe decided to make the attempt in the service of truth, progress, and\nhumanity. In short, the conclusion may be drawn that, in spite of all\nappearances, Mr. Burdovsky is a man of irreproachable character, and\nthus the prince can all the more readily offer him his friendship, and\nthe assistance of which he spoke just now...\"\n\n\"Hush! hush! Gavrila Ardalionovitch!\" cried Muishkin in dismay, but it\nwas too late.\n\n\"I said, and I have repeated it over and over again,\" shouted Burdovsky\nfuriously, \"that I did not want the money. I will not take it... why...I\nwill not... I am going away!\"\n\nHe was rushing hurriedly from the terrace, when Lebedeff's nephew seized\nhis arms, and said something to him in a low voice. Burdovsky turned\nquickly, and drawing an addressed but unsealed envelope from his pocket,\nhe threw it down on a little table beside the prince.\n\n\"There's the money!... How dare you?... The money!\"\n\n\"Those are the two hundred and fifty roubles you dared to send him as a\ncharity, by the hands of Tchebaroff,\" explained Doktorenko.\n\n\"The article in the newspaper put it at fifty!\" cried Colia.\n\n\"I beg your pardon,\" said the prince, going up to Burdovsky. \"I have\ndone you a great wrong, but I did not send you that money as a charity,\nbelieve me. And now I am again to blame. I offended you just now.\" (The\nprince was much distressed; he seemed worn out with fatigue, and spoke\nalmost incoherently.) \"I spoke of swindling... but I did not apply that\nto you. I was deceived .... I said you were... afflicted... like me...\nBut you are not like me... you give lessons... you support your mother.\nI said you had dishonoured your mother, but you love her. She says so\nherself... I did not know... Gavrila Ardalionovitch did not tell me\nthat... Forgive me! I dared to offer you ten thousand roubles, but I was\nwrong. I ought to have done it differently, and now... there is no way\nof doing it, for you despise me...\"\n\n\"I declare, this is a lunatic asylum!\" cried Lizabetha Prokofievna.\n\n\"Of course it is a lunatic asylum!\" repeated Aglaya sharply, but her\nwords were overpowered by other voices. Everybody was talking loudly,\nmaking remarks and comments; some discussed the affair gravely, others\nlaughed. Ivan Fedorovitch Epanchin was extremely indignant. He stood\nwaiting for his wife with an air of offended dignity. Lebedeff's nephew\ntook up the word again.\n\n\"Well, prince, to do you justice, you certainly know how to make the\nmost of your--let us call it infirmity, for the sake of politeness; you\nhave set about offering your money and friendship in such a way that\nno self-respecting man could possibly accept them. This is an excess of\ningenuousness or of malice--you ought to know better than anyone which\nword best fits the case.\"\n\n\"Allow me, gentlemen,\" said Gavrila Ardalionovitch, who had just\nexamined the contents of the envelope, \"there are only a hundred roubles\nhere, not two hundred and fifty. I point this out, prince, to prevent\nmisunderstanding.\"\n\n\"Never mind, never mind,\" said the prince, signing to him to keep quiet.\n\n\"But we do mind,\" said Lebedeff's nephew vehemently. \"Prince, your\n'never mind' is an insult to us. We have nothing to hide; our actions\ncan bear daylight. It is true that there are only a hundred roubles\ninstead of two hundred and fifty, but it is all the same.\"\n\n\"Why, no, it is hardly the same,\" remarked Gavrila Ardalionovitch, with\nan air of ingenuous surprise.\n\n\"Don't interrupt, we are not such fools as you think, Mr. Lawyer,\" cried\nLebedeff's nephew angrily. \"Of course there is a difference between\na hundred roubles and two hundred and fifty, but in this case the\nprinciple is the main point, and that a hundred and fifty roubles\nare missing is only a side issue. The point to be emphasized is that\nBurdovsky will not accept your highness's charity; he flings it back in\nyour face, and it scarcely matters if there are a hundred roubles or two\nhundred and fifty. Burdovsky has refused ten thousand roubles; you\nheard him. He would not have returned even a hundred roubles if he was\ndishonest! The hundred and fifty roubles were paid to Tchebaroff for\nhis travelling expenses. You may jeer at our stupidity and at our\ninexperience in business matters; you have done all you could already to\nmake us look ridiculous; but do not dare to call us dishonest. The\nfour of us will club together every day to repay the hundred and fifty\nroubles to the prince, if we have to pay it in instalments of a rouble\nat a time, but we will repay it, with interest. Burdovsky is poor, he\nhas no millions. After his journey to see the prince Tchebaroff sent in\nhis bill. We counted on winning... Who would not have done the same in\nsuch a case?\"\n\n\"Who indeed?\" exclaimed Prince S.\n\n\"I shall certainly go mad, if I stay here!\" cried Lizabetha Prokofievna.\n\n\"It reminds me,\" said Evgenie Pavlovitch, laughing, \"of the famous plea\nof a certain lawyer who lately defended a man for murdering six people\nin order to rob them. He excused his client on the score of poverty.\n'It is quite natural,' he said in conclusion, 'considering the state\nof misery he was in, that he should have thought of murdering these six\npeople; which of you, gentlemen, would not have done the same in his\nplace?'\"\n\n\"Enough,\" cried Lizabetha Prokofievna abruptly, trembling with anger,\n\"we have had enough of this balderdash!\"\n\nIn a state of terrible excitement she threw back her head, with flaming\neyes, casting looks of contempt and defiance upon the whole company,\nin which she could no longer distinguish friend from foe. She had\nrestrained herself so long that she felt forced to vent her rage on\nsomebody. Those who knew Lizabetha Prokofievna saw at once how it was\nwith her. \"She flies into these rages sometimes,\" said Ivan Fedorovitch\nto Prince S. the next day, \"but she is not often so violent as she was\nyesterday; it does not happen more than once in three years.\"\n\n\"Be quiet, Ivan Fedorovitch! Leave me alone!\" cried Mrs. Epanchin. \"Why\ndo you offer me your arm now? You had not sense enough to take me away\nbefore. You are my husband, you are a father, it was your duty to drag\nme away by force, if in my folly I refused to obey you and go quietly.\nYou might at least have thought of your daughters. We can find our\nway out now without your help. Here is shame enough for a year! Wait\na moment 'till I thank the prince! Thank you, prince, for the\nentertainment you have given us! It was most amusing to hear these young\nmen... It is vile, vile! A chaos, a scandal, worse than a nightmare!\nIs it possible that there can be many such people on earth? Be quiet,\nAglaya! Be quiet, Alexandra! It is none of your business! Don't fuss\nround me like that, Evgenie Pavlovitch; you exasperate me! So, my dear,\"\nshe cried, addressing the prince, \"you go so far as to beg their\npardon! He says, 'Forgive me for offering you a fortune.' And you, you\nmountebank, what are you laughing at?\" she cried, turning suddenly on\nLebedeff's nephew. \"'We refuse ten thousand roubles; we do not beseech,\nwe demand!' As if he did not know that this idiot will call on them\ntomorrow to renew his offers of money and friendship. You will, won't\nyou? You will? Come, will you, or won't you?\"\n\n\"I shall,\" said the prince, with gentle humility.\n\n\"You hear him! You count upon it, too,\" she continued, turning upon\nDoktorenko. \"You are as sure of him now as if you had the money in your\npocket. And there you are playing the swaggerer to throw dust in our\neyes! No, my dear sir, you may take other people in! I can see through\nall your airs and graces, I see your game!\"\n\n\"Lizabetha Prokofievna!\" exclaimed the prince.\n\n\"Come, Lizabetha Prokofievna, it is quite time for us to be going,\nwe will take the prince with us,\" said Prince S. with a smile, in the\ncoolest possible way.\n\nThe girls stood apart, almost frightened; their father was positively\nhorrified. Mrs. Epanchin's language astonished everybody. Some who stood\na little way off smiled furtively, and talked in whispers. Lebedeff wore\nan expression of utmost ecstasy.\n\n\"Chaos and scandal are to be found everywhere, madame,\" remarked\nDoktorenko, who was considerably put out of countenance.\n\n\"Not like this! Nothing like the spectacle you have just given us, sir,\"\nanswered Lizabetha Prokofievna, with a sort of hysterical rage. \"Leave\nme alone, will you?\" she cried violently to those around her, who were\ntrying to keep her quiet. \"No, Evgenie Pavlovitch, if, as you said\nyourself just now, a lawyer said in open court that he found it quite\nnatural that a man should murder six people because he was in misery,\nthe world must be coming to an end. I had not heard of it before. Now\nI understand everything. And this stutterer, won't he turn out a\nmurderer?\" she cried, pointing to Burdovsky, who was staring at her with\nstupefaction. \"I bet he will! He will have none of your money, possibly,\nhe will refuse it because his conscience will not allow him to accept\nit, but he will go murdering you by night and walking off with your\ncashbox, with a clear conscience! He does not call it a dishonest action\nbut 'the impulse of a noble despair'; 'a negation'; or the devil knows\nwhat! Bah! everything is upside down, everyone walks head downwards. A\nyoung girl, brought up at home, suddenly jumps into a cab in the\nmiddle of the street, saying: 'Good-bye, mother, I married Karlitch, or\nIvanitch, the other day!' And you think it quite right? You call such\nconduct estimable and natural? The 'woman question'? Look here,\" she\ncontinued, pointing to Colia, \"the other day that whippersnapper told\nme that this was the whole meaning of the 'woman question.' But even\nsupposing that your mother is a fool, you are none the less, bound to\ntreat her with humanity. Why did you come here tonight so insolently?\n'Give us our rights, but don't dare to speak in our presence. Show us\nevery mark of deepest respect, while we treat you like the scum of\nthe earth.' The miscreants have written a tissue of calumny in their\narticle, and these are the men who seek for truth, and do battle for the\nright! 'We do not beseech, we demand, you will get no thanks from\nus, because you will be acting to satisfy your own conscience!'\nWhat morality! But, good heavens! if you declare that the prince's\ngenerosity will, excite no gratitude in you, he might answer that he is\nnot, bound to be grateful to Pavlicheff, who also was only satisfying\nhis own conscience. But you counted on the prince's, gratitude towards\nPavlicheff; you never lent him any money; he owes you nothing; then what\nwere you counting upon if not on his gratitude? And if you appeal to\nthat sentiment in others, why should you expect to be exempted from\nit? They are mad! They say society is savage and inhuman because it\ndespises a young girl who has been seduced. But if you call society\ninhuman you imply that the young girl is made to suffer by its censure.\nHow then, can you hold her up to the scorn of society in the newspapers\nwithout realizing that you are making her suffering, still greater?\nMadmen! Vain fools! They don't believe in God, they don't believe in\nChrist! But you are so eaten up by pride and vanity, that you will end\nby devouring each other--that is my prophecy! Is not this absurd? Is it\nnot monstrous chaos? And after all this, that shameless creature will\ngo and beg their pardon! Are there many people like you? What are\nyou smiling at? Because I am not ashamed to disgrace myself before\nyou?--Yes, I am disgraced--it can't be helped now! But don't you jeer at\nme, you scum!\" (this was aimed at Hippolyte). \"He is almost at his last\ngasp, yet he corrupts others. You, have got hold of this lad \"--(she\npointed to Colia); \"you, have turned his head, you have taught him to\nbe an atheist, you don't believe in God, and you are not too old to be\nwhipped, sir! A plague upon you! And so, Prince Lef Nicolaievitch,\nyou will call on them tomorrow, will you?\" she asked the prince\nbreathlessly, for the second time.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Then I will never speak to you again.\" She made a sudden movement to\ngo, and then turned quickly back. \"And you will call on that atheist?\"\nshe continued, pointing to Hippolyte. \"How dare you grin at me like\nthat?\" she shouted furiously, rushing at the invalid, whose mocking\nsmile drove her to distraction.\n\nExclamations arose on all sides.\n\n\"Lizabetha Prokofievna! Lizabetha Prokofievna! Lizabetha Prokofievna!\"\n\n\"Mother, this is disgraceful!\" cried Aglaya.\n\nMrs. Epanchin had approached Hippolyte and seized him firmly by the arm,\nwhile her eyes, blazing with fury, were fixed upon his face.\n\n\"Do not distress yourself, Aglaya Ivanovitch,\" he answered calmly; \"your\nmother knows that one cannot strike a dying man. I am ready to explain\nwhy I was laughing. I shall be delighted if you will let me--\"\n\nA violent fit of coughing, which lasted a full minute, prevented him\nfrom finishing his sentence.\n\n\"He is dying, yet he will not stop holding forth!\" cried Lizabetha\nProkofievna. She loosed her hold on his arm, almost terrified, as she\nsaw him wiping the blood from his lips. \"Why do you talk? You ought to\ngo home to bed.\"\n\n\"So I will,\" he whispered hoarsely. \"As soon as I get home I will go to\nbed at once; and I know I shall be dead in a fortnight; Botkine told me\nso himself last week. That is why I should like to say a few farewell\nwords, if you will let me.\"\n\n\"But you must be mad! It is ridiculous! You should take care of\nyourself; what is the use of holding a conversation now? Go home to bed,\ndo!\" cried Mrs. Epanchin in horror.\n\n\"When I do go to bed I shall never get up again,\" said Hippolyte, with a\nsmile. \"I meant to take to my bed yesterday and stay there till I died,\nbut as my legs can still carry me, I put it off for two days, so as to\ncome here with them to-day--but I am very tired.\"\n\n\"Oh, sit down, sit down, why are you standing?\"\n\nLizabetha Prokofievna placed a chair for him with her own hands.\n\n\"Thank you,\" he said gently. \"Sit opposite to me, and let us talk. We\nmust have a talk now, Lizabetha Prokofievna; I am very anxious for it.\"\nHe smiled at her once more. \"Remember that today, for the last time, I\nam out in the air, and in the company of my fellow-men, and that in a\nfortnight I shall I certainly be no longer in this world. So, in a way,\nthis is my farewell to nature and to men. I am not very sentimental,\nbut do you know, I am quite glad that all this has happened at Pavlofsk,\nwhere at least one can see a green tree.\"\n\n\"But why talk now?\" replied Lizabetha Prokofievna, more and more\nalarmed; \"You are quite feverish. Just now you would not stop shouting, and\nnow you can hardly breathe. You are gasping.\"\n\n\"I shall have time to rest. Why will you not grant my last wish? Do you\nknow, Lizabetha Prokofievna, that I have dreamed of meeting you for a\nlong while? I had often heard of you from Colia; he is almost the only\nperson who still comes to see me. You are an original and eccentric\nwoman; I have seen that for myself--Do you know, I have even been rather\nfond of you?\"\n\n\"Good heavens! And I very nearly struck him!\"\n\n\"You were prevented by Aglaya Ivanovna. I think I am not mistaken? That\nis your daughter, Aglaya Ivanovna? She is so beautiful that I recognized\nher directly, although I had never seen her before. Let me, at least,\nlook on beauty for the last time in my life,\" he said with a wry smile.\n\"You are here with the prince, and your husband, and a large company.\nWhy should you refuse to gratify my last wish?\"\n\n\"Give me a chair!\" cried Lizabetha Prokofievna, but she seized one for\nherself and sat down opposite to Hippolyte. \"Colia, you must go home\nwith him,\" she commanded, \"and tomorrow I will come my self.\"\n\n\"Will you let me ask the prince for a cup of tea?... I am exhausted. Do\nyou know what you might do, Lizabetha Prokofievna? I think you wanted to\ntake the prince home with you for tea. Stay here, and let us spend\nthe evening together. I am sure the prince will give us all some tea.\nForgive me for being so free and easy--but I know you are kind, and\nthe prince is kind, too. In fact, we are all good-natured people--it is\nreally quite comical.\"\n\nThe prince bestirred himself to give orders. Lebedeff hurried out,\nfollowed by Vera.\n\n\"It is quite true,\" said Mrs. Epanchin decisively. \"Talk, but not too\nloud, and don't excite yourself. You have made me sorry for you. Prince,\nyou don't deserve that I should stay and have tea with you, yet I will,\nall the same, but I won't apologize. I apologize to nobody! Nobody! It\nis absurd! However, forgive me, prince, if I blew you up--that is, if\nyou like, of course. But please don't let me keep anyone,\" she added\nsuddenly to her husband and daughters, in a tone of resentment, as\nthough they had grievously offended her. \"I can come home alone quite\nwell.\"\n\nBut they did not let her finish, and gathered round her eagerly. The\nprince immediately invited everyone to stay for tea, and apologized\nfor not having thought of it before. The general murmured a few polite\nwords, and asked Lizabetha Prokofievna if she did not feel cold on the\nterrace. He very nearly asked Hippolyte how long he had been at the\nUniversity, but stopped himself in time. Evgenie Pavlovitch and Prince\nS. suddenly grew extremely gay and amiable. Adelaida and Alexandra\nhad not recovered from their surprise, but it was now mingled with\nsatisfaction; in short, everyone seemed very much relieved that\nLizabetha Prokofievna had got over her paroxysm. Aglaya alone still\nfrowned, and sat apart in silence. All the other guests stayed on as\nwell; no one wanted to go, not even General Ivolgin, but Lebedeff said\nsomething to him in passing which did not seem to please him, for he\nimmediately went and sulked in a corner. The prince took care to offer\ntea to Burdovsky and his friends as well as the rest. The invitation\nmade them rather uncomfortable. They muttered that they would wait for\nHippolyte, and went and sat by themselves in a distant corner of the\nverandah. Tea was served at once; Lebedeff had no doubt ordered it\nfor himself and his family before the others arrived. It was striking\neleven.\n\nX.\n\nAfter moistening his lips with the tea which Vera Lebedeff brought him,\nHippolyte set the cup down on the table, and glanced round. He seemed\nconfused and almost at a loss.\n\n\"Just look, Lizabetha Prokofievna,\" he began, with a kind of feverish\nhaste; \"these china cups are supposed to be extremely valuable. Lebedeff\nalways keeps them locked up in his china-cupboard; they were part of his\nwife's dowry. Yet he has brought them out tonight--in your honour, of\ncourse! He is so pleased--\" He was about to add something else, but\ncould not find the words.\n\n\"There, he is feeling embarrassed; I expected as much,\" whispered\nEvgenie Pavlovitch suddenly in the prince's ear. \"It is a bad sign;\nwhat do you think? Now, out of spite, he will come out with something\nso outrageous that even Lizabetha Prokofievna will not be able to stand\nit.\"\n\nMuishkin looked at him inquiringly.\n\n\"You do not care if he does?\" added Evgenie Pavlovitch. \"Neither do I;\nin fact, I should be glad, merely as a proper punishment for our dear\nLizabetha Prokofievna. I am very anxious that she should get it, without\ndelay, and I shall stay till she does. You seem feverish.\"\n\n\"Never mind; by-and-by; yes, I am not feeling well,\" said the prince\nimpatiently, hardly listening. He had just heard Hippolyte mention his\nown name.\n\n\"You don't believe it?\" said the invalid, with a nervous laugh. \"I don't\nwonder, but the prince will have no difficulty in believing it; he will\nnot be at all surprised.\"\n\n\"Do you hear, prince--do you hear that?\" said Lizabetha Prokofievna,\nturning towards him.\n\nThere was laughter in the group around her, and Lebedeff stood before\nher gesticulating wildly.\n\n\"He declares that your humbug of a landlord revised this gentleman's\narticle--the article that was read aloud just now--in which you got such\na charming dressing-down.\"\n\nThe prince regarded Lebedeff with astonishment.\n\n\"Why don't you say something?\" cried Lizabetha Prokofievna, stamping her\nfoot.\n\n\"Well,\" murmured the prince, with his eyes still fixed on Lebedeff, \"I\ncan see now that he did.\"\n\n\"Is it true?\" she asked eagerly.\n\n\"Absolutely, your excellency,\" said Lebedeff, without the least\nhesitation.\n\nMrs. Epanchin almost sprang up in amazement at his answer, and at the\nassurance of his tone.\n\n\"He actually seems to boast of it!\" she cried.\n\n\"I am base--base!\" muttered Lebedeff, beating his breast, and hanging\nhis head.\n\n\"What do I care if you are base or not? He thinks he has only to say,\n'I am base,' and there is an end of it. As to you, prince, are you not\nashamed?--I repeat, are you not ashamed, to mix with such riff-raff? I\nwill never forgive you!\"\n\n\"The prince will forgive me!\" said Lebedeff with emotional conviction.\n\nKeller suddenly left his seat, and approached Lizabetha. Prokofievna.\n\n\"It was only out of generosity, madame,\" he said in a resonant voice,\n\"and because I would not betray a friend in an awkward position, that\nI did not mention this revision before; though you heard him yourself\nthreatening to kick us down the steps. To clear the matter up, I declare\nnow that I did have recourse to his assistance, and that I paid him six\nroubles for it. But I did not ask him to correct my style; I simply went\nto him for information concerning the facts, of which I was ignorant\nto a great extent, and which he was competent to give. The story of the\ngaiters, the appetite in the Swiss professor's house, the substitution\nof fifty roubles for two hundred and fifty--all such details, in fact,\nwere got from him. I paid him six roubles for them; but he did not\ncorrect the style.\"\n\n\"I must state that I only revised the first part of the article,\"\ninterposed Lebedeff with feverish impatience, while laughter rose from\nall around him; \"but we fell out in the middle over one idea, so I never\ncorrected the second part. Therefore I cannot be held responsible for\nthe numerous grammatical blunders in it.\"\n\n\"That is all he thinks of!\" cried Lizabetha Prokofievna.\n\n\"May I ask when this article was revised?\" said Evgenie Pavlovitch to\nKeller.\n\n\"Yesterday morning,\" he replied, \"we had an interview which we all gave\nour word of honour to keep secret.\"\n\n\"The very time when he was cringing before you and making protestations\nof devotion! Oh, the mean wretches! I will have nothing to do with your\nPushkin, and your daughter shall not set foot in my house!\"\n\nLizabetha Prokofievna was about to rise, when she saw Hippolyte\nlaughing, and turned upon him with irritation.\n\n\"Well, sir, I suppose you wanted to make me look ridiculous?\"\n\n\"Heaven forbid!\" he answered, with a forced smile. \"But I am more than\never struck by your eccentricity, Lizabetha Prokofievna. I admit that I\ntold you of Lebedeff's duplicity, on purpose. I knew the effect it would\nhave on you,--on you alone, for the prince will forgive him. He has\nprobably forgiven him already, and is racking his brains to find some\nexcuse for him--is not that the truth, prince?\"\n\nHe gasped as he spoke, and his strange agitation seemed to increase.\n\n\"Well?\" said Mrs. Epanchin angrily, surprised at his tone; \"well, what\nmore?\"\n\n\"I have heard many things of the kind about you...they delighted me... I\nhave learned to hold you in the highest esteem,\" continued Hippolyte.\n\nHis words seemed tinged with a kind of sarcastic mockery, yet he was\nextremely agitated, casting suspicious glances around him, growing\nconfused, and constantly losing the thread of his ideas. All this,\ntogether with his consumptive appearance, and the frenzied expression of\nhis blazing eyes, naturally attracted the attention of everyone present.\n\n\"I might have been surprised (though I admit I know nothing of the\nworld), not only that you should have stayed on just now in the company\nof such people as myself and my friends, who are not of your class, but\nthat you should let these... young ladies listen to such a scandalous\naffair, though no doubt novel-reading has taught them all there is to\nknow. I may be mistaken; I hardly know what I am saying; but surely\nno one but you would have stayed to please a whippersnapper (yes,\na whippersnapper; I admit it) to spend the evening and take part in\neverything--only to be ashamed of it tomorrow. (I know I express myself\nbadly.) I admire and appreciate it all extremely, though the expression\non the face of his excellency, your husband, shows that he thinks it\nvery improper. He-he!\" He burst out laughing, and was seized with a\nfit of coughing which lasted for two minutes and prevented him from\nspeaking.\n\n\"He has lost his breath now!\" said Lizabetha Prokofievna coldly, looking\nat him with more curiosity than pity: \"Come, my dear boy, that is quite\nenough--let us make an end of this.\"\n\nIvan Fedorovitch, now quite out of patience, interrupted suddenly. \"Let\nme remark in my turn, sir,\" he said in tones of deep annoyance, \"that\nmy wife is here as the guest of Prince Lef Nicolaievitch, our friend and\nneighbour, and that in any case, young man, it is not for you to pass\njudgment on the conduct of Lizabetha Prokofievna, or to make remarks\naloud in my presence concerning what feelings you think may be read\nin my face. Yes, my wife stayed here,\" continued the general, with\nincreasing irritation, \"more out of amazement than anything else.\nEveryone can understand that a collection of such strange young men\nwould attract the attention of a person interested in contemporary life.\nI stayed myself, just as I sometimes stop to look on in the street when\nI see something that may be regarded as-as-as-\"\n\n\"As a curiosity,\" suggested Evgenie Pavlovitch, seeing his excellency\ninvolved in a comparison which he could not complete.\n\n\"That is exactly the word I wanted,\" said the general with\nsatisfaction--\"a curiosity. However, the most astonishing and, if I may\nso express myself, the most painful, thing in this matter, is that you\ncannot even understand, young man, that Lizabetha Prokofievna, only\nstayed with you because you are ill,--if you really are dying--moved\nby the pity awakened by your plaintive appeal, and that her\nname, character, and social position place her above all risk of\ncontamination. Lizabetha Prokofievna!\" he continued, now crimson with\nrage, \"if you are coming, we will say goodnight to the prince, and--\"\n\n\"Thank you for the lesson, general,\" said Hippolyte, with unexpected\ngravity, regarding him thoughtfully.\n\n\"Two minutes more, if you please, dear Ivan Fedorovitch,\" said Lizabetha\nProkofievna to her husband; \"it seems to me that he is in a fever\nand delirious; you can see by his eyes what a state he is in; it is\nimpossible to let him go back to Petersburg tonight. Can you put him\nup, Lef Nicolaievitch? I hope you are not bored, dear prince,\" she\nadded suddenly to Prince S. \"Alexandra, my dear, come here! Your hair is\ncoming down.\"\n\nShe arranged her daughter's hair, which was not in the least disordered,\nand gave her a kiss. This was all that she had called her for.\n\n\"I thought you were capable of development,\" said Hippolyte, coming out\nof his fit of abstraction. \"Yes, that is what I meant to say,\" he added,\nwith the satisfaction of one who suddenly remembers something he had\nforgotten. \"Here is Burdovsky, sincerely anxious to protect his mother;\nis not that so? And he himself is the cause of her disgrace. The prince\nis anxious to help Burdovsky and offers him friendship and a large sum\nof money, in the sincerity of his heart. And here they stand like two\nsworn enemies--ha, ha, ha! You all hate Burdovsky because his behaviour\nwith regard to his mother is shocking and repugnant to you; do you not?\nIs not that true? Is it not true? You all have a passion for beauty and\ndistinction in outward forms; that is all you care for, isn't it? I have\nsuspected for a long time that you cared for nothing else! Well, let me\ntell you that perhaps there is not one of you who loved your mother as\nBurdovsky loved his. As to you, prince, I know that you have sent money\nsecretly to Burdovsky's mother through Gania. Well, I bet now,\" he\ncontinued with an hysterical laugh, \"that Burdovsky will accuse you of\nindelicacy, and reproach you with a want of respect for his mother! Yes,\nthat is quite certain! Ha, ha, ha!\"\n\nHe caught his breath, and began to cough once more.\n\n\"Come, that is enough! That is all now; you have no more to say? Now\ngo to bed; you are burning with fever,\" said Lizabetha Prokofievna\nimpatiently. Her anxious eyes had never left the invalid. \"Good heavens,\nhe is going to begin again!\"\n\n\"You are laughing, I think? Why do you keep laughing at me?\" said\nHippolyte irritably to Evgenie Pavlovitch, who certainly was laughing.\n\n\"I only want to know, Mr. Hippolyte--excuse me, I forget your surname.\"\n\n\"Mr. Terentieff,\" said the prince.\n\n\"Oh yes, Mr. Terentieff. Thank you prince. I heard it just now, but had\nforgotten it. I want to know, Mr. Terentieff, if what I have heard about\nyou is true. It seems you are convinced that if you could speak to the\npeople from a window for a quarter of an hour, you could make them all\nadopt your views and follow you?\"\n\n\"I may have said so,\" answered Hippolyte, as if trying to remember.\n\"Yes, I certainly said so,\" he continued with sudden animation, fixing\nan unflinching glance on his questioner. \"What of it?\"\n\n\"Nothing. I was only seeking further information, to put the finishing\ntouch.\"\n\nEvgenie Pavlovitch was silent, but Hippolyte kept his eyes fixed upon\nhim, waiting impatiently for more.\n\n\"Well, have you finished?\" said Lizabetha Prokofievna to Evgenie. \"Make\nhaste, sir; it is time he went to bed. Have you more to say?\" She was\nvery angry.\n\n\"Yes, I have a little more,\" said Evgenie Pavlovitch, with a smile. \"It\nseems to me that all you and your friends have said, Mr. Terentieff, and\nall you have just put forward with such undeniable talent, may be summed\nup in the triumph of right above all, independent of everything else, to\nthe exclusion of everything else; perhaps even before having discovered\nwhat constitutes the right. I may be mistaken?\"\n\n\"You are certainly mistaken; I do not even understand you. What else?\"\n\nMurmurs arose in the neighbourhood of Burdovsky and his companions;\nLebedeff's nephew protested under his breath.\n\n\"I have nearly finished,\" replied Evgenie Pavlovitch.\n\n\"I will only remark that from these premises one could conclude that\nmight is right--I mean the right of the clenched fist, and of personal\ninclination. Indeed, the world has often come to that conclusion.\nPrudhon upheld that might is right. In the American War some of the most\nadvanced Liberals took sides with the planters on the score that the\nblacks were an inferior race to the whites, and that might was the right\nof the white race.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"You mean, no doubt, that you do not deny that might is right?\"\n\n\"What then?\"\n\n\"You are at least logical. I would only point out that from the right\nof might, to the right of tigers and crocodiles, or even Daniloff and\nGorsky, is but a step.\"\n\n\"I know nothing about that; what else?\"\n\nHippolyte was scarcely listening. He kept saying \"well?\" and \"what else?\"\nmechanically, without the least curiosity, and by mere force of habit.\n\n\"Why, nothing else; that is all.\"\n\n\"However, I bear you no grudge,\" said Hippolyte suddenly, and, hardly\nconscious of what he was doing, he held out his hand with a smile. The\ngesture took Evgenie Pavlovitch by surprise, but with the utmost gravity\nhe touched the hand that was offered him in token of forgiveness.\n\n\"I can but thank you,\" he said, in a tone too respectful to be sincere,\n\"for your kindness in letting me speak, for I have often noticed that\nour Liberals never allow other people to have an opinion of their own,\nand immediately answer their opponents with abuse, if they do not have\nrecourse to arguments of a still more unpleasant nature.\"\n\n\"What you say is quite true,\" observed General Epanchin; then, clasping\nhis hands behind his back, he returned to his place on the terrace\nsteps, where he yawned with an air of boredom.\n\n\"Come, sir, that will do; you weary me,\" said Lizabetha Prokofievna\nsuddenly to Evgenie Pavlovitch.\n\nHippolyte rose all at once, looking troubled and almost frightened.\n\n\"It is time for me to go,\" he said, glancing round in perplexity. \"I\nhave detained you... I wanted to tell you everything... I thought you\nall... for the last time... it was a whim...\"\n\nHe evidently had sudden fits of returning animation, when he awoke\nfrom his semi-delirium; then, recovering full self-possession for a\nfew moments, he would speak, in disconnected phrases which had perhaps\nhaunted him for a long while on his bed of suffering, during weary,\nsleepless nights.\n\n\"Well, good-bye,\" he said abruptly. \"You think it is easy for me to say\ngood-bye to you? Ha, ha!\"\n\nFeeling that his question was somewhat gauche, he smiled angrily. Then\nas if vexed that he could not ever express what he really meant, he said\nirritably, in a loud voice:\n\n\"Excellency, I have the honour of inviting you to my funeral; that is,\nif you will deign to honour it with your presence. I invite you all,\ngentlemen, as well as the general.\"\n\nHe burst out laughing again, but it was the laughter of a madman.\nLizabetha Prokofievna approached him anxiously and seized his arm.\nHe stared at her for a moment, still laughing, but soon his face grew\nserious.\n\n\"Do you know that I came here to see those trees?\" pointing to the\ntrees in the park. \"It is not ridiculous, is it? Say that it is not\nridiculous!\" he demanded urgently of Lizabetha Prokofievna. Then he\nseemed to be plunged in thought. A moment later he raised his head, and\nhis eyes sought for someone. He was looking for Evgenie Pavlovitch, who\nwas close by on his right as before, but he had forgotten this, and\nhis eyes ranged over the assembled company. \"Ah! you have not gone!\" he\nsaid, when he caught sight of him at last. \"You kept on laughing just\nnow, because I thought of speaking to the people from the window for a\nquarter of an hour. But I am not eighteen, you know; lying on that bed,\nand looking out of that window, I have thought of all sorts of things\nfor such a long time that... a dead man has no age, you know. I was\nsaying that to myself only last week, when I was awake in the night. Do\nyou know what you fear most? You fear our sincerity more than anything,\nalthough you despise us! The idea crossed my mind that night... You\nthought I was making fun of you just now, Lizabetha Prokofievna? No, the\nidea of mockery was far from me; I only meant to praise you. Colia\ntold me the prince called you a child--very well--but let me see, I had\nsomething else to say...\" He covered his face with his hands and tried\nto collect his thoughts.\n\n\"Ah, yes--you were going away just now, and I thought to myself: 'I\nshall never see these people again-never again! This is the last time\nI shall see the trees, too. I shall see nothing after this but the red\nbrick wall of Meyer's house opposite my window. Tell them about it--try\nto tell them,' I thought. 'Here is a beautiful young girl--you are a\ndead man; make them understand that. Tell them that a dead man may\nsay anything--and Mrs. Grundy will not be angry--ha-ha! You are not\nlaughing?\" He looked anxiously around. \"But you know I get so many queer\nideas, lying there in bed. I have grown convinced that nature is full of\nmockery--you called me an atheist just now, but you know this nature...\nwhy are you laughing again? You are very cruel!\" he added suddenly,\nregarding them all with mournful reproach. \"I have not corrupted Colia,\"\nhe concluded in a different and very serious tone, as if remembering\nsomething again.\n\n\"Nobody here is laughing at you. Calm yourself,\" said Lizabetha\nProkofievna, much moved. \"You shall see a new doctor tomorrow; the\nother was mistaken; but sit down, do not stand like that! You are\ndelirious--\" Oh, what shall we do with him she cried in anguish, as she\nmade him sit down again in the arm-chair.\n\nA tear glistened on her cheek. At the sight of it Hippolyte seemed\namazed. He lifted his hand timidly and, touched the tear with his\nfinger, smiling like a child.\n\n\"I... you,\" he began joyfully. \"You cannot tell how I... he always spoke\nso enthusiastically of you, Colia here; I liked his enthusiasm. I was\nnot corrupting him! But I must leave him, too--I wanted to leave\nthem all--there was not one of them--not one! I wanted to be a man of\naction--I had a right to be. Oh! what a lot of things I wanted! Now I\nwant nothing; I renounce all my wants; I swore to myself that I would\nwant nothing; let them seek the truth without me! Yes, nature is full\nof mockery! Why\"--he continued with sudden warmth--\"does she create\nthe choicest beings only to mock at them? The only human being who is\nrecognized as perfect, when nature showed him to mankind, was given the\nmission to say things which have caused the shedding of so much blood\nthat it would have drowned mankind if it had all been shed at once! Oh!\nit is better for me to die! I should tell some dreadful lie too; nature\nwould so contrive it! I have corrupted nobody. I wanted to live for the\nhappiness of all men, to find and spread the truth. I used to look out\nof my window at the wall of Meyer's house, and say to myself that if I\ncould speak for a quarter of an hour I would convince the whole world,\nand now for once in my life I have come into contact with... you--if\nnot with the others! And what is the result? Nothing! The sole result\nis that you despise me! Therefore I must be a fool, I am useless, it is\ntime I disappeared! And I shall leave not even a memory! Not a sound,\nnot a trace, not a single deed! I have not spread a single truth!... Do\nnot laugh at the fool! Forget him! Forget him forever! I beseech you,\ndo not be so cruel as to remember! Do you know that if I were not\nconsumptive, I would kill myself?\"\n\nThough he seemed to wish to say much more, he became silent. He fell\nback into his chair, and, covering his face with his hands, began to sob\nlike a little child.\n\n\"Oh! what on earth are we to do with him?\" cried Lizabetha Prokofievna.\nShe hastened to him and pressed his head against her bosom, while he\nsobbed convulsively.\n\n\"Come, come, come! There, you must not cry, that will do. You are a good\nchild! God will forgive you, because you knew no better. Come now, be a\nman! You know presently you will be ashamed.\"\n\nHippolyte raised his head with an effort, saying:\n\n\"I have little brothers and sisters, over there, poor avid innocent. She\nwill corrupt them! You are a saint! You are a child yourself--save them!\nSnatch them from that... she is... it is shameful! Oh! help them! God\nwill repay you a hundredfold. For the love of God, for the love of\nChrist!\"\n\n\"Speak, Ivan Fedorovitch! What are we to do?\" cried Lizabetha\nProkofievna, irritably. \"Please break your majestic silence! I tell you,\nif you cannot come to some decision, I will stay here all night myself.\nYou have tyrannized over me enough, you autocrat!\"\n\nShe spoke angrily, and in great excitement, and expected an immediate\nreply. But in such a case, no matter how many are present, all prefer\nto keep silence: no one will take the initiative, but all reserve their\ncomments till afterwards. There were some present--Varvara Ardalionovna,\nfor instance--who would have willingly sat there till morning without\nsaying a word. Varvara had sat apart all the evening without opening her\nlips, but she listened to everything with the closest attention; perhaps\nshe had her reasons for so doing.\n\n\"My dear,\" said the general, \"it seems to me that a sick-nurse would be\nof more use here than an excitable person like you. Perhaps it would be\nas well to get some sober, reliable man for the night. In any case we\nmust consult the prince, and leave the patient to rest at once. Tomorrow\nwe can see what can be done for him.\"\n\n\"It is nearly midnight; we are going. Will he come with us, or is he to\nstay here?\" Doktorenko asked crossly of the prince.\n\n\"You can stay with him if you like,\" said Muishkin.\n\n\"There is plenty of room here.\"\n\nSuddenly, to the astonishment of all, Keller went quickly up to the\ngeneral.\n\n\"Excellency,\" he said, impulsively, \"if you want a reliable man for the\nnight, I am ready to sacrifice myself for my friend--such a soul as he\nhas! I have long thought him a great man, excellency! My article showed\nmy lack of education, but when he criticizes he scatters pearls!\"\n\nIvan Fedorovitch turned from the boxer with a gesture of despair.\n\n\"I shall be delighted if he will stay; it would certainly be difficult\nfor him to get back to Petersburg,\" said the prince, in answer to the\neager questions of Lizabetha Prokofievna.\n\n\"But you are half asleep, are you not? If you don't want him, I will\ntake him back to my house! Why, good gracious! He can hardly stand up\nhimself! What is it? Are you ill?\"\n\nNot finding the prince on his death-bed, Lizabetha Prokofievna had been\nmisled by his appearance to think him much better than he was. But his\nrecent illness, the painful memories attached to it, the fatigue of this\nevening, the incident with \"Pavlicheff's son,\" and now this scene with\nHippolyte, had all so worked on his oversensitive nature that he was now\nalmost in a fever. Moreover, anew trouble, almost a fear, showed itself\nin his eyes; he watched Hippolyte anxiously as if expecting something\nfurther.\n\nSuddenly Hippolyte arose. His face, shockingly pale, was that of a man\noverwhelmed with shame and despair. This was shown chiefly in the look\nof fear and hatred which he cast upon the assembled company, and in the\nwild smile upon his trembling lips. Then he cast down his eyes, and with\nthe same smile, staggered towards Burdovsky and Doktorenko, who stood at\nthe entrance to the verandah. He had decided to go with them.\n\n\"There! that is what I feared!\" cried the prince. \"It was inevitable!\"\n\nHippolyte turned upon him, a prey to maniacal rage, which set all the\nmuscles of his face quivering.\n\n\"Ah! that is what you feared! It was inevitable, you say! Well, let me\ntell you that if I hate anyone here--I hate you all,\" he cried, in a\nhoarse, strained voice--\"but you, you, with your jesuitical soul, your\nsoul of sickly sweetness, idiot, beneficent millionaire--I hate you\nworse than anything or anyone on earth! I saw through you and hated you\nlong ago; from the day I first heard of you. I hated you with my whole\nheart. You have contrived all this! You have driven me into this state!\nYou have made a dying man disgrace himself. You, you, you are the cause\nof my abject cowardice! I would kill you if I remained alive! I do not\nwant your benefits; I will accept none from anyone; do you hear? Not\nfrom any one! I want nothing! I was delirious, do not dare to triumph! I\ncurse every one of you, once for all!\"\n\nBreath failed him here, and he was obliged to stop.\n\n\"He is ashamed of his tears!\" whispered Lebedeff to Lizabetha\nProkofievna. \"It was inevitable. Ah! what a wonderful man the prince is!\nHe read his very soul.\"\n\nBut Mrs. Epanchin would not deign to look at Lebedeff. Drawn up\nhaughtily, with her head held high, she gazed at the \"riff-raff,\"\nwith scornful curiosity. When Hippolyte had finished, Ivan Fedorovitch\nshrugged his shoulders, and his wife looked him angrily up and down, as\nif to demand the meaning of his movement. Then she turned to the prince.\n\n\"Thanks, prince, many thanks, eccentric friend of the family, for the\npleasant evening you have provided for us. I am sure you are quite\npleased that you have managed to mix us up with your extraordinary\naffairs. It is quite enough, dear family friend; thank you for giving us\nan opportunity of getting to know you so well.\"\n\nShe arranged her cloak with hands that trembled with anger as she waited\nfor the \"riff-raff\" to go. The cab which Lebedeff's son had gone to\nfetch a quarter of an hour ago, by Doktorenko's order, arrived at that\nmoment. The general thought fit to put in a word after his wife.\n\n\"Really, prince, I hardly expected after--after all our friendly\nintercourse--and you see, Lizabetha Prokofievna--\"\n\n\"Papa, how can you?\" cried Adelaida, walking quickly up to the prince\nand holding out her hand.\n\nHe smiled absently at her; then suddenly he felt a burning sensation in\nhis ear as an angry voice whispered:\n\n\"If you do not turn those dreadful people out of the house this very\ninstant, I shall hate you all my life--all my life!\" It was Aglaya. She\nseemed almost in a frenzy, but she turned away before the prince could\nlook at her. However, there was no one left to turn out of the house,\nfor they had managed meanwhile to get Hippolyte into the cab, and it had\ndriven off.\n\n\"Well, how much longer is this going to last, Ivan Fedorovitch? What do\nyou think? Shall I soon be delivered from these odious youths?\"\n\n\"My dear, I am quite ready; naturally... the prince.\"\n\nIvan Fedorovitch held out his hand to Muishkin, but ran after his wife,\nwho was leaving with every sign of violent indignation, before he had\ntime to shake it. Adelaida, her fiance, and Alexandra, said good-bye to\ntheir host with sincere friendliness. Evgenie Pavlovitch did the same,\nand he alone seemed in good spirits.\n\n\"What I expected has happened! But I am sorry, you poor fellow, that\nyou should have had to suffer for it,\" he murmured, with a most charming\nsmile.\n\nAglaya left without saying good-bye. But the evening was not to end\nwithout a last adventure. An unexpected meeting was yet in store for\nLizabetha Prokofievna.\n\nShe had scarcely descended the terrace steps leading to the high road\nthat skirts the park at Pavlofsk, when suddenly there dashed by a smart\nopen carriage, drawn by a pair of beautiful white horses. Having passed\nsome ten yards beyond the house, the carriage suddenly drew up, and one\nof the two ladies seated in it turned sharp round as though she had just\ncaught sight of some acquaintance whom she particularly wished to see.\n\n\"Evgenie Pavlovitch! Is that you?\" cried a clear, sweet voice, which\ncaused the prince, and perhaps someone else, to tremble. \"Well, I _am_\nglad I've found you at last! I've sent to town for you twice today\nmyself! My messengers have been searching for you everywhere!\"\n\nEvgenie Pavlovitch stood on the steps like one struck by lightning.\nMrs. Epanchin stood still too, but not with the petrified expression of\nEvgenie. She gazed haughtily at the audacious person who had addressed\nher companion, and then turned a look of astonishment upon Evgenie\nhimself.\n\n\"There's news!\" continued the clear voice. \"You need not be anxious\nabout Kupferof's IOU's--Rogojin has bought them up. I persuaded him\nto!--I dare say we shall settle Biscup too, so it's all right, you\nsee! _Au revoir_, tomorrow! And don't worry!\" The carriage moved on, and\ndisappeared.\n\n\"The woman's mad!\" cried Evgenie, at last, crimson with anger, and\nlooking confusedly around. \"I don't know what she's talking about! What\nIOU's? Who is she?\" Mrs. Epanchin continued to watch his face for a\ncouple of seconds; then she marched briskly and haughtily away towards\nher own house, the rest following her.\n\nA minute afterwards, Evgenie Pavlovitch reappeared on the terrace, in\ngreat agitation.\n\n\"Prince,\" he said, \"tell me the truth; do you know what all this means?\"\n\n\"I know nothing whatever about it!\" replied the latter, who was,\nhimself, in a state of nervous excitement.\n\n\"No?\"\n\n\"No?\n\n\"Well, nor do I!\" said Evgenie Pavlovitch, laughing suddenly. \"I haven't\nthe slightest knowledge of any such IOU's as she mentioned, I swear I\nhaven't--What's the matter, are you fainting?\"\n\n\"Oh, no--no--I'm all right, I assure you!\"\n\nXI.\n\nThe anger of the Epanchin family was unappeased for three days. As usual\nthe prince reproached himself, and had expected punishment, but he was\ninwardly convinced that Lizabetha Prokofievna could not be seriously\nangry with him, and that she probably was more angry with herself. He\nwas painfully surprised, therefore, when three days passed with no word\nfrom her. Other things also troubled and perplexed him, and one of these\ngrew more important in his eyes as the days went by. He had begun to\nblame himself for two opposite tendencies--on the one hand to extreme,\nalmost \"senseless,\" confidence in his fellows, on the other to a \"vile,\ngloomy suspiciousness.\"\n\nBy the end of the third day the incident of the eccentric lady and\nEvgenie Pavlovitch had attained enormous and mysterious proportions in\nhis mind. He sorrowfully asked himself whether he had been the cause of\nthis new \"monstrosity,\" or was it... but he refrained from saying who\nelse might be in fault. As for the letters N.P.B., he looked on that as\na harmless joke, a mere childish piece of mischief--so childish that\nhe felt it would be shameful, almost dishonourable, to attach any\nimportance to it.\n\nThe day after these scandalous events, however, the prince had the\nhonour of receiving a visit from Adelaida and her fiance, Prince S. They\ncame, ostensibly, to inquire after his health. They had wandered out for\na walk, and called in \"by accident,\" and talked for almost the whole\nof the time they were with him about a certain most lovely tree in the\npark, which Adelaida had set her heart upon for a picture. This, and a\nlittle amiable conversation on Prince S.'s part, occupied the time, and\nnot a word was said about last evening's episodes. At length Adelaida\nburst out laughing, apologized, and explained that they had come\nincognito; from which, and from the circumstance that they said nothing\nabout the prince's either walking back with them or coming to see them\nlater on, the latter inferred that he was in Mrs. Epanchin's black\nbooks. Adelaida mentioned a watercolour that she would much like to show\nhim, and explained that she would either send it by Colia, or bring it\nherself the next day--which to the prince seemed very suggestive.\n\nAt length, however, just as the visitors were on the point of departing,\nPrince S. seemed suddenly to recollect himself. \"Oh yes, by-the-by,\" he\nsaid, \"do you happen to know, my dear Lef Nicolaievitch, who that lady\nwas who called out to Evgenie Pavlovitch last night, from the carriage?\"\n\n\"It was Nastasia Philipovna,\" said the prince; \"didn't you know that? I\ncannot tell you who her companion was.\"\n\n\"But what on earth did she mean? I assure you it is a real riddle\nto me--to me, and to others, too!\" Prince S. seemed to be under the\ninfluence of sincere astonishment.\n\n\"She spoke of some bills of Evgenie Pavlovitch's,\" said the prince,\nsimply, \"which Rogojin had bought up from someone; and implied that\nRogojin would not press him.\"\n\n\"Oh, I heard that much, my dear fellow! But the thing is so impossibly\nabsurd! A man of property like Evgenie to give IOU's to a money-lender,\nand to be worried about them! It is ridiculous. Besides, he cannot\npossibly be on such intimate terms with Nastasia Philipovna as she gave\nus to understand; that's the principal part of the mystery! He has given\nme his word that he knows nothing whatever about the matter, and of\ncourse I believe him. Well, the question is, my dear prince, do you know\nanything about it? Has any sort of suspicion of the meaning of it come\nacross you?\"\n\n\"No, I know nothing whatever about it. I assure you I had nothing at all\nto do with it.\"\n\n\"Oh, prince, how strange you have become! I assure you, I hardly know\nyou for your old self. How can you suppose that I ever suggested you\ncould have had a finger in such a business? But you are not quite\nyourself today, I can see.\" He embraced the prince, and kissed him.\n\n\"What do you mean, though,\" asked Muishkin, \"'by such a business'? I\ndon't see any particular 'business' about it at all!\"\n\n\"Oh, undoubtedly, this person wished somehow, and for some reason, to\ndo Evgenie Pavlovitch a bad turn, by attributing to him--before\nwitnesses--qualities which he neither has nor can have,\" replied Prince\nS. drily enough.\n\nMuiskhin looked disturbed, but continued to gaze intently and\nquestioningly into Prince S.'s face. The latter, however, remained\nsilent.\n\n\"Then it was not simply a matter of bills?\" Muishkin said at last, with\nsome impatience. \"It was not as she said?\"\n\n\"But I ask you, my dear sir, how can there be anything in common between\nEvgenie Pavlovitch, and--her, and again Rogojin? I tell you he is a man\nof immense wealth--as I know for a fact; and he has further expectations\nfrom his uncle. Simply Nastasia Philipovna--\"\n\nPrince S. paused, as though unwilling to continue talking about Nastasia\nPhilipovna.\n\n\"Then at all events he knows her!\" remarked the prince, after a moment's\nsilence.\n\n\"Oh, that may be. He may have known her some time ago--two or three\nyears, at least. He used to know Totski. But it is impossible that\nthere should be any intimacy between them. She has not even been in the\nplace--many people don't even know that she has returned from Moscow! I\nhave only observed her carriage about for the last three days or so.\"\n\n\"It's a lovely carriage,\" said Adelaida.\n\n\"Yes, it was a beautiful turn-out, certainly!\"\n\nThe visitors left the house, however, on no less friendly terms than\nbefore. But the visit was of the greatest importance to the prince, from\nhis own point of view. Admitting that he had his suspicions, from\nthe moment of the occurrence of last night, perhaps even before, that\nNastasia had some mysterious end in view, yet this visit confirmed his\nsuspicions and justified his fears. It was all clear to him; Prince S.\nwas wrong, perhaps, in his view of the matter, but he was somewhere near\nthe truth, and was right in so far as that he understood there to be\nan intrigue of some sort going on. Perhaps Prince S. saw it all more\nclearly than he had allowed his hearers to understand. At all events,\nnothing could be plainer than that he and Adelaida had come for the\nexpress purpose of obtaining explanations, and that they suspected him\nof being concerned in the affair. And if all this were so, then _she_ must\nhave some terrible object in view! What was it? There was no stopping\n_her_, as Muishkin knew from experience, in the performance of anything\nshe had set her mind on! \"Oh, she is mad, mad!\" thought the poor prince.\n\nBut there were many other puzzling occurrences that day, which required\nimmediate explanation, and the prince felt very sad. A visit from Vera\nLebedeff distracted him a little. She brought the infant Lubotchka with\nher as usual, and talked cheerfully for some time. Then came her younger\nsister, and later the brother, who attended a school close by. He\ninformed Muishkin that his father had lately found a new interpretation\nof the star called \"wormwood,\" which fell upon the water-springs, as\ndescribed in the Apocalypse. He had decided that it meant the network of\nrailroads spread over the face of Europe at the present time. The\nprince refused to believe that Lebedeff could have given such an\ninterpretation, and they decided to ask him about it at the earliest\nopportunity. Vera related how Keller had taken up his abode with them on\nthe previous evening. She thought he would remain for some time, as he\nwas greatly pleased with the society of General Ivolgin and of the\nwhole family. But he declared that he had only come to them in order\nto complete his education! The prince always enjoyed the company of\nLebedeff's children, and today it was especially welcome, for Colia did\nnot appear all day. Early that morning he had started for Petersburg.\nLebedeff also was away on business. But Gavrila Ardalionovitch had\npromised to visit Muishkin, who eagerly awaited his coming.\n\nAbout seven in the evening, soon after dinner, he arrived. At the first\nglance it struck the prince that he, at any rate, must know all the\ndetails of last night's affair. Indeed, it would have been impossible\nfor him to remain in ignorance considering the intimate relationship\nbetween him, Varvara Ardalionovna, and Ptitsin. But although he and the\nprince were intimate, in a sense, and although the latter had placed\nthe Burdovsky affair in his hands--and this was not the only mark of\nconfidence he had received--it seemed curious how many matters there\nwere that were tacitly avoided in their conversations. Muishkin thought\nthat Gania at times appeared to desire more cordiality and frankness.\nIt was apparent now, when he entered, that he was convinced that the\nmoment for breaking the ice between them had come at last.\n\nBut all the same Gania was in haste, for his sister was waiting at\nLebedeff's to consult him on an urgent matter of business. If he had\nanticipated impatient questions, or impulsive confidences, he was\nsoon undeceived. The prince was thoughtful, reserved, even a little\nabsent-minded, and asked none of the questions--one in particular--that\nGania had expected. So he imitated the prince's demeanour, and talked\nfast and brilliantly upon all subjects but the one on which their\nthoughts were engaged. Among other things Gania told his host that\nNastasia Philipovna had been only four days in Pavlofsk, and that\neveryone was talking about her already. She was staying with Daria\nAlexeyevna, in an ugly little house in Mattrossky Street, but drove\nabout in the smartest carriage in the place. A crowd of followers\nhad pursued her from the first, young and old. Some escorted her on\nhorse-back when she took the air in her carriage.\n\nShe was as capricious as ever in the choice of her acquaintances, and\nadmitted few into her narrow circle. Yet she already had a numerous\nfollowing and many champions on whom she could depend in time of need.\nOne gentleman on his holiday had broken off his engagement on her\naccount, and an old general had quarrelled with his only son for the\nsame reason.\n\nShe was accompanied sometimes in her carriage by a girl of sixteen,\na distant relative of her hostess. This young lady sang very well; in\nfact, her music had given a kind of notoriety to their little house.\nNastasia, however, was behaving with great discretion on the whole. She\ndressed quietly, though with such taste as to drive all the ladies\nin Pavlofsk mad with envy, of that, as well as of her beauty and her\ncarriage and horses.\n\n\"As for yesterday's episode,\" continued Gania, \"of course it was\npre-arranged.\" Here he paused, as though expecting to be asked how\nhe knew that. But the prince did not inquire. Concerning Evgenie\nPavlovitch, Gania stated, without being asked, that he believed the\nformer had not known Nastasia Philipovna in past years, but that he had\nprobably been introduced to her by somebody in the park during these\nfour days. As to the question of the IOU's she had spoken of, there\nmight easily be something in that; for though Evgenie was undoubtedly\na man of wealth, yet certain of his affairs were equally undoubtedly in\ndisorder. Arrived at this interesting point, Gania suddenly broke off,\nand said no more about Nastasia's prank of the previous evening.\n\nAt last Varvara Ardalionovna came in search of her brother, and remained\nfor a few minutes. Without Muishkin's asking her, she informed him that\nEvgenie Pavlovitch was spending the day in Petersburg, and perhaps would\nremain there over tomorrow; and that her husband had also gone to town,\nprobably in connection with Evgenie Pavlovitch's affairs.\n\n\"Lizabetha Prokofievna is in a really fiendish temper today,\" she\nadded, as she went out, \"but the most curious thing is that Aglaya has\nquarrelled with her whole family; not only with her father and mother,\nbut with her sisters also. It is not a good sign.\" She said all this\nquite casually, though it was extremely important in the eyes of\nthe prince, and went off with her brother. Regarding the episode of\n\"Pavlicheff's son,\" Gania had been absolutely silent, partly from a kind\nof false modesty, partly, perhaps, to \"spare the prince's feelings.\" The\nlatter, however, thanked him again for the trouble he had taken in the\naffair.\n\nMuishkin was glad enough to be left alone. He went out of the garden,\ncrossed the road, and entered the park. He wished to reflect, and to\nmake up his mind as to a certain \"step.\" This step was one of those\nthings, however, which are not thought out, as a rule, but decided for\nor against hastily, and without much reflection. The fact is, he felt a\nlonging to leave all this and go away--go anywhere, if only it were\nfar enough, and at once, without bidding farewell to anyone. He felt a\npresentiment that if he remained but a few days more in this place, and\namong these people, he would be fixed there irrevocably and permanently.\nHowever, in a very few minutes he decided that to run away was\nimpossible; that it would be cowardly; that great problems lay before\nhim, and that he had no right to leave them unsolved, or at least to\nrefuse to give all his energy and strength to the attempt to solve them.\nHaving come to this determination, he turned and went home, his walk\nhaving lasted less than a quarter of an hour. At that moment he was\nthoroughly unhappy.\n\nLebedeff had not returned, so towards evening Keller managed to\npenetrate into the prince's apartments. He was not drunk, but in a\nconfidential and talkative mood. He announced that he had come to tell\nthe story of his life to Muishkin, and had only remained at Pavlofsk for\nthat purpose. There was no means of turning him out; nothing short of an\nearthquake would have removed him.\n\nIn the manner of one with long hours before him, he began his history;\nbut after a few incoherent words he jumped to the conclusion, which\nwas that \"having ceased to believe in God Almighty, he had lost every\nvestige of morality, and had gone so far as to commit a theft.\" \"Could\nyou imagine such a thing?\" said he.\n\n\"Listen to me, Keller,\" returned the prince. \"If I were in your place, I\nshould not acknowledge that unless it were absolutely necessary for some\nreason. But perhaps you are making yourself out to be worse than you\nare, purposely?\"\n\n\"I should tell it to no one but yourself, prince, and I only name it now\nas a help to my soul's evolution. When I die, that secret will die with\nme! But, excellency, if you knew, if you only had the least idea, how\ndifficult it is to get money nowadays! Where to find it is the question.\nAsk for a loan, the answer is always the same: 'Give us gold, jewels, or\ndiamonds, and it will be quite easy.' Exactly what one has not got! Can\nyou picture that to yourself? I got angry at last, and said, 'I\nsuppose you would accept emeralds?' 'Certainly, we accept emeralds with\npleasure. Yes!' 'Well, that's all right,' said I. 'Go to the devil, you\nden of thieves!' And with that I seized my hat, and walked out.\"\n\n\"Had you any emeralds?\" asked the prince.\n\n\"What? I have emeralds? Oh, prince! with what simplicity, with what\nalmost pastoral simplicity, you look upon life!\"\n\nCould not something be made of this man under good influences? asked the\nprince of himself, for he began to feel a kind of pity for his visitor.\nHe thought little of the value of his own personal influence, not from\na sense of humility, but from his peculiar way of looking at things\nin general. Imperceptibly the conversation grew more animated and more\ninteresting, so that neither of the two felt anxious to bring it to a\nclose. Keller confessed, with apparent sincerity, to having been guilty\nof many acts of such a nature that it astonished the prince that he\ncould mention them, even to him. At every fresh avowal he professed the\ndeepest repentance, and described himself as being \"bathed in tears\";\nbut this did not prevent him from putting on a boastful air at times,\nand some of his stories were so absurdly comical that both he and the\nprince laughed like madmen.\n\n\"One point in your favour is that you seem to have a child-like mind,\nand extreme truthfulness,\" said the prince at last. \"Do you know that\nthat atones for much?\"\n\n\"I am assuredly noble-minded, and chivalrous to a degree!\" said Keller,\nmuch softened. \"But, do you know, this nobility of mind exists in a\ndream, if one may put it so? It never appears in practice or deed. Now,\nwhy is that? I can never understand.\"\n\n\"Do not despair. I think we may say without fear of deceiving ourselves,\nthat you have now given a fairly exact account of your life. I, at\nleast, think it would be impossible to add much to what you have just\ntold me.\"\n\n\"Impossible?\" cried Keller, almost pityingly. \"Oh prince, how little you\nreally seem to understand human nature!\"\n\n\"Is there really much more to be added?\" asked the prince, with mild\nsurprise. \"Well, what is it you really want of me? Speak out; tell me\nwhy you came to make your confession to me?\"\n\n\"What did I want? Well, to begin with, it is good to meet a man like\nyou. It is a pleasure to talk over my faults with you. I know you for\none of the best of men... and then... then...\"\n\nHe hesitated, and appeared so much embarrassed that the prince helped\nhim out.\n\n\"Then you wanted me to lend you money?\"\n\nThe words were spoken in a grave tone, and even somewhat shyly.\n\nKeller started, gave an astonished look at the speaker, and thumped the\ntable with his fist.\n\n\"Well, prince, that's enough to knock me down! It astounds me! Here you\nare, as simple and innocent as a knight of the golden age, and yet...\nyet... you read a man's soul like a psychologist! Now, do explain it to\nme, prince, because I... I really do not understand!... Of course, my\naim was to borrow money all along, and you... you asked the question\nas if there was nothing blameable in it--as if you thought it quite\nnatural.\"\n\n\"Yes... from you it is quite natural.\"\n\n\"And you are not offended?\"\n\n\"Why should I be offended?\"\n\n\"Well, just listen, prince. I remained here last evening, partly because\nI have a great admiration for the French archbishop Bourdaloue. I\nenjoyed a discussion over him till three o'clock in the morning, with\nLebedeff; and then... then--I swear by all I hold sacred that I am\ntelling you the truth--then I wished to develop my soul in this frank\nand heartfelt confession to you. This was my thought as I was sobbing\nmyself to sleep at dawn. Just as I was losing consciousness, tears in\nmy soul, tears on my face (I remember how I lay there sobbing), an idea\nfrom hell struck me. 'Why not, after confessing, borrow money from him?'\nYou see, this confession was a kind of masterstroke; I intended to use\nit as a means to your good grace and favour--and then--then I meant to\nwalk off with a hundred and fifty roubles. Now, do you not call that\nbase?\"\n\n\"It is hardly an exact statement of the case,\" said the prince in reply.\n\"You have confused your motives and ideas, as I need scarcely say too\noften happens to myself. I can assure you, Keller, I reproach myself\nbitterly for it sometimes. When you were talking just now I seemed to be\nlistening to something about myself. At times I have imagined that all\nmen were the same,\" he continued earnestly, for he appeared to be much\ninterested in the conversation, \"and that consoled me in a certain\ndegree, for a _double_ motive is a thing most difficult to fight against.\nI have tried, and I know. God knows whence they arise, these ideas that\nyou speak of as base. I fear these double motives more than ever just\nnow, but I am not your judge, and in my opinion it is going too far to\ngive the name of baseness to it--what do you think? You were going\nto employ your tears as a ruse in order to borrow money, but you also\nsay--in fact, you have sworn to the fact--that independently of this\nyour confession was made with an honourable motive. As for the money,\nyou want it for drink, do you not? After your confession, that is\nweakness, of course; but, after all, how can anyone give up a bad habit\nat a moment's notice? It is impossible. What can we do? It is best, I\nthink, to leave the matter to your own conscience. How does it seem to\nyou?\" As he concluded the prince looked curiously at Keller; evidently\nthis problem of double motives had often been considered by him before.\n\n\"Well, how anybody can call you an idiot after that, is more than I can\nunderstand!\" cried the boxer.\n\nThe prince reddened slightly.\n\n\"Bourdaloue, the archbishop, would not have spared a man like me,\"\nKeller continued, \"but you, you have judged me with humanity. To show\nhow grateful I am, and as a punishment, I will not accept a hundred and\nfifty roubles. Give me twenty-five--that will be enough; it is all I\nreally need, for a fortnight at least. I will not ask you for more for\na fortnight. I should like to have given Agatha a present, but she does\nnot really deserve it. Oh, my dear prince, God bless you!\"\n\nAt this moment Lebedeff appeared, having just arrived from Petersburg.\nHe frowned when he saw the twenty-five rouble note in Keller's hand, but\nthe latter, having got the money, went away at once. Lebedeff began to\nabuse him.\n\n\"You are unjust; I found him sincerely repentant,\" observed the prince,\nafter listening for a time.\n\n\"What is the good of repentance like that? It is the same exactly as\nmine yesterday, when I said, 'I am base, I am base,'--words, and nothing\nmore!\"\n\n\"Then they were only words on your part? I thought, on the contrary...\"\n\n\"Well, I don't mind telling you the truth--you only! Because you see\nthrough a man somehow. Words and actions, truth and falsehood, are all\njumbled up together in me, and yet I am perfectly sincere. I feel the\ndeepest repentance, believe it or not, as you choose; but words and lies\ncome out in the infernal craving to get the better of other people.\nIt is always there--the notion of cheating people, and of using my\nrepentant tears to my own advantage! I assure you this is the truth,\nprince! I would not tell any other man for the world! He would laugh and\njeer at me--but you, you judge a man humanely.\"\n\n\"Why, Keller said the same thing to me nearly word for word a few\nminutes ago!\" cried Muishkin. \"And you both seem inclined to boast about\nit! You astonish me, but I think he is more sincere than you, for you\nmake a regular trade of it. Oh, don't put on that pathetic expression,\nand don't put your hand on your heart! Have you anything to say to me?\nYou have not come for nothing...\"\n\nLebedeff grinned and wriggled.\n\n\"I have been waiting all day for you, because I want to ask you a\nquestion; and, for once in your life, please tell me the truth at once.\nHad you anything to do with that affair of the carriage yesterday?\"\n\nLebedeff began to grin again, rubbed his hands, sneezed, but spoke not a\nword in reply.\n\n\"I see you had something to do with it.\"\n\n\"Indirectly, quite indirectly! I am speaking the truth--I am indeed!\nI merely told a certain person that I had people in my house, and that\nsuch and such personages might be found among them.\"\n\n\"I am aware that you sent your son to that house--he told me so himself\njust now, but what is this intrigue?\" said the prince, impatiently.\n\n\"It is not my intrigue!\" cried Lebedeff, waving his hand.\n\n\"It was engineered by other people, and is, properly speaking, rather a\nfantasy than an intrigue!\"\n\n\"But what is it all about? Tell me, for Heaven's sake! Cannot you\nunderstand how nearly it touches me? Why are they blackening Evgenie\nPavlovitch's reputation?\"\n\nLebedeff grimaced and wriggled again.\n\n\"Prince!\" said he. \"Excellency! You won't let me tell you the whole\ntruth; I have tried to explain; more than once I have begun, but you\nhave not allowed me to go on...\"\n\nThe prince gave no answer, and sat deep in thought. Evidently he was\nstruggling to decide.\n\n\"Very well! Tell me the truth,\" he said, dejectedly.\n\n\"Aglaya Ivanovna...\" began Lebedeff, promptly.\n\n\"Be silent! At once!\" interrupted the prince, red with indignation, and\nperhaps with shame, too. \"It is impossible and absurd! All that has been\ninvented by you, or fools like you! Let me never hear you say a word\nagain on that subject!\"\n\nLate in the evening Colia came in with a whole budget of Petersburg and\nPavlofsk news. He did not dwell much on the Petersburg part of it, which\nconsisted chiefly of intelligence about his friend Hippolyte, but passed\nquickly to the Pavlofsk tidings. He had gone straight to the Epanchins'\nfrom the station.\n\n\"There's the deuce and all going on there!\" he said. \"First of all about\nthe row last night, and I think there must be something new as well,\nthough I didn't like to ask. Not a word about _you_, prince, the whole\ntime! The most interesting fact was that Aglaya had been quarrelling\nwith her people about Gania. Colia did not know any details, except that\nit had been a terrible quarrel! Also Evgenie Pavlovitch had called, and\nmet with an excellent reception all round. And another curious thing:\nMrs. Epanchin was so angry that she called Varia to her--Varia was\ntalking to the girls--and turned her out of the house 'once for all' she\nsaid. I heard it from Varia herself--Mrs. Epanchin was quite polite,\nbut firm; and when Varia said good-bye to the girls, she told them\nnothing about it, and they didn't know they were saying goodbye for the\nlast time. I'm sorry for Varia, and for Gania too; he isn't half a bad\nfellow, in spite of his faults, and I shall never forgive myself for not\nliking him before! I don't know whether I ought to continue to go to the\nEpanchins' now,\" concluded Colia--\"I like to be quite independent of\nothers, and of other people's quarrels if I can; but I must think over\nit.\"\n\n\"I don't think you need break your heart over Gania,\" said the prince;\n\"for if what you say is true, he must be considered dangerous in the\nEpanchin household, and if so, certain hopes of his must have been\nencouraged.\"\n\n\"What? What hopes?\" cried Colia; \"you surely don't mean Aglaya?--oh,\nno!--\"\n\n\"You're a dreadful sceptic, prince,\" he continued, after a moment's\nsilence. \"I have observed of late that you have grown sceptical about\neverything. You don't seem to believe in people as you did, and are\nalways attributing motives and so on--am I using the word 'sceptic' in\nits proper sense?\"\n\n\"I believe so; but I'm not sure.\"\n\n\"Well, I'll change it, right or wrong; I'll say that you are not\nsceptical, but _jealous_. There! you are deadly jealous of Gania, over\na certain proud damsel! Come!\" Colia jumped up, with these words, and\nburst out laughing. He laughed as he had perhaps never laughed before,\nand still more when he saw the prince flushing up to his temples. He was\ndelighted that the prince should be jealous about Aglaya. However, he\nstopped immediately on seeing that the other was really hurt, and the\nconversation continued, very earnestly, for an hour or more.\n\nNext day the prince had to go to town, on business. Returning in the\nafternoon, he happened upon General Epanchin at the station. The latter\nseized his hand, glancing around nervously, as if he were afraid\nof being caught in wrong-doing, and dragged him into a first-class\ncompartment. He was burning to speak about something of importance.\n\n\"In the first place, my dear prince, don't be angry with me. I would\nhave come to see you yesterday, but I didn't know how Lizabetha\nProkofievna would take it. My dear fellow, my house is simply a hell\njust now, a sort of sphinx has taken up its abode there. We live in an\natmosphere of riddles; I can't make head or tail of anything. As for\nyou, I feel sure you are the least to blame of any of us, though you\ncertainly have been the cause of a good deal of trouble. You see, it's\nall very pleasant to be a philanthropist; but it can be carried too far.\nOf course I admire kind-heartedness, and I esteem my wife, but--\"\n\nThe general wandered on in this disconnected way for a long time; it\nwas clear that he was much disturbed by some circumstance which he could\nmake nothing of.\n\n\"It is plain to me, that _you_ are not in it at all,\" he continued, at\nlast, a little less vaguely, \"but perhaps you had better not come to\nour house for a little while. I ask you in the friendliest manner,\nmind; just till the wind changes again. As for Evgenie Pavlovitch,\" he\ncontinued with some excitement, \"the whole thing is a calumny, a dirty\ncalumny. It is simply a plot, an intrigue, to upset our plans and to\nstir up a quarrel. You see, prince, I'll tell you privately, Evgenie and\nourselves have not said a word yet, we have no formal understanding, we\nare in no way bound on either side, but the word may be said very soon,\ndon't you see, _very_ soon, and all this is most injurious, and is meant\nto be so. Why? I'm sure I can't tell you. She's an extraordinary woman,\nyou see, an eccentric woman; I tell you I am so frightened of that woman\nthat I can't sleep. What a carriage that was, and where did it come\nfrom, eh? I declare, I was base enough to suspect Evgenie at first; but\nit seems certain that that cannot be the case, and if so, why is she\ninterfering here? That's the riddle, what does she want? Is it to keep\nEvgenie to herself? But, my dear fellow, I swear to you, I swear he\ndoesn't even _know_ her, and as for those bills, why, the whole thing is\nan invention! And the familiarity of the woman! It's quite clear we must\ntreat the impudent creature's attempt with disdain, and redouble our\ncourtesy towards Evgenie. I told my wife so.\n\n\"Now I'll tell you my secret conviction. I'm certain that she's doing\nthis to revenge herself on me, on account of the past, though I assure\nyou that all the time I was blameless. I blush at the very idea. And\nnow she turns up again like this, when I thought she had finally\ndisappeared! Where's Rogojin all this time? I thought she was Mrs.\nRogojin, long ago.\"\n\nThe old man was in a state of great mental perturbation. The whole of\nthe journey, which occupied nearly an hour, he continued in this strain,\nputting questions and answering them himself, shrugging his shoulders,\npressing the prince's hand, and assuring the latter that, at all\nevents, he had no suspicion whatever of _him_. This last assurance was\nsatisfactory, at all events. The general finished by informing him that\nEvgenie's uncle was head of one of the civil service departments, and\nrich, very rich, and a gourmand. \"And, well, Heaven preserve him, of\ncourse--but Evgenie gets his money, don't you see? But, for all this,\nI'm uncomfortable, I don't know why. There's something in the air, I\nfeel there's something nasty in the air, like a bat, and I'm by no means\ncomfortable.\"\n\nAnd it was not until the third day that the formal reconciliation\nbetween the prince and the Epanchins took place, as said before.\n\nXII.\n\nIt was seven in the evening, and the prince was just preparing to go\nout for a walk in the park, when suddenly Mrs. Epanchin appeared on the\nterrace.\n\n\"In the first place, don't dare to suppose,\" she began, \"that I am going\nto apologize. Nonsense! You were entirely to blame.\"\n\nThe prince remained silent.\n\n\"Were you to blame, or not?\"\n\n\"No, certainly not, no more than yourself, though at first I thought I\nwas.\"\n\n\"Oh, very well, let's sit down, at all events, for I don't intend to\nstand up all day. And remember, if you say, one word about 'mischievous\nurchins,' I shall go away and break with you altogether. Now then, did\nyou, or did you not, send a letter to Aglaya, a couple of months or so\nago, about Easter-tide?\"\n\n\"Yes!\"\n\n\"What for? What was your object? Show me the letter.\" Mrs. Epanchin's\neyes flashed; she was almost trembling with impatience.\n\n\"I have not got the letter,\" said the prince, timidly, extremely\nsurprised at the turn the conversation had taken. \"If anyone has it, if\nit still exists, Aglaya Ivanovna must have it.\"\n\n\"No finessing, please. What did you write about?\"\n\n\"I am not finessing, and I am not in the least afraid of telling you;\nbut I don't see the slightest reason why I should not have written.\"\n\n\"Be quiet, you can talk afterwards! What was the letter about? Why are\nyou blushing?\"\n\nThe prince was silent. At last he spoke.\n\n\"I don't understand your thoughts, Lizabetha Prokofievna; but I can see\nthat the fact of my having written is for some reason repugnant to you.\nYou must admit that I have a perfect right to refuse to answer your\nquestions; but, in order to show you that I am neither ashamed of\nthe letter, nor sorry that I wrote it, and that I am not in the least\ninclined to blush about it\" (here the prince's blushes redoubled), \"I\nwill repeat the substance of my letter, for I think I know it almost by\nheart.\"\n\nSo saying, the prince repeated the letter almost word for word, as he\nhad written it.\n\n\"My goodness, what utter twaddle, and what may all this nonsense have\nsignified, pray? If it had any meaning at all!\" said Mrs. Epanchin,\ncuttingly, after having listened with great attention.\n\n\"I really don't absolutely know myself; I know my feeling was very\nsincere. I had moments at that time full of life and hope.\"\n\n\"What sort of hope?\"\n\n\"It is difficult to explain, but certainly not the hopes you have in\nyour mind. Hopes--well, in a word, hopes for the future, and a feeling\nof joy that _there_, at all events, I was not entirely a stranger and a\nforeigner. I felt an ecstasy in being in my native land once more; and\none sunny morning I took up a pen and wrote her that letter, but why to\n_her_, I don't quite know. Sometimes one longs to have a friend near, and\nI evidently felt the need of one then,\" added the prince, and paused.\n\n\"Are you in love with her?\"\n\n\"N-no! I wrote to her as to a sister; I signed myself her brother.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, of course, on purpose! I quite understand.\"\n\n\"It is very painful to me to answer these questions, Lizabetha\nProkofievna.\"\n\n\"I dare say it is; but that's no affair of mine. Now then, assure me\ntruly as before Heaven, are you lying to me or not?\"\n\n\"No, I am not lying.\"\n\n\"Are you telling the truth when you say you are not in love?\"\n\n\"I believe it is the absolute truth.\"\n\n\"'I believe,' indeed! Did that mischievous urchin give it to her?\"\n\n\"I asked Nicolai Ardalionovitch...\"\n\n\"The urchin! the urchin!\" interrupted Lizabetha Prokofievna in an angry\nvoice. \"I do not want to know if it were Nicolai Ardalionovitch! The\nurchin!\"\n\n\"Nicolai Ardalionovitch...\"\n\n\"The urchin, I tell you!\"\n\n\"No, it was not the urchin: it was Nicolai Ardalionovitch,\" said the\nprince very firmly, but without raising his voice.\n\n\"Well, all right! All right, my dear! I shall put that down to your\naccount.\"\n\nShe was silent a moment to get breath, and to recover her composure.\n\n\"Well!--and what's the meaning of the 'poor knight,' eh?\"\n\n\"I don't know in the least; I wasn't present when the joke was made. It\n_is_ a joke. I suppose, and that's all.\"\n\n\"Well, that's a comfort, at all events. You don't suppose she could take\nany interest in you, do you? Why, she called you an 'idiot' herself.\"\n\n\"I think you might have spared me that,\" murmured the prince\nreproachfully, almost in a whisper.\n\n\"Don't be angry; she is a wilful, mad, spoilt girl. If she likes a\nperson she will pitch into him, and chaff him. I used to be just such\nanother. But for all that you needn't flatter yourself, my boy; she is\nnot for you. I don't believe it, and it is not to be. I tell you so at\nonce, so that you may take proper precautions. Now, I want to hear you\nswear that you are not married to that woman?\"\n\n\"Lizabetha Prokofievna, what are you thinking of?\" cried the prince,\nalmost leaping to his feet in amazement.\n\n\"Why? You very nearly were, anyhow.\"\n\n\"Yes--I nearly was,\" whispered the prince, hanging his head.\n\n\"Well then, have you come here for _her?_ Are you in love with _her?_\nWith _that_ creature?\"\n\n\"I did not come to marry at all,\" replied the prince.\n\n\"Is there anything you hold sacred?\"\n\n\"There is.\"\n\n\"Then swear by it that you did not come here to marry _her!_\"\n\n\"I'll swear it by whatever you please.\"\n\n\"I believe you. You may kiss me; I breathe freely at last. But you must\nknow, my dear friend, Aglaya does not love you, and she shall never be\nyour wife while I am out of my grave. So be warned in time. Do you hear\nme?\"\n\n\"Yes, I hear.\"\n\nThe prince flushed up so much that he could not look her in the face.\n\n\"I have waited for you with the greatest impatience (not that you were\nworth it). Every night I have drenched my pillow with tears, not for\nyou, my friend, not for you, don't flatter yourself! I have my own\ngrief, always the same, always the same. But I'll tell you why I have\nbeen awaiting you so impatiently, because I believe that Providence\nitself sent you to be a friend and a brother to me. I haven't a friend\nin the world except Princess Bielokonski, and she is growing as stupid\nas a sheep from old age. Now then, tell me, yes or no? Do you know why\nshe called out from her carriage the other night?\"\n\n\"I give you my word of honour that I had nothing to do with the matter\nand know nothing about it.\"\n\n\"Very well, I believe you. I have my own ideas about it. Up to yesterday\nmorning I thought it was really Evgenie Pavlovitch who was to blame; now\nI cannot help agreeing with the others. But why he was made such a fool\nof I cannot understand. However, he is not going to marry Aglaya, I can\ntell you that. He may be a very excellent fellow, but--so it shall be.\nI was not at all sure of accepting him before, but now I have quite made\nup my mind that I won't have him. 'Put me in my coffin first and then\ninto my grave, and then you may marry my daughter to whomsoever you\nplease,' so I said to the general this very morning. You see how I trust\nyou, my boy.\"\n\n\"Yes, I see and understand.\"\n\nMrs. Epanchin gazed keenly into the prince's eyes. She was anxious to\nsee what impression the news as to Evgenie Pavlovitch had made upon him.\n\n\"Do you know anything about Gavrila Ardalionovitch?\" she asked at last.\n\n\"Oh yes, I know a good deal.\"\n\n\"Did you know he had communications with Aglaya?\"\n\n\"No, I didn't,\" said the prince, trembling a little, and in great\nagitation. \"You say Gavrila Ardalionovitch has private communications\nwith Aglaya?--Impossible!\"\n\n\"Only quite lately. His sister has been working like a rat to clear the\nway for him all the winter.\"\n\n\"I don't believe it!\" said the prince abruptly, after a short pause.\n\"Had it been so I should have known long ago.\"\n\n\"Oh, of course, yes; he would have come and wept out his secret on your\nbosom. Oh, you simpleton--you simpleton! Anyone can deceive you and take\nyou in like a--like a,--aren't you ashamed to trust him? Can't you see\nthat he humbugs you just as much as ever he pleases?\"\n\n\"I know very well that he does deceive me occasionally, and he knows\nthat I know it, but--\" The prince did not finish his sentence.\n\n\"And that's why you trust him, eh? So I should have supposed. Good Lord,\nwas there ever such a man as you? Tfu! and are you aware, sir, that this\nGania, or his sister Varia, have brought her into correspondence with\nNastasia Philipovna?\"\n\n\"Brought whom?\" cried Muishkin.\n\n\"Aglaya.\"\n\n\"I don't believe it! It's impossible! What object could they have?\" He\njumped up from his chair in his excitement.\n\n\"Nor do I believe it, in spite of the proofs. The girl is self-willed\nand fantastic, and insane! She's wicked, wicked! I'll repeat it for\na thousand years that she's wicked; they _all_ are, just now, all my\ndaughters, even that 'wet hen' Alexandra. And yet I don't believe it.\nBecause I don't choose to believe it, perhaps; but I don't. Why haven't\nyou been?\" she turned on the prince suddenly. \"Why didn't you come near\nus all these three days, eh?\"\n\nThe prince began to give his reasons, but she interrupted him again.\n\n\"Everybody takes you in and deceives you; you went to town yesterday. I\ndare swear you went down on your knees to that rogue, and begged him to\naccept your ten thousand roubles!\"\n\n\"I never thought of doing any such thing. I have not seen him, and he is\nnot a rogue, in my opinion. I have had a letter from him.\"\n\n\"Show it me!\"\n\nThe prince took a paper from his pocket-book, and handed it to Lizabetha\nProkofievna. It ran as follows:\n\n\n\"SIR,\n\n\"In the eyes of the world I am sure that I have no cause for pride or\nself-esteem. I am much too insignificant for that. But what may be so to\nother men's eyes is not so to yours. I am convinced that you are better\nthan other people. Doktorenko disagrees with me, but I am content to\ndiffer from him on this point. I will never accept one single copeck\nfrom you, but you have helped my mother, and I am bound to be grateful\nto you for that, however weak it may seem. At any rate, I have changed\nmy opinion about you, and I think right to inform you of the fact; but I\nalso suppose that there can be no further inter course between us.\n\n\"ANTIP BURDOVSKY.\n\n\"P.S.--The two hundred roubles I owe you shall certainly be repaid in\ntime.\"\n\n\n\"How extremely stupid!\" cried Mrs. Epanchin, giving back the letter\nabruptly. \"It was not worth the trouble of reading. Why are you\nsmiling?\"\n\n\"Confess that you are pleased to have read it.\"\n\n\"What! Pleased with all that nonsense! Why, cannot you see that they are\nall infatuated with pride and vanity?\"\n\n\"He has acknowledged himself to be in the wrong. Don't you see that the\ngreater his vanity, the more difficult this admission must have been on\nhis part? Oh, what a little child you are, Lizabetha Prokofievna!\"\n\n\"Are you tempting me to box your ears for you, or what?\"\n\n\"Not at all. I am only proving that you are glad about the letter. Why\nconceal your real feelings? You always like to do it.\"\n\n\"Never come near my house again!\" cried Mrs. Epanchin, pale with rage.\n\"Don't let me see as much as a _shadow_ of you about the place! Do you\nhear?\"\n\n\"Oh yes, and in three days you'll come and invite me yourself. Aren't\nyou ashamed now? These are your best feelings; you are only tormenting\nyourself.\"\n\n\"I'll die before I invite you! I shall forget your very name! I've\nforgotten it already!\"\n\nShe marched towards the door.\n\n\"But I'm forbidden your house as it is, without your added threats!\"\ncried the prince after her.\n\n\"What? Who forbade you?\"\n\nShe turned round so suddenly that one might have supposed a needle had\nbeen stuck into her.\n\nThe prince hesitated. He perceived that he had said too much now.\n\n\"_Who_ forbade you?\" cried Mrs. Epanchin once more.\n\n\"Aglaya Ivanovna told me--\"\n\n\"When? Speak--quick!\"\n\n\"She sent to say, yesterday morning, that I was never to dare to come\nnear the house again.\"\n\nLizabetha Prokofievna stood like a stone.\n\n\"What did she send? Whom? Was it that boy? Was it a message?-quick!\"\n\n\"I had a note,\" said the prince.\n\n\"Where is it? Give it here, at once.\"\n\nThe prince thought a moment. Then he pulled out of his waistcoat pocket\nan untidy slip of paper, on which was scrawled:\n\n\n\"PRINCE LEF NICOLAIEVITCH,--If you think fit, after all that has passed,\nto honour our house with a visit, I can assure you you will not find me\namong the number of those who are in any way delighted to see you.\n\n\"AGLAYA EPANCHIN.\"\n\n\nMrs. Epanchin reflected a moment. The next minute she flew at the\nprince, seized his hand, and dragged him after her to the door.\n\n\"Quick--come along!\" she cried, breathless with agitation and\nimpatience. \"Come along with me this moment!\"\n\n\"But you declared I wasn't--\"\n\n\"Don't be a simpleton. You behave just as though you weren't a man at\nall. Come on! I shall see, now, with my own eyes. I shall see all.\"\n\n\"Well, let me get my hat, at least.\"\n\n\"Here's your miserable hat. He couldn't even choose a respectable shape\nfor his hat! Come on! She did that because I took your part and said you\nought to have come--little vixen!--else she would never have sent you\nthat silly note. It's a most improper note, I call it; most improper for\nsuch an intelligent, well-brought-up girl to write. H'm! I dare say she\nwas annoyed that you didn't come; but she ought to have known that one\ncan't write like that to an idiot like you, for you'd be sure to take it\nliterally.\" Mrs. Epanchin was dragging the prince along with her all\nthe time, and never let go of his hand for an instant. \"What are you\nlistening for?\" she added, seeing that she had committed herself a\nlittle. \"She wants a clown like you--she hasn't seen one for some\ntime--to play with. That's why she is anxious for you to come to the\nhouse. And right glad I am that she'll make a thorough good fool of you.\nYou deserve it; and she can do it--oh! she can, indeed!--as well as most\npeople.\"\n\n\n\n\nPART III\n\nI.\n\nThe Epanchin family, or at least the more serious members of it, were\nsometimes grieved because they seemed so unlike the rest of the world.\nThey were not quite certain, but had at times a strong suspicion that\nthings did not happen to them as they did to other people. Others led a\nquiet, uneventful life, while they were subject to continual upheavals.\nOthers kept on the rails without difficulty; they ran off at the\nslightest obstacle. Other houses were governed by a timid routine;\ntheirs was somehow different. Perhaps Lizabetha Prokofievna was alone\nin making these fretful observations; the girls, though not wanting in\nintelligence, were still young; the general was intelligent, too, but\nnarrow, and in any difficulty he was content to say, \"H'm!\" and leave\nthe matter to his wife. Consequently, on her fell the responsibility. It\nwas not that they distinguished themselves as a family by any particular\noriginality, or that their excursions off the track led to any breach of\nthe proprieties. Oh no.\n\nThere was nothing premeditated, there was not even any conscious purpose\nin it all, and yet, in spite of everything, the family, although highly\nrespected, was not quite what every highly respected family ought to be.\nFor a long time now Lizabetha Prokofievna had had it in her mind that\nall the trouble was owing to her \"unfortunate character,\" and this\nadded to her distress. She blamed her own stupid unconventional\n\"eccentricity.\" Always restless, always on the go, she constantly seemed\nto lose her way, and to get into trouble over the simplest and more\nordinary affairs of life.\n\nWe said at the beginning of our story, that the Epanchins were liked\nand esteemed by their neighbours. In spite of his humble origin, Ivan\nFedorovitch himself was received everywhere with respect. He deserved\nthis, partly on account of his wealth and position, partly because,\nthough limited, he was really a very good fellow. But a certain\nlimitation of mind seems to be an indispensable asset, if not to all\npublic personages, at least to all serious financiers. Added to this,\nhis manner was modest and unassuming; he knew when to be silent, yet\nnever allowed himself to be trampled upon. Also--and this was more\nimportant than all--he had the advantage of being under exalted\npatronage.\n\nAs to Lizabetha Prokofievna, she, as the reader knows, belonged to an\naristocratic family. True, Russians think more of influential friends\nthan of birth, but she had both. She was esteemed and even loved by\npeople of consequence in society, whose example in receiving her was\ntherefore followed by others. It seems hardly necessary to remark that\nher family worries and anxieties had little or no foundation, or that\nher imagination increased them to an absurd degree; but if you have a\nwart on your forehead or nose, you imagine that all the world is looking\nat it, and that people would make fun of you because of it, even if you\nhad discovered America! Doubtless Lizabetha Prokofievna was considered\n\"eccentric\" in society, but she was none the less esteemed: the pity was\nthat she was ceasing to believe in that esteem. When she thought of\nher daughters, she said to herself sorrowfully that she was a hindrance\nrather than a help to their future, that her character and temper were\nabsurd, ridiculous, insupportable. Naturally, she put the blame on her\nsurroundings, and from morning to night was quarrelling with her husband\nand children, whom she really loved to the point of self-sacrifice,\neven, one might say, of passion.\n\nShe was, above all distressed by the idea that her daughters might grow\nup \"eccentric,\" like herself; she believed that no other society girls\nwere like them. \"They are growing into Nihilists!\" she repeated over and\nover again. For years she had tormented herself with this idea, and with\nthe question: \"Why don't they get married?\"\n\n\"It is to annoy their mother; that is their one aim in life; it can be\nnothing else. The fact is it is all of a piece with these modern ideas,\nthat wretched woman's question! Six months ago Aglaya took a fancy to\ncut off her magnificent hair. Why, even I, when I was young, had nothing\nlike it! The scissors were in her hand, and I had to go down on my knees\nand implore her... She did it, I know, from sheer mischief, to spite\nher mother, for she is a naughty, capricious girl, a real spoiled child\nspiteful and mischievous to a degree! And then Alexandra wanted to shave\nher head, not from caprice or mischief, but, like a little fool, simply\nbecause Aglaya persuaded her she would sleep better without her hair,\nand not suffer from headache! And how many suitors have they not had\nduring the last five years! Excellent offers, too! What more do they\nwant? Why don't they get married? For no other reason than to vex their\nmother--none--none!\"\n\nBut Lizabetha Prokofievna felt somewhat consoled when she could say that\none of her girls, Adelaida, was settled at last. \"It will be one off our\nhands!\" she declared aloud, though in private she expressed herself with\ngreater tenderness. The engagement was both happy and suitable, and was\ntherefore approved in society. Prince S. was a distinguished man, he\nhad money, and his future wife was devoted to him; what more could\nbe desired? Lizabetha Prokofievna had felt less anxious about this\ndaughter, however, although she considered her artistic tastes\nsuspicious. But to make up for them she was, as her mother expressed it,\n\"merry,\" and had plenty of \"common-sense.\" It was Aglaya's future which\ndisturbed her most. With regard to her eldest daughter, Alexandra, the\nmother never quite knew whether there was cause for anxiety or not.\nSometimes she felt as if there was nothing to be expected from her. She\nwas twenty-five now, and must be fated to be an old maid, and \"with such\nbeauty, too!\" The mother spent whole nights in weeping and lamenting,\nwhile all the time the cause of her grief slumbered peacefully. \"What is\nthe matter with her? Is she a Nihilist, or simply a fool?\"\n\nBut Lizabetha Prokofievna knew perfectly well how unnecessary was the\nlast question. She set a high value on Alexandra Ivanovna's judgment,\nand often consulted her in difficulties; but that she was a 'wet\nhen' she never for a moment doubted. \"She is so calm; nothing rouses\nher--though wet hens are not always calm! Oh! I can't understand\nit!\" Her eldest daughter inspired Lizabetha with a kind of puzzled\ncompassion. She did not feel this in Aglaya's case, though the latter\nwas her idol. It may be said that these outbursts and epithets, such as\n\"wet hen\" (in which the maternal solicitude usually showed itself),\nonly made Alexandra laugh. Sometimes the most trivial thing annoyed Mrs.\nEpanchin, and drove her into a frenzy. For instance, Alexandra Ivanovna\nliked to sleep late, and was always dreaming, though her dreams had the\npeculiarity of being as innocent and naive as those of a child of seven;\nand the very innocence of her dreams annoyed her mother. Once she dreamt\nof nine hens, and this was the cause of quite a serious quarrel--no\none knew why. Another time she had--it was most unusual--a dream with\na spark of originality in it. She dreamt of a monk in a dark room, into\nwhich she was too frightened to go. Adelaida and Aglaya rushed off with\nshrieks of laughter to relate this to their mother, but she was quite\nangry, and said her daughters were all fools.\n\n\"H'm! she is as stupid as a fool! A veritable 'wet hen'! Nothing excites\nher; and yet she is not happy; some days it makes one miserable only\nto look at her! Why is she unhappy, I wonder?\" At times Lizabetha\nProkofievna put this question to her husband, and as usual she spoke\nin the threatening tone of one who demands an immediate answer. Ivan\nFedorovitch would frown, shrug his shoulders, and at last give his\nopinion: \"She needs a husband!\"\n\n\"God forbid that he should share your ideas, Ivan Fedorovitch!\" his wife\nflashed back. \"Or that he should be as gross and churlish as you!\"\n\nThe general promptly made his escape, and Lizabetha Prokofievna after a\nwhile grew calm again. That evening, of course, she would be unusually\nattentive, gentle, and respectful to her \"gross and churlish\" husband,\nher \"dear, kind Ivan Fedorovitch,\" for she had never left off loving\nhim. She was even still \"in love\" with him. He knew it well, and for his\npart held her in the greatest esteem.\n\nBut the mother's great and continual anxiety was Aglaya. \"She is exactly\nlike me--my image in everything,\" said Mrs. Epanchin to herself. \"A\ntyrant! A real little demon! A Nihilist! Eccentric, senseless and\nmischievous! Good Lord, how unhappy she will be!\"\n\nBut as we said before, the fact of Adelaida's approaching marriage was\nbalm to the mother. For a whole month she forgot her fears and worries.\n\nAdelaida's fate was settled; and with her name that of Aglaya's was\nlinked, in society gossip. People whispered that Aglaya, too, was \"as\ngood as engaged;\" and Aglaya always looked so sweet and behaved so\nwell (during this period), that the mother's heart was full of joy. Of\ncourse, Evgenie Pavlovitch must be thoroughly studied first, before\nthe final step should be taken; but, really, how lovely dear Aglaya had\nbecome--she actually grew more beautiful every day! And then--Yes, and\nthen--this abominable prince showed his face again, and everything went\ntopsy-turvy at once, and everyone seemed as mad as March hares.\n\nWhat had really happened?\n\nIf it had been any other family than the Epanchins', nothing particular\nwould have happened. But, thanks to Mrs. Epanchin's invariable fussiness\nand anxiety, there could not be the slightest hitch in the simplest\nmatters of everyday life, but she immediately foresaw the most dreadful\nand alarming consequences, and suffered accordingly.\n\nWhat then must have been her condition, when, among all the imaginary\nanxieties and calamities which so constantly beset her, she now saw\nlooming ahead a serious cause for annoyance--something really likely to\narouse doubts and suspicions!\n\n\"How dared they, how _dared_ they write that hateful anonymous letter\ninforming me that Aglaya is in communication with Nastasia Philipovna?\"\nshe thought, as she dragged the prince along towards her own house,\nand again when she sat him down at the round table where the family was\nalready assembled. \"How dared they so much as _think_ of such a thing? I\nshould _die_ with shame if I thought there was a particle of truth in it,\nor if I were to show the letter to Aglaya herself! Who dares play these\njokes upon _us_, the Epanchins? _Why_ didn't we go to the Yelagin instead\nof coming down here? I _told_ you we had better go to the Yelagin this\nsummer, Ivan Fedorovitch. It's all your fault. I dare say it was that\nVaria who sent the letter. It's all Ivan Fedorovitch. _That_ woman is\ndoing it all for him, I know she is, to show she can make a fool of him\nnow just as she did when he used to give her pearls.\n\n\"But after all is said, we are mixed up in it. Your daughters are mixed\nup in it, Ivan Fedorovitch; young ladies in society, young ladies at an\nage to be married; they were present, they heard everything there was to\nhear. They were mixed up with that other scene, too, with those dreadful\nyouths. You must be pleased to remember they heard it all. I cannot\nforgive that wretched prince. I never shall forgive him! And why, if you\nplease, has Aglaya had an attack of nerves for these last three\ndays? Why has she all but quarrelled with her sisters, even with\nAlexandra--whom she respects so much that she always kisses her hands as\nthough she were her mother? What are all these riddles of hers that we\nhave to guess? What has Gavrila Ardalionovitch to do with it? Why did\nshe take upon herself to champion him this morning, and burst into tears\nover it? Why is there an allusion to that cursed 'poor knight' in the\nanonymous letter? And why did I rush off to him just now like a lunatic,\nand drag him back here? I do believe I've gone mad at last. What on\nearth have I done now? To talk to a young man about my daughter's\nsecrets--and secrets having to do with himself, too! Thank goodness,\nhe's an idiot, and a friend of the house! Surely Aglaya hasn't fallen in\nlove with such a gaby! What an idea! Pfu! we ought all to be put under\nglass cases--myself first of all--and be shown off as curiosities, at\nten copecks a peep!\"\n\n\"I shall never forgive you for all this, Ivan Fedorovitch--never! Look\nat her now. Why doesn't she make fun of him? She said she would, and she\ndoesn't. Look there! She stares at him with all her eyes, and doesn't\nmove; and yet she told him not to come. He looks pale enough; and that\nabominable chatterbox, Evgenie Pavlovitch, monopolizes the whole of the\nconversation. Nobody else can get a word in. I could soon find out all\nabout everything if I could only change the subject.\"\n\nThe prince certainly was very pale. He sat at the table and seemed to be\nfeeling, by turns, sensations of alarm and rapture.\n\nOh, how frightened he was of looking to one side--one particular\ncorner--whence he knew very well that a pair of dark eyes were watching\nhim intently, and how happy he was to think that he was once more among\nthem, and occasionally hearing that well-known voice, although she had\nwritten and forbidden him to come again!\n\n\"What on earth will she say to me, I wonder?\" he thought to himself.\n\nHe had not said a word yet; he sat silent and listened to Evgenie\nPavlovitch's eloquence. The latter had never appeared so happy and\nexcited as on this evening. The prince listened to him, but for a long\ntime did not take in a word he said.\n\nExcepting Ivan Fedorovitch, who had not as yet returned from town, the\nwhole family was present. Prince S. was there; and they all intended to\ngo out to hear the band very soon.\n\nColia arrived presently and joined the circle. \"So he is received as\nusual, after all,\" thought the prince.\n\nThe Epanchins' country-house was a charming building, built after the\nmodel of a Swiss chalet, and covered with creepers. It was surrounded on\nall sides by a flower garden, and the family sat, as a rule, on the open\nverandah as at the prince's house.\n\nThe subject under discussion did not appear to be very popular with the\nassembly, and some would have been delighted to change it; but Evgenie\nwould not stop holding forth, and the prince's arrival seemed to spur\nhim on to still further oratorical efforts.\n\nLizabetha Prokofievna frowned, but had not as yet grasped the subject,\nwhich seemed to have arisen out of a heated argument. Aglaya sat apart,\nalmost in the corner, listening in stubborn silence.\n\n\"Excuse me,\" continued Evgenie Pavlovitch hotly, \"I don't say a word\nagainst liberalism. Liberalism is not a sin, it is a necessary part of\na great whole, which whole would collapse and fall to pieces without\nit. Liberalism has just as much right to exist as has the most moral\nconservatism; but I am attacking _Russian_ liberalism; and I attack it for\nthe simple reason that a Russian liberal is not a Russian liberal, he is\na non-Russian liberal. Show me a real Russian liberal, and I'll kiss him\nbefore you all, with pleasure.\"\n\n\"If he cared to kiss you, that is,\" said Alexandra, whose cheeks were\nred with irritation and excitement.\n\n\"Look at that, now,\" thought the mother to herself, \"she does nothing\nbut sleep and eat for a year at a time, and then suddenly flies out in\nthe most incomprehensible way!\"\n\nThe prince observed that Alexandra appeared to be angry with Evgenie,\nbecause he spoke on a serious subject in a frivolous manner, pretending\nto be in earnest, but with an under-current of irony.\n\n\"I was saying just now, before you came in, prince, that there has\nbeen nothing national up to now, about our liberalism, and nothing the\nliberals do, or have done, is in the least degree national. They are\ndrawn from two classes only, the old landowning class, and clerical\nfamilies--\"\n\n\"How, nothing that they have done is Russian?\" asked Prince S.\n\n\"It may be Russian, but it is not national. Our liberals are not\nRussian, nor are our conservatives, and you may be sure that the nation\ndoes not recognize anything that has been done by the landed gentry, or\nby the seminarists, or what is to be done either.\"\n\n\"Come, that's good! How can you maintain such a paradox? If you are\nserious, that is. I cannot allow such a statement about the landed\nproprietors to pass unchallenged. Why, you are a landed proprietor\nyourself!\" cried Prince S. hotly.\n\n\"I suppose you'll say there is nothing national about our literature\neither?\" said Alexandra.\n\n\"Well, I am not a great authority on literary questions, but I\ncertainly do hold that Russian literature is not Russian, except perhaps\nLomonosoff, Pouschkin and Gogol.\"\n\n\"In the first place, that is a considerable admission, and in the second\nplace, one of the above was a peasant, and the other two were both\nlanded proprietors!\"\n\n\"Quite so, but don't be in such a hurry! For since it has been the part\nof these three men, and only these three, to say something absolutely\ntheir own, not borrowed, so by this very fact these three men become\nreally national. If any Russian shall have done or said anything really\nand absolutely original, he is to be called national from that moment,\nthough he may not be able to talk the Russian language; still he is a\nnational Russian. I consider that an axiom. But we were not speaking\nof literature; we began by discussing the socialists. Very well then,\nI insist that there does not exist one single Russian socialist. There\ndoes not, and there has never existed such a one, because all socialists\nare derived from the two classes--the landed proprietors, and the\nseminarists. All our eminent socialists are merely old liberals of\nthe class of landed proprietors, men who were liberals in the days of\nserfdom. Why do you laugh? Give me their books, give me their studies,\ntheir memoirs, and though I am not a literary critic, yet I will prove\nas clear as day that every chapter and every word of their writings has\nbeen the work of a former landed proprietor of the old school. You'll\nfind that all their raptures, all their generous transports are\nproprietary, all their woes and their tears, proprietary; all\nproprietary or seminarist! You are laughing again, and you, prince, are\nsmiling too. Don't you agree with me?\"\n\nIt was true enough that everybody was laughing, the prince among them.\n\n\"I cannot tell you on the instant whether I agree with you or not,\"\nsaid the latter, suddenly stopping his laughter, and starting like a\nschoolboy caught at mischief. \"But, I assure you, I am listening to you\nwith extreme gratification.\"\n\nSo saying, he almost panted with agitation, and a cold sweat stood upon\nhis forehead. These were his first words since he had entered the house;\nhe tried to lift his eyes, and look around, but dared not; Evgenie\nPavlovitch noticed his confusion, and smiled.\n\n\"I'll just tell you one fact, ladies and gentlemen,\" continued the\nlatter, with apparent seriousness and even exaltation of manner, but\nwith a suggestion of \"chaff\" behind every word, as though he were\nlaughing in his sleeve at his own nonsense--\"a fact, the discovery\nof which, I believe, I may claim to have made by myself alone. At all\nevents, no other has ever said or written a word about it; and in this\nfact is expressed the whole essence of Russian liberalism of the sort\nwhich I am now considering.\n\n\"In the first place, what is liberalism, speaking generally, but an\nattack (whether mistaken or reasonable, is quite another question) upon\nthe existing order of things? Is this so? Yes. Very well. Then my 'fact'\nconsists in this, that _Russian_ liberalism is not an attack upon the\nexisting order of things, but an attack upon the very essence of things\nthemselves--indeed, on the things themselves; not an attack on the\nRussian order of things, but on Russia itself. My Russian liberal\ngoes so far as to reject Russia; that is, he hates and strikes his own\nmother. Every misfortune and mishap of the mother-country fills him with\nmirth, and even with ecstasy. He hates the national customs, Russian\nhistory, and everything. If he has a justification, it is that he does\nnot know what he is doing, and believes that his hatred of Russia is the\ngrandest and most profitable kind of liberalism. (You will often find\na liberal who is applauded and esteemed by his fellows, but who is in\nreality the dreariest, blindest, dullest of conservatives, and is not\naware of the fact.) This hatred for Russia has been mistaken by some of\nour 'Russian liberals' for sincere love of their country, and they\nboast that they see better than their neighbours what real love of one's\ncountry should consist in. But of late they have grown, more candid and\nare ashamed of the expression 'love of country,' and have annihilated\nthe very spirit of the words as something injurious and petty and\nundignified. This is the truth, and I hold by it; but at the same time\nit is a phenomenon which has not been repeated at any other time or\nplace; and therefore, though I hold to it as a fact, yet I recognize\nthat it is an accidental phenomenon, and may likely enough pass away.\nThere can be no such thing anywhere else as a liberal who really hates\nhis country; and how is this fact to be explained among _us?_ By\nmy original statement that a Russian liberal is _not_ a _Russian_\nliberal--that's the only explanation that I can see.\"\n\n\"I take all that you have said as a joke,\" said Prince S. seriously.\n\n\"I have not seen all kinds of liberals, and cannot, therefore, set\nmyself up as a judge,\" said Alexandra, \"but I have heard all you have\nsaid with indignation. You have taken some accidental case and twisted\nit into a universal law, which is unjust.\"\n\n\"Accidental case!\" said Evgenie Pavlovitch. \"Do you consider it an\naccidental case, prince?\"\n\n\"I must also admit,\" said the prince, \"that I have not seen much, or\nbeen very far into the question; but I cannot help thinking that you are\nmore or less right, and that Russian liberalism--that phase of it which\nyou are considering, at least--really is sometimes inclined to hate\nRussia itself, and not only its existing order of things in general. Of\ncourse this is only _partially_ the truth; you cannot lay down the law for\nall...\"\n\nThe prince blushed and broke off, without finishing what he meant to\nsay.\n\nIn spite of his shyness and agitation, he could not help being greatly\ninterested in the conversation. A special characteristic of his was\nthe naive candour with which he always listened to arguments which\ninterested him, and with which he answered any questions put to him on\nthe subject at issue. In the very expression of his face this naivete\nwas unmistakably evident, this disbelief in the insincerity of others,\nand unsuspecting disregard of irony or humour in their words.\n\nBut though Evgenie Pavlovitch had put his questions to the prince with\nno other purpose but to enjoy the joke of his simple-minded seriousness,\nyet now, at his answer, he was surprised into some seriousness himself,\nand looked gravely at Muishkin as though he had not expected that sort\nof answer at all.\n\n\"Why, how strange!\" he ejaculated. \"You didn't answer me seriously,\nsurely, did you?\"\n\n\"Did not you ask me the question seriously\" inquired the prince, in\namazement.\n\nEverybody laughed.\n\n\"Oh, trust _him_ for that!\" said Adelaida. \"Evgenie Pavlovitch turns\neverything and everybody he can lay hold of to ridicule. You should hear\nthe things he says sometimes, apparently in perfect seriousness.\"\n\n\"In my opinion the conversation has been a painful one throughout, and\nwe ought never to have begun it,\" said Alexandra. \"We were all going for\na walk--\"\n\n\"Come along then,\" said Evgenie; \"it's a glorious evening. But, to prove\nthat this time I was speaking absolutely seriously, and especially\nto prove this to the prince (for you, prince, have interested me\nexceedingly, and I swear to you that I am not quite such an ass as\nI like to appear sometimes, although I am rather an ass, I admit),\nand--well, ladies and gentlemen, will you allow me to put just one more\nquestion to the prince, out of pure curiosity? It shall be the last.\nThis question came into my mind a couple of hours since (you see,\nprince, I do think seriously at times), and I made my own decision upon\nit; now I wish to hear what the prince will say to it.\"\n\n\"We have just used the expression 'accidental case.' This is a\nsignificant phrase; we often hear it. Well, not long since everyone was\ntalking and reading about that terrible murder of six people on the part\nof a--young fellow, and of the extraordinary speech of the counsel for\nthe defence, who observed that in the poverty-stricken condition of the\ncriminal it must have come _naturally_ into his head to kill these six\npeople. I do not quote his words, but that is the sense of them, or\nsomething very like it. Now, in my opinion, the barrister who put\nforward this extraordinary plea was probably absolutely convinced that\nhe was stating the most liberal, the most humane, the most enlightened\nview of the case that could possibly be brought forward in these days.\nNow, was this distortion, this capacity for a perverted way of viewing\nthings, a special or accidental case, or is such a general rule?\"\n\nEveryone laughed at this.\n\n\"A special case--accidental, of course!\" cried Alexandra and Adelaida.\n\n\"Let me remind you once more, Evgenie,\" said Prince S., \"that your joke\nis getting a little threadbare.\"\n\n\"What do you think about it, prince?\" asked Evgenie, taking no notice\nof the last remark, and observing Muishkin's serious eyes fixed upon his\nface. \"What do you think--was it a special or a usual case--the rule, or\nan exception? I confess I put the question especially for you.\"\n\n\"No, I don't think it was a special case,\" said the prince, quietly, but\nfirmly.\n\n\"My dear fellow!\" cried Prince S., with some annoyance, \"don't you see\nthat he is chaffing you? He is simply laughing at you, and wants to make\ngame of you.\"\n\n\"I thought Evgenie Pavlovitch was talking seriously,\" said the prince,\nblushing and dropping his eyes.\n\n\"My dear prince,\" continued Prince S. \"remember what you and I were\nsaying two or three months ago. We spoke of the fact that in our newly\nopened Law Courts one could already lay one's finger upon so many\ntalented and remarkable young barristers. How pleased you were with\nthe state of things as we found it, and how glad I was to observe your\ndelight! We both said it was a matter to be proud of; but this clumsy\ndefence that Evgenie mentions, this strange argument _can_, of course,\nonly be an accidental case--one in a thousand!\"\n\nThe prince reflected a little, but very soon he replied, with absolute\nconviction in his tone, though he still spoke somewhat shyly and\ntimidly:\n\n\"I only wished to say that this 'distortion,' as Evgenie Pavlovitch\nexpressed it, is met with very often, and is far more the general rule\nthan the exception, unfortunately for Russia. So much so, that if this\ndistortion were not the general rule, perhaps these dreadful crimes\nwould be less frequent.\"\n\n\"Dreadful crimes? But I can assure you that crimes just as dreadful,\nand probably more horrible, have occurred before our times, and at all\ntimes, and not only here in Russia, but everywhere else as well. And in\nmy opinion it is not at all likely that such murders will cease to occur\nfor a very long time to come. The only difference is that in former\ntimes there was less publicity, while now everyone talks and writes\nfreely about such things--which fact gives the impression that such\ncrimes have only now sprung into existence. That is where your mistake\nlies--an extremely natural mistake, I assure you, my dear fellow!\" said\nPrince S.\n\n\"I know that there were just as many, and just as terrible, crimes\nbefore our times. Not long since I visited a convict prison and made\nacquaintance with some of the criminals. There were some even more\ndreadful criminals than this one we have been speaking of--men who\nhave murdered a dozen of their fellow-creatures, and feel no remorse\nwhatever. But what I especially noticed was this, that the very most\nhopeless and remorseless murderer--however hardened a criminal he may\nbe--still _knows that he is a criminal_; that is, he is conscious that\nhe has acted wickedly, though he may feel no remorse whatever. And they\nwere all like this. Those of whom Evgenie Pavlovitch has spoken, do not\nadmit that they are criminals at all; they think they had a right to\ndo what they did, and that they were even doing a good deed, perhaps.\nI consider there is the greatest difference between the two cases.\nAnd recollect--it was a _youth_, at the particular age which is most\nhelplessly susceptible to the distortion of ideas!\"\n\nPrince S. was now no longer smiling; he gazed at the prince in\nbewilderment.\n\nAlexandra, who had seemed to wish to put in her word when the prince\nbegan, now sat silent, as though some sudden thought had caused her to\nchange her mind about speaking.\n\nEvgenie Pavlovitch gazed at him in real surprise, and this time his\nexpression of face had no mockery in it whatever.\n\n\"What are you looking so surprised about, my friend?\" asked Mrs.\nEpanchin, suddenly. \"Did you suppose he was stupider than yourself, and\nwas incapable of forming his own opinions, or what?\"\n\n\"No! Oh no! Not at all!\" said Evgenie. \"But--how is it, prince, that\nyou--(excuse the question, will you?)--if you are capable of observing\nand seeing things as you evidently do, how is it that you saw nothing\ndistorted or perverted in that claim upon your property, which you\nacknowledged a day or two since; and which was full of arguments founded\nupon the most distorted views of right and wrong?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you what, my friend,\" cried Mrs. Epanchin, of a sudden, \"here\nare we all sitting here and imagining we are very clever, and perhaps\nlaughing at the prince, some of us, and meanwhile he has received a\nletter this very day in which that same claimant renounces his claim,\nand begs the prince's pardon. There! _we_ don't often get that sort of\nletter; and yet we are not ashamed to walk with our noses in the air\nbefore him.\"\n\n\"And Hippolyte has come down here to stay,\" said Colia, suddenly.\n\n\"What! has he arrived?\" said the prince, starting up.\n\n\"Yes, I brought him down from town just after you had left the house.\"\n\n\"There now! It's just like him,\" cried Lizabetha Prokofievna, boiling\nover once more, and entirely oblivious of the fact that she had\njust taken the prince's part. \"I dare swear that you went up to town\nyesterday on purpose to get the little wretch to do you the great honour\nof coming to stay at your house. You did go up to town, you know you\ndid--you said so yourself! Now then, did you, or did you not, go down on\nyour knees and beg him to come, confess!\"\n\n\"No, he didn't, for I saw it all myself,\" said Colia. \"On the contrary,\nHippolyte kissed his hand twice and thanked him; and all the prince said\nwas that he thought Hippolyte might feel better here in the country!\"\n\n\"Don't, Colia,--what is the use of saying all that?\" cried the prince,\nrising and taking his hat.\n\n\"Where are you going to now?\" cried Mrs. Epanchin.\n\n\"Never mind about him now, prince,\" said Colia. \"He is all right and\ntaking a nap after the journey. He is very happy to be here; but I think\nperhaps it would be better if you let him alone for today,--he is very\nsensitive now that he is so ill--and he might be embarrassed if you show\nhim too much attention at first. He is decidedly better today, and says\nhe has not felt so well for the last six months, and has coughed much\nless, too.\"\n\nThe prince observed that Aglaya came out of her corner and approached\nthe table at this point.\n\nHe did not dare look at her, but he was conscious, to the very tips of\nhis fingers, that she was gazing at him, perhaps angrily; and that she\nhad probably flushed up with a look of fiery indignation in her black\neyes.\n\n\"It seems to me, Mr. Colia, that you were very foolish to bring your\nyoung friend down--if he is the same consumptive boy who wept so\nprofusely, and invited us all to his own funeral,\" remarked Evgenie\nPavlovitch. \"He talked so eloquently about the blank wall outside his\nbedroom window, that I'm sure he will never support life here without\nit.\"\n\n\"I think so too,\" said Mrs. Epanchin; \"he will quarrel with you, and be\noff,\" and she drew her workbox towards her with an air of dignity, quite\noblivious of the fact that the family was about to start for a walk in\nthe park.\n\n\"Yes, I remember he boasted about the blank wall in an extraordinary\nway,\" continued Evgenie, \"and I feel that without that blank wall\nhe will never be able to die eloquently; and he does so long to die\neloquently!\"\n\n\"Oh, you must forgive him the blank wall,\" said the prince, quietly. \"He\nhas come down to see a few trees now, poor fellow.\"\n\n\"Oh, I forgive him with all my heart; you may tell him so if you like,\"\nlaughed Evgenie.\n\n\"I don't think you should take it quite like that,\" said the prince,\nquietly, and without removing his eyes from the carpet. \"I think it is\nmore a case of his forgiving you.\"\n\n\"Forgiving me! why so? What have I done to need his forgiveness?\"\n\n\"If you don't understand, then--but of course, you do understand.\nHe wished--he wished to bless you all round and to have your\nblessing--before he died--that's all.\"\n\n\"My dear prince,\" began Prince S., hurriedly, exchanging glances with\nsome of those present, \"you will not easily find heaven on earth, and\nyet you seem to expect to. Heaven is a difficult thing to find anywhere,\nprince; far more difficult than appears to that good heart of yours.\nBetter stop this conversation, or we shall all be growing quite\ndisturbed in our minds, and--\"\n\n\"Let's go and hear the band, then,\" said Lizabetha Prokofievna, angrily\nrising from her place.\n\nThe rest of the company followed her example.\n\nII.\n\nThe prince suddenly approached Evgenie Pavlovitch.\n\n\"Evgenie Pavlovitch,\" he said, with strange excitement and seizing the\nlatter's hand in his own, \"be assured that I esteem you as a generous\nand honourable man, in spite of everything. Be assured of that.\"\n\nEvgenie Pavlovitch fell back a step in astonishment. For one moment it\nwas all he could do to restrain himself from bursting out laughing; but,\nlooking closer, he observed that the prince did not seem to be quite\nhimself; at all events, he was in a very curious state.\n\n\"I wouldn't mind betting, prince,\" he cried, \"that you did not in the\nleast mean to say that, and very likely you meant to address someone\nelse altogether. What is it? Are you feeling unwell or anything?\"\n\n\"Very likely, extremely likely, and you must be a very close observer to\ndetect the fact that perhaps I did not intend to come up to _you_ at all.\"\n\nSo saying he smiled strangely; but suddenly and excitedly he began\nagain:\n\n\"Don't remind me of what I have done or said. Don't! I am very much\nashamed of myself, I--\"\n\n\"Why, what have you done? I don't understand you.\"\n\n\"I see you are ashamed of me, Evgenie Pavlovitch; you are blushing for\nme; that's a sign of a good heart. Don't be afraid; I shall go away\ndirectly.\"\n\n\"What's the matter with him? Do his fits begin like that?\" said\nLizabetha Prokofievna, in a high state of alarm, addressing Colia.\n\n\"No, no, Lizabetha Prokofievna, take no notice of me. I am not going to\nhave a fit. I will go away directly; but I know I am afflicted. I was\ntwenty-four years an invalid, you see--the first twenty-four years of my\nlife--so take all I do and say as the sayings and actions of an\ninvalid. I'm going away directly, I really am--don't be afraid. I am\nnot blushing, for I don't think I need blush about it, need I? But I see\nthat I am out of place in society--society is better without me. It's\nnot vanity, I assure you. I have thought over it all these last three\ndays, and I have made up my mind that I ought to unbosom myself candidly\nbefore you at the first opportunity. There are certain things, certain\ngreat ideas, which I must not so much as approach, as Prince S. has\njust reminded me, or I shall make you all laugh. I have no sense of\nproportion, I know; my words and gestures do not express my ideas--they\nare a humiliation and abasement of the ideas, and therefore, I have no\nright--and I am too sensitive. Still, I believe I am beloved in this\nhousehold, and esteemed far more than I deserve. But I can't help\nknowing that after twenty-four years of illness there must be some trace\nleft, so that it is impossible for people to refrain from laughing at me\nsometimes; don't you think so?\"\n\nHe seemed to pause for a reply, for some verdict, as it were, and looked\nhumbly around him.\n\nAll present stood rooted to the earth with amazement at this unexpected\nand apparently uncalled-for outbreak; but the poor prince's painful and\nrambling speech gave rise to a strange episode.\n\n\"Why do you say all this here?\" cried Aglaya, suddenly. \"Why do you talk\nlike this to _them?_\"\n\nShe appeared to be in the last stages of wrath and irritation; her eyes\nflashed. The prince stood dumbly and blindly before her, and suddenly\ngrew pale.\n\n\"There is not one of them all who is worthy of these words of yours,\"\ncontinued Aglaya. \"Not one of them is worth your little finger, not one\nof them has heart or head to compare with yours! You are more honest\nthan all, and better, nobler, kinder, wiser than all. There are some\nhere who are unworthy to bend and pick up the handkerchief you have just\ndropped. Why do you humiliate yourself like this, and place yourself\nlower than these people? Why do you debase yourself before them? Why\nhave you no pride?\"\n\n\"My God! Who would ever have believed this?\" cried Mrs. Epanchin,\nwringing her hands.\n\n\"Hurrah for the 'poor knight'!\" cried Colia.\n\n\"Be quiet! How dare they laugh at me in your house?\" said Aglaya,\nturning sharply on her mother in that hysterical frame of mind that\nrides recklessly over every obstacle and plunges blindly through\nproprieties. \"Why does everyone, everyone worry and torment me? Why have\nthey all been bullying me these three days about you, prince? I will\nnot marry you--never, and under no circumstances! Know that once and for\nall; as if anyone could marry an absurd creature like you! Just look in\nthe glass and see what you look like, this very moment! Why, _why_ do they\ntorment me and say I am going to marry you? You must know it; you are in\nthe plot with them!\"\n\n\"No one ever tormented you on the subject,\" murmured Adelaida, aghast.\n\n\"No one ever thought of such a thing! There has never been a word said\nabout it!\" cried Alexandra.\n\n\"Who has been annoying her? Who has been tormenting the child? Who\ncould have said such a thing to her? Is she raving?\" cried Lizabetha\nProkofievna, trembling with rage, to the company in general.\n\n\"Every one of them has been saying it--every one of them--all these\nthree days! And I will never, never marry him!\"\n\nSo saying, Aglaya burst into bitter tears, and, hiding her face in her\nhandkerchief, sank back into a chair.\n\n\"But he has never even--\"\n\n\"I have never asked you to marry me, Aglaya Ivanovna!\" said the prince,\nof a sudden.\n\n\"_What?_\" cried Mrs. Epanchin, raising her hands in horror. \"_What's_\nthat?\"\n\nShe could not believe her ears.\n\n\"I meant to say--I only meant to say,\" said the prince, faltering,\n\"I merely meant to explain to Aglaya Ivanovna--to have the honour to\nexplain, as it were--that I had no intention--never had--to ask the\nhonour of her hand. I assure you I am not guilty, Aglaya Ivanovna, I\nam not, indeed. I never did wish to--I never thought of it at all--and\nnever shall--you'll see it yourself--you may be quite assured of it.\nSome wicked person has been maligning me to you; but it's all right.\nDon't worry about it.\"\n\nSo saying, the prince approached Aglaya.\n\nShe took the handkerchief from her face, glanced keenly at him, took\nin what he had said, and burst out laughing--such a merry, unrestrained\nlaugh, so hearty and gay, that. Adelaida could not contain herself. She,\ntoo, glanced at the prince's panic-stricken countenance, then rushed at\nher sister, threw her arms round her neck, and burst into as merry a\nfit of laughter as Aglaya's own. They laughed together like a couple of\nschool-girls. Hearing and seeing this, the prince smiled happily, and in\naccents of relief and joy, he exclaimed \"Well, thank God--thank God!\"\n\nAlexandra now joined in, and it looked as though the three sisters were\ngoing to laugh on for ever.\n\n\"They are insane,\" muttered Lizabetha Prokofievna. \"Either they frighten\none out of one's wits, or else--\"\n\nBut Prince S. was laughing now, too, so was Evgenie Pavlovitch, so was\nColia, and so was the prince himself, who caught the infection as he\nlooked round radiantly upon the others.\n\n\"Come along, let's go out for a walk!\" cried Adelaida. \"We'll all go\ntogether, and the prince must absolutely go with us. You needn't go\naway, you dear good fellow! _Isn't_ he a dear, Aglaya? Isn't he, mother? I\nmust really give him a kiss for--for his explanation to Aglaya just now.\nMother, dear, I may kiss him, mayn't I? Aglaya, may I kiss _your_ prince?\"\ncried the young rogue, and sure enough she skipped up to the prince and\nkissed his forehead.\n\nHe seized her hands, and pressed them so hard that Adelaida nearly cried\nout; he then gazed with delight into her eyes, and raising her right\nhand to his lips with enthusiasm, kissed it three times.\n\n\"Come along,\" said Aglaya. \"Prince, you must walk with me. May he,\nmother? This young cavalier, who won't have me? You said you would _never_\nhave me, didn't you, prince? No--no, not like that; _that's_ not the way\nto give your arm. Don't you know how to give your arm to a lady yet?\nThere--so. Now, come along, you and I will lead the way. Would you like\nto lead the way with me alone, tête-à-tête?\"\n\nShe went on talking and chatting without a pause, with occasional little\nbursts of laughter between.\n\n\"Thank God--thank God!\" said Lizabetha Prokofievna to herself, without\nquite knowing why she felt so relieved.\n\n\"What extraordinary people they are!\" thought Prince S., for perhaps\nthe hundredth time since he had entered into intimate relations with the\nfamily; but--he liked these \"extraordinary people,\" all the same. As for\nPrince Lef Nicolaievitch himself, Prince S. did not seem quite to like\nhim, somehow. He was decidedly preoccupied and a little disturbed as\nthey all started off.\n\nEvgenie Pavlovitch seemed to be in a lively humour. He made Adelaida and\nAlexandra laugh all the way to the Vauxhall; but they both laughed\nso very really and promptly that the worthy Evgenie began at last to\nsuspect that they were not listening to him at all.\n\nAt this idea, he burst out laughing all at once, in quite unaffected\nmirth, and without giving any explanation.\n\nThe sisters, who also appeared to be in high spirits, never tired of\nglancing at Aglaya and the prince, who were walking in front. It was\nevident that their younger sister was a thorough puzzle to them both.\n\nPrince S. tried hard to get up a conversation with Mrs. Epanchin upon\noutside subjects, probably with the good intention of distracting and\namusing her; but he bored her dreadfully. She was absent-minded to a\ndegree, and answered at cross purposes, and sometimes not at all.\n\nBut the puzzle and mystery of Aglaya was not yet over for the evening.\nThe last exhibition fell to the lot of the prince alone. When they had\nproceeded some hundred paces or so from the house, Aglaya said to her\nobstinately silent cavalier in a quick half-whisper:\n\n\"Look to the right!\"\n\nThe prince glanced in the direction indicated.\n\n\"Look closer. Do you see that bench, in the park there, just by those\nthree big trees--that green bench?\"\n\nThe prince replied that he saw it.\n\n\"Do you like the position of it? Sometimes of a morning early, at seven\no'clock, when all the rest are still asleep, I come out and sit there\nalone.\"\n\nThe prince muttered that the spot was a lovely one.\n\n\"Now, go away, I don't wish to have your arm any longer; or perhaps,\nbetter, continue to give me your arm, and walk along beside me, but\ndon't speak a word to me. I wish to think by myself.\"\n\nThe warning was certainly unnecessary; for the prince would not have\nsaid a word all the rest of the time whether forbidden to speak or not.\nHis heart beat loud and painfully when Aglaya spoke of the bench; could\nshe--but no! he banished the thought, after an instant's deliberation.\n\nAt Pavlofsk, on weekdays, the public is more select than it is on\nSundays and Saturdays, when the townsfolk come down to walk about and\nenjoy the park.\n\nThe ladies dress elegantly, on these days, and it is the fashion to\ngather round the band, which is probably the best of our pleasure-garden\nbands, and plays the newest pieces. The behaviour of the public is most\ncorrect and proper, and there is an appearance of friendly intimacy\namong the usual frequenters. Many come for nothing but to look at their\nacquaintances, but there are others who come for the sake of the music.\nIt is very seldom that anything happens to break the harmony of the\nproceedings, though, of course, accidents will happen everywhere.\n\nOn this particular evening the weather was lovely, and there were\na large number of people present. All the places anywhere near the\norchestra were occupied.\n\nOur friends took chairs near the side exit. The crowd and the music\ncheered Mrs. Epanchin a little, and amused the girls; they bowed and\nshook hands with some of their friends and nodded at a distance to\nothers; they examined the ladies' dresses, noticed comicalities\nand eccentricities among the people, and laughed and talked among\nthemselves. Evgenie Pavlovitch, too, found plenty of friends to bow to.\nSeveral people noticed Aglaya and the prince, who were still together.\n\nBefore very long two or three young men had come up, and one or two\nremained to talk; all of these young men appeared to be on intimate\nterms with Evgenie Pavlovitch. Among them was a young officer, a\nremarkably handsome fellow--very good-natured and a great chatterbox. He\ntried to get up a conversation with Aglaya, and did his best to secure\nher attention. Aglaya behaved very graciously to him, and chatted\nand laughed merrily. Evgenie Pavlovitch begged the prince's leave to\nintroduce their friend to him. The prince hardly realized what was\nwanted of him, but the introduction came off; the two men bowed and\nshook hands.\n\nEvgenie Pavlovitch's friend asked the prince some question, but the\nlatter did not reply, or if he did, he muttered something so strangely\nindistinct that there was nothing to be made of it. The officer stared\nintently at him, then glanced at Evgenie, divined why the latter had\nintroduced him, and gave his undivided attention to Aglaya again. Only\nEvgenie Pavlovitch observed that Aglaya flushed up for a moment at this.\n\nThe prince did not notice that others were talking and making themselves\nagreeable to Aglaya; in fact, at moments, he almost forgot that he was\nsitting by her himself. At other moments he felt a longing to go away\nsomewhere and be alone with his thoughts, and to feel that no one knew\nwhere he was.\n\nOr if that were impossible he would like to be alone at home, on the\nterrace-without either Lebedeff or his children, or anyone else about\nhim, and to lie there and think--a day and night and another day again!\nHe thought of the mountains--and especially of a certain spot which he\nused to frequent, whence he would look down upon the distant valleys and\nfields, and see the waterfall, far off, like a little silver thread,\nand the old ruined castle in the distance. Oh! how he longed to be there\nnow--alone with his thoughts--to think of one thing all his life--one\nthing! A thousand years would not be too much time! And let everyone\nhere forget him--forget him utterly! How much better it would have been\nif they had never known him--if all this could but prove to be a dream.\nPerhaps it was a dream!\n\nNow and then he looked at Aglaya for five minutes at a time, without\ntaking his eyes off her face; but his expression was very strange;\nhe would gaze at her as though she were an object a couple of miles\ndistant, or as though he were looking at her portrait and not at herself\nat all.\n\n\"Why do you look at me like that, prince?\" she asked suddenly, breaking\noff her merry conversation and laughter with those about her. \"I'm\nafraid of you! You look as though you were just going to put out\nyour hand and touch my face to see if it's real! Doesn't he, Evgenie\nPavlovitch--doesn't he look like that?\"\n\nThe prince seemed surprised that he should have been addressed at all;\nhe reflected a moment, but did not seem to take in what had been said\nto him; at all events, he did not answer. But observing that she and\nthe others had begun to laugh, he too opened his mouth and laughed with\nthem.\n\nThe laughter became general, and the young officer, who seemed a\nparticularly lively sort of person, simply shook with mirth.\n\nAglaya suddenly whispered angrily to herself the word--\n\n\"Idiot!\"\n\n\"My goodness--surely she is not in love with such a--surely she isn't\nmad!\" groaned Mrs. Epanchin, under her breath.\n\n\"It's all a joke, mamma; it's just a joke like the 'poor\nknight'--nothing more whatever, I assure you!\" Alexandra whispered\nin her ear. \"She is chaffing him--making a fool of him, after her\nown private fashion, that's all! But she carries it just a little\ntoo far--she is a regular little actress. How she frightened us just\nnow--didn't she?--and all for a lark!\"\n\n\"Well, it's lucky she has happened upon an idiot, then, that's all I\ncan say!\" whispered Lizabetha Prokofievna, who was somewhat comforted,\nhowever, by her daughter's remark.\n\nThe prince had heard himself referred to as \"idiot,\" and had shuddered\nat the moment; but his shudder, it so happened, was not caused by the\nword applied to him. The fact was that in the crowd, not far from where\nhe was sitting, a pale familiar face, with curly black hair, and a\nwell-known smile and expression, had flashed across his vision for a\nmoment, and disappeared again. Very likely he had imagined it! There\nonly remained to him the impression of a strange smile, two eyes, and\na bright green tie. Whether the man had disappeared among the crowd, or\nwhether he had turned towards the Vauxhall, the prince could not say.\n\nBut a moment or two afterwards he began to glance keenly about him. That\nfirst vision might only too likely be the forerunner of a second; it was\nalmost certain to be so. Surely he had not forgotten the possibility\nof such a meeting when he came to the Vauxhall? True enough, he had not\nremarked where he was coming to when he set out with Aglaya; he had not\nbeen in a condition to remark anything at all.\n\nHad he been more careful to observe his companion, he would have seen\nthat for the last quarter of an hour Aglaya had also been glancing\naround in apparent anxiety, as though she expected to see someone, or\nsomething particular, among the crowd of people. Now, at the moment when\nhis own anxiety became so marked, her excitement also increased visibly,\nand when he looked about him, she did the same.\n\nThe reason for their anxiety soon became apparent. From that very side\nentrance to the Vauxhall, near which the prince and all the Epanchin\nparty were seated, there suddenly appeared quite a large knot of\npersons, at least a dozen.\n\nHeading this little band walked three ladies, two of whom were\nremarkably lovely; and there was nothing surprising in the fact that\nthey should have had a large troop of admirers following in their wake.\n\nBut there was something in the appearance of both the ladies and their\nadmirers which was peculiar, quite different for that of the rest of the\npublic assembled around the orchestra.\n\nNearly everyone observed the little band advancing, and all pretended\nnot to see or notice them, except a few young fellows who exchanged\nglances and smiled, saying something to one another in whispers.\n\nIt was impossible to avoid noticing them, however, in reality, for they\nmade their presence only too conspicuous by laughing and talking loudly.\nIt was to be supposed that some of them were more than half drunk,\nalthough they were well enough dressed, some even particularly well.\nThere were one or two, however, who were very strange-looking creatures,\nwith flushed faces and extraordinary clothes; some were military men;\nnot all were quite young; one or two were middle-aged gentlemen of\ndecidedly disagreeable appearance, men who are avoided in society like\nthe plague, decked out in large gold studs and rings, and magnificently\n\"got up,\" generally.\n\nAmong our suburban resorts there are some which enjoy a specially\nhigh reputation for respectability and fashion; but the most careful\nindividual is not absolutely exempt from the danger of a tile falling\nsuddenly upon his head from his neighbour's roof.\n\nSuch a tile was about to descend upon the elegant and decorous public\nnow assembled to hear the music.\n\nIn order to pass from the Vauxhall to the band-stand, the visitor has\nto descend two or three steps. Just at these steps the group paused, as\nthough it feared to proceed further; but very quickly one of the three\nladies, who formed its apex, stepped forward into the charmed circle,\nfollowed by two members of her suite.\n\nOne of these was a middle-aged man of very respectable appearance, but\nwith the stamp of parvenu upon him, a man whom nobody knew, and who\nevidently knew nobody. The other follower was younger and far less\nrespectable-looking.\n\nNo one else followed the eccentric lady; but as she descended the steps\nshe did not even look behind her, as though it were absolutely the same\nto her whether anyone were following or not. She laughed and talked\nloudly, however, just as before. She was dressed with great taste, but\nwith rather more magnificence than was needed for the occasion, perhaps.\n\nShe walked past the orchestra, to where an open carriage was waiting,\nnear the road.\n\nThe prince had not seen _her_ for more than three months. All these days\nsince his arrival from Petersburg he had intended to pay her a visit,\nbut some mysterious presentiment had restrained him. He could not\npicture to himself what impression this meeting with her would make upon\nhim, though he had often tried to imagine it, with fear and trembling.\nOne fact was quite certain, and that was that the meeting would be\npainful.\n\nSeveral times during the last six months he had recalled the effect\nwhich the first sight of this face had had upon him, when he only saw\nits portrait. He recollected well that even the portrait face had left\nbut too painful an impression.\n\nThat month in the provinces, when he had seen this woman nearly every\nday, had affected him so deeply that he could not now look back upon\nit calmly. In the very look of this woman there was something which\ntortured him. In conversation with Rogojin he had attributed this\nsensation to pity--immeasurable pity, and this was the truth. The sight\nof the portrait face alone had filled his heart full of the agony of\nreal sympathy; and this feeling of sympathy, nay, of actual _suffering_,\nfor her, had never left his heart since that hour, and was still in full\nforce. Oh yes, and more powerful than ever!\n\nBut the prince was not satisfied with what he had said to Rogojin. Only\nat this moment, when she suddenly made her appearance before him, did\nhe realize to the full the exact emotion which she called up in him, and\nwhich he had not described correctly to Rogojin.\n\nAnd, indeed, there were no words in which he could have expressed his\nhorror, yes, _horror_, for he was now fully convinced from his own private\nknowledge of her, that the woman was mad.\n\nIf, loving a woman above everything in the world, or at least having a\nforetaste of the possibility of such love for her, one were suddenly to\nbehold her on a chain, behind bars and under the lash of a keeper, one\nwould feel something like what the poor prince now felt.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" asked Aglaya, in a whisper, giving his sleeve a\nlittle tug.\n\nHe turned his head towards her and glanced at her black and (for some\nreason) flashing eyes, tried to smile, and then, apparently forgetting\nher in an instant, turned to the right once more, and continued to watch\nthe startling apparition before him.\n\nNastasia Philipovna was at this moment passing the young ladies' chairs.\n\nEvgenie Pavlovitch continued some apparently extremely funny and\ninteresting anecdote to Alexandra, speaking quickly and with much\nanimation. The prince remembered that at this moment Aglaya remarked in\na half-whisper:\n\n\"_What_ a--\"\n\nShe did not finish her indefinite sentence; she restrained herself in a\nmoment; but it was enough.\n\nNastasia Philipovna, who up to now had been walking along as though she\nhad not noticed the Epanchin party, suddenly turned her head in their\ndirection, as though she had just observed Evgenie Pavlovitch sitting\nthere for the first time.\n\n\"Why, I declare, here he is!\" she cried, stopping suddenly. \"The man one\ncan't find with all one's messengers sent about the place, sitting just\nunder one's nose, exactly where one never thought of looking! I thought\nyou were sure to be at your uncle's by this time.\"\n\nEvgenie Pavlovitch flushed up and looked angrily at Nastasia Philipovna,\nthen turned his back on her.\n\n\"What! don't you know about it yet? He doesn't know--imagine that! Why,\nhe's shot himself. Your uncle shot himself this very morning. I was told\nat two this afternoon. Half the town must know it by now. They say there\nare three hundred and fifty thousand roubles, government money, missing;\nsome say five hundred thousand. And I was under the impression that he\nwould leave you a fortune! He's whistled it all away. A most depraved\nold gentleman, really! Well, ta, ta!--bonne chance! Surely you intend\nto be off there, don't you? Ha, ha! You've retired from the army in good\ntime, I see! Plain clothes! Well done, sly rogue! Nonsense! I see--you\nknew it all before--I dare say you knew all about it yesterday-\"\n\nAlthough the impudence of this attack, this public proclamation of\nintimacy, as it were, was doubtless premeditated, and had its special\nobject, yet Evgenie Pavlovitch at first seemed to intend to make no\nshow of observing either his tormentor or her words. But Nastasia's\ncommunication struck him with the force of a thunderclap. On hearing\nof his uncle's death he suddenly grew as white as a sheet, and turned\ntowards his informant.\n\nAt this moment, Lizabetha Prokofievna rose swiftly from her seat,\nbeckoned her companions, and left the place almost at a run.\n\nOnly the prince stopped behind for a moment, as though in indecision;\nand Evgenie Pavlovitch lingered too, for he had not collected his\nscattered wits. But the Epanchins had not had time to get more than\ntwenty paces away when a scandalous episode occurred. The young officer,\nEvgenie Pavlovitch's friend who had been conversing with Aglaya, said\naloud in a great state of indignation:\n\n\"She ought to be whipped--that's the only way to deal with creatures\nlike that--she ought to be whipped!\"\n\nThis gentleman was a confidant of Evgenie's, and had doubtless heard of\nthe carriage episode.\n\nNastasia turned to him. Her eyes flashed; she rushed up to a young man\nstanding near, whom she did not know in the least, but who happened to\nhave in his hand a thin cane. Seizing this from him, she brought it with\nall her force across the face of her insulter.\n\nAll this occurred, of course, in one instant of time.\n\nThe young officer, forgetting himself, sprang towards her. Nastasia's\nfollowers were not by her at the moment (the elderly gentleman having\ndisappeared altogether, and the younger man simply standing aside and\nroaring with laughter).\n\nIn another moment, of course, the police would have been on the spot,\nand it would have gone hard with Nastasia Philipovna had not unexpected\naid appeared.\n\nMuishkin, who was but a couple of steps away, had time to spring forward\nand seize the officer's arms from behind.\n\nThe officer, tearing himself from the prince's grasp, pushed him so\nviolently backwards that he staggered a few steps and then subsided into\na chair.\n\nBut there were other defenders for Nastasia on the spot by this time.\nThe gentleman known as the \"boxer\" now confronted the enraged officer.\n\n\"Keller is my name, sir; ex-lieutenant,\" he said, very loud. \"If you\nwill accept me as champion of the fair sex, I am at your disposal.\nEnglish boxing has no secrets from me. I sympathize with you for the\ninsult you have received, but I can't permit you to raise your hand\nagainst a woman in public. If you prefer to meet me--as would be more\nfitting to your rank--in some other manner, of course you understand me,\ncaptain.\"\n\nBut the young officer had recovered himself, and was no longer\nlistening. At this moment Rogojin appeared, elbowing through the crowd;\nhe took Nastasia's hand, drew it through his arm, and quickly led her\naway. He appeared to be terribly excited; he was trembling all over,\nand was as pale as a corpse. As he carried Nastasia off, he turned and\ngrinned horribly in the officer's face, and with low malice observed:\n\n\"Tfu! look what the fellow got! Look at the blood on his cheek! Ha, ha!\"\n\nRecollecting himself, however, and seeing at a glance the sort of people\nhe had to deal with, the officer turned his back on both his opponents,\nand courteously, but concealing his face with his handkerchief,\napproached the prince, who was now rising from the chair into which he\nhad fallen.\n\n\"Prince Muishkin, I believe? The gentleman to whom I had the honour of\nbeing introduced?\"\n\n\"She is mad, insane--I assure you, she is mad,\" replied the prince in\ntrembling tones, holding out both his hands mechanically towards the\nofficer.\n\n\"I cannot boast of any such knowledge, of course, but I wished to know\nyour name.\"\n\nHe bowed and retired without waiting for an answer.\n\nFive seconds after the disappearance of the last actor in this scene,\nthe police arrived. The whole episode had not lasted more than a couple\nof minutes. Some of the spectators had risen from their places, and\ndeparted altogether; some merely exchanged their seats for others a\nlittle further off; some were delighted with the occurrence, and talked\nand laughed over it for a long time.\n\nIn a word, the incident closed as such incidents do, and the band began\nto play again. The prince walked away after the Epanchin party. Had\nhe thought of looking round to the left after he had been pushed so\nunceremoniously into the chair, he would have observed Aglaya standing\nsome twenty yards away. She had stayed to watch the scandalous scene in\nspite of her mother's and sisters' anxious cries to her to come away.\n\nPrince S. ran up to her and persuaded her, at last, to come home with\nthem.\n\nLizabetha Prokofievna saw that she returned in such a state of agitation\nthat it was doubtful whether she had even heard their calls. But only a\ncouple of minutes later, when they had reached the park, Aglaya suddenly\nremarked, in her usual calm, indifferent voice:\n\n\"I wanted to see how the farce would end.\"\n\nIII.\n\nThe occurrence at the Vauxhall had filled both mother and daughters with\nsomething like horror. In their excitement Lizabetha Prokofievna and the\ngirls were nearly running all the way home.\n\nIn her opinion there was so much disclosed and laid bare by the episode,\nthat, in spite of the chaotic condition of her mind, she was able to\nfeel more or less decided on certain points which, up to now, had been\nin a cloudy condition.\n\nHowever, one and all of the party realized that something important\nhad happened, and that, perhaps fortunately enough, something which had\nhitherto been enveloped in the obscurity of guess-work had now begun to\ncome forth a little from the mists. In spite of Prince S.'s assurances\nand explanations, Evgenie Pavlovitch's real character and position were\nat last coming to light. He was publicly convicted of intimacy with\n\"that creature.\" So thought Lizabetha Prokofievna and her two elder\ndaughters.\n\nBut the real upshot of the business was that the number of riddles to\nbe solved was augmented. The two girls, though rather irritated at their\nmother's exaggerated alarm and haste to depart from the scene, had been\nunwilling to worry her at first with questions.\n\nBesides, they could not help thinking that their sister Aglaya probably\nknew more about the whole matter than both they and their mother put\ntogether.\n\nPrince S. looked as black as night, and was silent and moody. Mrs.\nEpanchin did not say a word to him all the way home, and he did not seem\nto observe the fact. Adelaida tried to pump him a little by asking, \"who\nwas the uncle they were talking about, and what was it that had happened\nin Petersburg?\" But he had merely muttered something disconnected about\n\"making inquiries,\" and that \"of course it was all nonsense.\" \"Oh, of\ncourse,\" replied Adelaida, and asked no more questions. Aglaya, too, was\nvery quiet; and the only remark she made on the way home was that they\nwere \"walking much too fast to be pleasant.\"\n\nOnce she turned and observed the prince hurrying after them. Noticing\nhis anxiety to catch them up, she smiled ironically, and then looked\nback no more. At length, just as they neared the house, General Epanchin\ncame out and met them; he had only just arrived from town.\n\nHis first word was to inquire after Evgenie Pavlovitch. But Lizabetha\nstalked past him, and neither looked at him nor answered his question.\n\nHe immediately judged from the faces of his daughters and Prince S. that\nthere was a thunderstorm brewing, and he himself already bore evidences\nof unusual perturbation of mind.\n\nHe immediately button-holed Prince S., and standing at the front door,\nengaged in a whispered conversation with him. By the troubled aspect of\nboth of them, when they entered the house, and approached Mrs. Epanchin,\nit was evident that they had been discussing very disturbing news.\n\nLittle by little the family gathered together upstairs in Lizabetha\nProkofievna's apartments, and Prince Muishkin found himself alone on\nthe verandah when he arrived. He settled himself in a corner and sat\nwaiting, though he knew not what he expected. It never struck him that\nhe had better go away, with all this disturbance in the house. He seemed\nto have forgotten all the world, and to be ready to sit on where he was\nfor years on end. From upstairs he caught sounds of excited conversation\nevery now and then.\n\nHe could not say how long he sat there. It grew late and became quite\ndark.\n\nSuddenly Aglaya entered the verandah. She seemed to be quite calm,\nthough a little pale.\n\nObserving the prince, whom she evidently did not expect to see there,\nalone in the corner, she smiled, and approached him:\n\n\"What are you doing there?\" she asked.\n\nThe prince muttered something, blushed, and jumped up; but Aglaya\nimmediately sat down beside him; so he reseated himself.\n\nShe looked suddenly, but attentively into his face, then at the window,\nas though thinking of something else, and then again at him.\n\n\"Perhaps she wants to laugh at me,\" thought the prince, \"but no; for if\nshe did she certainly would do so.\"\n\n\"Would you like some tea? I'll order some,\" she said, after a minute or\ntwo of silence.\n\n\"N-no thanks, I don't know--\"\n\n\"Don't know! How can you not know? By-the-by, look here--if someone\nwere to challenge you to a duel, what should you do? I wished to ask you\nthis--some time ago--\"\n\n\"Why? Nobody would ever challenge me to a duel!\"\n\n\"But if they were to, would you be dreadfully frightened?\"\n\n\"I dare say I should be--much alarmed!\"\n\n\"Seriously? Then are you a coward?\"\n\n\"N-no!--I don't think so. A coward is a man who is afraid and runs away;\nthe man who is frightened but does not run away, is not quite a coward,\"\nsaid the prince with a smile, after a moment's thought.\n\n\"And you wouldn't run away?\"\n\n\"No--I don't think I should run away,\" replied the prince, laughing\noutright at last at Aglaya's questions.\n\n\"Though I am a woman, I should certainly not run away for anything,\"\nsaid Aglaya, in a slightly pained voice. \"However, I see you are\nlaughing at me and twisting your face up as usual in order to make\nyourself look more interesting. Now tell me, they generally shoot at\ntwenty paces, don't they? At ten, sometimes? I suppose if at ten they\nmust be either wounded or killed, mustn't they?\"\n\n\"I don't think they often kill each other at duels.\"\n\n\"They killed Pushkin that way.\"\n\n\"That may have been an accident.\"\n\n\"Not a bit of it; it was a duel to the death, and he was killed.\"\n\n\"The bullet struck so low down that probably his antagonist would never\nhave aimed at that part of him--people never do; he would have aimed at\nhis chest or head; so that probably the bullet hit him accidentally. I\nhave been told this by competent authorities.\"\n\n\"Well, a soldier once told me that they were always ordered to aim at\nthe middle of the body. So you see they don't aim at the chest or head;\nthey aim lower on purpose. I asked some officer about this afterwards,\nand he said it was perfectly true.\"\n\n\"That is probably when they fire from a long distance.\"\n\n\"Can you shoot at all?\"\n\n\"No, I have never shot in my life.\"\n\n\"Can't you even load a pistol?\"\n\n\"No! That is, I understand how it's done, of course, but I have never\ndone it.\"\n\n\"Then, you don't know how, for it is a matter that needs practice. Now\nlisten and learn; in the first place buy good powder, not damp (they say\nit mustn't be at all damp, but very dry), some fine kind it is--you must\nask for _pistol_ powder, not the stuff they load cannons with. They say\none makes the bullets oneself, somehow or other. Have you got a pistol?\"\n\n\"No--and I don't want one,\" said the prince, laughing.\n\n\"Oh, what _nonsense!_ You must buy one. French or English are the best,\nthey say. Then take a little powder, about a thimbleful, or perhaps two,\nand pour it into the barrel. Better put plenty. Then push in a bit of\nfelt (it _must_ be felt, for some reason or other); you can easily get\na bit off some old mattress, or off a door; it's used to keep the cold\nout. Well, when you have pushed the felt down, put the bullet in; do you\nhear now? The bullet last and the powder first, not the other way, or\nthe pistol won't shoot. What are you laughing at? I wish you to buy\na pistol and practise every day, and you must learn to hit a mark for\n_certain_; will you?\"\n\nThe prince only laughed. Aglaya stamped her foot with annoyance.\n\nHer serious air, however, during this conversation had surprised him\nconsiderably. He had a feeling that he ought to be asking her something,\nthat there was something he wanted to find out far more important than\nhow to load a pistol; but his thoughts had all scattered, and he was\nonly aware that she was sitting by him, and talking to him, and that\nhe was looking at her; as to what she happened to be saying to him, that\ndid not matter in the least.\n\nThe general now appeared on the verandah, coming from upstairs. He was\non his way out, with an expression of determination on his face, and of\npreoccupation and worry also.\n\n\"Ah! Lef Nicolaievitch, it's you, is it? Where are you off to now?\" he\nasked, oblivious of the fact that the prince had not showed the least\nsign of moving. \"Come along with me; I want to say a word or two to\nyou.\"\n\n\"_Au revoir_, then!\" said Aglaya, holding out her hand to the prince.\n\nIt was quite dark now, and Muishkin could not see her face clearly, but\na minute or two later, when he and the general had left the villa, he\nsuddenly flushed up, and squeezed his right hand tightly.\n\nIt appeared that he and the general were going in the same direction. In\nspite of the lateness of the hour, the general was hurrying away to talk\nto someone upon some important subject. Meanwhile he talked incessantly\nbut disconnectedly to the prince, and continually brought in the name of\nLizabetha Prokofievna.\n\nIf the prince had been in a condition to pay more attention to what\nthe general was saying, he would have discovered that the latter was\ndesirous of drawing some information out of him, or indeed of asking him\nsome question outright; but that he could not make up his mind to come\nto the point.\n\nMuishkin was so absent, that from the very first he could not attend\nto a word the other was saying; and when the general suddenly stopped\nbefore him with some excited question, he was obliged to confess,\nignominiously, that he did not know in the least what he had been\ntalking about.\n\nThe general shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"How strange everyone, yourself included, has become of late,\" said\nhe. \"I was telling you that I cannot in the least understand Lizabetha\nProkofievna's ideas and agitations. She is in hysterics up there, and\nmoans and says that we have been 'shamed and disgraced.' How? Why? When?\nBy whom? I confess that I am very much to blame myself; I do not conceal\nthe fact; but the conduct, the outrageous behaviour of this woman, must\nreally be kept within limits, by the police if necessary, and I am just\non my way now to talk the question over and make some arrangements.\nIt can all be managed quietly and gently, even kindly, and without the\nslightest fuss or scandal. I foresee that the future is pregnant with\nevents, and that there is much that needs explanation. There is intrigue\nin the wind; but if on one side nothing is known, on the other side\nnothing will be explained. If I have heard nothing about it, nor have\n_you_, nor _he_, nor _she_--who _has_ heard about it, I should like to\nknow? How _can_ all this be explained except by the fact that half of\nit is mirage or moonshine, or some hallucination of that sort?\"\n\n\"_She_ is insane,\" muttered the prince, suddenly recollecting all that had\npassed, with a spasm of pain at his heart.\n\n\"I too had that idea, and I slept in peace. But now I see that their\nopinion is more correct. I do not believe in the theory of madness! The\nwoman has no common sense; but she is not only not insane, she is artful\nto a degree. Her outburst of this evening about Evgenie's uncle proves\nthat conclusively. It was _villainous_, simply jesuitical, and it was all\nfor some special purpose.\"\n\n\"What about Evgenie's uncle?\"\n\n\"My goodness, Lef Nicolaievitch, why, you can't have heard a single\nword I said! Look at me, I'm still trembling all over with the dreadful\nshock! It is that that kept me in town so late. Evgenie Pavlovitch's\nuncle--\"\n\n\"Well?\" cried the prince.\n\n\"Shot himself this morning, at seven o'clock. A respected, eminent old\nman of seventy; and exactly point for point as she described it; a sum\nof money, a considerable sum of government money, missing!\"\n\n\"Why, how could she--\"\n\n\"What, know of it? Ha, ha, ha! Why, there was a whole crowd round her\nthe moment she appeared on the scenes here. You know what sort of people\nsurround her nowadays, and solicit the honour of her 'acquaintance.'\nOf course she might easily have heard the news from someone coming from\ntown. All Petersburg, if not all Pavlofsk, knows it by now. Look at the\nslyness of her observation about Evgenie's uniform! I mean, her remark\nthat he had retired just in time! There's a venomous hint for you,\nif you like! No, no! there's no insanity there! Of course I refuse\nto believe that Evgenie Pavlovitch could have known beforehand of the\ncatastrophe; that is, that at such and such a day at seven o'clock, and\nall that; but he might well have had a presentiment of the truth. And\nI--all of us--Prince S. and everybody, believed that he was to inherit\na large fortune from this uncle. It's dreadful, horrible! Mind, I don't\nsuspect Evgenie of anything, be quite clear on that point; but the\nthing is a little suspicious, nevertheless. Prince S. can't get over it.\nAltogether it is a very extraordinary combination of circumstances.\"\n\n\"What suspicion attaches to Evgenie Pavlovitch?\"\n\n\"Oh, none at all! He has behaved very well indeed. I didn't mean to\ndrop any sort of hint. His own fortune is intact, I believe. Lizabetha\nProkofievna, of course, refuses to listen to anything. That's the worst\nof it all, these family catastrophes or quarrels, or whatever you like\nto call them. You know, prince, you are a friend of the family, so I\ndon't mind telling you; it now appears that Evgenie Pavlovitch proposed\nto Aglaya a month ago, and was refused.\"\n\n\"Impossible!\" cried the prince.\n\n\"Why? Do you know anything about it? Look here,\" continued the general,\nmore agitated than ever, and trembling with excitement, \"maybe I have\nbeen letting the cat out of the bag too freely with you, if so, it\nis because you are--that sort of man, you know! Perhaps you have some\nspecial information?\"\n\n\"I know nothing about Evgenie Pavlovitch!\" said the prince.\n\n\"Nor do I! They always try to bury me underground when there's anything\ngoing on; they don't seem to reflect that it is unpleasant to a man\nto be treated so! I won't stand it! We have just had a terrible\nscene!--mind, I speak to you as I would to my own son! Aglaya laughs at\nher mother. Her sisters guessed about Evgenie having proposed and been\nrejected, and told Lizabetha.\n\n\"I tell you, my dear fellow, Aglaya is such an extraordinary, such a\nself-willed, fantastical little creature, you wouldn't believe it! Every\nhigh quality, every brilliant trait of heart and mind, are to be\nfound in her, and, with it all, so much caprice and mockery, such wild\nfancies--indeed, a little devil! She has just been laughing at her\nmother to her very face, and at her sisters, and at Prince S., and\neverybody--and of course she always laughs at me! You know I love the\nchild--I love her even when she laughs at me, and I believe the wild\nlittle creature has a special fondness for me for that very reason. She\nis fonder of me than any of the others. I dare swear she has had a\ngood laugh at _you_ before now! You were having a quiet talk just now, I\nobserved, after all the thunder and lightning upstairs. She was sitting\nwith you just as though there had been no row at all.\"\n\nThe prince blushed painfully in the darkness, and closed his right hand\ntightly, but he said nothing.\n\n\"My dear good Prince Lef Nicolaievitch,\" began the general again,\nsuddenly, \"both I and Lizabetha Prokofievna--(who has begun to respect\nyou once more, and me through you, goodness knows why!)--we both love\nyou very sincerely, and esteem you, in spite of any appearances to the\ncontrary. But you'll admit what a riddle it must have been for us when\nthat calm, cold, little spitfire, Aglaya--(for she stood up to her\nmother and answered her questions with inexpressible contempt, and mine\nstill more so, because, like a fool, I thought it my duty to assert\nmyself as head of the family)--when Aglaya stood up of a sudden and\ninformed us that 'that madwoman' (strangely enough, she used exactly the\nsame expression as you did) 'has taken it into her head to marry me\nto Prince Lef Nicolaievitch, and therefore is doing her best to choke\nEvgenie Pavlovitch off, and rid the house of him.' That's what she said.\nShe would not give the slightest explanation; she burst out laughing,\nbanged the door, and went away. We all stood there with our mouths open.\nWell, I was told afterwards of your little passage with Aglaya this\nafternoon, and--and--dear prince--you are a good, sensible fellow, don't\nbe angry if I speak out--she is laughing at you, my boy! She is enjoying\nherself like a child, at your expense, and therefore, since she is a\nchild, don't be angry with her, and don't think anything of it. I assure\nyou, she is simply making a fool of you, just as she does with one and\nall of us out of pure lack of something better to do. Well--good-bye!\nYou know our feelings, don't you--our sincere feelings for yourself?\nThey are unalterable, you know, dear boy, under all circumstances,\nbut--Well, here we part; I must go down to the right. Rarely have I sat\nso uncomfortably in my saddle, as they say, as I now sit. And people\ntalk of the charms of a country holiday!\"\n\nLeft to himself at the cross-roads, the prince glanced around him,\nquickly crossed the road towards the lighted window of a neighbouring\nhouse, and unfolded a tiny scrap of paper which he had held clasped in\nhis right hand during the whole of his conversation with the general.\n\nHe read the note in the uncertain rays that fell from the window. It was\nas follows:\n\n\"Tomorrow morning, I shall be at the green bench in the park at seven,\nand shall wait there for you. I have made up my mind to speak to you\nabout a most important matter which closely concerns yourself.\n\n\"P.S.--I trust that you will not show this note to anyone. Though I\nam ashamed of giving you such instructions, I feel that I must do so,\nconsidering what you are. I therefore write the words, and blush for\nyour simple character.\n\n\"P.P.S.--It is the same green bench that I showed you before. There!\naren't you ashamed of yourself? I felt that it was necessary to repeat\neven that information.\"\n\nThe note was written and folded anyhow, evidently in a great hurry, and\nprobably just before Aglaya had come down to the verandah.\n\nIn inexpressible agitation, amounting almost to fear, the prince slipped\nquickly away from the window, away from the light, like a frightened\nthief, but as he did so he collided violently with some gentleman who\nseemed to spring from the earth at his feet.\n\n\"I was watching for you, prince,\" said the individual.\n\n\"Is that you, Keller?\" said the prince, in surprise.\n\n\"Yes, I've been looking for you. I waited for you at the Epanchins'\nhouse, but of course I could not come in. I dogged you from behind\nas you walked along with the general. Well, prince, here is Keller,\nabsolutely at your service--command him!--ready to sacrifice\nhimself--even to die in case of need.\"\n\n\"But-why?\"\n\n\"Oh, why?--Of course you'll be challenged! That was young Lieutenant\nMoloftsoff. I know him, or rather of him; he won't pass an insult. He\nwill take no notice of Rogojin and myself, and, therefore, you are the\nonly one left to account for. You'll have to pay the piper, prince. He\nhas been asking about you, and undoubtedly his friend will call on you\ntomorrow--perhaps he is at your house already. If you would do me the\nhonour to have me for a second, prince, I should be happy. That's why I\nhave been looking for you now.\"\n\n\"Duel! You've come to talk about a duel, too!\" The prince burst\nout laughing, to the great astonishment of Keller. He laughed\nunrestrainedly, and Keller, who had been on pins and needles, and in a\nfever of excitement to offer himself as \"second,\" was very near being\noffended.\n\n\"You caught him by the arms, you know, prince. No man of proper pride\ncan stand that sort of treatment in public.\"\n\n\"Yes, and he gave me a fearful dig in the chest,\" cried the prince,\nstill laughing. \"What are we to fight about? I shall beg his pardon,\nthat's all. But if we must fight--we'll fight! Let him have a shot at\nme, by all means; I should rather like it. Ha, ha, ha! I know how to\nload a pistol now; do you know how to load a pistol, Keller? First, you\nhave to buy the powder, you know; it mustn't be wet, and it mustn't be\nthat coarse stuff that they load cannons with--it must be pistol powder.\nThen you pour the powder in, and get hold of a bit of felt from some\ndoor, and then shove the bullet in. But don't shove the bullet in before\nthe powder, because the thing wouldn't go off--do you hear, Keller, the\nthing wouldn't go off! Ha, ha, ha! Isn't that a grand reason, Keller,\nmy friend, eh? Do you know, my dear fellow, I really must kiss you, and\nembrace you, this very moment. Ha, ha! How was it you so suddenly popped\nup in front of me as you did? Come to my house as soon as you can, and\nwe'll have some champagne. We'll all get drunk! Do you know I have a\ndozen of champagne in Lebedeff's cellar? Lebedeff sold them to me the\nday after I arrived. I took the lot. We'll invite everybody! Are you\ngoing to do any sleeping tonight?\"\n\n\"As much as usual, prince--why?\"\n\n\"Pleasant dreams then--ha, ha!\"\n\nThe prince crossed the road, and disappeared into the park, leaving the\nastonished Keller in a state of ludicrous wonder. He had never before\nseen the prince in such a strange condition of mind, and could not have\nimagined the possibility of it.\n\n\"Fever, probably,\" he said to himself, \"for the man is all nerves, and\nthis business has been a little too much for him. He is not _afraid_,\nthat's clear; that sort never funks! H'm! champagne! That was an\ninteresting item of news, at all events!--Twelve bottles! Dear me,\nthat's a very respectable little stock indeed! I bet anything Lebedeff\nlent somebody money on deposit of this dozen of champagne. Hum! he's a\nnice fellow, is this prince! I like this sort of man. Well, I needn't be\nwasting time here, and if it's a case of champagne, why--there's no time\nlike the present!\"\n\nThat the prince was almost in a fever was no more than the truth. He\nwandered about the park for a long while, and at last came to himself in\na lonely avenue. He was vaguely conscious that he had already paced this\nparticular walk--from that large, dark tree to the bench at the other\nend--about a hundred yards altogether--at least thirty times backwards\nand forwards.\n\nAs to recollecting what he had been thinking of all that time, he could\nnot. He caught himself, however, indulging in one thought which made him\nroar with laughter, though there was nothing really to laugh at in it;\nbut he felt that he must laugh, and go on laughing.\n\nIt struck him that the idea of the duel might not have occurred to\nKeller alone, but that his lesson in the art of pistol-loading might\nhave been not altogether accidental! \"Pooh! nonsense!\" he said to\nhimself, struck by another thought, of a sudden. \"Why, she was immensely\nsurprised to find me there on the verandah, and laughed and talked about\n_tea!_ And yet she had this little note in her hand, therefore she must\nhave known that I was sitting there. So why was she surprised? Ha, ha,\nha!\"\n\nHe pulled the note out and kissed it; then paused and reflected. \"How\nstrange it all is! how strange!\" he muttered, melancholy enough now. In\nmoments of great joy, he invariably felt a sensation of melancholy come\nover him--he could not tell why.\n\nHe looked intently around him, and wondered why he had come here; he was\nvery tired, so he approached the bench and sat down on it. Around him\nwas profound silence; the music in the Vauxhall was over. The park\nseemed quite empty, though it was not, in reality, later than half-past\neleven. It was a quiet, warm, clear night--a real Petersburg night of\nearly June; but in the dense avenue, where he was sitting, it was almost\npitch dark.\n\nIf anyone had come up at this moment and told him that he was in love,\npassionately in love, he would have rejected the idea with astonishment,\nand, perhaps, with irritation. And if anyone had added that Aglaya's\nnote was a love-letter, and that it contained an appointment to a\nlover's rendezvous, he would have blushed with shame for the speaker,\nand, probably, have challenged him to a duel.\n\nAll this would have been perfectly sincere on his part. He had never\nfor a moment entertained the idea of the possibility of this girl loving\nhim, or even of such a thing as himself falling in love with her. The\npossibility of being loved himself, \"a man like me,\" as he put it, he\nranked among ridiculous suppositions. It appeared to him that it was\nsimply a joke on Aglaya's part, if there really were anything in it at\nall; but that seemed to him quite natural. His preoccupation was caused\nby something different.\n\nAs to the few words which the general had let slip about Aglaya laughing\nat everybody, and at himself most of all--he entirely believed them. He\ndid not feel the slightest sensation of offence; on the contrary, he was\nquite certain that it was as it should be.\n\nHis whole thoughts were now as to next morning early; he would see\nher; he would sit by her on that little green bench, and listen to how\npistols were loaded, and look at her. He wanted nothing more.\n\nThe question as to what she might have to say of special interest to\nhimself occurred to him once or twice. He did not doubt, for a moment,\nthat she really had some such subject of conversation in store, but so\nvery little interested in the matter was he that it did not strike him\nto wonder what it could be. The crunch of gravel on the path suddenly\ncaused him to raise his head.\n\nA man, whose face it was difficult to see in the gloom, approached the\nbench, and sat down beside him. The prince peered into his face, and\nrecognized the livid features of Rogojin.\n\n\"I knew you'd be wandering about somewhere here. I didn't have to look\nfor you very long,\" muttered the latter between his teeth.\n\nIt was the first time they had met since the encounter on the staircase\nat the hotel.\n\nPainfully surprised as he was at this sudden apparition of Rogojin,\nthe prince, for some little while, was unable to collect his thoughts.\nRogojin, evidently, saw and understood the impression he had made; and\nthough he seemed more or less confused at first, yet he began talking\nwith what looked like assumed ease and freedom. However, the prince soon\nchanged his mind on this score, and thought that there was not only no\naffectation of indifference, but that Rogojin was not even particularly\nagitated. If there were a little apparent awkwardness, it was only in\nhis words and gestures. The man could not change his heart.\n\n\"How did you--find me here?\" asked the prince for the sake of saying\nsomething.\n\n\"Keller told me (I found him at your place) that you were in the park.\n'Of course he is!' I thought.\"\n\n\"Why so?\" asked the prince uneasily.\n\nRogojin smiled, but did not explain.\n\n\"I received your letter, Lef Nicolaievitch--what's the good of all\nthat?--It's no use, you know. I've come to you from _her_,--she bade me\ntell you that she must see you, she has something to say to you. She\ntold me to find you today.\"\n\n\"I'll come tomorrow. Now I'm going home--are you coming to my house?\"\n\n\"Why should I? I've given you the message.--Goodbye!\"\n\n\"Won't you come?\" asked the prince in a gentle voice.\n\n\"What an extraordinary man you are! I wonder at you!\" Rogojin laughed\nsarcastically.\n\n\"Why do you hate me so?\" asked the prince, sadly. \"You know yourself\nthat all you suspected is quite unfounded. I felt you were still angry\nwith me, though. Do you know why? Because you tried to kill me--that's\nwhy you can't shake off your wrath against me. I tell you that I only\nremember the Parfen Rogojin with whom I exchanged crosses, and vowed\nbrotherhood. I wrote you this in yesterday's letter, in order that you\nmight forget all that madness on your part, and that you might not feel\ncalled to talk about it when we met. Why do you avoid me? Why do you\nhold your hand back from me? I tell you again, I consider all that has\npassed a delirium, an insane dream. I can understand all you did,\nand all you felt that day, as if it were myself. What you were then\nimagining was not the case, and could never be the case. Why, then,\nshould there be anger between us?\"\n\n\"You don't know what anger is!\" laughed Rogojin, in reply to the\nprince's heated words.\n\nHe had moved a pace or two away, and was hiding his hands behind him.\n\n\"No, it is impossible for me to come to your house again,\" he added\nslowly.\n\n\"Why? Do you hate me so much as all that?\"\n\n\"I don't love you, Lef Nicolaievitch, and, therefore, what would be\nthe use of my coming to see you? You are just like a child--you want a\nplaything, and it must be taken out and given you--and then you don't\nknow how to work it. You are simply repeating all you said in your\nletter, and what's the use? Of course I believe every word you say, and\nI know perfectly well that you neither did or ever can deceive me in\nany way, and yet, I don't love you. You write that you've forgotten\neverything, and only remember your brother Parfen, with whom you\nexchanged crosses, and that you don't remember anything about the\nRogojin who aimed a knife at your throat. What do you know about my\nfeelings, eh?\" (Rogojin laughed disagreeably.) \"Here you are holding out\nyour brotherly forgiveness to me for a thing that I have perhaps never\nrepented of in the slightest degree. I did not think of it again all\nthat evening; all my thoughts were centred on something else--\"\n\n\"Not think of it again? Of course you didn't!\" cried the prince. \"And I\ndare swear that you came straight away down here to Pavlofsk to listen\nto the music and dog her about in the crowd, and stare at her, just as\nyou did today. There's nothing surprising in that! If you hadn't been in\nthat condition of mind that you could think of nothing but one subject,\nyou would, probably, never have raised your knife against me. I had a\npresentiment of what you would do, that day, ever since I saw you first\nin the morning. Do you know yourself what you looked like? I knew\nyou would try to murder me even at the very moment when we exchanged\ncrosses. What did you take me to your mother for? Did you think to stay\nyour hand by doing so? Perhaps you did not put your thoughts into words,\nbut you and I were thinking the same thing, or feeling the same thing\nlooming over us, at the same moment. What should you think of me now if\nyou had not raised your knife to me--the knife which God averted from my\nthroat? I would have been guilty of suspecting you all the same--and you\nwould have intended the murder all the same; therefore we should have\nbeen mutually guilty in any case. Come, don't frown; you needn't laugh\nat me, either. You say you haven't 'repented.' Repented! You probably\ncouldn't, if you were to try; you dislike me too much for that. Why,\nif I were an angel of light, and as innocent before you as a babe, you\nwould still loathe me if you believed that _she_ loved me, instead of\nloving yourself. That's jealousy--that is the real jealousy.\n\n\"But do you know what I have been thinking out during this last week,\nParfen? I'll tell you. What if she loves you now better than anyone? And\nwhat if she torments you _because_ she loves you, and in proportion to her\nlove for you, so she torments you the more? She won't tell you this, of\ncourse; you must have eyes to see. Why do you suppose she consents to\nmarry you? She must have a reason, and that reason she will tell you\nsome day. Some women desire the kind of love you give her, and she is\nprobably one of these. Your love and your wild nature impress her. Do\nyou know that a woman is capable of driving a man crazy almost, with\nher cruelties and mockeries, and feels not one single pang of regret,\nbecause she looks at him and says to herself, 'There! I'll torment this\nman nearly into his grave, and then, oh! how I'll compensate him for it\nall with my love!'\"\n\nRogojin listened to the end, and then burst out laughing:\n\n\"Why, prince, I declare you must have had a taste of this sort of thing\nyourself--haven't you? I have heard tell of something of the kind, you\nknow; is it true?\"\n\n\"What? What can you have heard?\" said the prince, stammering.\n\nRogojin continued to laugh loudly. He had listened to the prince's\nspeech with curiosity and some satisfaction. The speaker's impulsive\nwarmth had surprised and even comforted him.\n\n\"Why, I've not only heard of it; I see it for myself,\" he said. \"When\nhave you ever spoken like that before? It wasn't like yourself, prince.\nWhy, if I hadn't heard this report about you, I should never have come\nall this way into the park--at midnight, too!\"\n\n\"I don't understand you in the least, Parfen.\"\n\n\"Oh, _she_ told me all about it long ago, and tonight I saw for myself.\nI saw you at the music, you know, and whom you were sitting with. She\nswore to me yesterday, and again today, that you are madly in love with\nAglaya Ivanovna. But that's all the same to me, prince, and it's not my\naffair at all; for if you have ceased to love _her_, _she_ has not ceased\nto love _you_. You know, of course, that she wants to marry you to that\ngirl? She's sworn to it! Ha, ha! She says to me, 'Until then I won't marry\nyou. When they go to church, we'll go too--and not before.' What on earth\ndoes she mean by it? I don't know, and I never did. Either she loves you\nwithout limits or--yet, if she loves you, why does she wish to marry\nyou to another girl? She says, 'I want to see him happy,' which is to\nsay--she loves you.\"\n\n\"I wrote, and I say to you once more, that she is not in her right\nmind,\" said the prince, who had listened with anguish to what Rogojin\nsaid.\n\n\"Goodness knows--you may be wrong there! At all events, she named the\nday this evening, as we left the gardens. 'In three weeks,' says she,\n'and perhaps sooner, we shall be married.' She swore to it, took off her\ncross and kissed it. So it all depends upon you now, prince, You see!\nHa, ha!\"\n\n\"That's all madness. What you say about me, Parfen, never can and never\nwill be. Tomorrow, I shall come and see you--\"\n\n\"How can she be mad,\" Rogojin interrupted, \"when she is sane enough for\nother people and only mad for you? How can she write letters to _her_, if\nshe's mad? If she were insane they would observe it in her letters.\"\n\n\"What letters?\" said the prince, alarmed.\n\n\"She writes to _her_--and the girl reads the letters. Haven't you\nheard?--You are sure to hear; she's sure to show you the letters\nherself.\"\n\n\"I won't believe this!\" cried the prince.\n\n\"Why, prince, you've only gone a few steps along this road, I perceive.\nYou are evidently a mere beginner. Wait a bit! Before long, you'll have\nyour own detectives, you'll watch day and night, and you'll know every\nlittle thing that goes on there--that is, if--\"\n\n\"Drop that subject, Rogojin, and never mention it again. And listen:\nas I have sat here, and talked, and listened, it has suddenly struck me\nthat tomorrow is my birthday. It must be about twelve o'clock, now; come\nhome with me--do, and we'll see the day in! We'll have some wine, and\nyou shall wish me--I don't know what--but you, especially you, must\nwish me a good wish, and I shall wish you full happiness in return.\nOtherwise, hand me my cross back again. You didn't return it to me next\nday. Haven't you got it on now?\"\n\n\"Yes, I have,\" said Rogojin.\n\n\"Come along, then. I don't wish to meet my new year without you--my new\nlife, I should say, for a new life is beginning for me. Did you know,\nParfen, that a new life had begun for me?\"\n\n\"I see for myself that it is so--and I shall tell _her_. But you are not\nquite yourself, Lef Nicolaievitch.\"\n\nIV.\n\nThe prince observed with great surprise, as he approached his villa,\naccompanied by Rogojin, that a large number of people were assembled on\nhis verandah, which was brilliantly lighted up. The company seemed merry\nand were noisily laughing and talking--even quarrelling, to judge from\nthe sounds. At all events they were clearly enjoying themselves, and\nthe prince observed further on closer investigation--that all had been\ndrinking champagne. To judge from the lively condition of some of the\nparty, it was to be supposed that a considerable quantity of champagne\nhad been consumed already.\n\nAll the guests were known to the prince; but the curious part of the\nmatter was that they had all arrived on the same evening, as though with\none accord, although he had only himself recollected the fact that it\nwas his birthday a few moments since.\n\n\"You must have told somebody you were going to trot out the champagne,\nand that's why they are all come!\" muttered Rogojin, as the two entered\nthe verandah. \"We know all about that! You've only to whistle and they\ncome up in shoals!\" he continued, almost angrily. He was doubtless\nthinking of his own late experiences with his boon companions.\n\nAll surrounded the prince with exclamations of welcome, and, on hearing\nthat it was his birthday, with cries of congratulation and delight; many\nof them were very noisy.\n\nThe presence of certain of those in the room surprised the prince\nvastly, but the guest whose advent filled him with the greatest\nwonder--almost amounting to alarm--was Evgenie Pavlovitch. The prince\ncould not believe his eyes when he beheld the latter, and could not help\nthinking that something was wrong.\n\nLebedeff ran up promptly to explain the arrival of all these gentlemen.\nHe was himself somewhat intoxicated, but the prince gathered from his\nlong-winded periods that the party had assembled quite naturally, and\naccidentally.\n\nFirst of all Hippolyte had arrived, early in the evening, and feeling\ndecidedly better, had determined to await the prince on the verandah.\nThere Lebedeff had joined him, and his household had followed--that is,\nhis daughters and General Ivolgin. Burdovsky had brought Hippolyte, and\nstayed on with him. Gania and Ptitsin had dropped in accidentally later\non; then came Keller, and he and Colia insisted on having champagne.\nEvgenie Pavlovitch had only dropped in half an hour or so ago. Lebedeff\nhad served the champagne readily.\n\n\"My own though, prince, my own, mind,\" he said, \"and there'll be some\nsupper later on; my daughter is getting it ready now. Come and sit down,\nprince, we are all waiting for you, we want you with us. Fancy what we\nhave been discussing! You know the question, 'to be or not to be,'--out\nof Hamlet! A contemporary theme! Quite up-to-date! Mr. Hippolyte has\nbeen eloquent to a degree. He won't go to bed, but he has only drunk a\nlittle champagne, and that can't do him any harm. Come along, prince,\nand settle the question. Everyone is waiting for you, sighing for the\nlight of your luminous intelligence...\"\n\nThe prince noticed the sweet, welcoming look on Vera Lebedeff's face, as\nshe made her way towards him through the crowd. He held out his hand to\nher. She took it, blushing with delight, and wished him \"a happy life\nfrom that day forward.\" Then she ran off to the kitchen, where her\npresence was necessary to help in the preparations for supper. Before\nthe prince's arrival she had spent some time on the terrace, listening\neagerly to the conversation, though the visitors, mostly under the\ninfluence of wine, were discussing abstract subjects far beyond her\ncomprehension. In the next room her younger sister lay on a wooden\nchest, sound asleep, with her mouth wide open; but the boy, Lebedeff's\nson, had taken up his position close beside Colia and Hippolyte, his\nface lit up with interest in the conversation of his father and the\nrest, to which he would willingly have listened for ten hours at a\nstretch.\n\n\"I have waited for you on purpose, and am very glad to see you arrive so\nhappy,\" said Hippolyte, when the prince came forward to press his hand,\nimmediately after greeting Vera.\n\n\"And how do you know that I am 'so happy'?\n\n\"I can see it by your face! Say 'how do you do' to the others, and\ncome and sit down here, quick--I've been waiting for you!\" he added,\naccentuating the fact that he had waited. On the prince's asking, \"Will\nit not be injurious to you to sit out so late?\" he replied that he could\nnot believe that he had thought himself dying three days or so ago, for\nhe never had felt better than this evening.\n\nBurdovsky next jumped up and explained that he had come in by accident,\nhaving escorted Hippolyte from town. He murmured that he was glad he\nhad \"written nonsense\" in his letter, and then pressed the prince's hand\nwarmly and sat down again.\n\nThe prince approached Evgenie Pavlovitch last of all. The latter\nimmediately took his arm.\n\n\"I have a couple of words to say to you,\" he began, \"and those on a very\nimportant matter; let's go aside for a minute or two.\"\n\n\"Just a couple of words!\" whispered another voice in the prince's other\near, and another hand took his other arm. Muishkin turned, and to his\ngreat surprise observed a red, flushed face and a droll-looking figure\nwhich he recognized at once as that of Ferdishenko. Goodness knows where\nhe had turned up from!\n\n\"Do you remember Ferdishenko?\" he asked.\n\n\"Where have you dropped from?\" cried the prince.\n\n\"He is sorry for his sins now, prince,\" cried Keller. \"He did not\nwant to let you know he was here; he was hidden over there in the\ncorner,--but he repents now, he feels his guilt.\"\n\n\"Why, what has he done?\"\n\n\"I met him outside and brought him in--he's a gentleman who doesn't\noften allow his friends to see him, of late--but he's sorry now.\"\n\n\"Delighted, I'm sure!--I'll come back directly, gentlemen,--sit down\nthere with the others, please,--excuse me one moment,\" said the host,\ngetting away with difficulty in order to follow Evgenie.\n\n\"You are very gay here,\" began the latter, \"and I have had quite\na pleasant half-hour while I waited for you. Now then, my dear Lef\nNicolaievitch, this is what's the matter. I've arranged it all with\nMoloftsoff, and have just come in to relieve your mind on that score.\nYou need be under no apprehensions. He was very sensible, as he should\nbe, of course, for I think he was entirely to blame himself.\"\n\n\"What Moloftsoff?\"\n\n\"The young fellow whose arms you held, don't you know? He was so wild\nwith you that he was going to send a friend to you tomorrow morning.\"\n\n\"What nonsense!\"\n\n\"Of course it is nonsense, and in nonsense it would have ended,\ndoubtless; but you know these fellows, they--\"\n\n\"Excuse me, but I think you must have something else that you wished to\nspeak about, Evgenie Pavlovitch?\"\n\n\"Of course, I have!\" said the other, laughing. \"You see, my dear fellow,\ntomorrow, very early in the morning, I must be off to town about this\nunfortunate business (my uncle, you know!). Just imagine, my dear sir, it\nis all true--word for word--and, of course, everybody knew it excepting\nmyself. All this has been such a blow to me that I have not managed to\ncall in at the Epanchins'. Tomorrow I shall not see them either, because\nI shall be in town. I may not be here for three days or more; in a word,\nmy affairs are a little out of gear. But though my town business is,\nof course, most pressing, still I determined not to go away until I had\nseen you, and had a clear understanding with you upon certain points;\nand that without loss of time. I will wait now, if you will allow me,\nuntil the company departs; I may just as well, for I have nowhere else\nto go to, and I shall certainly not do any sleeping tonight; I'm far too\nexcited. And finally, I must confess that, though I know it is bad form\nto pursue a man in this way, I have come to beg your friendship, my\ndear prince. You are an unusual sort of a person; you don't lie at every\nstep, as some men do; in fact, you don't lie at all, and there is a\nmatter in which I need a true and sincere friend, for I really may claim\nto be among the number of bona fide unfortunates just now.\"\n\nHe laughed again.\n\n\"But the trouble is,\" said the prince, after a slight pause for\nreflection, \"that goodness only knows when this party will break up.\nHadn't we better stroll into the park? I'll excuse myself, there's no\ndanger of their going away.\"\n\n\"No, no! I have my reasons for wishing them not to suspect us of being\nengaged in any specially important conversation. There are gentry\npresent who are a little too much interested in us. You are not aware of\nthat perhaps, prince? It will be a great deal better if they see that\nwe are friendly just in an ordinary way. They'll all go in a couple of\nhours, and then I'll ask you to give me twenty minutes-half an hour at\nmost.\"\n\n\"By all means! I assure you I am delighted--you need not have entered\ninto all these explanations. As for your remarks about friendship with\nme--thanks, very much indeed. You must excuse my being a little absent\nthis evening. Do you know, I cannot somehow be attentive to anything\njust now?\"\n\n\"I see, I see,\" said Evgenie, smiling gently. His mirth seemed very near\nthe surface this evening.\n\n\"What do you see?\" said the prince, startled.\n\n\"I don't want you to suspect that I have simply come here to deceive\nyou and pump information out of you!\" said Evgenie, still smiling, and\nwithout making any direct reply to the question.\n\n\"Oh, but I haven't the slightest doubt that you did come to pump me,\"\nsaid the prince, laughing himself, at last; \"and I dare say you are\nquite prepared to deceive me too, so far as that goes. But what of that?\nI'm not afraid of you; besides, you'll hardly believe it, I feel\nas though I really didn't care a scrap one way or the other, just\nnow!--And--and--and as you are a capital fellow, I am convinced of that, I\ndare say we really shall end by being good friends. I like you very much\nEvgenie Pavlovitch; I consider you a very good fellow indeed.\"\n\n\"Well, in any case, you are a most delightful man to have to deal with,\nbe the business what it may,\" concluded Evgenie. \"Come along now, I'll\ndrink a glass to your health. I'm charmed to have entered into alliance\nwith you. By-the-by,\" he added suddenly, \"has this young Hippolyte come\ndown to stay with you?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"He's not going to die at once, I should think, is he?\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know. I've been half an hour here with him, and he--\"\n\nHippolyte had been waiting for the prince all this time, and had never\nceased looking at him and Evgenie Pavlovitch as they conversed in the\ncorner. He became much excited when they approached the table once more.\nHe was disturbed in his mind, it seemed; perspiration stood in large\ndrops on his forehead; in his gleaming eyes it was easy to read\nimpatience and agitation; his gaze wandered from face to face of those\npresent, and from object to object in the room, apparently without aim.\nHe had taken a part, and an animated one, in the noisy conversation of\nthe company; but his animation was clearly the outcome of fever. His\ntalk was almost incoherent; he would break off in the middle of a\nsentence which he had begun with great interest, and forget what he had\nbeen saying. The prince discovered to his dismay that Hippolyte had been\nallowed to drink two large glasses of champagne; the one now standing by\nhim being the third. All this he found out afterwards; at the moment he\ndid not notice anything, very particularly.\n\n\"Do you know I am specially glad that today is your birthday!\" cried\nHippolyte.\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"You'll soon see. D'you know I had a feeling that there would be a lot\nof people here tonight? It's not the first time that my presentiments\nhave been fulfilled. I wish I had known it was your birthday, I'd have\nbrought you a present--perhaps I have got a present for you! Who knows?\nHa, ha! How long is it now before daylight?\"\n\n\"Not a couple of hours,\" said Ptitsin, looking at his watch. \"What's the\ngood of daylight now? One can read all night in the open air without\nit,\" said someone.\n\n\"The good of it! Well, I want just to see a ray of the sun,\" said\nHippolyte. \"Can one drink to the sun's health, do you think, prince?\"\n\n\"Oh, I dare say one can; but you had better be calm and lie down,\nHippolyte--that's much more important.\n\n\"You are always preaching about resting; you are a regular nurse to me,\nprince. As soon as the sun begins to 'resound' in the sky--what poet\nsaid that? 'The sun resounded in the sky.' It is beautiful, though\nthere's no sense in it!--then we will go to bed. Lebedeff, tell me, is\nthe sun the source of life? What does the source, or 'spring,' of life\nreally mean in the Apocalypse? You have heard of the 'Star that is\ncalled Wormwood,' prince?\"\n\n\"I have heard that Lebedeff explains it as the railroads that cover\nEurope like a net.\"\n\nEverybody laughed, and Lebedeff got up abruptly.\n\n\"No! Allow me, that is not what we are discussing!\" he cried, waving\nhis hand to impose silence. \"Allow me! With these gentlemen... all\nthese gentlemen,\" he added, suddenly addressing the prince, \"on certain\npoints... that is...\" He thumped the table repeatedly, and the laughter\nincreased. Lebedeff was in his usual evening condition, and had just\nended a long and scientific argument, which had left him excited and\nirritable. On such occasions he was apt to evince a supreme contempt for\nhis opponents.\n\n\"It is not right! Half an hour ago, prince, it was agreed among us that\nno one should interrupt, no one should laugh, that each person was to\nexpress his thoughts freely; and then at the end, when everyone had\nspoken, objections might be made, even by the atheists. We chose the\ngeneral as president. Now without some such rule and order, anyone might\nbe shouted down, even in the loftiest and most profound thought....\"\n\n\"Go on! Go on! Nobody is going to interrupt you!\" cried several voices.\n\n\"Speak, but keep to the point!\"\n\n\"What is this 'star'?\" asked another.\n\n\"I have no idea,\" replied General Ivolgin, who presided with much\ngravity.\n\n\"I love these arguments, prince,\" said Keller, also more than half\nintoxicated, moving restlessly in his chair. \"Scientific and political.\"\nThen, turning suddenly towards Evgenie Pavlovitch, who was seated near\nhim: \"Do you know, I simply adore reading the accounts of the debates in\nthe English parliament. Not that the discussions themselves interest\nme; I am not a politician, you know; but it delights me to see how they\naddress each other 'the noble lord who agrees with me,' 'my honourable\nopponent who astonished Europe with his proposal,' 'the noble viscount\nsitting opposite'--all these expressions, all this parliamentarism of\na free people, has an enormous attraction for me. It fascinates me,\nprince. I have always been an artist in the depths of my soul, I assure\nyou, Evgenie Pavlovitch.\"\n\n\"Do you mean to say,\" cried Gania, from the other corner, \"do you mean\nto say that railways are accursed inventions, that they are a source of\nruin to humanity, a poison poured upon the earth to corrupt the springs\nof life?\"\n\nGavrila Ardalionovitch was in high spirits that evening, and it seemed\nto the prince that his gaiety was mingled with triumph. Of course he was\nonly joking with Lebedeff, meaning to egg him on, but he grew excited\nhimself at the same time.\n\n\"Not the railways, oh dear, no!\" replied Lebedeff, with a mixture of\nviolent anger and extreme enjoyment. \"Considered alone, the railways\nwill not pollute the springs of life, but as a whole they are accursed.\nThe whole tendency of our latest centuries, in its scientific and\nmaterialistic aspect, is most probably accursed.\"\n\n\"Is it certainly accursed?... or do you only mean it might be? That is\nan important point,\" said Evgenie Pavlovitch.\n\n\"It is accursed, certainly accursed!\" replied the clerk, vehemently.\n\n\"Don't go so fast, Lebedeff; you are much milder in the morning,\" said\nPtitsin, smiling.\n\n\"But, on the other hand, more frank in the evening! In the evening\nsincere and frank,\" repeated Lebedeff, earnestly. \"More candid, more\nexact, more honest, more honourable, and... although I may show you my\nweak side, I challenge you all; you atheists, for instance! How are you\ngoing to save the world? How find a straight road of progress, you men\nof science, of industry, of cooperation, of trades unions, and all the\nrest? How are you going to save it, I say? By what? By credit? What is\ncredit? To what will credit lead you?\"\n\n\"You are too inquisitive,\" remarked Evgenie Pavlovitch.\n\n\"Well, anyone who does not interest himself in questions such as this\nis, in my opinion, a mere fashionable dummy.\"\n\n\"But it will lead at least to solidarity, and balance of interests,\"\nsaid Ptitsin.\n\n\"You will reach that with nothing to help you but credit? Without\nrecourse to any moral principle, having for your foundation only\nindividual selfishness, and the satisfaction of material desires?\nUniversal peace, and the happiness of mankind as a whole, being the\nresult! Is it really so that I may understand you, sir?\"\n\n\"But the universal necessity of living, of drinking, of eating--in\nshort, the whole scientific conviction that this necessity can only be\nsatisfied by universal co-operation and the solidarity of interests--is,\nit seems to me, a strong enough idea to serve as a basis, so to speak,\nand a 'spring of life,' for humanity in future centuries,\" said Gavrila\nArdalionovitch, now thoroughly roused.\n\n\"The necessity of eating and drinking, that is to say, solely the\ninstinct of self-preservation...\"\n\n\"Is not that enough? The instinct of self-preservation is the normal law\nof humanity...\"\n\n\"Who told you that?\" broke in Evgenie Pavlovitch.\n\n\"It is a law, doubtless, but a law neither more nor less normal than\nthat of destruction, even self-destruction. Is it possible that\nthe whole normal law of humanity is contained in this sentiment of\nself-preservation?\"\n\n\"Ah!\" cried Hippolyte, turning towards Evgenie Pavlovitch, and looking\nat him with a queer sort of curiosity.\n\nThen seeing that Radomski was laughing, he began to laugh himself,\nnudged Colia, who was sitting beside him, with his elbow, and again\nasked what time it was. He even pulled Colia's silver watch out of his\nhand, and looked at it eagerly. Then, as if he had forgotten everything,\nhe stretched himself out on the sofa, put his hands behind his head, and\nlooked up at the sky. After a minute or two he got up and came back\nto the table to listen to Lebedeff's outpourings, as the latter\npassionately commentated on Evgenie Pavlovitch's paradox.\n\n\"That is an artful and traitorous idea. A smart notion,\" vociferated\nthe clerk, \"thrown out as an apple of discord. But it is just. You are a\nscoffer, a man of the world, a cavalry officer, and, though not without\nbrains, you do not realize how profound is your thought, nor how true.\nYes, the laws of self-preservation and of self-destruction are equally\npowerful in this world. The devil will hold his empire over humanity\nuntil a limit of time which is still unknown. You laugh? You do not\nbelieve in the devil? Scepticism as to the devil is a French idea, and\nit is also a frivolous idea. Do you know who the devil is? Do you know\nhis name? Although you don't know his name you make a mockery of his\nform, following the example of Voltaire. You sneer at his hoofs, at\nhis tail, at his horns--all of them the produce of your imagination! In\nreality the devil is a great and terrible spirit, with neither\nhoofs, nor tail, nor horns; it is you who have endowed him with these\nattributes! But... he is not the question just now!\"\n\n\"How do you know he is not the question now?\" cried Hippolyte, laughing\nhysterically.\n\n\"Another excellent idea, and worth considering!\" replied Lebedeff. \"But,\nagain, that is not the question. The question at this moment is whether\nwe have not weakened 'the springs of life' by the extension...\"\n\n\"Of railways?\" put in Colia eagerly.\n\n\"Not railways, properly speaking, presumptuous youth, but the general\ntendency of which railways may be considered as the outward expression\nand symbol. We hurry and push and hustle, for the good of humanity!\n'The world is becoming too noisy, too commercial!' groans some solitary\nthinker. 'Undoubtedly it is, but the noise of waggons bearing bread to\nstarving humanity is of more value than tranquillity of soul,' replies\nanother triumphantly, and passes on with an air of pride. As for me, I\ndon't believe in these waggons bringing bread to humanity. For, founded\non no moral principle, these may well, even in the act of carrying bread\nto humanity, coldly exclude a considerable portion of humanity from\nenjoying it; that has been seen more than once.\n\n\"What, these waggons may coldly exclude?\" repeated someone.\n\n\"That has been seen already,\" continued Lebedeff, not deigning to\nnotice the interruption. \"Malthus was a friend of humanity, but, with\nill-founded moral principles, the friend of humanity is the devourer of\nhumanity, without mentioning his pride; for, touch the vanity of one of\nthese numberless philanthropists, and to avenge his self-esteem, he will\nbe ready at once to set fire to the whole globe; and to tell the truth,\nwe are all more or less like that. I, perhaps, might be the first to set\na light to the fuel, and then run away. But, again, I must repeat, that\nis not the question.\"\n\n\"What is it then, for goodness' sake?\"\n\n\"He is boring us!\"\n\n\"The question is connected with the following anecdote of past times;\nfor I am obliged to relate a story. In our times, and in our country,\nwhich I hope you love as much as I do, for as far as I am concerned, I\nam ready to shed the last drop of my blood...\n\n\"Go on! Go on!\"\n\n\"In our dear country, as indeed in the whole of Europe, a famine visits\nhumanity about four times a century, as far as I can remember; once in\nevery twenty-five years. I won't swear to this being the exact figure,\nbut anyhow they have become comparatively rare.\"\n\n\"Comparatively to what?\"\n\n\"To the twelfth century, and those immediately preceding and following\nit. We are told by historians that widespread famines occurred in those\ndays every two or three years, and such was the condition of things that\nmen actually had recourse to cannibalism, in secret, of course. One of\nthese cannibals, who had reached a good age, declared of his own free\nwill that during the course of his long and miserable life he had\npersonally killed and eaten, in the most profound secrecy, sixty monks,\nnot to mention several children; the number of the latter he thought was\nabout six, an insignificant total when compared with the enormous mass\nof ecclesiastics consumed by him. As to adults, laymen that is to say,\nhe had never touched them.\"\n\nThe president joined in the general outcry.\n\n\"That's impossible!\" said he in an aggrieved tone. \"I am often\ndiscussing subjects of this nature with him, gentlemen, but for the\nmost part he talks nonsense enough to make one deaf: this story has no\npretence of being true.\"\n\n\"General, remember the siege of Kars! And you, gentlemen, I assure you\nmy anecdote is the naked truth. I may remark that reality, although it\nis governed by invariable law, has at times a resemblance to falsehood.\nIn fact, the truer a thing is the less true it sounds.\"\n\n\"But could anyone possibly eat sixty monks?\" objected the scoffing\nlisteners.\n\n\"It is quite clear that he did not eat them all at once, but in a\nspace of fifteen or twenty years: from that point of view the thing is\ncomprehensible and natural...\"\n\n\"Natural?\"\n\n\"And natural,\" repeated Lebedeff with pedantic obstinacy. \"Besides, a\nCatholic monk is by nature excessively curious; it would be quite easy\ntherefore to entice him into a wood, or some secret place, on false\npretences, and there to deal with him as said. But I do not dispute in\nthe least that the number of persons consumed appears to denote a spice\nof greediness.\"\n\n\"It is perhaps true, gentlemen,\" said the prince, quietly. He had\nbeen listening in silence up to that moment without taking part in the\nconversation, but laughing heartily with the others from time to time.\nEvidently he was delighted to see that everybody was amused, that\neverybody was talking at once, and even that everybody was drinking.\nIt seemed as if he were not intending to speak at all, when suddenly\nhe intervened in such a serious voice that everyone looked at him with\ninterest.\n\n\"It is true that there were frequent famines at that time, gentlemen.\nI have often heard of them, though I do not know much history. But it\nseems to me that it must have been so. When I was in Switzerland I used\nto look with astonishment at the many ruins of feudal castles perched\non the top of steep and rocky heights, half a mile at least above\nsea-level, so that to reach them one had to climb many miles of stony\ntracks. A castle, as you know, is, a kind of mountain of stones--a\ndreadful, almost an impossible, labour! Doubtless the builders were\nall poor men, vassals, and had to pay heavy taxes, and to keep up the\npriesthood. How, then, could they provide for themselves, and when\nhad they time to plough and sow their fields? The greater number must,\nliterally, have died of starvation. I have sometimes asked myself how\nit was that these communities were not utterly swept off the face of the\nearth, and how they could possibly survive. Lebedeff is not mistaken,\nin my opinion, when he says that there were cannibals in those days,\nperhaps in considerable numbers; but I do not understand why he should\nhave dragged in the monks, nor what he means by that.\"\n\n\"It is undoubtedly because, in the twelfth century, monks were the only\npeople one could eat; they were the fat, among many lean,\" said Gavrila\nArdalionovitch.\n\n\"A brilliant idea, and most true!\" cried Lebedeff, \"for he never\neven touched the laity. Sixty monks, and not a single layman! It is a\nterrible idea, but it is historic, it is statistic; it is indeed one of\nthose facts which enables an intelligent historian to reconstruct the\nphysiognomy of a special epoch, for it brings out this further point\nwith mathematical accuracy, that the clergy were in those days sixty\ntimes richer and more flourishing than the rest of humanity and perhaps\nsixty times fatter also...\"\n\n\"You are exaggerating, you are exaggerating, Lebedeff!\" cried his\nhearers, amid laughter.\n\n\"I admit that it is an historic thought, but what is your conclusion?\"\nasked the prince.\n\nHe spoke so seriously in addressing Lebedeff, that his tone contrasted\nquite comically with that of the others. They were very nearly laughing\nat him, too, but he did not notice it.\n\n\"Don't you see he is a lunatic, prince?\" whispered Evgenie Pavlovitch\nin his ear. \"Someone told me just now that he is a bit touched on the\nsubject of lawyers, that he has a mania for making speeches and intends\nto pass the examinations. I am expecting a splendid burlesque now.\"\n\n\"My conclusion is vast,\" replied Lebedeff, in a voice like thunder. \"Let\nus examine first the psychological and legal position of the criminal.\nWe see that in spite of the difficulty of finding other food, the\naccused, or, as we may say, my client, has often during his peculiar\nlife exhibited signs of repentance, and of wishing to give up this\nclerical diet. Incontrovertible facts prove this assertion. He has eaten\nfive or six children, a relatively insignificant number, no doubt,\nbut remarkable enough from another point of view. It is manifest that,\npricked by remorse--for my client is religious, in his way, and has a\nconscience, as I shall prove later--and desiring to extenuate his sin\nas far as possible, he has tried six times at least to substitute lay\nnourishment for clerical. That this was merely an experiment we can\nhardly doubt: for if it had been only a question of gastronomic variety,\nsix would have been too few; why only six? Why not thirty? But if we\nregard it as an experiment, inspired by the fear of committing new\nsacrilege, then this number six becomes intelligible. Six attempts\nto calm his remorse, and the pricking of his conscience, would amply\nsuffice, for these attempts could scarcely have been happy ones. In\nmy humble opinion, a child is too small; I should say, not sufficient;\nwhich would result in four or five times more lay children than monks\nbeing required in a given time. The sin, lessened on the one hand, would\ntherefore be increased on the other, in quantity, not in quality. Please\nunderstand, gentlemen, that in reasoning thus, I am taking the point of\nview which might have been taken by a criminal of the middle ages. As\nfor myself, a man of the late nineteenth century, I, of course, should\nreason differently; I say so plainly, and therefore you need not jeer\nat me nor mock me, gentlemen. As for you, general, it is still more\nunbecoming on your part. In the second place, and giving my own personal\nopinion, a child's flesh is not a satisfying diet; it is too insipid,\ntoo sweet; and the criminal, in making these experiments, could have\nsatisfied neither his conscience nor his appetite. I am about to\nconclude, gentlemen; and my conclusion contains a reply to one of the\nmost important questions of that day and of our own! This criminal ended\nat last by denouncing himself to the clergy, and giving himself up to\njustice. We cannot but ask, remembering the penal system of that day,\nand the tortures that awaited him--the wheel, the stake, the fire!--we\ncannot but ask, I repeat, what induced him to accuse himself of this\ncrime? Why did he not simply stop short at the number sixty, and keep\nhis secret until his last breath? Why could he not simply leave the\nmonks alone, and go into the desert to repent? Or why not become a\nmonk himself? That is where the puzzle comes in! There must have been\nsomething stronger than the stake or the fire, or even than the habits\nof twenty years! There must have been an idea more powerful than all\nthe calamities and sorrows of this world, famine or torture, leprosy or\nplague--an idea which entered into the heart, directed and enlarged the\nsprings of life, and made even that hell supportable to humanity!\nShow me a force, a power like that, in this our century of vices\nand railways! I might say, perhaps, in our century of steamboats and\nrailways, but I repeat in our century of vices and railways, because I\nam drunk but truthful! Show me a single idea which unites men nowadays\nwith half the strength that it had in those centuries, and dare to\nmaintain that the 'springs of life' have not been polluted and weakened\nbeneath this 'star,' beneath this network in which men are entangled!\nDon't talk to me about your prosperity, your riches, the rarity of\nfamine, the rapidity of the means of transport! There is more of riches,\nbut less of force. The idea uniting heart and soul to heart and soul\nexists no more. All is loose, soft, limp--we are all of us limp....\nEnough, gentlemen! I have done. That is not the question. No, the\nquestion is now, excellency, I believe, to sit down to the banquet you\nare about to provide for us!\"\n\nLebedeff had roused great indignation in some of his auditors (it\nshould be remarked that the bottles were constantly uncorked during his\nspeech); but this unexpected conclusion calmed even the most turbulent\nspirits. \"That's how a clever barrister makes a good point!\" said he,\nwhen speaking of his peroration later on. The visitors began to laugh\nand chatter once again; the committee left their seats, and stretched\ntheir legs on the terrace. Keller alone was still disgusted with\nLebedeff and his speech; he turned from one to another, saying in a loud\nvoice:\n\n\"He attacks education, he boasts of the fanaticism of the twelfth\ncentury, he makes absurd grimaces, and added to that he is by no means\nthe innocent he makes himself out to be. How did he get the money to buy\nthis house, allow me to ask?\"\n\nIn another corner was the general, holding forth to a group of hearers,\namong them Ptitsin, whom he had buttonholed. \"I have known,\" said he,\n\"a real interpreter of the Apocalypse, the late Gregory Semeonovitch\nBurmistroff, and he--he pierced the heart like a fiery flash! He began\nby putting on his spectacles, then he opened a large black book;\nhis white beard, and his two medals on his breast, recalling acts of\ncharity, all added to his impressiveness. He began in a stern voice, and\nbefore him generals, hard men of the world, bowed down, and ladies\nfell to the ground fainting. But this one here--he ends by announcing a\nbanquet! That is not the real thing!\"\n\nPtitsin listened and smiled, then turned as if to get his hat; but if he\nhad intended to leave, he changed his mind. Before the others had risen\nfrom the table, Gania had suddenly left off drinking, and pushed away\nhis glass, a dark shadow seemed to come over his face. When they all\nrose, he went and sat down by Rogojin. It might have been believed that\nquite friendly relations existed between them. Rogojin, who had also\nseemed on the point of going away now sat motionless, his head bent,\nseeming to have forgotten his intention. He had drunk no wine, and\nappeared absorbed in reflection. From time to time he raised his eyes,\nand examined everyone present; one might have imagined that he was\nexpecting something very important to himself, and that he had decided\nto wait for it. The prince had taken two or three glasses of champagne,\nand seemed cheerful. As he rose he noticed Evgenie Pavlovitch, and,\nremembering the appointment he had made with him, smiled pleasantly.\nEvgenie Pavlovitch made a sign with his head towards Hippolyte, whom he\nwas attentively watching. The invalid was fast asleep, stretched out on\nthe sofa.\n\n\"Tell me, prince, why on earth did this boy intrude himself upon you?\"\nhe asked, with such annoyance and irritation in his voice that the\nprince was quite surprised. \"I wouldn't mind laying odds that he is up\nto some mischief.\"\n\n\"I have observed,\" said the prince, \"that he seems to be an object of\nvery singular interest to you, Evgenie Pavlovitch. Why is it?\"\n\n\"You may add that I have surely enough to think of, on my own account,\nwithout him; and therefore it is all the more surprising that I cannot\ntear my eyes and thoughts away from his detestable physiognomy.\"\n\n\"Oh, come! He has a handsome face.\"\n\n\"Why, look at him--look at him now!\"\n\nThe prince glanced again at Evgenie Pavlovitch with considerable\nsurprise.\n\nV.\n\nHippolyte, who had fallen asleep during Lebedeff's discourse, now\nsuddenly woke up, just as though someone had jogged him in the side. He\nshuddered, raised himself on his arm, gazed around, and grew very pale.\nA look almost of terror crossed his face as he recollected.\n\n\"What! are they all off? Is it all over? Is the sun up?\" He trembled,\nand caught at the prince's hand. \"What time is it? Tell me, quick, for\ngoodness' sake! How long have I slept?\" he added, almost in despair,\njust as though he had overslept something upon which his whole fate\ndepended.\n\n\"You have slept seven or perhaps eight minutes,\" said Evgenie\nPavlovitch.\n\nHippolyte gazed eagerly at the latter, and mused for a few moments.\n\n\"Oh, is that all?\" he said at last. \"Then I--\"\n\nHe drew a long, deep breath of relief, as it seemed. He realized that\nall was not over as yet, that the sun had not risen, and that the guests\nhad merely gone to supper. He smiled, and two hectic spots appeared on\nhis cheeks.\n\n\"So you counted the minutes while I slept, did you, Evgenie Pavlovitch?\"\nhe said, ironically. \"You have not taken your eyes off me all the\nevening--I have noticed that much, you see! Ah, Rogojin! I've just\nbeen dreaming about him, prince,\" he added, frowning. \"Yes, by the by,\"\nstarting up, \"where's the orator? Where's Lebedeff? Has he finished?\nWhat did he talk about? Is it true, prince, that you once declared that\n'beauty would save the world'? Great Heaven! The prince says that beauty\nsaves the world! And I declare that he only has such playful ideas\nbecause he's in love! Gentlemen, the prince is in love. I guessed it the\nmoment he came in. Don't blush, prince; you make me sorry for you. What\nbeauty saves the world? Colia told me that you are a zealous Christian;\nis it so? Colia says you call yourself a Christian.\"\n\nThe prince regarded him attentively, but said nothing.\n\n\"You don't answer me; perhaps you think I am very fond of you?\" added\nHippolyte, as though the words had been drawn from him.\n\n\"No, I don't think that. I know you don't love me.\"\n\n\"What, after yesterday? Wasn't I honest with you?\"\n\n\"I knew yesterday that you didn't love me.\"\n\n\"Why so? why so? Because I envy you, eh? You always think that, I know.\nBut do you know why I am saying all this? Look here! I must have some\nmore champagne--pour me out some, Keller, will you?\"\n\n\"No, you're not to drink any more, Hippolyte. I won't let you.\" The\nprince moved the glass away.\n\n\"Well perhaps you're right,\" said Hippolyte, musing. \"They might\nsay--yet, devil take them! what does it matter?--prince, what can it\nmatter what people will say of us _then_, eh? I believe I'm half asleep.\nI've had such a dreadful dream--I've only just remembered it. Prince, I\ndon't wish you such dreams as that, though sure enough, perhaps, I _don't_\nlove you. Why wish a man evil, though you do not love him, eh? Give\nme your hand--let me press it sincerely. There--you've given me your\nhand--you must feel that I _do_ press it sincerely, don't you? I don't\nthink I shall drink any more. What time is it? Never mind, I know the\ntime. The time has come, at all events. What! they are laying supper\nover there, are they? Then this table is free? Capital, gentlemen!\nI--hem! these gentlemen are not listening. Prince, I will just read over\nan article I have here. Supper is more interesting, of course, but--\"\n\nHere Hippolyte suddenly, and most unexpectedly, pulled out of his\nbreast-pocket a large sealed paper. This imposing-looking document he\nplaced upon the table before him.\n\nThe effect of this sudden action upon the company was instantaneous.\nEvgenie Pavlovitch almost bounded off his chair in excitement. Rogojin\ndrew nearer to the table with a look on his face as if he knew what was\ncoming. Gania came nearer too; so did Lebedeff and the others--the paper\nseemed to be an object of great interest to the company in general.\n\n\"What have you got there?\" asked the prince, with some anxiety.\n\n\"At the first glimpse of the rising sun, prince, I will go to bed. I\ntold you I would, word of honour! You shall see!\" cried Hippolyte.\n\"You think I'm not capable of opening this packet, do you?\" He glared\ndefiantly round at the audience in general.\n\nThe prince observed that he was trembling all over.\n\n\"None of us ever thought such a thing!\" Muishkin replied for all. \"Why\nshould you suppose it of us? And what are you going to read, Hippolyte?\nWhat is it?\"\n\n\"Yes, what is it?\" asked others. The packet sealed with red wax seemed\nto attract everyone, as though it were a magnet.\n\n\"I wrote this yesterday, myself, just after I saw you, prince, and told\nyou I would come down here. I wrote all day and all night, and finished\nit this morning early. Afterwards I had a dream.\"\n\n\"Hadn't we better hear it tomorrow?\" asked the prince timidly.\n\n\"Tomorrow 'there will be no more time!'\" laughed Hippolyte,\nhysterically. \"You needn't be afraid; I shall get through the whole\nthing in forty minutes, at most an hour! Look how interested everybody\nis! Everybody has drawn near. Look! look at them all staring at my\nsealed packet! If I hadn't sealed it up it wouldn't have been half so\neffective! Ha, ha! that's mystery, that is! Now then, gentlemen, shall\nI break the seal or not? Say the word; it's a mystery, I tell you--a\nsecret! Prince, you know who said there would be 'no more time'? It was\nthe great and powerful angel in the Apocalypse.\"\n\n\"Better not read it now,\" said the prince, putting his hand on the\npacket.\n\n\"No, don't read it!\" cried Evgenie suddenly. He appeared so strangely\ndisturbed that many of those present could not help wondering.\n\n\"Reading? None of your reading now!\" said somebody; \"it's supper-time.\"\n\"What sort of an article is it? For a paper? Probably it's very\ndull,\" said another. But the prince's timid gesture had impressed even\nHippolyte.\n\n\"Then I'm not to read it?\" he whispered, nervously. \"Am I not to read\nit?\" he repeated, gazing around at each face in turn. \"What are you\nafraid of, prince?\" he turned and asked the latter suddenly.\n\n\"What should I be afraid of?\"\n\n\"Has anyone a coin about them? Give me a twenty-copeck piece, somebody!\"\nAnd Hippolyte leapt from his chair.\n\n\"Here you are,\" said Lebedeff, handing him one; he thought the boy had\ngone mad.\n\n\"Vera Lukianovna,\" said Hippolyte, \"toss it, will you? Heads, I read,\ntails, I don't.\"\n\nVera Lebedeff tossed the coin into the air and let it fall on the table.\n\nIt was \"heads.\"\n\n\"Then I read it,\" said Hippolyte, in the tone of one bowing to the fiat\nof destiny. He could not have grown paler if a verdict of death had\nsuddenly been presented to him.\n\n\"But after all, what is it? Is it possible that I should have just\nrisked my fate by tossing up?\" he went on, shuddering; and looked round\nhim again. His eyes had a curious expression of sincerity. \"That is\nan astonishing psychological fact,\" he cried, suddenly addressing\nthe prince, in a tone of the most intense surprise. \"It is... it\nis something quite inconceivable, prince,\" he repeated with growing\nanimation, like a man regaining consciousness. \"Take note of it,\nprince, remember it; you collect, I am told, facts concerning capital\npunishment... They told me so. Ha, ha! My God, how absurd!\" He sat\ndown on the sofa, put his elbows on the table, and laid his head on\nhis hands. \"It is shameful--though what does it matter to me if it is\nshameful?\n\n\"Gentlemen, gentlemen! I am about to break the seal,\" he continued, with\ndetermination. \"I--I--of course I don't insist upon anyone listening if\nthey do not wish to.\"\n\nWith trembling fingers he broke the seal and drew out several sheets of\npaper, smoothed them out before him, and began sorting them.\n\n\"What on earth does all this mean? What's he going to read?\" muttered\nseveral voices. Others said nothing; but one and all sat down and\nwatched with curiosity. They began to think something strange might\nreally be about to happen. Vera stood and trembled behind her father's\nchair, almost in tears with fright; Colia was nearly as much alarmed\nas she was. Lebedeff jumped up and put a couple of candles nearer to\nHippolyte, so that he might see better.\n\n\"Gentlemen, this--you'll soon see what this is,\" began Hippolyte, and\nsuddenly commenced his reading.\n\n\"It's headed, 'A Necessary Explanation,' with the motto, '_Après moi\nle déluge!_' Oh, deuce take it all! Surely I can never have seriously\nwritten such a silly motto as that? Look here, gentlemen, I beg to give\nnotice that all this is very likely terrible nonsense. It is only a few\nideas of mine. If you think that there is anything mysterious coming--or\nin a word--\"\n\n\"Better read on without any more beating about the bush,\" said Gania.\n\n\"Affectation!\" remarked someone else.\n\n\"Too much talk,\" said Rogojin, breaking the silence for the first time.\n\nHippolyte glanced at him suddenly, and when their eye, met Rogojin\nshowed his teeth in a disagreeable smile, and said the following strange\nwords: \"That's not the way to settle this business, my friend; that's\nnot the way at all.\"\n\nOf course nobody knew what Rogojin meant by this; but his words made\na deep impression upon all. Everyone seemed to see in a flash the same\nidea.\n\nAs for Hippolyte, their effect upon him was astounding. He trembled so\nthat the prince was obliged to support him, and would certainly have\ncried out, but that his voice seemed to have entirely left him for the\nmoment. For a minute or two he could not speak at all, but panted and\nstared at Rogojin. At last he managed to ejaculate:\n\n\"Then it was _you_ who came--_you_--_you?_\"\n\n\"Came where? What do you mean?\" asked Rogojin, amazed. But Hippolyte,\npanting and choking with excitement, interrupted him violently.\n\n\"_You_ came to me last week, in the night, at two o'clock, the day I was\nwith you in the morning! Confess it was you!\"\n\n\"Last week? In the night? Have you gone cracked, my good friend?\"\n\nHippolyte paused and considered a moment. Then a smile of\ncunning--almost triumph--crossed his lips.\n\n\"It was you,\" he murmured, almost in a whisper, but with absolute\nconviction. \"Yes, it was you who came to my room and sat silently on a\nchair at my window for a whole hour--more! It was between one and two\nat night; you rose and went out at about three. It was you, you! Why you\nshould have frightened me so, why you should have wished to torment me\nlike that, I cannot tell--but you it was.\"\n\nThere was absolute hatred in his eyes as he said this, but his look of\nfear and his trembling had not left him.\n\n\"You shall hear all this directly, gentlemen. I--I--listen!\"\n\nHe seized his paper in a desperate hurry; he fidgeted with it, and tried\nto sort it, but for a long while his trembling hands could not collect\nthe sheets together. \"He's either mad or delirious,\" murmured Rogojin.\nAt last he began.\n\nFor the first five minutes the reader's voice continued to tremble,\nand he read disconnectedly and unevenly; but gradually his voice\nstrengthened. Occasionally a violent fit of coughing stopped him, but\nhis animation grew with the progress of the reading--as did also the\ndisagreeable impression which it made upon his audience,--until it\nreached the highest pitch of excitement.\n\nHere is the article.\n\nMY NECESSARY EXPLANATION.\n\n\"_Après moi le déluge._\n\n\"Yesterday morning the prince came to see me. Among other things he\nasked me to come down to his villa. I knew he would come and persuade\nme to this step, and that he would adduce the argument that it would be\neasier for me to die' among people and green trees,'--as he expressed\nit. But today he did not say 'die,' he said 'live.' It is pretty much\nthe same to me, in my position, which he says. When I asked him why he\nmade such a point of his 'green trees,' he told me, to my astonishment,\nthat he had heard that last time I was in Pavlofsk I had said that I had\ncome 'to have a last look at the trees.'\n\n\"When I observed that it was all the same whether one died among trees\nor in front of a blank brick wall, as here, and that it was not worth\nmaking any fuss over a fortnight, he agreed at once. But he insisted\nthat the good air at Pavlofsk and the greenness would certainly cause a\nphysical change for the better, and that my excitement, and my _dreams_,\nwould be perhaps relieved. I remarked to him, with a smile, that he\nspoke like a materialist, and he answered that he had always been one.\nAs he never tells a lie, there must be something in his words. His smile\nis a pleasant one. I have had a good look at him. I don't know whether\nI like him or not; and I have no time to waste over the question. The\nhatred which I felt for him for five months has become considerably\nmodified, I may say, during the last month. Who knows, perhaps I am\ngoing to Pavlofsk on purpose to see him! But why do I leave my chamber?\nThose who are sentenced to death should not leave their cells. If I\nhad not formed a final resolve, but had decided to wait until the last\nminute, I should not leave my room, or accept his invitation to come\nand die at Pavlofsk. I must be quick and finish this explanation before\ntomorrow. I shall have no time to read it over and correct it, for I\nmust read it tomorrow to the prince and two or three witnesses whom I\nshall probably find there.\n\n\"As it will be absolutely true, without a touch of falsehood, I am\ncurious to see what impression it will make upon me myself at the moment\nwhen I read it out. This is my 'last and solemn'--but why need I call\nit that? There is no question about the truth of it, for it is not\nworthwhile lying for a fortnight; a fortnight of life is not itself\nworth having, which is a proof that I write nothing here but pure truth.\n\n(\"N.B.--Let me remember to consider; am I mad at this moment, or not? or\nrather at these moments? I have been told that consumptives sometimes\ndo go out of their minds for a while in the last stages of the malady.\nI can prove this tomorrow when I read it out, by the impression it\nmakes upon the audience. I must settle this question once and for all,\notherwise I can't go on with anything.)\n\n\"I believe I have just written dreadful nonsense; but there's no time\nfor correcting, as I said before. Besides that, I have made myself a\npromise not to alter a single word of what I write in this paper, even\nthough I find that I am contradicting myself every five lines. I wish to\nverify the working of the natural logic of my ideas tomorrow during the\nreading--whether I am capable of detecting logical errors, and whether\nall that I have meditated over during the last six months be true, or\nnothing but delirium.\n\n\"If two months since I had been called upon to leave my room and the\nview of Meyer's wall opposite, I verily believe I should have been\nsorry. But now I have no such feeling, and yet I am leaving this room\nand Meyer's brick wall _for ever_. So that my conclusion, that it is not\nworth while indulging in grief, or any other emotion, for a fortnight,\nhas proved stronger than my very nature, and has taken over the\ndirection of my feelings. But is it so? Is it the case that my nature\nis conquered entirely? If I were to be put on the rack now, I should\ncertainly cry out. I should not say that it is not worth while to yell\nand feel pain because I have but a fortnight to live.\n\n\"But is it true that I have but a fortnight of life left to me? I know I\ntold some of my friends that Doctor B. had informed me that this was the\ncase; but I now confess that I lied; B. has not even seen me. However,\na week ago, I called in a medical student, Kislorodoff, who is a\nNationalist, an Atheist, and a Nihilist, by conviction, and that is why\nI had him. I needed a man who would tell me the bare truth without any\nhumbug or ceremony--and so he did--indeed, almost with pleasure (which I\nthought was going a little too far).\n\n\"Well, he plumped out that I had about a month left me; it might be a\nlittle more, he said, under favourable circumstances, but it might\nalso be considerably less. According to his opinion I might die quite\nsuddenly--tomorrow, for instance--there had been such cases. Only a day\nor two since a young lady at Colomna who suffered from consumption, and\nwas about on a par with myself in the march of the disease, was going\nout to market to buy provisions, when she suddenly felt faint, lay down\non the sofa, gasped once, and died.\n\n\"Kislorodoff told me all this with a sort of exaggerated devil-may-care\nnegligence, and as though he did me great honour by talking to me\nso, because it showed that he considered me the same sort of exalted\nNihilistic being as himself, to whom death was a matter of no\nconsequence whatever, either way.\n\n\"At all events, the fact remained--a month of life and no more! That he\nis right in his estimation I am absolutely persuaded.\n\n\"It puzzles me much to think how on earth the prince guessed yesterday\nthat I have had bad dreams. He said to me, 'Your excitement and dreams\nwill find relief at Pavlofsk.' Why did he say 'dreams'? Either he is a\ndoctor, or else he is a man of exceptional intelligence and wonderful\npowers of observation. (But that he is an 'idiot,' at bottom there can\nbe no doubt whatever.) It so happened that just before he arrived I had\na delightful little dream; one of a kind that I have hundreds of just\nnow. I had fallen asleep about an hour before he came in, and dreamed\nthat I was in some room, not my own. It was a large room, well\nfurnished, with a cupboard, chest of drawers, sofa, and my bed, a fine\nwide bed covered with a silken counterpane. But I observed in the room\na dreadful-looking creature, a sort of monster. It was a little like a\nscorpion, but was not a scorpion, but far more horrible, and especially\nso, because there are no creatures anything like it in nature, and\nbecause it had appeared to me for a purpose, and bore some mysterious\nsignification. I looked at the beast well; it was brown in colour and\nhad a shell; it was a crawling kind of reptile, about eight inches long,\nand narrowed down from the head, which was about a couple of fingers in\nwidth, to the end of the tail, which came to a fine point. Out of its\ntrunk, about a couple of inches below its head, came two legs at an\nangle of forty-five degrees, each about three inches long, so that the\nbeast looked like a trident from above. It had eight hard needle-like\nwhiskers coming out from different parts of its body; it went along like\na snake, bending its body about in spite of the shell it wore, and its\nmotion was very quick and very horrible to look at. I was dreadfully\nafraid it would sting me; somebody had told me, I thought, that it\nwas venomous; but what tormented me most of all was the wondering and\nwondering as to who had sent it into my room, and what was the mystery\nwhich I felt it contained.\n\n\"It hid itself under the cupboard and under the chest of drawers, and\ncrawled into the corners. I sat on a chair and kept my legs tucked\nunder me. Then the beast crawled quietly across the room and disappeared\nsomewhere near my chair. I looked about for it in terror, but I still\nhoped that as my feet were safely tucked away it would not be able to\ntouch me.\n\n\"Suddenly I heard behind me, and about on a level with my head, a sort\nof rattling sound. I turned sharp round and saw that the brute had\ncrawled up the wall as high as the level of my face, and that its\nhorrible tail, which was moving incredibly fast from side to side, was\nactually touching my hair! I jumped up--and it disappeared. I did not\ndare lie down on my bed for fear it should creep under my pillow. My\nmother came into the room, and some friends of hers. They began to hunt\nfor the reptile and were more composed than I was; they did not seem to\nbe afraid of it. But they did not understand as I did.\n\n\"Suddenly the monster reappeared; it crawled slowly across the room and\nmade for the door, as though with some fixed intention, and with a slow\nmovement that was more horrible than ever.\n\n\"Then my mother opened the door and called my dog, Norma. Norma was a\ngreat Newfoundland, and died five years ago.\n\n\"She sprang forward and stood still in front of the reptile as if she\nhad been turned to stone. The beast stopped too, but its tail and\nclaws still moved about. I believe animals are incapable of feeling\nsupernatural fright--if I have been rightly informed,--but at this\nmoment there appeared to me to be something more than ordinary about\nNorma's terror, as though it must be supernatural; and as though she\nfelt, just as I did myself, that this reptile was connected with some\nmysterious secret, some fatal omen.\n\n\"Norma backed slowly and carefully away from the brute, which followed\nher, creeping deliberately after her as though it intended to make a\nsudden dart and sting her.\n\n\"In spite of Norma's terror she looked furious, though she trembled in\nall her limbs. At length she slowly bared her terrible teeth, opened\nher great red jaws, hesitated--took courage, and seized the beast in her\nmouth. It seemed to try to dart out of her jaws twice, but Norma caught\nat it and half swallowed it as it was escaping. The shell cracked in her\nteeth; and the tail and legs stuck out of her mouth and shook about in\na horrible manner. Suddenly Norma gave a piteous whine; the reptile had\nbitten her tongue. She opened her mouth wide with the pain, and I saw\nthe beast lying across her tongue, and out of its body, which was almost\nbitten in two, came a hideous white-looking substance, oozing out into\nNorma's mouth; it was of the consistency of a crushed black-beetle just\nthen I awoke and the prince entered the room.\"\n\n\"Gentlemen!\" said Hippolyte, breaking off here, \"I have not done yet,\nbut it seems to me that I have written down a great deal here that is\nunnecessary,--this dream--\"\n\n\"You have indeed!\" said Gania.\n\n\"There is too much about myself, I know, but--\" As Hippolyte said this\nhis face wore a tired, pained look, and he wiped the sweat off his brow.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Lebedeff, \"you certainly think a great deal too much about\nyourself.\"\n\n\"Well--gentlemen--I do not force anyone to listen! If any of you are\nunwilling to sit it out, please go away, by all means!\"\n\n\"He turns people out of a house that isn't his own,\" muttered Rogojin.\n\n\"Suppose we all go away?\" said Ferdishenko suddenly.\n\nHippolyte clutched his manuscript, and gazing at the last speaker with\nglittering eyes, said: \"You don't like me at all!\" A few laughed at\nthis, but not all.\n\n\"Hippolyte,\" said the prince, \"give me the papers, and go to bed like a\nsensible fellow. We'll have a good talk tomorrow, but you really mustn't\ngo on with this reading; it is not good for you!\"\n\n\"How can I? How can I?\" cried Hippolyte, looking at him in amazement.\n\"Gentlemen! I was a fool! I won't break off again. Listen, everyone who\nwants to!\"\n\nHe gulped down some water out of a glass standing near, bent over the\ntable, in order to hide his face from the audience, and recommenced.\n\n\"The idea that it is not worth while living for a few weeks took\npossession of me a month ago, when I was told that I had four weeks to\nlive, but only partially so at that time. The idea quite overmastered me\nthree days since, that evening at Pavlofsk. The first time that I felt\nreally impressed with this thought was on the terrace at the prince's,\nat the very moment when I had taken it into my head to make a last trial\nof life. I wanted to see people and trees (I believe I said so myself),\nI got excited, I maintained Burdovsky's rights, 'my neighbour!'--I\ndreamt that one and all would open their arms, and embrace me, that\nthere would be an indescribable exchange of forgiveness between us all!\nIn a word, I behaved like a fool, and then, at that very same instant, I\nfelt my 'last conviction.' I ask myself now how I could have waited six\nmonths for that conviction! I knew that I had a disease that spares\nno one, and I really had no illusions; but the more I realized my\ncondition, the more I clung to life; I wanted to live at any price. I\nconfess I might well have resented that blind, deaf fate, which, with no\napparent reason, seemed to have decided to crush me like a fly; but why\ndid I not stop at resentment? Why did I begin to live, knowing that it\nwas not worthwhile to begin? Why did I attempt to do what I knew to be\nan impossibility? And yet I could not even read a book to the end; I\nhad given up reading. What is the good of reading, what is the good of\nlearning anything, for just six months? That thought has made me throw\naside a book more than once.\n\n\"Yes, that wall of Meyer's could tell a tale if it liked. There was no\nspot on its dirty surface that I did not know by heart. Accursed wall!\nand yet it is dearer to me than all the Pavlofsk trees!--That is--it\n_would_ be dearer if it were not all the same to me, now!\n\n\"I remember now with what hungry interest I began to watch the lives of\nother people--interest that I had never felt before! I used to wait for\nColia's arrival impatiently, for I was so ill myself, then, that I could\nnot leave the house. I so threw myself into every little detail of news,\nand took so much interest in every report and rumour, that I believe I\nbecame a regular gossip! I could not understand, among other things, how\nall these people--with so much life in and before them--do not become\n_rich_--and I don't understand it now. I remember being told of a poor\nwretch I once knew, who had died of hunger. I was almost beside myself\nwith rage! I believe if I could have resuscitated him I would have done\nso for the sole purpose of murdering him!\n\n\"Occasionally I was so much better that I could go out; but the streets\nused to put me in such a rage that I would lock myself up for days\nrather than go out, even if I were well enough to do so! I could\nnot bear to see all those preoccupied, anxious-looking creatures\ncontinuously surging along the streets past me! Why are they always\nanxious? What is the meaning of their eternal care and worry? It is\ntheir wickedness, their perpetual detestable malice--that's what it\nis--they are all full of malice, malice!\n\n\"Whose fault is it that they are all miserable, that they don't know how\nto live, though they have fifty or sixty years of life before them? Why\ndid that fool allow himself to die of hunger with sixty years of unlived\nlife before him?\n\n\"And everyone of them shows his rags, his toil-worn hands, and yells in\nhis wrath: 'Here are we, working like cattle all our lives, and always\nas hungry as dogs, and there are others who do not work, and are fat and\nrich!' The eternal refrain! And side by side with them trots along some\nwretched fellow who has known better days, doing light porter's work\nfrom morn to night for a living, always blubbering and saying that\n'his wife died because he had no money to buy medicine with,' and his\nchildren dying of cold and hunger, and his eldest daughter gone to the\nbad, and so on. Oh! I have no pity and no patience for these fools of\npeople. Why can't they be Rothschilds? Whose fault is it that a man has\nnot got millions of money like Rothschild? If he has life, all this must\nbe in his power! Whose fault is it that he does not know how to live his\nlife?\n\n\"Oh! it's all the same to me now--_now!_ But at that time I would soak my\npillow at night with tears of mortification, and tear at my blanket in\nmy rage and fury. Oh, how I longed at that time to be turned out--_me_,\neighteen years old, poor, half-clothed, turned out into the street,\nquite alone, without lodging, without work, without a crust of bread,\nwithout relations, without a single acquaintance, in some large\ntown--hungry, beaten (if you like), but in good health--and _then_ I would\nshow them--\n\n\"What would I show them?\n\n\"Oh, don't think that I have no sense of my own humiliation! I have\nsuffered already in reading so far. Which of you all does not think me a\nfool at this moment--a young fool who knows nothing of life--forgetting\nthat to live as I have lived these last six months is to live longer\nthan grey-haired old men. Well, let them laugh, and say it is all\nnonsense, if they please. They may say it is all fairy-tales, if they\nlike; and I have spent whole nights telling myself fairy-tales. I\nremember them all. But how can I tell fairy-tales now? The time for them\nis over. They amused me when I found that there was not even time for me\nto learn the Greek grammar, as I wanted to do. 'I shall die before I get\nto the syntax,' I thought at the first page--and threw the book under\nthe table. It is there still, for I forbade anyone to pick it up.\n\n\"If this 'Explanation' gets into anybody's hands, and they have patience\nto read it through, they may consider me a madman, or a schoolboy, or,\nmore likely, a man condemned to die, who thought it only natural to\nconclude that all men, excepting himself, esteem life far too lightly,\nlive it far too carelessly and lazily, and are, therefore, one and all,\nunworthy of it. Well, I affirm that my reader is wrong again, for my\nconvictions have nothing to do with my sentence of death. Ask them, ask\nany one of them, or all of them, what they mean by happiness! Oh, you\nmay be perfectly sure that if Columbus was happy, it was not after he\nhad discovered America, but when he was discovering it! You may be quite\nsure that he reached the culminating point of his happiness three days\nbefore he saw the New World with his actual eyes, when his mutinous\nsailors wanted to tack about, and return to Europe! What did the New\nWorld matter after all? Columbus had hardly seen it when he died, and\nin reality he was entirely ignorant of what he had discovered. The\nimportant thing is life--life and nothing else! What is any 'discovery'\nwhatever compared with the incessant, eternal discovery of life?\n\n\"But what is the use of talking? I'm afraid all this is so commonplace\nthat my confession will be taken for a schoolboy exercise--the work of\nsome ambitious lad writing in the hope of his work 'seeing the light';\nor perhaps my readers will say that 'I had perhaps something to say, but\ndid not know how to express it.'\n\n\"Let me add to this that in every idea emanating from genius, or even in\nevery serious human idea--born in the human brain--there always remains\nsomething--some sediment--which cannot be expressed to others, though\none wrote volumes and lectured upon it for five-and-thirty years. There\nis always a something, a remnant, which will never come out from your\nbrain, but will remain there with you, and you alone, for ever and ever,\nand you will die, perhaps, without having imparted what may be the very\nessence of your idea to a single living soul.\n\n\"So that if I cannot now impart all that has tormented me for the last\nsix months, at all events you will understand that, having reached my\n'last convictions,' I must have paid a very dear price for them. That\nis what I wished, for reasons of my own, to make a point of in this my\n'Explanation.'\n\n\"But let me resume.\"\n\nVI.\n\n\"I will not deceive you. 'Reality' got me so entrapped in its meshes now\nand again during the past six months, that I forgot my 'sentence' (or\nperhaps I did not wish to think of it), and actually busied myself with\naffairs.\n\n\"A word as to my circumstances. When, eight months since, I became\nvery ill, I threw up all my old connections and dropped all my old\ncompanions. As I was always a gloomy, morose sort of individual, my\nfriends easily forgot me; of course, they would have forgotten me all\nthe same, without that excuse. My position at home was solitary enough.\nFive months ago I separated myself entirely from the family, and no one\ndared enter my room except at stated times, to clean and tidy it, and so\non, and to bring me my meals. My mother dared not disobey me; she kept\nthe children quiet, for my sake, and beat them if they dared to make any\nnoise and disturb me. I so often complained of them that I should think\nthey must be very fond, indeed, of me by this time. I think I must have\ntormented 'my faithful Colia' (as I called him) a good deal too. He\ntormented me of late; I could see that he always bore my tempers as\nthough he had determined to 'spare the poor invalid.' This annoyed\nme, naturally. He seemed to have taken it into his head to imitate the\nprince in Christian meekness! Surikoff, who lived above us, annoyed me,\ntoo. He was so miserably poor, and I used to prove to him that he had no\none to blame but himself for his poverty. I used to be so angry that I\nthink I frightened him eventually, for he stopped coming to see me. He\nwas a most meek and humble fellow, was Surikoff. (N.B.--They say that\nmeekness is a great power. I must ask the prince about this, for the\nexpression is his.) But I remember one day in March, when I went up to\nhis lodgings to see whether it was true that one of his children had\nbeen starved and frozen to death, I began to hold forth to him about\nhis poverty being his own fault, and, in the course of my remarks, I\naccidentally smiled at the corpse of his child. Well, the poor wretch's\nlips began to tremble, and he caught me by the shoulder, and pushed me\nto the door. 'Go out,' he said, in a whisper. I went out, of course, and\nI declare I _liked_ it. I liked it at the very moment when I was\nturned out. But his words filled me with a strange sort of feeling of\ndisdainful pity for him whenever I thought of them--a feeling which\nI did not in the least desire to entertain. At the very moment of the\ninsult (for I admit that I did insult him, though I did not mean to),\nthis man could not lose his temper. His lips had trembled, but I swear\nit was not with rage. He had taken me by the arm, and said, 'Go out,'\nwithout the least anger. There was dignity, a great deal of dignity,\nabout him, and it was so inconsistent with the look of him that, I\nassure you, it was quite comical. But there was no anger. Perhaps he\nmerely began to despise me at that moment.\n\n\"Since that time he has always taken off his hat to me on the stairs,\nwhenever I met him, which is a thing he never did before; but he always\ngets away from me as quickly as he can, as though he felt confused. If\nhe did despise me, he despised me 'meekly,' after his own fashion.\n\n\"I dare say he only took his hat off out of fear, as it were, to the son\nof his creditor; for he always owed my mother money. I thought of having\nan explanation with him, but I knew that if I did, he would begin to\napologize in a minute or two, so I decided to let him alone.\n\n\"Just about that time, that is, the middle of March, I suddenly felt\nvery much better; this continued for a couple of weeks. I used to go\nout at dusk. I like the dusk, especially in March, when the night frost\nbegins to harden the day's puddles, and the gas is burning.\n\n\"Well, one night in the Shestilavochnaya, a man passed me with a paper\nparcel under his arm. I did not take stock of him very carefully, but he\nseemed to be dressed in some shabby summer dust-coat, much too light for\nthe season. When he was opposite the lamp-post, some ten yards away, I\nobserved something fall out of his pocket. I hurried forward to pick it\nup, just in time, for an old wretch in a long kaftan rushed up too.\nHe did not dispute the matter, but glanced at what was in my hand and\ndisappeared.\n\n\"It was a large old-fashioned pocket-book, stuffed full; but I guessed,\nat a glance, that it had anything in the world inside it, except money.\n\n\"The owner was now some forty yards ahead of me, and was very soon lost\nin the crowd. I ran after him, and began calling out; but as I knew\nnothing to say excepting 'hey!' he did not turn round. Suddenly he\nturned into the gate of a house to the left; and when I darted in after\nhim, the gateway was so dark that I could see nothing whatever. It was\none of those large houses built in small tenements, of which there must\nhave been at least a hundred.\n\n\"When I entered the yard I thought I saw a man going along on the far\nside of it; but it was so dark I could not make out his figure.\n\n\"I crossed to that corner and found a dirty dark staircase. I heard a\nman mounting up above me, some way higher than I was, and thinking I\nshould catch him before his door would be opened to him, I rushed after\nhim. I heard a door open and shut on the fifth storey, as I panted\nalong; the stairs were narrow, and the steps innumerable, but at last I\nreached the door I thought the right one. Some moments passed before I\nfound the bell and got it to ring.\n\n\"An old peasant woman opened the door; she was busy lighting the\n'samovar' in a tiny kitchen. She listened silently to my questions, did\nnot understand a word, of course, and opened another door leading into\na little bit of a room, low and scarcely furnished at all, but with\na large, wide bed in it, hung with curtains. On this bed lay one\nTerentich, as the woman called him, drunk, it appeared to me. On the\ntable was an end of candle in an iron candlestick, and a half-bottle of\nvodka, nearly finished. Terentich muttered something to me, and signed\ntowards the next room. The old woman had disappeared, so there was\nnothing for me to do but to open the door indicated. I did so, and\nentered the next room.\n\n\"This was still smaller than the other, so cramped that I could scarcely\nturn round; a narrow single bed at one side took up nearly all the room.\nBesides the bed there were only three common chairs, and a wretched old\nkitchen-table standing before a small sofa. One could hardly squeeze\nthrough between the table and the bed.\n\n\"On the table, as in the other room, burned a tallow candle-end in an\niron candlestick; and on the bed there whined a baby of scarcely three\nweeks old. A pale-looking woman was dressing the child, probably the\nmother; she looked as though she had not as yet got over the trouble of\nchildbirth, she seemed so weak and was so carelessly dressed. Another\nchild, a little girl of about three years old, lay on the sofa, covered\nover with what looked like a man's old dress-coat.\n\n\"At the table stood a man in his shirt sleeves; he had thrown off his\ncoat; it lay upon the bed; and he was unfolding a blue paper parcel in\nwhich were a couple of pounds of bread, and some little sausages.\n\n\"On the table along with these things were a few old bits of black\nbread, and some tea in a pot. From under the bed there protruded an\nopen portmanteau full of bundles of rags. In a word, the confusion and\nuntidiness of the room were indescribable.\n\n\"It appeared to me, at the first glance, that both the man and the woman\nwere respectable people, but brought to that pitch of poverty where\nuntidiness seems to get the better of every effort to cope with it, till\nat last they take a sort of bitter satisfaction in it. When I entered\nthe room, the man, who had entered but a moment before me, and was still\nunpacking his parcels, was saying something to his wife in an excited\nmanner. The news was apparently bad, as usual, for the woman began\nwhimpering. The man's face seemed to me to be refined and even pleasant.\nHe was dark-complexioned, and about twenty-eight years of age; he wore\nblack whiskers, and his lip and chin were shaved. He looked morose, but\nwith a sort of pride of expression. A curious scene followed.\n\n\"There are people who find satisfaction in their own touchy feelings,\nespecially when they have just taken the deepest offence; at such\nmoments they feel that they would rather be offended than not. These\neasily-ignited natures, if they are wise, are always full of remorse\nafterwards, when they reflect that they have been ten times as angry as\nthey need have been.\n\n\"The gentleman before me gazed at me for some seconds in amazement,\nand his wife in terror; as though there was something alarmingly\nextraordinary in the fact that anyone could come to see them. But\nsuddenly he fell upon me almost with fury; I had had no time to mutter\nmore than a couple of words; but he had doubtless observed that I was\ndecently dressed and, therefore, took deep offence because I had dared\nenter his den so unceremoniously, and spy out the squalor and untidiness\nof it.\n\n\"Of course he was delighted to get hold of someone upon whom to vent his\nrage against things in general.\n\n\"For a moment I thought he would assault me; he grew so pale that he\nlooked like a woman about to have hysterics; his wife was dreadfully\nalarmed.\n\n\"'How dare you come in so? Be off!' he shouted, trembling all over with\nrage and scarcely able to articulate the words. Suddenly, however, he\nobserved his pocketbook in my hand.\n\n\"'I think you dropped this,' I remarked, as quietly and drily as I\ncould. (I thought it best to treat him so.) For some while he stood\nbefore me in downright terror, and seemed unable to understand. He then\nsuddenly grabbed at his side-pocket, opened his mouth in alarm, and beat\nhis forehead with his hand.\n\n\"'My God!' he cried, 'where did you find it? How?' I explained in as few\nwords as I could, and as drily as possible, how I had seen it and picked\nit up; how I had run after him, and called out to him, and how I had\nfollowed him upstairs and groped my way to his door.\n\n\"'Gracious Heaven!' he cried, 'all our papers are in it! My dear\nsir, you little know what you have done for us. I should have been\nlost--lost!'\n\n\"I had taken hold of the door-handle meanwhile, intending to leave\nthe room without reply; but I was panting with my run upstairs, and my\nexhaustion came to a climax in a violent fit of coughing, so bad that I\ncould hardly stand.\n\n\"I saw how the man dashed about the room to find me an empty chair, how\nhe kicked the rags off a chair which was covered up by them, brought it\nto me, and helped me to sit down; but my cough went on for another three\nminutes or so. When I came to myself he was sitting by me on another\nchair, which he had also cleared of the rubbish by throwing it all over\nthe floor, and was watching me intently.\n\n\"'I'm afraid you are ill?' he remarked, in the tone which doctors use\nwhen they address a patient. 'I am myself a medical man' (he did not say\n'doctor'), with which words he waved his hands towards the room and\nits contents as though in protest at his present condition. 'I see that\nyou--'\n\n\"'I'm in consumption,' I said laconically, rising from my seat.\n\n\"He jumped up, too.\n\n\"'Perhaps you are exaggerating--if you were to take proper measures\nperhaps--\"\n\n\"He was terribly confused and did not seem able to collect his scattered\nsenses; the pocket-book was still in his left hand.\n\n\"'Oh, don't mind me,' I said. 'Dr. B---- saw me last week' (I lugged him\nin again), 'and my hash is quite settled; pardon me-' I took hold of the\ndoor-handle again. I was on the point of opening the door and leaving my\ngrateful but confused medical friend to himself and his shame, when my\ndamnable cough got hold of me again.\n\n\"My doctor insisted on my sitting down again to get my breath. He now\nsaid something to his wife who, without leaving her place, addressed a\nfew words of gratitude and courtesy to me. She seemed very shy over it,\nand her sickly face flushed up with confusion. I remained, but with the\nair of a man who knows he is intruding and is anxious to get away. The\ndoctor's remorse at last seemed to need a vent, I could see.\n\n\"'If I--' he began, breaking off abruptly every other moment, and\nstarting another sentence. 'I--I am so very grateful to you, and I am so\nmuch to blame in your eyes, I feel sure, I--you see--' (he pointed to\nthe room again) 'at this moment I am in such a position-'\n\n\"'Oh!' I said, 'there's nothing to see; it's quite a clear case--you've\nlost your post and have come up to make explanations and get another, if\nyou can!'\n\n\"'How do you know that?' he asked in amazement.\n\n\"'Oh, it was evident at the first glance,' I said ironically, but\nnot intentionally so. 'There are lots of people who come up from the\nprovinces full of hope, and run about town, and have to live as best\nthey can.'\n\n\"He began to talk at once excitedly and with trembling lips; he began\ncomplaining and telling me his story. He interested me, I confess; I sat\nthere nearly an hour. His story was a very ordinary one. He had been a\nprovincial doctor; he had a civil appointment, and had no sooner taken\nit up than intrigues began. Even his wife was dragged into these. He was\nproud, and flew into a passion; there was a change of local government\nwhich acted in favour of his opponents; his position was undermined,\ncomplaints were made against him; he lost his post and came up to\nPetersburg with his last remaining money, in order to appeal to higher\nauthorities. Of course nobody would listen to him for a long time; he\nwould come and tell his story one day and be refused promptly; another\nday he would be fed on false promises; again he would be treated\nharshly; then he would be told to sign some documents; then he would\nsign the paper and hand it in, and they would refuse to receive it, and\ntell him to file a formal petition. In a word he had been driven about\nfrom office to office for five months and had spent every farthing he\nhad; his wife's last rags had just been pawned; and meanwhile a child\nhad been born to them and--and today I have a final refusal to my\npetition, and I have hardly a crumb of bread left--I have nothing left;\nmy wife has had a baby lately--and I--I--'\n\n\"He sprang up from his chair and turned away. His wife was crying in the\ncorner; the child had begun to moan again. I pulled out my note-book and\nbegan writing in it. When I had finished and rose from my chair he was\nstanding before me with an expression of alarmed curiosity.\n\n\"'I have jotted down your name,' I told him, 'and all the rest of\nit--the place you served at, the district, the date, and all. I have a\nfriend, Bachmatoff, whose uncle is a councillor of state and has to do\nwith these matters, one Peter Matveyevitch Bachmatoff.'\n\n\"'Peter Matveyevitch Bachmatoff!' he cried, trembling all over with\nexcitement. 'Why, nearly everything depends on that very man!'\n\n\"It is very curious, this story of the medical man, and my visit, and\nthe happy termination to which I contributed by accident! Everything\nfitted in, as in a novel. I told the poor people not to put much hope in\nme, because I was but a poor schoolboy myself--(I am not really, but\nI humiliated myself as much as possible in order to make them less\nhopeful)--but that I would go at once to the Vassili Ostroff and see my\nfriend; and that as I knew for certain that his uncle adored him, and\nwas absolutely devoted to him as the last hope and branch of the family,\nperhaps the old man might do something to oblige his nephew.\n\n\"'If only they would allow me to explain all to his excellency! If I\ncould but be permitted to tell my tale to him!\" he cried, trembling with\nfeverish agitation, and his eyes flashing with excitement. I repeated\nonce more that I could not hold out much hope--that it would probably\nend in smoke, and if I did not turn up next morning they must make up\ntheir minds that there was no more to be done in the matter.\n\n\"They showed me out with bows and every kind of respect; they seemed\nquite beside themselves. I shall never forget the expression of their\nfaces!\n\n\"I took a droshky and drove over to the Vassili Ostroff at once. For\nsome years I had been at enmity with this young Bachmatoff, at school.\nWe considered him an aristocrat; at all events I called him one. He used\nto dress smartly, and always drove to school in a private trap. He was\na good companion, and was always merry and jolly, sometimes even witty,\nthough he was not very intellectual, in spite of the fact that he was\nalways top of the class; I myself was never top in anything! All his\ncompanions were very fond of him, excepting myself. He had several times\nduring those years come up to me and tried to make friends; but I had\nalways turned sulkily away and refused to have anything to do with him.\nI had not seen him for a whole year now; he was at the university. When,\nat nine o'clock, or so, this evening, I arrived and was shown up to him\nwith great ceremony, he first received me with astonishment, and not too\naffably, but he soon cheered up, and suddenly gazed intently at me and\nburst out laughing.\n\n\"'Why, what on earth can have possessed you to come and see _me_,\nTerentieff?' he cried, with his usual pleasant, sometimes audacious, but\nnever offensive familiarity, which I liked in reality, but for which I\nalso detested him. 'Why what's the matter?' he cried in alarm. 'Are you\nill?'\n\n\"That confounded cough of mine had come on again; I fell into a chair,\nand with difficulty recovered my breath. 'It's all right, it's only\nconsumption' I said. 'I have come to you with a petition!'\n\n\"He sat down in amazement, and I lost no time in telling him the medical\nman's history; and explained that he, with the influence which he\npossessed over his uncle, might do some good to the poor fellow.\n\n\"'I'll do it--I'll do it, of course!' he said. 'I shall attack my uncle\nabout it tomorrow morning, and I'm very glad you told me the story. But\nhow was it that you thought of coming to me about it, Terentieff?'\n\n\"'So much depends upon your uncle,' I said. 'And besides we have always\nbeen enemies, Bachmatoff; and as you are a generous sort of fellow, I\nthought you would not refuse my request because I was your enemy!' I\nadded with irony.\n\n\"'Like Napoleon going to England, eh?' cried he, laughing. 'I'll do it\nthough--of course, and at once, if I can!' he added, seeing that I rose\nseriously from my chair at this point.\n\n\"And sure enough the matter ended as satisfactorily as possible. A month\nor so later my medical friend was appointed to another post. He got his\ntravelling expenses paid, and something to help him to start life with\nonce more. I think Bachmatoff must have persuaded the doctor to accept\na loan from himself. I saw Bachmatoff two or three times, about this\nperiod, the third time being when he gave a farewell dinner to the\ndoctor and his wife before their departure, a champagne dinner.\n\n\"Bachmatoff saw me home after the dinner and we crossed the Nicolai\nbridge. We were both a little drunk. He told me of his joy, the joyful\nfeeling of having done a good action; he said that it was all thanks to\nmyself that he could feel this satisfaction; and held forth about the\nfoolishness of the theory that individual charity is useless.\n\n\"I, too, was burning to have my say!\n\n\"'In Moscow,' I said, 'there was an old state counsellor, a civil\ngeneral, who, all his life, had been in the habit of visiting the\nprisons and speaking to criminals. Every party of convicts on its way\nto Siberia knew beforehand that on the Vorobeef Hills the \"old general\"\nwould pay them a visit. He did all he undertook seriously and devotedly.\nHe would walk down the rows of the unfortunate prisoners, stop before\neach individual and ask after his needs--he never sermonized them; he\nspoke kindly to them--he gave them money; he brought them all sorts of\nnecessaries for the journey, and gave them devotional books, choosing\nthose who could read, under the firm conviction that they would read to\nthose who could not, as they went along.\n\n\"'He scarcely ever talked about the particular crimes of any of them,\nbut listened if any volunteered information on that point. All the\nconvicts were equal for him, and he made no distinction. He spoke to all\nas to brothers, and every one of them looked upon him as a father. When\nhe observed among the exiles some poor woman with a child, he would\nalways come forward and fondle the little one, and make it laugh. He\ncontinued these acts of mercy up to his very death; and by that time all\nthe criminals, all over Russia and Siberia, knew him!\n\n\"'A man I knew who had been to Siberia and returned, told me that he\nhimself had been a witness of how the very most hardened criminals\nremembered the old general, though, in point of fact, he could never,\nof course, have distributed more than a few pence to each member of a\nparty. Their recollection of him was not sentimental or particularly\ndevoted. Some wretch, for instance, who had been a murderer--cutting the\nthroat of a dozen fellow-creatures, for instance; or stabbing six\nlittle children for his own amusement (there have been such men!)--would\nperhaps, without rhyme or reason, suddenly give a sigh and say, \"I\nwonder whether that old general is alive still!\" Although perhaps he had\nnot thought of mentioning him for a dozen years before! How can one say\nwhat seed of good may have been dropped into his soul, never to die?'\n\n\"I continued in that strain for a long while, pointing out to Bachmatoff\nhow impossible it is to follow up the effects of any isolated good deed\none may do, in all its influences and subtle workings upon the heart and\nafter-actions of others.\n\n\"'And to think that you are to be cut off from life!' remarked\nBachmatoff, in a tone of reproach, as though he would like to find\nsomeone to pitch into on my account.\n\n\"We were leaning over the balustrade of the bridge, looking into the\nNeva at this moment.\n\n\"'Do you know what has suddenly come into my head?' said I,\nsuddenly--leaning further and further over the rail.\n\n\"'Surely not to throw yourself into the river?' cried Bachmatoff in\nalarm. Perhaps he read my thought in my face.\n\n\"'No, not yet. At present nothing but the following consideration. You\nsee I have some two or three months left me to live--perhaps four; well,\nsupposing that when I have but a month or two more, I take a fancy for\nsome \"good deed\" that needs both trouble and time, like this business of\nour doctor friend, for instance: why, I shall have to give up the idea\nof it and take to something else--some _little_ good deed, _more within my\nmeans_, eh? Isn't that an amusing idea!'\n\n\"Poor Bachmatoff was much impressed--painfully so. He took me all the\nway home; not attempting to console me, but behaving with the greatest\ndelicacy. On taking leave he pressed my hand warmly and asked permission\nto come and see me. I replied that if he came to me as a 'comforter,' so\nto speak (for he would be in that capacity whether he spoke to me in a\nsoothing manner or only kept silence, as I pointed out to him), he\nwould but remind me each time of my approaching death! He shrugged his\nshoulders, but quite agreed with me; and we parted better friends than I\nhad expected.\n\n\"But that evening and that night were sown the first seeds of my 'last\nconviction.' I seized greedily on my new idea; I thirstily drank in\nall its different aspects (I did not sleep a wink that night!), and the\ndeeper I went into it the more my being seemed to merge itself in it,\nand the more alarmed I became. A dreadful terror came over me at last,\nand did not leave me all next day.\n\n\"Sometimes, thinking over this, I became quite numb with the terror\nof it; and I might well have deduced from this fact, that my 'last\nconviction' was eating into my being too fast and too seriously, and\nwould undoubtedly come to its climax before long. And for the climax I\nneeded greater determination than I yet possessed.\n\n\"However, within three weeks my determination was taken, owing to a very\nstrange circumstance.\n\n\"Here on my paper, I make a note of all the figures and dates that\ncome into my explanation. Of course, it is all the same to me, but just\nnow--and perhaps only at this moment--I desire that all those who are to\njudge of my action should see clearly out of how logical a sequence of\ndeductions has at length proceeded my 'last conviction.'\n\n\"I have said above that the determination needed by me for the\naccomplishment of my final resolve, came to hand not through any\nsequence of causes, but thanks to a certain strange circumstance which\nhad perhaps no connection whatever with the matter at issue. Ten days\nago Rogojin called upon me about certain business of his own with which\nI have nothing to do at present. I had never seen Rogojin before, but\nhad often heard about him.\n\n\"I gave him all the information he needed, and he very soon took his\ndeparture; so that, since he only came for the purpose of gaining the\ninformation, the matter might have been expected to end there.\n\n\"But he interested me too much, and all that day I was under the\ninfluence of strange thoughts connected with him, and I determined to\nreturn his visit the next day.\n\n\"Rogojin was evidently by no means pleased to see me, and hinted,\ndelicately, that he saw no reason why our acquaintance should continue.\nFor all that, however, I spent a very interesting hour, and so, I dare\nsay, did he. There was so great a contrast between us that I am sure we\nmust both have felt it; anyhow, I felt it acutely. Here was I, with my\ndays numbered, and he, a man in the full vigour of life, living in\nthe present, without the slightest thought for 'final convictions,' or\nnumbers, or days, or, in fact, for anything but that which-which--well,\nwhich he was mad about, if he will excuse me the expression--as a feeble\nauthor who cannot express his ideas properly.\n\n\"In spite of his lack of amiability, I could not help seeing, in Rogojin\na man of intellect and sense; and although, perhaps, there was little in\nthe outside world which was of interest to him, still he was clearly a\nman with eyes to see.\n\n\"I hinted nothing to him about my 'final conviction,' but it appeared\nto me that he had guessed it from my words. He remained silent--he is\na terribly silent man. I remarked to him, as I rose to depart, that,\nin spite of the contrast and the wide differences between us two,\nles extremites se touchent ('extremes meet,' as I explained to him in\nRussian); so that maybe he was not so far from my final conviction as\nappeared.\n\n\"His only reply to this was a sour grimace. He rose and looked for\nmy cap, and placed it in my hand, and led me out of the house--that\ndreadful gloomy house of his--to all appearances, of course, as though I\nwere leaving of my own accord, and he were simply seeing me to the\ndoor out of politeness. His house impressed me much; it is like a\nburial-ground, he seems to like it, which is, however, quite natural.\nSuch a full life as he leads is so overflowing with absorbing interests\nthat he has little need of assistance from his surroundings.\n\n\"The visit to Rogojin exhausted me terribly. Besides, I had felt ill\nsince the morning; and by evening I was so weak that I took to my bed,\nand was in high fever at intervals, and even delirious. Colia sat with\nme until eleven o'clock.\n\n\"Yet I remember all he talked about, and every word we said, though\nwhenever my eyes closed for a moment I could picture nothing but the\nimage of Surikoff just in the act of finding a million roubles. He could\nnot make up his mind what to do with the money, and tore his hair over\nit. He trembled with fear that somebody would rob him, and at last\nhe decided to bury it in the ground. I persuaded him that, instead of\nputting it all away uselessly underground, he had better melt it down\nand make a golden coffin out of it for his starved child, and then dig\nup the little one and put her into the golden coffin. Surikoff accepted\nthis suggestion, I thought, with tears of gratitude, and immediately\ncommenced to carry out my design.\n\n\"I thought I spat on the ground and left him in disgust. Colia told\nme, when I quite recovered my senses, that I had not been asleep for a\nmoment, but that I had spoken to him about Surikoff the whole while.\n\n\"At moments I was in a state of dreadful weakness and misery, so that\nColia was greatly disturbed when he left me.\n\n\"When I arose to lock the door after him, I suddenly called to mind a\npicture I had noticed at Rogojin's in one of his gloomiest rooms, over\nthe door. He had pointed it out to me himself as we walked past it, and\nI believe I must have stood a good five minutes in front of it. There\nwas nothing artistic about it, but the picture made me feel strangely\nuncomfortable. It represented Christ just taken down from the cross. It\nseems to me that painters as a rule represent the Saviour, both on the\ncross and taken down from it, with great beauty still upon His face.\nThis marvellous beauty they strive to preserve even in His moments of\ndeepest agony and passion. But there was no such beauty in Rogojin's\npicture. This was the presentment of a poor mangled body which had\nevidently suffered unbearable anguish even before its crucifixion, full\nof wounds and bruises, marks of the violence of soldiers and people, and\nof the bitterness of the moment when He had fallen with the cross--all\nthis combined with the anguish of the actual crucifixion.\n\n\"The face was depicted as though still suffering; as though the body,\nonly just dead, was still almost quivering with agony. The picture was\none of pure nature, for the face was not beautified by the artist, but\nwas left as it would naturally be, whosoever the sufferer, after such\nanguish.\n\n\"I know that the earliest Christian faith taught that the Saviour\nsuffered actually and not figuratively, and that nature was allowed her\nown way even while His body was on the cross.\n\n\"It is strange to look on this dreadful picture of the mangled corpse\nof the Saviour, and to put this question to oneself: 'Supposing that the\ndisciples, the future apostles, the women who had followed Him and stood\nby the cross, all of whom believed in and worshipped Him--supposing\nthat they saw this tortured body, this face so mangled and bleeding and\nbruised (and they _must_ have so seen it)--how could they have gazed upon\nthe dreadful sight and yet have believed that He would rise again?'\n\n\"The thought steps in, whether one likes it or no, that death is so\nterrible and so powerful, that even He who conquered it in His miracles\nduring life was unable to triumph over it at the last. He who called\nto Lazarus, 'Lazarus, come forth!' and the dead man lived--He was now\nHimself a prey to nature and death. Nature appears to one, looking at\nthis picture, as some huge, implacable, dumb monster; or still better--a\nstranger simile--some enormous mechanical engine of modern days which\nhas seized and crushed and swallowed up a great and invaluable Being,\na Being worth nature and all her laws, worth the whole earth, which was\nperhaps created merely for the sake of the advent of that Being.\n\n\"This blind, dumb, implacable, eternal, unreasoning force is well shown\nin the picture, and the absolute subordination of all men and things to\nit is so well expressed that the idea unconsciously arises in the mind\nof anyone who looks at it. All those faithful people who were gazing at\nthe cross and its mutilated occupant must have suffered agony of mind\nthat evening; for they must have felt that all their hopes and almost\nall their faith had been shattered at a blow. They must have separated\nin terror and dread that night, though each perhaps carried away with\nhim one great thought which was never eradicated from his mind for ever\nafterwards. If this great Teacher of theirs could have seen Himself\nafter the Crucifixion, how could He have consented to mount the Cross\nand to die as He did? This thought also comes into the mind of the man\nwho gazes at this picture. I thought of all this by snatches probably\nbetween my attacks of delirium--for an hour and a half or so before\nColia's departure.\n\n\"Can there be an appearance of that which has no form? And yet it seemed\nto me, at certain moments, that I beheld in some strange and impossible\nform, that dark, dumb, irresistibly powerful, eternal force.\n\n\"I thought someone led me by the hand and showed me, by the light of\na candle, a huge, loathsome insect, which he assured me was that very\nforce, that very almighty, dumb, irresistible Power, and laughed at\nthe indignation with which I received this information. In my room they\nalways light the little lamp before my icon for the night; it gives a\nfeeble flicker of light, but it is strong enough to see by dimly, and\nif you sit just under it you can even read by it. I think it was about\ntwelve or a little past that night. I had not slept a wink, and was\nlying with my eyes wide open, when suddenly the door opened, and in came\nRogojin.\n\n\"He entered, and shut the door behind him. Then he silently gazed at me\nand went quickly to the corner of the room where the lamp was burning\nand sat down underneath it.\n\n\"I was much surprised, and looked at him expectantly.\n\n\"Rogojin only leaned his elbow on the table and silently stared at me.\nSo passed two or three minutes, and I recollect that his silence hurt\nand offended me very much. Why did he not speak?\n\n\"That his arrival at this time of night struck me as more or less\nstrange may possibly be the case; but I remember I was by no means\namazed at it. On the contrary, though I had not actually told him my\nthought in the morning, yet I know he understood it; and this thought\nwas of such a character that it would not be anything very remarkable,\nif one were to come for further talk about it at any hour of night,\nhowever late.\n\n\"I thought he must have come for this purpose.\n\n\"In the morning we had parted not the best of friends; I remember he\nlooked at me with disagreeable sarcasm once or twice; and this same look\nI observed in his eyes now--which was the cause of the annoyance I felt.\n\n\"I did not for a moment suspect that I was delirious and that this\nRogojin was but the result of fever and excitement. I had not the\nslightest idea of such a theory at first.\n\n\"Meanwhile he continued to sit and stare jeeringly at me.\n\n\"I angrily turned round in bed and made up my mind that I would not say\na word unless he did; so I rested silently on my pillow determined to\nremain dumb, if it were to last till morning. I felt resolved that he\nshould speak first. Probably twenty minutes or so passed in this way.\nSuddenly the idea struck me--what if this is an apparition and not\nRogojin himself?\n\n\"Neither during my illness nor at any previous time had I ever seen an\napparition;--but I had always thought, both when I was a little boy, and\neven now, that if I were to see one I should die on the spot--though I\ndon't believe in ghosts. And yet _now_, when the idea struck me that this\nwas a ghost and not Rogojin at all, I was not in the least alarmed.\nNay--the thought actually irritated me. Strangely enough, the decision\nof the question as to whether this were a ghost or Rogojin did not, for\nsome reason or other, interest me nearly so much as it ought to have\ndone;--I think I began to muse about something altogether different. For\ninstance, I began to wonder why Rogojin, who had been in dressing--gown\nand slippers when I saw him at home, had now put on a dress-coat and\nwhite waistcoat and tie? I also thought to myself, I remember--'if\nthis is a ghost, and I am not afraid of it, why don't I approach it and\nverify my suspicions? Perhaps I am afraid--' And no sooner did this last\nidea enter my head than an icy blast blew over me; I felt a chill down\nmy backbone and my knees shook.\n\n\"At this very moment, as though divining my thoughts, Rogojin raised his\nhead from his arm and began to part his lips as though he were going to\nlaugh--but he continued to stare at me as persistently as before.\n\n\"I felt so furious with him at this moment that I longed to rush at\nhim; but as I had sworn that he should speak first, I continued to lie\nstill--and the more willingly, as I was still by no means satisfied as\nto whether it really was Rogojin or not.\n\n\"I cannot remember how long this lasted; I cannot recollect, either,\nwhether consciousness forsook me at intervals, or not. But at last\nRogojin rose, staring at me as intently as ever, but not smiling any\nlonger,--and walking very softly, almost on tip-toes, to the door, he\nopened it, went out, and shut it behind him.\n\n\"I did not rise from my bed, and I don't know how long I lay with my\neyes open, thinking. I don't know what I thought about, nor how I fell\nasleep or became insensible; but I awoke next morning after nine o'clock\nwhen they knocked at my door. My general orders are that if I don't open\nthe door and call, by nine o'clock, Matreona is to come and bring my\ntea. When I now opened the door to her, the thought suddenly struck\nme--how could he have come in, since the door was locked? I made\ninquiries and found that Rogojin himself could not possibly have come\nin, because all our doors were locked for the night.\n\n\"Well, this strange circumstance--which I have described with so\nmuch detail--was the ultimate cause which led me to taking my final\ndetermination. So that no logic, or logical deductions, had anything to\ndo with my resolve;--it was simply a matter of disgust.\n\n\"It was impossible for me to go on living when life was full of such\ndetestable, strange, tormenting forms. This ghost had humiliated\nme;--nor could I bear to be subordinate to that dark, horrible force\nwhich was embodied in the form of the loathsome insect. It was only\ntowards evening, when I had quite made up my mind on this point, that I\nbegan to feel easier.\"\n\nVII.\n\n\"I had a small pocket pistol. I had procured it while still a boy, at\nthat droll age when the stories of duels and highwaymen begin to delight\none, and when one imagines oneself nobly standing fire at some future\nday, in a duel.\n\n\"There were a couple of old bullets in the bag which contained the\npistol, and powder enough in an old flask for two or three charges.\n\n\"The pistol was a wretched thing, very crooked and wouldn't carry\nfarther than fifteen paces at the most. However, it would send your\nskull flying well enough if you pressed the muzzle of it against your\ntemple.\n\n\"I determined to die at Pavlofsk at sunrise, in the park--so as to make\nno commotion in the house.\n\n\"This 'explanation' will make the matter clear enough to the police.\nStudents of psychology, and anyone else who likes, may make what they\nplease of it. I should not like this paper, however, to be made public.\nI request the prince to keep a copy himself, and to give a copy to\nAglaya Ivanovna Epanchin. This is my last will and testament. As for\nmy skeleton, I bequeath it to the Medical Academy for the benefit of\nscience.\n\n\"I recognize no jurisdiction over myself, and I know that I am now\nbeyond the power of laws and judges.\n\n\"A little while ago a very amusing idea struck me. What if I were now to\ncommit some terrible crime--murder ten fellow-creatures, for instance,\nor anything else that is thought most shocking and dreadful in this\nworld--what a dilemma my judges would be in, with a criminal who only\nhas a fortnight to live in any case, now that the rack and other forms\nof torture are abolished! Why, I should die comfortably in their own\nhospital--in a warm, clean room, with an attentive doctor--probably much\nmore comfortably than I should at home.\n\n\"I don't understand why people in my position do not oftener indulge in\nsuch ideas--if only for a joke! Perhaps they do! Who knows! There are\nplenty of merry souls among us!\n\n\"But though I do not recognize any jurisdiction over myself, still I\nknow that I shall be judged, when I am nothing but a voiceless lump\nof clay; therefore I do not wish to go before I have left a word of\nreply--the reply of a free man--not one forced to justify himself--oh\nno! I have no need to ask forgiveness of anyone. I wish to say a word\nmerely because I happen to desire it of my own free will.\n\n\"Here, in the first place, comes a strange thought!\n\n\"Who, in the name of what Law, would think of disputing my full personal\nright over the fortnight of life left to me? What jurisdiction can\nbe brought to bear upon the case? Who would wish me, not only to be\nsentenced, but to endure the sentence to the end? Surely there exists\nno man who would wish such a thing--why should anyone desire it? For\nthe sake of morality? Well, I can understand that if I were to make\nan attempt upon my own life while in the enjoyment of full health and\nvigour--my life which might have been 'useful,' etc., etc.--morality\nmight reproach me, according to the old routine, for disposing of my\nlife without permission--or whatever its tenet may be. But now, _now_,\nwhen my sentence is out and my days numbered! How can morality have need\nof my last breaths, and why should I die listening to the consolations\noffered by the prince, who, without doubt, would not omit to demonstrate\nthat death is actually a benefactor to me? (Christians like him always\nend up with that--it is their pet theory.) And what do they want with\ntheir ridiculous 'Pavlofsk trees'? To sweeten my last hours? Cannot they\nunderstand that the more I forget myself, the more I let myself become\nattached to these last illusions of life and love, by means of which\nthey try to hide from me Meyer's wall, and all that is so plainly\nwritten on it--the more unhappy they make me? What is the use of all\nyour nature to me--all your parks and trees, your sunsets and sunrises,\nyour blue skies and your self-satisfied faces--when all this wealth\nof beauty and happiness begins with the fact that it accounts me--only\nme--one too many! What is the good of all this beauty and glory to me,\nwhen every second, every moment, I cannot but be aware that this little\nfly which buzzes around my head in the sun's rays--even this little fly\nis a sharer and participator in all the glory of the universe, and knows\nits place and is happy in it;--while I--only I, am an outcast, and have\nbeen blind to the fact hitherto, thanks to my simplicity! Oh! I know\nwell how the prince and others would like me, instead of indulging in\nall these wicked words of my own, to sing, to the glory and triumph of\nmorality, that well-known verse of Gilbert's:\n\n  \"'O, puissent voir longtemps votre beauté sacrée\n    Tant d'amis, sourds à mes adieux!\n    Qu'ils meurent pleins de jours, que leur mort soit pleurée,\n    Qu'un ami leur ferme les yeux!'\n\n\"But believe me, believe me, my simple-hearted friends, that in this\nhighly moral verse, in this academical blessing to the world in general\nin the French language, is hidden the intensest gall and bitterness;\nbut so well concealed is the venom, that I dare say the poet actually\npersuaded himself that his words were full of the tears of pardon and\npeace, instead of the bitterness of disappointment and malice, and so\ndied in the delusion.\n\n\"Do you know there is a limit of ignominy, beyond which man's\nconsciousness of shame cannot go, and after which begins satisfaction in\nshame? Well, of course humility is a great force in that sense, I admit\nthat--though not in the sense in which religion accounts humility to be\nstrength!\n\n\"Religion!--I admit eternal life--and perhaps I always did admit it.\n\n\"Admitted that consciousness is called into existence by the will of a\nHigher Power; admitted that this consciousness looks out upon the world\nand says 'I am;' and admitted that the Higher Power wills that the\nconsciousness so called into existence, be suddenly extinguished (for\nso--for some unexplained reason--it is and must be)--still there comes\nthe eternal question--why must I be humble through all this? Is it not\nenough that I am devoured, without my being expected to bless the\npower that devours me? Surely--surely I need not suppose that\nSomebody--there--will be offended because I do not wish to live out the\nfortnight allowed me? I don't believe it.\n\n\"It is much simpler, and far more likely, to believe that my death\nis needed--the death of an insignificant atom--in order to fulfil the\ngeneral harmony of the universe--in order to make even some plus or\nminus in the sum of existence. Just as every day the death of numbers of\nbeings is necessary because without their annihilation the rest cannot\nlive on--(although we must admit that the idea is not a particularly\ngrand one in itself!)\n\n\"However--admit the fact! Admit that without such perpetual devouring of\none another the world cannot continue to exist, or could never have been\norganized--I am ever ready to confess that I cannot understand why this\nis so--but I'll tell you what I _do_ know, for certain. If I have once\nbeen given to understand and realize that I _am_--what does it matter\nto me that the world is organized on a system full of errors and that\notherwise it cannot be organized at all? Who will or can judge me after\nthis? Say what you like--the thing is impossible and unjust!\n\n\"And meanwhile I have never been able, in spite of my great desire to\ndo so, to persuade myself that there is no future existence, and no\nProvidence.\n\n\"The fact of the matter is that all this _does_ exist, but that we know\nabsolutely nothing about the future life and its laws!\n\n\"But it is so difficult, and even impossible to understand, that surely\nI am not to be blamed because I could not fathom the incomprehensible?\n\n\"Of course I know they say that one must be obedient, and of course,\ntoo, the prince is one of those who say so: that one must be obedient\nwithout questions, out of pure goodness of heart, and that for my worthy\nconduct in this matter I shall meet with reward in another world. We\ndegrade God when we attribute our own ideas to Him, out of annoyance\nthat we cannot fathom His ways.\n\n\"Again, I repeat, I cannot be blamed because I am unable to understand\nthat which it is not given to mankind to fathom. Why am I to be judged\nbecause I could not comprehend the Will and Laws of Providence? No, we\nhad better drop religion.\n\n\"And enough of this. By the time I have got so far in the reading of\nmy document the sun will be up and the huge force of his rays will be\nacting upon the living world. So be it. I shall die gazing straight at\nthe great Fountain of life and power; I do not want this life!\n\n\"If I had had the power to prevent my own birth I should certainly never\nhave consented to accept existence under such ridiculous conditions.\nHowever, I have the power to end my existence, although I do but give\nback days that are already numbered. It is an insignificant gift, and my\nrevolt is equally insignificant.\n\n\"Final explanation: I die, not in the least because I am unable to\nsupport these next three weeks. Oh no, I should find strength enough,\nand if I wished it I could obtain consolation from the thought of the\ninjury that is done me. But I am not a French poet, and I do not desire\nsuch consolation. And finally, nature has so limited my capacity for\nwork or activity of any kind, in allotting me but three weeks of time,\nthat suicide is about the only thing left that I can begin and end in\nthe time of my own free will.\n\n\"Perhaps then I am anxious to take advantage of my last chance of doing\nsomething for myself. A protest is sometimes no small thing.\"\n\nThe explanation was finished; Hippolyte paused at last.\n\nThere is, in extreme cases, a final stage of cynical candour when a\nnervous man, excited, and beside himself with emotion, will be afraid\nof nothing and ready for any sort of scandal, nay, glad of it. The\nextraordinary, almost unnatural, tension of the nerves which upheld\nHippolyte up to this point, had now arrived at this final stage. This\npoor feeble boy of eighteen--exhausted by disease--looked for all the\nworld as weak and frail as a leaflet torn from its parent tree and\ntrembling in the breeze; but no sooner had his eye swept over his\naudience, for the first time during the whole of the last hour, than the\nmost contemptuous, the most haughty expression of repugnance lighted\nup his face. He defied them all, as it were. But his hearers were\nindignant, too; they rose to their feet with annoyance. Fatigue,\nthe wine consumed, the strain of listening so long, all added to the\ndisagreeable impression which the reading had made upon them.\n\nSuddenly Hippolyte jumped up as though he had been shot.\n\n\"The sun is rising,\" he cried, seeing the gilded tops of the trees, and\npointing to them as to a miracle. \"See, it is rising now!\"\n\n\"Well, what then? Did you suppose it wasn't going to rise?\" asked\nFerdishenko.\n\n\"It's going to be atrociously hot again all day,\" said Gania, with an\nair of annoyance, taking his hat. \"A month of this... Are you coming\nhome, Ptitsin?\" Hippolyte listened to this in amazement, almost\namounting to stupefaction. Suddenly he became deadly pale and shuddered.\n\n\"You manage your composure too awkwardly. I see you wish to insult me,\"\nhe cried to Gania. \"You--you are a cur!\" He looked at Gania with an\nexpression of malice.\n\n\"What on earth is the matter with the boy? What phenomenal\nfeeble-mindedness!\" exclaimed Ferdishenko.\n\n\"Oh, he's simply a fool,\" said Gania.\n\nHippolyte braced himself up a little.\n\n\"I understand, gentlemen,\" he began, trembling as before, and stumbling\nover every word, \"that I have deserved your resentment, and--and\nam sorry that I should have troubled you with this raving nonsense\"\n(pointing to his article), \"or rather, I am sorry that I have not\ntroubled you enough.\" He smiled feebly. \"Have I troubled you, Evgenie\nPavlovitch?\" He suddenly turned on Evgenie with this question. \"Tell me\nnow, have I troubled you or not?\"\n\n\"Well, it was a little drawn out, perhaps; but--\"\n\n\"Come, speak out! Don't lie, for once in your life--speak out!\"\ncontinued Hippolyte, quivering with agitation.\n\n\"Oh, my good sir, I assure you it's entirely the same to me. Please\nleave me in peace,\" said Evgenie, angrily, turning his back on him.\n\n\"Good-night, prince,\" said Ptitsin, approaching his host.\n\n\"What are you thinking of? Don't go, he'll blow his brains out in a\nminute!\" cried Vera Lebedeff, rushing up to Hippolyte and catching hold\nof his hands in a torment of alarm. \"What are you thinking of? He said\nhe would blow his brains out at sunrise.\"\n\n\"Oh, he won't shoot himself!\" cried several voices, sarcastically.\n\n\"Gentlemen, you'd better look out,\" cried Colia, also seizing Hippolyte\nby the hand. \"Just look at him! Prince, what are you thinking of?\" Vera\nand Colia, and Keller, and Burdovsky were all crowding round Hippolyte\nnow and holding him down.\n\n\"He has the right--the right--\" murmured Burdovsky. \"Excuse me, prince,\nbut what are your arrangements?\" asked Lebedeff, tipsy and exasperated,\ngoing up to Muishkin.\n\n\"What do you mean by 'arrangements'?\"\n\n\"No, no, excuse me! I'm master of this house, though I do not wish to\nlack respect towards you. You are master of the house too, in a way; but\nI can't allow this sort of thing--\"\n\n\"He won't shoot himself; the boy is only playing the fool,\" said General\nIvolgin, suddenly and unexpectedly, with indignation.\n\n\"I know he won't, I know he won't, general; but I--I'm master here!\"\n\n\"Listen, Mr. Terentieff,\" said Ptitsin, who had bidden the prince\ngood-night, and was now holding out his hand to Hippolyte; \"I think you\nremark in that manuscript of yours, that you bequeath your skeleton to\nthe Academy. Are you referring to your own skeleton--I mean, your very\nbones?\"\n\n\"Yes, my bones, I--\"\n\n\"Quite so, I see; because, you know, little mistakes have occurred now\nand then. There was a case--\"\n\n\"Why do you tease him?\" cried the prince, suddenly.\n\n\"You've moved him to tears,\" added Ferdishenko. But Hippolyte was by no\nmeans weeping. He was about to move from his place, when his four guards\nrushed at him and seized him once more. There was a laugh at this.\n\n\"He led up to this on purpose. He took the trouble of writing all that\nso that people should come and grab him by the arm,\" observed Rogojin.\n\"Good-night, prince. What a time we've sat here, my very bones ache!\"\n\n\"If you really intended to shoot yourself, Terentieff,\" said Evgenie\nPavlovitch, laughing, \"if I were you, after all these compliments, I\nshould just not shoot myself in order to vex them all.\"\n\n\"They are very anxious to see me blow my brains out,\" said Hippolyte,\nbitterly.\n\n\"Yes, they'll be awfully annoyed if they don't see it.\"\n\n\"Then you think they won't see it?\"\n\n\"I am not trying to egg you on. On the contrary, I think it very likely\nthat you may shoot yourself; but the principal thing is to keep cool,\"\nsaid Evgenie with a drawl, and with great condescension.\n\n\"I only now perceive what a terrible mistake I made in reading this\narticle to them,\" said Hippolyte, suddenly, addressing Evgenie, and\nlooking at him with an expression of trust and confidence, as though he\nwere applying to a friend for counsel.\n\n\"Yes, it's a droll situation; I really don't know what advice to give\nyou,\" replied Evgenie, laughing. Hippolyte gazed steadfastly at him,\nbut said nothing. To look at him one might have supposed that he was\nunconscious at intervals.\n\n\"Excuse me,\" said Lebedeff, \"but did you observe the young gentleman's\nstyle? 'I'll go and blow my brains out in the park,' says he,' so as not\nto disturb anyone.' He thinks he won't disturb anybody if he goes three\nyards away, into the park, and blows his brains out there.\"\n\n\"Gentlemen--\" began the prince.\n\n\"No, no, excuse me, most revered prince,\" Lebedeff interrupted,\nexcitedly. \"Since you must have observed yourself that this is no joke,\nand since at least half your guests must also have concluded that after\nall that has been said this youth _must_ blow his brains out for honour's\nsake--I--as master of this house, and before these witnesses, now call\nupon you to take steps.\"\n\n\"Yes, but what am I to do, Lebedeff? What steps am I to take? I am\nready.\"\n\n\"I'll tell you. In the first place he must immediately deliver up the\npistol which he boasted of, with all its appurtenances. If he does\nthis I shall consent to his being allowed to spend the night in\nthis house--considering his feeble state of health, and of course\nconditionally upon his being under proper supervision. But tomorrow he\nmust go elsewhere. Excuse me, prince! Should he refuse to deliver up his\nweapon, then I shall instantly seize one of his arms and General Ivolgin\nthe other, and we shall hold him until the police arrive and take the\nmatter into their own hands. Mr. Ferdishenko will kindly fetch them.\"\n\nAt this there was a dreadful noise; Lebedeff danced about in his\nexcitement; Ferdishenko prepared to go for the police; Gania frantically\ninsisted that it was all nonsense, \"for nobody was going to shoot\nthemselves.\" Evgenie Pavlovitch said nothing.\n\n\"Prince,\" whispered Hippolyte, suddenly, his eyes all ablaze, \"you don't\nsuppose that I did not foresee all this hatred?\" He looked at the prince\nas though he expected him to reply, for a moment. \"Enough!\" he added at\nlength, and addressing the whole company, he cried: \"It's all my fault,\ngentlemen! Lebedeff, here's the key,\" (he took out a small bunch of\nkeys); \"this one, the last but one--Colia will show you--Colia, where's\nColia?\" he cried, looking straight at Colia and not seeing him. \"Yes,\nhe'll show you; he packed the bag with me this morning. Take him up,\nColia; my bag is upstairs in the prince's study, under the table. Here's\nthe key, and in the little case you'll find my pistol and the powder,\nand all. Colia packed it himself, Mr. Lebedeff; he'll show you; but it's\non condition that tomorrow morning, when I leave for Petersburg, you\nwill give me back my pistol, do you hear? I do this for the prince's\nsake, not yours.\"\n\n\"Capital, that's much better!\" cried Lebedeff, and seizing the key he\nmade off in haste.\n\nColia stopped a moment as though he wished to say something; but\nLebedeff dragged him away.\n\nHippolyte looked around at the laughing guests. The prince observed that\nhis teeth were chattering as though in a violent attack of ague.\n\n\"What brutes they all are!\" he whispered to the prince. Whenever he\naddressed him he lowered his voice.\n\n\"Let them alone, you're too weak now--\"\n\n\"Yes, directly; I'll go away directly. I'll--\"\n\nSuddenly he embraced Muishkin.\n\n\"Perhaps you think I am mad, eh?\" he asked him, laughing very strangely.\n\n\"No, but you--\"\n\n\"Directly, directly! Stand still a moment, I wish to look in your eyes;\ndon't speak--stand so--let me look at you! I am bidding farewell to\nmankind.\"\n\nHe stood so for ten seconds, gazing at the prince, motionless, deadly\npale, his temples wet with perspiration; he held the prince's hand in a\nstrange grip, as though afraid to let him go.\n\n\"Hippolyte, Hippolyte, what is the matter with you?\" cried Muishkin.\n\n\"Directly! There, that's enough. I'll lie down directly. I must drink to\nthe sun's health. I wish to--I insist upon it! Let go!\"\n\nHe seized a glass from the table, broke away from the prince, and in a\nmoment had reached the terrace steps.\n\nThe prince made after him, but it so happened that at this moment\nEvgenie Pavlovitch stretched out his hand to say good-night. The next\ninstant there was a general outcry, and then followed a few moments of\nindescribable excitement.\n\nReaching the steps, Hippolyte had paused, holding the glass in his left\nhand while he put his right hand into his coat pocket.\n\nKeller insisted afterwards that he had held his right hand in his pocket\nall the while, when he was speaking to the prince, and that he had held\nthe latter's shoulder with his left hand only. This circumstance, Keller\naffirmed, had led him to feel some suspicion from the first. However\nthis may be, Keller ran after Hippolyte, but he was too late.\n\nHe caught sight of something flashing in Hippolyte's right hand, and\nsaw that it was a pistol. He rushed at him, but at that very instant\nHippolyte raised the pistol to his temple and pulled the trigger. There\nfollowed a sharp metallic click, but no report.\n\nWhen Keller seized the would-be suicide, the latter fell forward into\nhis arms, probably actually believing that he was shot. Keller had hold\nof the pistol now. Hippolyte was immediately placed in a chair, while\nthe whole company thronged around excitedly, talking and asking each\nother questions. Every one of them had heard the snap of the trigger,\nand yet they saw a live and apparently unharmed man before them.\n\nHippolyte himself sat quite unconscious of what was going on, and gazed\naround with a senseless expression.\n\nLebedeff and Colia came rushing up at this moment.\n\n\"What is it?\" someone asked, breathlessly--\"A misfire?\"\n\n\"Perhaps it wasn't loaded,\" said several voices.\n\n\"It's loaded all right,\" said Keller, examining the pistol, \"but--\"\n\n\"What! did it miss fire?\"\n\n\"There was no cap in it,\" Keller announced.\n\nIt would be difficult to describe the pitiable scene that now followed.\nThe first sensation of alarm soon gave place to amusement; some\nburst out laughing loud and heartily, and seemed to find a malicious\nsatisfaction in the joke. Poor Hippolyte sobbed hysterically; he wrung\nhis hands; he approached everyone in turn--even Ferdishenko--and took\nthem by both hands, and swore solemnly that he had forgotten--absolutely\nforgotten--\"accidentally, and not on purpose,\"--to put a cap in--that\nhe \"had ten of them, at least, in his pocket.\" He pulled them out and\nshowed them to everyone; he protested that he had not liked to put one\nin beforehand for fear of an accidental explosion in his pocket. That\nhe had thought he would have lots of time to put it in afterwards--when\nrequired--and, that, in the heat of the moment, he had forgotten all\nabout it. He threw himself upon the prince, then on Evgenie Pavlovitch.\nHe entreated Keller to give him back the pistol, and he'd soon show them\nall that \"his honour--his honour,\"--but he was \"dishonoured, now, for\never!\"\n\nHe fell senseless at last--and was carried into the prince's study.\n\nLebedeff, now quite sobered down, sent for a doctor; and he and his\ndaughter, with Burdovsky and General Ivolgin, remained by the sick man's\ncouch.\n\nWhen he was carried away unconscious, Keller stood in the middle of the\nroom, and made the following declaration to the company in general, in a\nloud tone of voice, with emphasis upon each word.\n\n\"Gentlemen, if any one of you casts any doubt again, before me,\nupon Hippolyte's good faith, or hints that the cap was forgotten\nintentionally, or suggests that this unhappy boy was acting a part\nbefore us, I beg to announce that the person so speaking shall account\nto me for his words.\"\n\nNo one replied.\n\nThe company departed very quickly, in a mass. Ptitsin, Gania, and\nRogojin went away together.\n\nThe prince was much astonished that Evgenie Pavlovitch changed his mind,\nand took his departure without the conversation he had requested.\n\n\"Why, you wished to have a talk with me when the others left?\" he said.\n\n\"Quite so,\" said Evgenie, sitting down suddenly beside him, \"but I have\nchanged my mind for the time being. I confess, I am too disturbed, and\nso, I think, are you; and the matter as to which I wished to consult you\nis too serious to tackle with one's mind even a little disturbed; too\nserious both for myself and for you. You see, prince, for once in my\nlife I wish to perform an absolutely honest action, that is, an action\nwith no ulterior motive; and I think I am hardly in a condition to talk\nof it just at this moment, and--and--well, we'll discuss it another\ntime. Perhaps the matter may gain in clearness if we wait for two\nor three days--just the two or three days which I must spend in\nPetersburg.\"\n\nHere he rose again from his chair, so that it seemed strange that he\nshould have thought it worth while to sit down at all.\n\nThe prince thought, too, that he looked vexed and annoyed, and not\nnearly so friendly towards himself as he had been earlier in the night.\n\n\"I suppose you will go to the sufferer's bedside now?\" he added.\n\n\"Yes, I am afraid...\" began the prince.\n\n\"Oh, you needn't fear! He'll live another six weeks all right. Very\nlikely he will recover altogether; but I strongly advise you to pack him\noff tomorrow.\"\n\n\"I think I may have offended him by saying nothing just now. I am afraid\nhe may suspect that I doubted his good faith,--about shooting himself,\nyou know. What do you think, Evgenie Pavlovitch?\"\n\n\"Not a bit of it! You are much too good to him; you shouldn't care a\nhang about what he thinks. I have heard of such things before, but never\ncame across, till tonight, a man who would actually shoot himself in\norder to gain a vulgar notoriety, or blow out his brains for spite,\nif he finds that people don't care to pat him on the back for his\nsanguinary intentions. But what astonishes me more than anything is\nthe fellow's candid confession of weakness. You'd better get rid of him\ntomorrow, in any case.\n\n\"Do you think he will make another attempt?\"\n\n\"Oh no, not he, not now! But you have to be very careful with this\nsort of gentleman. Crime is too often the last resource of these petty\nnonentities. This young fellow is quite capable of cutting the throats\nof ten people, simply for a lark, as he told us in his 'explanation.' I\nassure you those confounded words of his will not let me sleep.\"\n\n\"I think you disturb yourself too much.\"\n\n\"What an extraordinary person you are, prince! Do you mean to say that\nyou doubt the fact that he is capable of murdering ten men?\"\n\n\"I daren't say, one way or the other; all this is very strange--but--\"\n\n\"Well, as you like, just as you like,\" said Evgenie Pavlovitch,\nirritably. \"Only you are such a plucky fellow, take care you don't get\nincluded among the ten victims!\"\n\n\"Oh, he is much more likely not to kill anyone at all,\" said the prince,\ngazing thoughtfully at Evgenie. The latter laughed disagreeably.\n\n\"Well, _au revoir!_ Did you observe that he 'willed' a copy of his\nconfession to Aglaya Ivanovna?\"\n\n\"Yes, I did; I am thinking of it.\"\n\n\"In connection with 'the ten,' eh?\" laughed Evgenie, as he left the\nroom.\n\nAn hour later, towards four o'clock, the prince went into the park.\nHe had endeavoured to fall asleep, but could not, owing to the painful\nbeating of his heart.\n\nHe had left things quiet and peaceful; the invalid was fast asleep, and\nthe doctor, who had been called in, had stated that there was no special\ndanger. Lebedeff, Colia, and Burdovsky were lying down in the sick-room,\nready to take it in turns to watch. There was nothing to fear,\ntherefore, at home.\n\nBut the prince's mental perturbation increased every moment. He wandered\nabout the park, looking absently around him, and paused in astonishment\nwhen he suddenly found himself in the empty space with the rows of\nchairs round it, near the Vauxhall. The look of the place struck him\nas dreadful now: so he turned round and went by the path which he had\nfollowed with the Epanchins on the way to the band, until he reached the\ngreen bench which Aglaya had pointed out for their rendezvous. He sat\ndown on it and suddenly burst into a loud fit of laughter, immediately\nfollowed by a feeling of irritation. His disturbance of mind continued;\nhe felt that he must go away somewhere, anywhere.\n\nAbove his head some little bird sang out, of a sudden; he began to peer\nabout for it among the leaves. Suddenly the bird darted out of the tree\nand away, and instantly he thought of the \"fly buzzing about in the\nsun's rays\" that Hippolyte had talked of; how that it knew its place\nand was a participator in the universal life, while he alone was an\n\"outcast.\" This picture had impressed him at the time, and he meditated\nupon it now. An old, forgotten memory awoke in his brain, and suddenly\nburst into clearness and light. It was a recollection of Switzerland,\nduring the first year of his cure, the very first months. At that time\nhe had been pretty nearly an idiot still; he could not speak properly,\nand had difficulty in understanding when others spoke to him. He climbed\nthe mountain-side, one sunny morning, and wandered long and aimlessly\nwith a certain thought in his brain, which would not become clear. Above\nhim was the blazing sky, below, the lake; all around was the horizon,\nclear and infinite. He looked out upon this, long and anxiously. He\nremembered how he had stretched out his arms towards the beautiful,\nboundless blue of the horizon, and wept, and wept. What had so tormented\nhim was the idea that he was a stranger to all this, that he was outside\nthis glorious festival.\n\nWhat was this universe? What was this grand, eternal pageant to which\nhe had yearned from his childhood up, and in which he could never take\npart? Every morning the same magnificent sun; every morning the\nsame rainbow in the waterfall; every evening the same glow on the\nsnow-mountains.\n\nEvery little fly that buzzed in the sun's rays was a singer in the\nuniversal chorus, \"knew its place, and was happy in it.\" Every blade of\ngrass grew and was happy. Everything knew its path and loved it, went\nforth with a song and returned with a song; only he knew nothing,\nunderstood nothing, neither men nor words, nor any of nature's voices;\nhe was a stranger and an outcast.\n\nOh, he could not then speak these words, or express all he felt! He had\nbeen tormented dumbly; but now it appeared to him that he must have\nsaid these very words--even then--and that Hippolyte must have taken his\npicture of the little fly from his tears and words of that time.\n\nHe was sure of it, and his heart beat excitedly at the thought, he knew\nnot why.\n\nHe fell asleep on the bench; but his mental disquiet continued through\nhis slumbers.\n\nJust before he dozed off, the idea of Hippolyte murdering ten men\nflitted through his brain, and he smiled at the absurdity of such a\nthought.\n\nAround him all was quiet; only the flutter and whisper of the leaves\nbroke the silence, but broke it only to cause it to appear yet more deep\nand still.\n\nHe dreamed many dreams as he sat there, and all were full of disquiet,\nso that he shuddered every moment.\n\nAt length a woman seemed to approach him. He knew her, oh! he knew her\nonly too well. He could always name her and recognize her anywhere; but,\nstrange, she seemed to have quite a different face from hers, as he had\nknown it, and he felt a tormenting desire to be able to say she was not\nthe same woman. In the face before him there was such dreadful remorse\nand horror that he thought she must be a criminal, that she must have\njust committed some awful crime.\n\nTears were trembling on her white cheek. She beckoned him, but placed\nher finger on her lip as though to warn him that he must follow her very\nquietly. His heart froze within him. He wouldn't, he _couldn't_ confess\nher to be a criminal, and yet he felt that something dreadful would\nhappen the next moment, something which would blast his whole life.\n\nShe seemed to wish to show him something, not far off, in the park.\n\nHe rose from his seat in order to follow her, when a bright, clear peal\nof laughter rang out by his side. He felt somebody's hand suddenly in\nhis own, seized it, pressed it hard, and awoke. Before him stood Aglaya,\nlaughing aloud.\n\nVIII.\n\nShe laughed, but she was rather angry too.\n\n\"He's asleep! You were asleep,\" she said, with contemptuous surprise.\n\n\"Is it really you?\" muttered the prince, not quite himself as yet,\nand recognizing her with a start of amazement. \"Oh yes, of course,\" he\nadded, \"this is our rendezvous. I fell asleep here.\"\n\n\"So I saw.\"\n\n\"Did no one awake me besides yourself? Was there no one else here? I\nthought there was another woman.\"\n\n\"There was another woman here?\"\n\nAt last he was wide awake.\n\n\"It was a dream, of course,\" he said, musingly. \"Strange that I should\nhave a dream like that at such a moment. Sit down--\"\n\nHe took her hand and seated her on the bench; then sat down beside her\nand reflected.\n\nAglaya did not begin the conversation, but contented herself with\nwatching her companion intently.\n\nHe looked back at her, but at times it was clear that he did not see her\nand was not thinking of her.\n\nAglaya began to flush up.\n\n\"Oh yes!\" cried the prince, starting. \"Hippolyte's suicide--\"\n\n\"What? At your house?\" she asked, but without much surprise. \"He was\nalive yesterday evening, wasn't he? How could you sleep here after\nthat?\" she cried, growing suddenly animated.\n\n\"Oh, but he didn't kill himself; the pistol didn't go off.\" Aglaya\ninsisted on hearing the whole story. She hurried the prince along, but\ninterrupted him with all sorts of questions, nearly all of which were\nirrelevant. Among other things, she seemed greatly interested in every\nword that Evgenie Pavlovitch had said, and made the prince repeat that\npart of the story over and over again.\n\n\"Well, that'll do; we must be quick,\" she concluded, after hearing all.\n\"We have only an hour here, till eight; I must be home by then without\nfail, so that they may not find out that I came and sat here with you;\nbut I've come on business. I have a great deal to say to you. But you\nhave bowled me over considerably with your news. As to Hippolyte, I\nthink his pistol was bound not to go off; it was more consistent with\nthe whole affair. Are you sure he really wished to blow his brains out,\nand that there was no humbug about the matter?\"\n\n\"No humbug at all.\"\n\n\"Very likely. So he wrote that you were to bring me a copy of his\nconfession, did he? Why didn't you bring it?\"\n\n\"Why, he didn't die! I'll ask him for it, if you like.\"\n\n\"Bring it by all means; you needn't ask him. He will be delighted, you\nmay be sure; for, in all probability, he shot at himself simply in order\nthat I might read his confession. Don't laugh at what I say, please, Lef\nNicolaievitch, because it may very well be the case.\"\n\n\"I'm not laughing. I am convinced, myself, that that may have been\npartly the reason.\n\n\"You are convinced? You don't really mean to say you think that\nhonestly?\" asked Aglaya, extremely surprised.\n\nShe put her questions very quickly and talked fast, every now and then\nforgetting what she had begun to say, and not finishing her sentence.\nShe seemed to be impatient to warn the prince about something or other.\nShe was in a state of unusual excitement, and though she put on a brave\nand even defiant air, she seemed to be rather alarmed. She was dressed\nvery simply, but this suited her well. She continually trembled and\nblushed, and she sat on the very edge of the seat.\n\nThe fact that the prince confirmed her idea, about Hippolyte shooting\nhimself that she might read his confession, surprised her greatly.\n\n\"Of course,\" added the prince, \"he wished us all to applaud his\nconduct--besides yourself.\"\n\n\"How do you mean--applaud?\"\n\n\"Well--how am I to explain? He was very anxious that we should all come\naround him, and say we were so sorry for him, and that we loved him\nvery much, and all that; and that we hoped he wouldn't kill himself, but\nremain alive. Very likely he thought more of you than the rest of us,\nbecause he mentioned you at such a moment, though perhaps he did not\nknow himself that he had you in his mind's eye.\"\n\n\"I don't understand you. How could he have me in view, and not be aware\nof it himself? And yet, I don't know--perhaps I do. Do you know I\nhave intended to poison myself at least thirty times--ever since I was\nthirteen or so--and to write to my parents before I did it? I used\nto think how nice it would be to lie in my coffin, and have them all\nweeping over me and saying it was all their fault for being so cruel,\nand all that--what are you smiling at?\" she added, knitting her brow.\n\"What do _you_ think of when you go mooning about alone? I suppose\nyou imagine yourself a field-marshal, and think you have conquered\nNapoleon?\"\n\n\"Well, I really have thought something of the sort now and then,\nespecially when just dozing off,\" laughed the prince. \"Only it is the\nAustrians whom I conquer--not Napoleon.\"\n\n\"I don't wish to joke with you, Lef Nicolaievitch. I shall see Hippolyte\nmyself. Tell him so. As for you, I think you are behaving very badly,\nbecause it is not right to judge a man's soul as you are judging\nHippolyte's. You have no gentleness, but only justice--so you are\nunjust.\"\n\nThe prince reflected.\n\n\"I think you are unfair towards me,\" he said. \"There is nothing wrong\nin the thoughts I ascribe to Hippolyte; they are only natural. But of\ncourse I don't know for certain what he thought. Perhaps he thought\nnothing, but simply longed to see human faces once more, and to hear\nhuman praise and feel human affection. Who knows? Only it all came out\nwrong, somehow. Some people have luck, and everything comes out right\nwith them; others have none, and never a thing turns out fortunately.\"\n\n\"I suppose you have felt that in your own case,\" said Aglaya.\n\n\"Yes, I have,\" replied the prince, quite unsuspicious of any irony in\nthe remark.\n\n\"H'm--well, at all events, I shouldn't have fallen asleep here, in your\nplace. It wasn't nice of you, that. I suppose you fall asleep wherever\nyou sit down?\"\n\n\"But I didn't sleep a wink all night. I walked and walked about, and\nwent to where the music was--\"\n\n\"What music?\"\n\n\"Where they played last night. Then I found this bench and sat down, and\nthought and thought--and at last I fell fast asleep.\"\n\n\"Oh, is that it? That makes a difference, perhaps. What did you go to\nthe bandstand for?\"\n\n\"I don't know; I---\"\n\n\"Very well--afterwards. You are always interrupting me. What woman was\nit you were dreaming about?\"\n\n\"It was--about--you saw her--\"\n\n\"Quite so; I understand. I understand quite well. You are very--Well,\nhow did she appear to you? What did she look like? No, I don't want to\nknow anything about her,\" said Aglaya, angrily; \"don't interrupt me--\"\n\nShe paused a moment as though getting breath, or trying to master her\nfeeling of annoyance.\n\n\"Look here; this is what I called you here for. I wish to make you a--to\nask you to be my friend. What do you stare at me like that for?\" she\nadded, almost angrily.\n\nThe prince certainly had darted a rather piercing look at her, and now\nobserved that she had begun to blush violently. At such moments, the\nmore Aglaya blushed, the angrier she grew with herself; and this was\nclearly expressed in her eyes, which flashed like fire. As a rule, she\nvented her wrath on her unfortunate companion, be it who it might. She\nwas very conscious of her own shyness, and was not nearly so talkative\nas her sisters for this reason--in fact, at times she was much too\nquiet. When, therefore, she was bound to talk, especially at such\ndelicate moments as this, she invariably did so with an air of haughty\ndefiance. She always knew beforehand when she was going to blush, long\nbefore the blush came.\n\n\"Perhaps you do not wish to accept my proposition?\" she asked, gazing\nhaughtily at the prince.\n\n\"Oh yes, I do; but it is so unnecessary. I mean, I did not think you\nneed make such a proposition,\" said the prince, looking confused.\n\n\"What did you suppose, then? Why did you think I invited you out here? I\nsuppose you think me a 'little fool,' as they all call me at home?\"\n\n\"I didn't know they called you a fool. I certainly don't think you one.\"\n\n\"You don't think me one! Oh, dear me!--that's very clever of you; you\nput it so neatly, too.\"\n\n\"In my opinion, you are far from a fool sometimes--in fact, you are very\nintelligent. You said a very clever thing just now about my being unjust\nbecause I had _only_ justice. I shall remember that, and think about it.\"\n\nAglaya blushed with pleasure. All these changes in her expression came\nabout so naturally and so rapidly--they delighted the prince; he watched\nher, and laughed.\n\n\"Listen,\" she began again; \"I have long waited to tell you all this,\never since the time when you sent me that letter--even before that.\nHalf of what I have to say you heard yesterday. I consider you the most\nhonest and upright of men--more honest and upright than any other\nman; and if anybody says that your mind is--is sometimes affected, you\nknow--it is unfair. I always say so and uphold it, because even if your\nsurface mind be a little affected (of course you will not feel angry\nwith me for talking so--I am speaking from a higher point of view) yet\nyour real mind is far better than all theirs put together. Such a\nmind as they have never even _dreamed_ of; because really, there are\n_two_ minds--the kind that matters, and the kind that doesn't matter.\nIsn't it so?\"\n\n\"May be! may be so!\" said the prince, faintly; his heart was beating\npainfully.\n\n\"I knew you would not misunderstand me,\" she said, triumphantly. \"Prince\nS. and Evgenie Pavlovitch and Alexandra don't understand anything about\nthese two kinds of mind, but, just fancy, mamma does!\"\n\n\"You are very like Lizabetha Prokofievna.\"\n\n\"What! surely not?\" said Aglaya.\n\n\"Yes, you are, indeed.\"\n\n\"Thank you; I am glad to be like mamma,\" she said, thoughtfully. \"You\nrespect her very much, don't you?\" she added, quite unconscious of the\nnaiveness of the question.\n\n\"_Very_ much; and I am so glad that you have realized the fact.\"\n\n\"I am very glad, too, because she is often laughed at by people. But\nlisten to the chief point. I have long thought over the matter, and at\nlast I have chosen you. I don't wish people to laugh at me; I don't wish\npeople to think me a 'little fool.' I don't want to be chaffed. I felt\nall this of a sudden, and I refused Evgenie Pavlovitch flatly, because\nI am not going to be forever thrown at people's heads to be married. I\nwant--I want--well, I'll tell you, I wish to run away from home, and I\nhave chosen you to help me.\"\n\n\"Run away from home?\" cried the prince.\n\n\"Yes--yes--yes! Run away from home!\" she repeated, in a transport of\nrage. \"I won't, I won't be made to blush every minute by them all! I\ndon't want to blush before Prince S. or Evgenie Pavlovitch, or\nanyone, and therefore I have chosen you. I shall tell you everything,\n_everything_, even the most important things of all, whenever I like,\nand you are to hide nothing from me on your side. I want to speak to at\nleast one person, as I would to myself. They have suddenly begun to say\nthat I am waiting for you, and in love with you. They began this before\nyou arrived here, and so I didn't show them the letter, and now they all\nsay it, every one of them. I want to be brave, and be afraid of nobody.\nI don't want to go to their balls and things--I want to do good. I have\nlong desired to run away, for I have been kept shut up for twenty years,\nand they are always trying to marry me off. I wanted to run away when I\nwas fourteen years old--I was a little fool then, I know--but now I have\nworked it all out, and I have waited for you to tell me about foreign\ncountries. I have never seen a single Gothic cathedral. I must go to\nRome; I must see all the museums; I must study in Paris. All this last\nyear I have been preparing and reading forbidden books. Alexandra and\nAdelaida are allowed to read anything they like, but I mayn't. I don't\nwant to quarrel with my sisters, but I told my parents long ago that I\nwish to change my social position. I have decided to take up teaching,\nand I count on you because you said you loved children. Can we go in for\neducation together--if not at once, then afterwards? We could do good\ntogether. I won't be a general's daughter any more! Tell me, are you a\nvery learned man?\"\n\n\"Oh no; not at all.\"\n\n\"Oh-h-h! I'm sorry for that. I thought you were. I wonder why I always\nthought so--but at all events you'll help me, won't you? Because I've\nchosen you, you know.\"\n\n\"Aglaya Ivanovna, it's absurd.\"\n\n\"But I will, I _will_ run away!\" she cried--and her eyes flashed again\nwith anger--\"and if you don't agree I shall go and marry Gavrila\nArdalionovitch! I won't be considered a horrible girl, and accused of\ngoodness knows what.\"\n\n\"Are you out of your mind?\" cried the prince, almost starting from his\nseat. \"What do they accuse you of? Who accuses you?\"\n\n\"At home, everybody, mother, my sisters, Prince S., even that detestable\nColia! If they don't say it, they think it. I told them all so to their\nfaces. I told mother and father and everybody. Mamma was ill all the\nday after it, and next day father and Alexandra told me that I didn't\nunderstand what nonsense I was talking. I informed them that they\nlittle knew me--I was not a small child--I understood every word in the\nlanguage--that I had read a couple of Paul de Kok's novels two years\nsince on purpose, so as to know all about everything. No sooner did\nmamma hear me say this than she nearly fainted!\"\n\nA strange thought passed through the prince's brain; he gazed intently\nat Aglaya and smiled.\n\nHe could not believe that this was the same haughty young girl who had\nonce so proudly shown him Gania's letter. He could not understand how\nthat proud and austere beauty could show herself to be such an utter\nchild--a child who probably did not even now understand some words.\n\n\"Have you always lived at home, Aglaya Ivanovna?\" he asked. \"I mean,\nhave you never been to school, or college, or anything?\"\n\n\"No--never--nowhere! I've been at home all my life, corked up in a\nbottle; and they expect me to be married straight out of it. What are\nyou laughing at again? I observe that you, too, have taken to laughing\nat me, and range yourself on their side against me,\" she added, frowning\nangrily. \"Don't irritate me--I'm bad enough without that--I don't know\nwhat I am doing sometimes. I am persuaded that you came here today in\nthe full belief that I am in love with you, and that I arranged this\nmeeting because of that,\" she cried, with annoyance.\n\n\"I admit I was afraid that that was the case, yesterday,\" blundered the\nprince (he was rather confused), \"but today I am quite convinced that--\"\n\n\"How?\" cried Aglaya--and her lower lip trembled violently. \"You were\n_afraid_ that I--you dared to think that I--good gracious! you suspected,\nperhaps, that I sent for you to come here in order to catch you in a\ntrap, so that they should find us here together, and make you marry\nme--\"\n\n\"Aglaya Ivanovna, aren't you ashamed of saying such a thing? How could\nsuch a horrible idea enter your sweet, innocent heart? I am certain you\ndon't believe a word of what you say, and probably you don't even know\nwhat you are talking about.\"\n\nAglaya sat with her eyes on the ground; she seemed to have alarmed even\nherself by what she had said.\n\n\"No, I'm not; I'm not a bit ashamed!\" she murmured. \"And how do you\nknow my heart is innocent? And how dared you send me a love-letter that\ntime?\"\n\n\"_Love-letter?_ My letter a love-letter? That letter was the most\nrespectful of letters; it went straight from my heart, at what was\nperhaps the most painful moment of my life! I thought of you at the time\nas a kind of light. I--\"\n\n\"Well, very well, very well!\" she said, but quite in a different tone.\nShe was remorseful now, and bent forward to touch his shoulder, though\nstill trying not to look him in the face, as if the more persuasively\nto beg him not to be angry with her. \"Very well,\" she continued, looking\nthoroughly ashamed of herself, \"I feel that I said a very foolish thing.\nI only did it just to try you. Take it as unsaid, and if I offended you,\nforgive me. Don't look straight at me like that, please; turn your head\naway. You called it a 'horrible idea'; I only said it to shock you.\nVery often I am myself afraid of saying what I intend to say, and out it\ncomes all the same. You have just told me that you wrote that letter at\nthe most painful moment of your life. I know what moment that was!\" she\nadded softly, looking at the ground again.\n\n\"Oh, if you could know all!\"\n\n\"I _do_ know all!\" she cried, with another burst of indignation. \"You were\nliving in the same house as that horrible woman with whom you ran away.\"\nShe did not blush as she said this; on the contrary, she grew pale,\nand started from her seat, apparently oblivious of what she did, and\nimmediately sat down again. Her lip continued to tremble for a long\ntime.\n\nThere was silence for a moment. The prince was taken aback by the\nsuddenness of this last reply, and did not know to what he should\nattribute it.\n\n\"I don't love you a bit!\" she said suddenly, just as though the words\nhad exploded from her mouth.\n\nThe prince did not answer, and there was silence again. \"I love Gavrila\nArdalionovitch,\" she said, quickly; but hardly audibly, and with her\nhead bent lower than ever.\n\n\"That is _not_ true,\" said the prince, in an equally low voice.\n\n\"What! I tell stories, do I? It is true! I gave him my promise a couple\nof days ago on this very seat.\"\n\nThe prince was startled, and reflected for a moment.\n\n\"It is not true,\" he repeated, decidedly; \"you have just invented it!\"\n\n\"You are wonderfully polite. You know he is greatly improved. He loves\nme better than his life. He let his hand burn before my very eyes in\norder to prove to me that he loved me better than his life!\"\n\n\"He burned his hand!\"\n\n\"Yes, believe it or not! It's all the same to me!\"\n\nThe prince sat silent once more. Aglaya did not seem to be joking; she\nwas too angry for that.\n\n\"What! he brought a candle with him to this place? That is, if the\nepisode happened here; otherwise I can't.\"\n\n\"Yes, a candle! What's there improbable about that?\"\n\n\"A whole one, and in a candlestick?\"\n\n\"Yes--no-half a candle--an end, you know--no, it was a whole candle;\nit's all the same. Be quiet, can't you! He brought a box of matches too,\nif you like, and then lighted the candle and held his finger in it for\nhalf an hour and more!--There! Can't that be?\"\n\n\"I saw him yesterday, and his fingers were all right!\"\n\nAglaya suddenly burst out laughing, as simply as a child.\n\n\"Do you know why I have just told you these lies?\" She appealed to the\nprince, of a sudden, with the most childlike candour, and with the\nlaugh still trembling on her lips. \"Because when one tells a lie, if one\ninsists on something unusual and eccentric--something too 'out of the\nway'' for anything, you know--the more impossible the thing is, the more\nplausible does the lie sound. I've noticed this. But I managed it badly;\nI didn't know how to work it.\" She suddenly frowned again at this point\nas though at some sudden unpleasant recollection.\n\n\"If\"--she began, looking seriously and even sadly at him--\"if when I\nread you all that about the 'poor knight,' I wished to-to praise you\nfor one thing--I also wished to show you that I knew all--and did not\napprove of your conduct.\"\n\n\"You are very unfair to me, and to that unfortunate woman of whom you\nspoke just now in such dreadful terms, Aglaya.\"\n\n\"Because I know all, all--and that is why I speak so. I know very well\nhow you--half a year since--offered her your hand before everybody.\nDon't interrupt me. You see, I am merely stating facts without any\ncomment upon them. After that she ran away with Rogojin. Then you lived\nwith her at some village or town, and she ran away from you.\" (Aglaya\nblushed dreadfully.) \"Then she returned to Rogojin again, who loves\nher like a madman. Then you--like a wise man as you are--came back here\nafter her as soon as ever you heard that she had returned to Petersburg.\nYesterday evening you sprang forward to protect her, and just now you\ndreamed about her. You see, I know all. You did come back here for her,\nfor her--now didn't you?\"\n\n\"Yes--for her!\" said the prince softly and sadly, and bending his head\ndown, quite unconscious of the fact that Aglaya was gazing at him with\neyes which burned like live coals. \"I came to find out something--I\ndon't believe in her future happiness as Rogojin's wife, although--in a\nword, I did not know how to help her or what to do for her--but I came,\non the chance.\"\n\nHe glanced at Aglaya, who was listening with a look of hatred on her\nface.\n\n\"If you came without knowing why, I suppose you love her very much\nindeed!\" she said at last.\n\n\"No,\" said the prince, \"no, I do not love her. Oh! if you only knew with\nwhat horror I recall the time I spent with her!\"\n\nA shudder seemed to sweep over his whole body at the recollection.\n\n\"Tell me about it,\" said Aglaya.\n\n\"There is nothing which you might not hear. Why I should wish to tell\nyou, and only you, this experience of mine, I really cannot say;\nperhaps it really is because I love you very much. This unhappy woman is\npersuaded that she is the most hopeless, fallen creature in the world.\nOh, do not condemn her! Do not cast stones at her! She has suffered too\nmuch already in the consciousness of her own undeserved shame.\n\n\"And she is not guilty--oh God!--Every moment she bemoans and bewails\nherself, and cries out that she does not admit any guilt, that she is\nthe victim of circumstances--the victim of a wicked libertine.\n\n\"But whatever she may say, remember that she does not believe it\nherself,--remember that she will believe nothing but that she is a\nguilty creature.\n\n\"When I tried to rid her soul of this gloomy fallacy, she suffered so\nterribly that my heart will never be quite at peace so long as I can\nremember that dreadful time!--Do you know why she left me? Simply to\nprove to me what is not true--that she is base. But the worst of it is,\nshe did not realize herself that that was all she wanted to prove by\nher departure! She went away in response to some inner prompting to\ndo something disgraceful, in order that she might say to\nherself--'There--you've done a new act of shame--you degraded creature!'\n\n\"Oh, Aglaya--perhaps you cannot understand all this. Try to realize that\nin the perpetual admission of guilt she probably finds some dreadful\nunnatural satisfaction--as though she were revenging herself upon\nsomeone.\n\n\"Now and then I was able to persuade her almost to see light around\nher again; but she would soon fall, once more, into her old tormenting\ndelusions, and would go so far as to reproach me for placing myself on a\npedestal above her (I never had an idea of such a thing!), and informed\nme, in reply to my proposal of marriage, that she 'did not want\ncondescending sympathy or help from anybody.' You saw her last night.\nYou don't suppose she can be happy among such people as those--you\ncannot suppose that such society is fit for her? You have no idea how\nwell-educated she is, and what an intellect she has! She astonished me\nsometimes.\"\n\n\"And you preached her sermons there, did you?\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" continued the prince thoughtfully, not noticing Aglaya's\nmocking tone, \"I was almost always silent there. I often wished to\nspeak, but I really did not know what to say. In some cases it is best\nto say nothing, I think. I loved her, yes, I loved her very much indeed;\nbut afterwards--afterwards she guessed all.\"\n\n\"What did she guess?\"\n\n\"That I only _pitied_ her--and--and loved her no longer!\"\n\n\"How do you know that? How do you know that she is not really in love\nwith that--that rich cad--the man she eloped with?\"\n\n\"Oh no! I know she only laughs at him; she has made a fool of him all\nalong.\"\n\n\"Has she never laughed at you?\"\n\n\"No--in anger, perhaps. Oh yes! she reproached me dreadfully in anger;\nand suffered herself, too! But afterwards--oh! don't remind me--don't\nremind me of that!\"\n\nHe hid his face in his hands.\n\n\"Are you aware that she writes to me almost every day?\"\n\n\"So that is true, is it?\" cried the prince, greatly agitated. \"I had\nheard a report of it, but would not believe it.\"\n\n\"Whom did you hear it from?\" asked Aglaya, alarmed. \"Rogojin said\nsomething about it yesterday, but nothing definite.\"\n\n\"Yesterday! Morning or evening? Before the music or after?\"\n\n\"After--it was about twelve o'clock.\"\n\n\"Ah! Well, if it was Rogojin--but do you know what she writes to me\nabout?\"\n\n\"I should not be surprised by anything. She is mad!\"\n\n\"There are the letters.\" (Aglaya took three letters out of her pocket\nand threw them down before the prince.) \"For a whole week she has been\nentreating and worrying and persuading me to marry you. She--well, she\nis clever, though she may be mad--much cleverer than I am, as you say.\nWell, she writes that she is in love with me herself, and tries to see\nme every day, if only from a distance. She writes that you love me,\nand that she has long known it and seen it, and that you and she talked\nabout me--there. She wishes to see you happy, and she says that she is\ncertain only I can ensure you the happiness you deserve. She writes such\nstrange, wild letters--I haven't shown them to anyone. Now, do you know\nwhat all this means? Can you guess anything?\"\n\n\"It is madness--it is merely another proof of her insanity!\" said the\nprince, and his lips trembled.\n\n\"You are crying, aren't you?\"\n\n\"No, Aglaya. No, I'm not crying.\" The prince looked at her.\n\n\"Well, what am I to do? What do you advise me? I cannot go on receiving\nthese letters, you know.\"\n\n\"Oh, let her alone, I entreat you!\" cried the prince. \"What can you do in\nthis dark, gloomy mystery? Let her alone, and I'll use all my power to\nprevent her writing you any more letters.\"\n\n\"If so, you are a heartless man!\" cried Aglaya. \"As if you can't see that\nit is not myself she loves, but you, you, and only you! Surely you have\nnot remarked everything else in her, and only not _this?_ Do you know what\nthese letters mean? They mean jealousy, sir--nothing but pure jealousy!\nShe--do you think she will ever really marry this Rogojin, as she says\nhere she will? She would take her own life the day after you and I were\nmarried.\"\n\nThe prince shuddered; his heart seemed to freeze within him. He gazed\nat Aglaya in wonderment; it was difficult for him to realize that this\nchild was also a woman.\n\n\"God knows, Aglaya, that to restore her peace of mind and make her happy\nI would willingly give up my life. But I cannot love her, and she knows\nthat.\"\n\n\"Oh, make a sacrifice of yourself! That sort of thing becomes you well,\nyou know. Why not do it? And don't call me 'Aglaya'; you have done it\nseveral times lately. You are bound, it is your _duty_ to 'raise' her; you\nmust go off somewhere again to soothe and pacify her. Why, you love her,\nyou know!\"\n\n\"I cannot sacrifice myself so, though I admit I did wish to do so once.\nWho knows, perhaps I still wish to! But I know for _certain_, that if she\nmarried me it would be her ruin; I know this and therefore I leave her\nalone. I ought to go to see her today; now I shall probably not go. She\nis proud, she would never forgive me the nature of the love I bear her,\nand we should both be ruined. This may be unnatural, I don't know; but\neverything seems unnatural. You say she loves me, as if this were _love!_\nAs if she could love _me_, after what I have been through! No, no, it is\nnot love.\"\n\n\"How pale you have grown!\" cried Aglaya in alarm.\n\n\"Oh, it's nothing. I haven't slept, that's all, and I'm rather tired.\nI--we certainly did talk about you, Aglaya.\"\n\n\"Oh, indeed, it is true then! _You could actually talk about me with her_;\nand--and how could you have been fond of me when you had only seen me\nonce?\"\n\n\"I don't know. Perhaps it was that I seemed to come upon light in the\nmidst of my gloom. I told you the truth when I said I did not know why I\nthought of you before all others. Of course it was all a sort of dream,\na dream amidst the horrors of reality. Afterwards I began to work. I did\nnot intend to come back here for two or three years--\"\n\n\"Then you came for her sake?\" Aglaya's voice trembled.\n\n\"Yes, I came for her sake.\"\n\nThere was a moment or two of gloomy silence. Aglaya rose from her seat.\n\n\"If you say,\" she began in shaky tones, \"if you say that this woman\nof yours is mad--at all events I have nothing to do with her insane\nfancies. Kindly take these three letters, Lef Nicolaievitch, and throw\nthem back to her, from me. And if she dares,\" cried Aglaya suddenly,\nmuch louder than before, \"if she dares so much as write me one word\nagain, tell her I shall tell my father, and that she shall be taken to a\nlunatic asylum.\"\n\nThe prince jumped up in alarm at Aglaya's sudden wrath, and a mist\nseemed to come before his eyes.\n\n\"You cannot really feel like that! You don't mean what you say. It is\nnot true,\" he murmured.\n\n\"It _is_ true, it _is_ true,\" cried Aglaya, almost beside herself\nwith rage.\n\n\"What's true? What's all this? What's true?\" said an alarmed voice just\nbeside them.\n\nBefore them stood Lizabetha Prokofievna.\n\n\"Why, it's true that I am going to marry Gavrila Ardalionovitch, that I\nlove him and intend to elope with him tomorrow,\" cried Aglaya, turning\nupon her mother. \"Do you hear? Is your curiosity satisfied? Are you\npleased with what you have heard?\"\n\nAglaya rushed away homewards with these words.\n\n\"H'm! well, _you_ are not going away just yet, my friend, at all events,\"\nsaid Lizabetha, stopping the prince. \"Kindly step home with me, and let\nme have a little explanation of the mystery. Nice goings on, these! I\nhaven't slept a wink all night as it is.\"\n\nThe prince followed her.\n\nIX.\n\nArrived at her house, Lizabetha Prokofievna paused in the first room.\nShe could go no farther, and subsided on to a couch quite exhausted; too\nfeeble to remember so much as to ask the prince to take a seat. This was\na large reception-room, full of flowers, and with a glass door leading\ninto the garden.\n\nAlexandra and Adelaida came in almost immediately, and looked\ninquiringly at the prince and their mother.\n\nThe girls generally rose at about nine in the morning in the country;\nAglaya, of late, had been in the habit of getting up rather earlier and\nhaving a walk in the garden, but not at seven o'clock; about eight or a\nlittle later was her usual time.\n\nLizabetha Prokofievna, who really had not slept all night, rose at about\neight on purpose to meet Aglaya in the garden and walk with her; but she\ncould not find her either in the garden or in her own room.\n\nThis agitated the old lady considerably; and she awoke her other\ndaughters. Next, she learned from the maid that Aglaya had gone into\nthe park before seven o'clock. The sisters made a joke of Aglaya's last\nfreak, and told their mother that if she went into the park to look\nfor her, Aglaya would probably be very angry with her, and that she was\npretty sure to be sitting reading on the green bench that she had talked\nof two or three days since, and about which she had nearly quarrelled\nwith Prince S., who did not see anything particularly lovely in it.\n\nArrived at the rendezvous of the prince and her daughter, and hearing\nthe strange words of the latter, Lizabetha Prokofievna had been\ndreadfully alarmed, for many reasons. However, now that she had dragged\nthe prince home with her, she began to feel a little frightened at what\nshe had undertaken. Why should not Aglaya meet the prince in the\npark and have a talk with him, even if such a meeting should be by\nappointment?\n\n\"Don't suppose, prince,\" she began, bracing herself up for the effort,\n\"don't suppose that I have brought you here to ask questions. After last\nnight, I assure you, I am not so exceedingly anxious to see you at all;\nI could have postponed the pleasure for a long while.\" She paused.\n\n\"But at the same time you would be very glad to know how I happened to\nmeet Aglaya Ivanovna this morning?\" The prince finished her speech for\nher with the utmost composure.\n\n\"Well, what then? Supposing I should like to know?\" cried Lizabetha\nProkofievna, blushing. \"I'm sure I am not afraid of plain speaking. I'm\nnot offending anyone, and I never wish to, and--\"\n\n\"Pardon me, it is no offence to wish to know this; you are her\nmother. We met at the green bench this morning, punctually at seven\no'clock,--according to an agreement made by Aglaya Ivanovna with myself\nyesterday. She said that she wished to see me and speak to me about\nsomething important. We met and conversed for an hour about matters\nconcerning Aglaya Ivanovna herself, and that's all.\"\n\n\"Of course it is all, my friend. I don't doubt you for a moment,\" said\nLizabetha Prokofievna with dignity.\n\n\"Well done, prince, capital!\" cried Aglaya, who entered the room at\nthis moment. \"Thank you for assuming that I would not demean myself\nwith lies. Come, is that enough, mamma, or do you intend to put any more\nquestions?\"\n\n\"You know I have never needed to blush before you, up to this day,\nthough perhaps you would have been glad enough to make me,\" said\nLizabetha Prokofievna,--with majesty. \"Good-bye, prince; forgive me for\nbothering you. I trust you will rest assured of my unalterable esteem\nfor you.\"\n\nThe prince made his bows and retired at once. Alexandra and Adelaida\nsmiled and whispered to each other, while Lizabetha Prokofievna glared\nseverely at them. \"We are only laughing at the prince's beautiful bows,\nmamma,\" said Adelaida. \"Sometimes he bows just like a meal-sack, but\nto-day he was like--like Evgenie Pavlovitch!\"\n\n\"It is the _heart_ which is the best teacher of refinement and dignity,\nnot the dancing-master,\" said her mother, sententiously, and departed\nupstairs to her own room, not so much as glancing at Aglaya.\n\nWhen the prince reached home, about nine o'clock, he found Vera Lebedeff\nand the maid on the verandah. They were both busy trying to tidy up the\nplace after last night's disorderly party.\n\n\"Thank goodness, we've just managed to finish it before you came in!\"\nsaid Vera, joyfully.\n\n\"Good-morning! My head whirls so; I didn't sleep all night. I should\nlike to have a nap now.\"\n\n\"Here, on the verandah? Very well, I'll tell them all not to come and\nwake you. Papa has gone out somewhere.\"\n\nThe servant left the room. Vera was about to follow her, but returned\nand approached the prince with a preoccupied air.\n\n\"Prince!\" she said, \"have pity on that poor boy; don't turn him out\ntoday.\"\n\n\"Not for the world; he shall do just as he likes.\"\n\n\"He won't do any harm now; and--and don't be too severe with him.\"\n\n\"Oh dear no! Why--\"\n\n\"And--and you won't _laugh_ at him? That's the chief thing.\"\n\n\"Oh no! Never.\"\n\n\"How foolish I am to speak of such things to a man like you,\" said Vera,\nblushing. \"Though you _do_ look tired,\" she added, half turning away,\n\"your eyes are so splendid at this moment--so full of happiness.\"\n\n\"Really?\" asked the prince, gleefully, and he laughed in delight.\n\nBut Vera, simple-minded little girl that she was (just like a boy, in\nfact), here became dreadfully confused, of a sudden, and ran hastily out\nof the room, laughing and blushing.\n\n\"What a dear little thing she is,\" thought the prince, and immediately\nforgot all about her.\n\nHe walked to the far end of the verandah, where the sofa stood, with\na table in front of it. Here he sat down and covered his face with his\nhands, and so remained for ten minutes. Suddenly he put his hand in his\ncoat-pocket and hurriedly produced three letters.\n\nBut the door opened again, and out came Colia.\n\nThe prince actually felt glad that he had been interrupted,--and might\nreturn the letters to his pocket. He was glad of the respite.\n\n\"Well,\" said Colia, plunging in medias res, as he always did, \"here's\na go! What do you think of Hippolyte now? Don't respect him any longer,\neh?\"\n\n\"Why not? But look here, Colia, I'm tired; besides, the subject is too\nmelancholy to begin upon again. How is he, though?\"\n\n\"Asleep--he'll sleep for a couple of hours yet. I quite\nunderstand--you haven't slept--you walked about the park, I know.\nAgitation--excitement--all that sort of thing--quite natural, too!\"\n\n\"How do you know I walked in the park and didn't sleep at home?\"\n\n\"Vera just told me. She tried to persuade me not to come, but I couldn't\nhelp myself, just for one minute. I have been having my turn at the\nbedside for the last two hours; Kostia Lebedeff is there now. Burdovsky\nhas gone. Now, lie down, prince, make yourself comfortable, and sleep\nwell! I'm awfully impressed, you know.\"\n\n\"Naturally, all this--\"\n\n\"No, no, I mean with the 'explanation,' especially that part of it where\nhe talks about Providence and a future life. There is a gigantic thought\nthere.\"\n\nThe prince gazed affectionately at Colia, who, of course, had come in\nsolely for the purpose of talking about this \"gigantic thought.\"\n\n\"But it is not any one particular thought, only; it is the general\ncircumstances of the case. If Voltaire had written this now, or\nRousseau, I should have just read it and thought it remarkable, but\nshould not have been so _impressed_ by it. But a man who knows for\ncertain that he has but ten minutes to live and can talk like\nthat--why--it's--it's _pride_, that is! It is really a most extraordinary,\nexalted assertion of personal dignity, it's--it's _defiant!_ What a\n_gigantic_ strength of will, eh? And to accuse a fellow like that of not\nputting in the cap on purpose; it's base and mean! You know he deceived\nus last night, the cunning rascal. I never packed his bag for him, and\nI never saw his pistol. He packed it himself. But he put me off my guard\nlike that, you see. Vera says you are going to let him stay on; I swear\nthere's no danger, especially as we are always with him.\"\n\n\"Who was by him at night?\"\n\n\"I, and Burdovsky, and Kostia Lebedeff. Keller stayed a little while,\nand then went over to Lebedeff's to sleep. Ferdishenko slept at\nLebedeff's, too; but he went away at seven o'clock. My father is always\nat Lebedeff's; but he has gone out just now. I dare say Lebedeff will be\ncoming in here directly; he has been looking for you; I don't know what\nhe wants. Shall we let him in or not, if you are asleep? I'm going to\nhave a nap, too. By-the-by, such a curious thing happened. Burdovsky\nwoke me at seven, and I met my father just outside the room, so drunk,\nhe didn't even know me. He stood before me like a log, and when he\nrecovered himself, asked hurriedly how Hippolyte was. 'Yes,' he said,\nwhen I told him, 'that's all very well, but I _really_ came to warn you\nthat you must be very careful what you say before Ferdishenko.' Do you\nfollow me, prince?\"\n\n\"Yes. Is it really so? However, it's all the same to us, of course.\"\n\n\"Of course it is; we are not a secret society; and that being the case,\nit is all the more curious that the general should have been on his way\nto wake me up in order to tell me this.\"\n\n\"Ferdishenko has gone, you say?\"\n\n\"Yes, he went at seven o'clock. He came into the room on his way out; I\nwas watching just then. He said he was going to spend 'the rest of the\nnight' at Wilkin's; there's a tipsy fellow, a friend of his, of that\nname. Well, I'm off. Oh, here's Lebedeff himself! The prince wants to go\nto sleep, Lukian Timofeyovitch, so you may just go away again.\"\n\n\"One moment, my dear prince, just one. I must absolutely speak to you\nabout something which is most grave,\" said Lebedeff, mysteriously and\nsolemnly, entering the room with a bow and looking extremely important.\nHe had but just returned, and carried his hat in his hand. He looked\npreoccupied and most unusually dignified.\n\nThe prince begged him to take a chair.\n\n\"I hear you have called twice; I suppose you are still worried about\nyesterday's affair.\"\n\n\"What, about that boy, you mean? Oh dear no, yesterday my ideas were\na little--well--mixed. Today, I assure you, I shall not oppose in the\nslightest degree any suggestions it may please you to make.\"\n\n\"What's up with you this morning, Lebedeff? You look so important and\ndignified, and you choose your words so carefully,\" said the prince,\nsmiling.\n\n\"Nicolai Ardalionovitch!\" said Lebedeff, in a most amiable tone of\nvoice, addressing the boy. \"As I have a communication to make to the\nprince which concerns only myself--\"\n\n\"Of course, of course, not my affair. All right,\" said Colia, and away\nhe went.\n\n\"I love that boy for his perception,\" said Lebedeff, looking after\nhim. \"My dear prince,\" he continued, \"I have had a terrible misfortune,\neither last night or early this morning. I cannot tell the exact time.\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"I have lost four hundred roubles out of my side pocket! They're gone!\"\nsaid Lebedeff, with a sour smile.\n\n\"You've lost four hundred roubles? Oh! I'm sorry for that.\"\n\n\"Yes, it is serious for a poor man who lives by his toil.\"\n\n\"Of course, of course! How was it?\"\n\n\"Oh, the wine is to blame, of course. I confess to you, prince, as I\nwould to Providence itself. Yesterday I received four hundred roubles\nfrom a debtor at about five in the afternoon, and came down here by\ntrain. I had my purse in my pocket. When I changed, I put the money\ninto the pocket of my plain clothes, intending to keep it by me, as I\nexpected to have an applicant for it in the evening.\"\n\n\"It's true then, Lebedeff, that you advertise to lend money on gold or\nsilver articles?\"\n\n\"Yes, through an agent. My own name doesn't appear. I have a large\nfamily, you see, and at a small percentage--\"\n\n\"Quite so, quite so. I only asked for information--excuse the question.\nGo on.\"\n\n\"Well, meanwhile that sick boy was brought here, and those guests came\nin, and we had tea, and--well, we made merry--to my ruin! Hearing of\nyour birthday afterwards, and excited with the circumstances of the\nevening, I ran upstairs and changed my plain clothes once more for my\nuniform [Civil Service clerks in Russia wear uniform.]--you must have\nnoticed I had my uniform on all the evening? Well, I forgot the money in\nthe pocket of my old coat--you know when God will ruin a man he first\nof all bereaves him of his senses--and it was only this morning at\nhalf-past seven that I woke up and grabbed at my coat pocket, first\nthing. The pocket was empty--the purse gone, and not a trace to be\nfound!\"\n\n\"Dear me! This is very unpleasant!\"\n\n\"Unpleasant! Indeed it is. You have found a very appropriate\nexpression,\" said Lebedeff, politely, but with sarcasm.\n\n\"But what's to be done? It's a serious matter,\" said the prince,\nthoughtfully. \"Don't you think you may have dropped it out of your\npocket whilst intoxicated?\"\n\n\"Certainly. Anything is possible when one is intoxicated, as you neatly\nexpress it, prince. But consider--if I, intoxicated or not, dropped an\nobject out of my pocket on to the ground, that object ought to remain on\nthe ground. Where is the object, then?\"\n\n\"Didn't you put it away in some drawer, perhaps?\"\n\n\"I've looked everywhere, and turned out everything.\"\n\n\"I confess this disturbs me a good deal. Someone must have picked it up,\nthen.\"\n\n\"Or taken it out of my pocket--two alternatives.\"\n\n\"It is very distressing, because _who_--? That's the question!\"\n\n\"Most undoubtedly, excellent prince, you have hit it--that is the very\nquestion. How wonderfully you express the exact situation in a few\nwords!\"\n\n\"Come, come, Lebedeff, no sarcasm! It's a serious--\"\n\n\"Sarcasm!\" cried Lebedeff, wringing his hands. \"All right, all right,\nI'm not angry. I'm only put out about this. Whom do you suspect?\"\n\n\"That is a very difficult and complicated question. I cannot suspect the\nservant, for she was in the kitchen the whole evening, nor do I suspect\nany of my children.\"\n\n\"I should think not. Go on.\"\n\n\"Then it must be one of the guests.\"\n\n\"Is such a thing possible?\"\n\n\"Absolutely and utterly impossible--and yet, so it must be. But one\nthing I am sure of, if it be a theft, it was committed, not in the\nevening when we were all together, but either at night or early in the\nmorning; therefore, by one of those who slept here. Burdovsky and Colia\nI except, of course. They did not even come into my room.\"\n\n\"Yes, or even if they had! But who did sleep with you?\"\n\n\"Four of us, including myself, in two rooms. The general, myself,\nKeller, and Ferdishenko. One of us four it must have been. I don't\nsuspect myself, though such cases have been known.\"\n\n\"Oh! _do_ go on, Lebedeff! Don't drag it out so.\"\n\n\"Well, there are three left, then--Keller firstly. He is a drunkard\nto begin with, and a liberal (in the sense of other people's pockets),\notherwise with more of the ancient knight about him than of the modern\nliberal. He was with the sick man at first, but came over afterwards\nbecause there was no place to lie down in the room and the floor was so\nhard.\"\n\n\"You suspect him?\"\n\n\"I _did_ suspect him. When I woke up at half-past seven and tore my hair\nin despair for my loss and carelessness, I awoke the general, who was\nsleeping the sleep of innocence near me. Taking into consideration the\nsudden disappearance of Ferdishenko, which was suspicious in itself, we\ndecided to search Keller, who was lying there sleeping like a top. Well,\nwe searched his clothes thoroughly, and not a farthing did we find; in\nfact, his pockets all had holes in them. We found a dirty handkerchief,\nand a love-letter from some scullery-maid. The general decided that he\nwas innocent. We awoke him for further inquiries, and had the greatest\ndifficulty in making him understand what was up. He opened his mouth and\nstared--he looked so stupid and so absurdly innocent. It wasn't Keller.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm so glad!\" said the prince, joyfully. \"I was so afraid.\"\n\n\"Afraid! Then you had some grounds for supposing he might be the\nculprit?\" said Lebedeff, frowning.\n\n\"Oh no--not a bit! It was foolish of me to say I was afraid! Don't\nrepeat it please, Lebedeff, don't tell anyone I said that!\"\n\n\"My dear prince! your words lie in the lowest depth of my heart--it is\ntheir tomb!\" said Lebedeff, solemnly, pressing his hat to the region of\nhis heart.\n\n\"Thanks; very well. Then I suppose it's Ferdishenko; that is, I mean,\nyou suspect Ferdishenko?\"\n\n\"Whom else?\" said Lebedeff, softly, gazing intently into the prince s\nface.\n\n\"Of course--quite so, whom else? But what are the proofs?\"\n\n\"We have evidence. In the first place, his mysterious disappearance at\nseven o'clock, or even earlier.\"\n\n\"I know, Colia told me that he had said he was off to--I forget the\nname, some friend of his, to finish the night.\"\n\n\"H'm! then Colia has spoken to you already?\"\n\n\"Not about the theft.\"\n\n\"He does not know of it; I have kept it a secret. Very well, Ferdishenko\nwent off to Wilkin's. That is not so curious in itself, but here the\nevidence opens out further. He left his address, you see, when he went.\nNow prince, consider, why did he leave his address? Why do you suppose\nhe went out of his way to tell Colia that he had gone to Wilkin's? Who\ncared to know that he was going to Wilkin's? No, no! prince, this is\nfinesse, thieves' finesse! This is as good as saying, 'There, how can I\nbe a thief when I leave my address? I'm not concealing my movements as a\nthief would.' Do you understand, prince?\"\n\n\"Oh yes, but that is not enough.\"\n\n\"Second proof. The scent turns out to be false, and the address given\nis a sham. An hour after--that is at about eight, I went to Wilkin's\nmyself, and there was no trace of Ferdishenko. The maid did tell me,\ncertainly, that an hour or so since someone had been hammering at the\ndoor, and had smashed the bell; she said she would not open the door\nbecause she didn't want to wake her master; probably she was too lazy to\nget up herself. Such phenomena are met with occasionally!\"\n\n\"But is that all your evidence? It is not enough!\"\n\n\"Well, prince, whom are we to suspect, then? Consider!\" said Lebedeff\nwith almost servile amiability, smiling at the prince. There was a look\nof cunning in his eyes, however.\n\n\"You should search your room and all the cupboards again,\" said the\nprince, after a moment or two of silent reflection.\n\n\"But I have done so, my dear prince!\" said Lebedeff, more sweetly than\never.\n\n\"H'm! why must you needs go up and change your coat like that?\" asked\nthe prince, banging the table with his fist, in annoyance.\n\n\"Oh, don't be so worried on my account, prince! I assure you I am not\nworth it! At least, not I alone. But I see you are suffering on behalf\nof the criminal too, for wretched Ferdishenko, in fact!\"\n\n\"Of course you have given me a disagreeable enough thing to think\nabout,\" said the prince, irritably, \"but what are you going to do, since\nyou are so sure it was Ferdishenko?\"\n\n\"But who else _could_ it be, my very dear prince?\" repeated Lebedeff, as\nsweet as sugar again. \"If you don't wish me to suspect Mr. Burdovsky?\"\n\n\"Of course not.\"\n\n\"Nor the general? Ha, ha, ha!\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" said the prince, angrily, turning round upon him.\n\n\"Quite so, nonsense! Ha, ha, ha! dear me! He did amuse me, did the\ngeneral! We went off on the hot scent to Wilkin's together, you know;\nbut I must first observe that the general was even more thunderstruck\nthan I myself this morning, when I awoke him after discovering the\ntheft; so much so that his very face changed--he grew red and then pale,\nand at length flew into a paroxysm of such noble wrath that I assure you\nI was quite surprised! He is a most generous-hearted man! He tells lies\nby the thousands, I know, but it is merely a weakness; he is a man of\nthe highest feelings; a simple-minded man too, and a man who carries the\nconviction of innocence in his very appearance. I love that man, sir; I\nmay have told you so before; it is a weakness of mine. Well--he suddenly\nstopped in the middle of the road, opened out his coat and bared his\nbreast. 'Search me,' he says, 'you searched Keller; why don't you search\nme too? It is only fair!' says he.\" And all the while his legs and hands\nwere trembling with anger, and he as white as a sheet all over! So I\nsaid to him, \"Nonsense, general; if anybody but yourself had said that\nto me, I'd have taken my head, my own head, and put it on a large dish\nand carried it round to anyone who suspected you; and I should have\nsaid: 'There, you see that head? It's my head, and I'll go bail with\nthat head for him! Yes, and walk through the fire for him, too. There,'\nsays I, 'that's how I'd answer for you, general!' Then he embraced me,\nin the middle of the street, and hugged me so tight (crying over me all\nthe while) that I coughed fit to choke! 'You are the one friend left to\nme amid all my misfortunes,' says he. Oh, he's a man of sentiment, that!\nHe went on to tell me a story of how he had been accused, or suspected,\nof stealing five hundred thousand roubles once, as a young man; and how,\nthe very next day, he had rushed into a burning, blazing house and saved\nthe very count who suspected him, and Nina Alexandrovna (who was then\na young girl), from a fiery death. The count embraced him, and that was\nhow he came to marry Nina Alexandrovna, he said. As for the money, it\nwas found among the ruins next day in an English iron box with a secret\nlock; it had got under the floor somehow, and if it had not been for the\nfire it would never have been found! The whole thing is, of course, an\nabsolute fabrication, though when he spoke of Nina Alexandrovna he wept!\nShe's a grand woman, is Nina Alexandrovna, though she is very angry with\nme!\"\n\n\"Are you acquainted with her?\"\n\n\"Well, hardly at all. I wish I were, if only for the sake of justifying\nmyself in her eyes. Nina Alexandrovna has a grudge against me for, as\nshe thinks, encouraging her husband in drinking; whereas in reality I\nnot only do not encourage him, but I actually keep him out of harm's\nway, and out of bad company. Besides, he's my friend, prince, so that\nI shall not lose sight of him, again. Where he goes, I go. He's quite\ngiven up visiting the captain's widow, though sometimes he thinks sadly\nof her, especially in the morning, when he's putting on his boots. I\ndon't know why it's at that time. But he has no money, and it's no\nuse his going to see her without. Has he borrowed any money from you,\nprince?\"\n\n\"No, he has not.\"\n\n\"Ah, he's ashamed to! He _meant_ to ask you, I know, for he said so. I\nsuppose he thinks that as you gave him some once (you remember), you\nwould probably refuse if he asked you again.\"\n\n\"Do you ever give him money?\"\n\n\"Prince! Money! Why I would give that man not only my money, but my\nvery life, if he wanted it. Well, perhaps that's exaggeration; not life,\nwe'll say, but some illness, a boil or a bad cough, or anything of that\nsort, I would stand with pleasure, for his sake; for I consider him a\ngreat man fallen--money, indeed!\"\n\n\"H'm, then you _do_ give him money?\"\n\n\"N-no, I have never given him money, and he knows well that I will never\ngive him any; because I am anxious to keep him out of intemperate\nways. He is going to town with me now; for you must know I am off to\nPetersburg after Ferdishenko, while the scent is hot; I'm certain he is\nthere. I shall let the general go one way, while I go the other; we have\nso arranged matters in order to pop out upon Ferdishenko, you see, from\ndifferent sides. But I am going to follow that naughty old general and\ncatch him, I know where, at a certain widow's house; for I think it will\nbe a good lesson, to put him to shame by catching him with the widow.\"\n\n\"Oh, Lebedeff, don't, don't make any scandal about it!\" said the prince,\nmuch agitated, and speaking in a low voice.\n\n\"Not for the world, not for the world! I merely wish to make him ashamed\nof himself. Oh, prince, great though this misfortune be to myself, I\ncannot help thinking of his morals! I have a great favour to ask of you,\nesteemed prince; I confess that it is the chief object of my visit. You\nknow the Ivolgins, you have even lived in their house; so if you would\nlend me your help, honoured prince, in the general's own interest and\nfor his good.\"\n\nLebedeff clasped his hands in supplication.\n\n\"What help do you want from me? You may be certain that I am most\nanxious to understand you, Lebedeff.\"\n\n\"I felt sure of that, or I should not have come to you. We might manage\nit with the help of Nina Alexandrovna, so that he might be closely\nwatched in his own house. Unfortunately I am not on terms...\notherwise... but Nicolai Ardalionovitch, who adores you with all his\nyouthful soul, might help, too.\"\n\n\"No, no! Heaven forbid that we should bring Nina Alexandrovna into this\nbusiness! Or Colia, either. But perhaps I have not yet quite understood\nyou, Lebedeff?\"\n\nLebedeff made an impatient movement.\n\n\"But there is nothing to understand! Sympathy and tenderness, that\nis all--that is all our poor invalid requires! You will permit me to\nconsider him an invalid?\"\n\n\"Yes, it shows delicacy and intelligence on your part.\"\n\n\"I will explain my idea by a practical example, to make it clearer. You\nknow the sort of man he is. At present his only failing is that he is\ncrazy about that captain's widow, and he cannot go to her without\nmoney, and I mean to catch him at her house today--for his own good; but\nsupposing it was not only the widow, but that he had committed a real\ncrime, or at least some very dishonourable action (of which he is, of\ncourse, incapable), I repeat that even in that case, if he were treated\nwith what I may call generous tenderness, one could get at the whole\ntruth, for he is very soft-hearted! Believe me, he would betray himself\nbefore five days were out; he would burst into tears, and make a clean\nbreast of the matter; especially if managed with tact, and if you and\nhis family watched his every step, so to speak. Oh, my dear prince,\"\nLebedeff added most emphatically, \"I do not positively assert that he\nhas... I am ready, as the saying is, to shed my last drop of blood for\nhim this instant; but you will admit that debauchery, drunkenness, and\nthe captain's widow, all these together may lead him very far.\"\n\n\"I am, of course, quite ready to add my efforts to yours in such a\ncase,\" said the prince, rising; \"but I confess, Lebedeff, that I am\nterribly perplexed. Tell me, do you still think... plainly, you say\nyourself that you suspect Mr. Ferdishenko?\"\n\nLebedeff clasped his hands once more.\n\n\"Why, who else could I possibly suspect? Who else, most outspoken\nprince?\" he replied, with an unctuous smile.\n\nMuishkin frowned, and rose from his seat.\n\n\"You see, Lebedeff, a mistake here would be a dreadful thing. This\nFerdishenko, I would not say a word against him, of course; but, who\nknows? Perhaps it really was he? I mean he really does seem to be a more\nlikely man than... than any other.\"\n\nLebedeff strained his eyes and ears to take in what the prince was\nsaying. The latter was frowning more and more, and walking excitedly up\nand down, trying not to look at Lebedeff.\n\n\"You see,\" he said, \"I was given to understand that Ferdishenko was that\nsort of man,--that one can't say everything before him. One has to take\ncare not to say too much, you understand? I say this to prove that he\nreally is, so to speak, more likely to have done this than anyone else,\neh? You understand? The important thing is, not to make a mistake.\"\n\n\"And who told you this about Ferdishenko?\"\n\n\"Oh, I was told. Of course I don't altogether believe it. I am very\nsorry that I should have had to say this, because I assure you I don't\nbelieve it myself; it is all nonsense, of course. It was stupid of me to\nsay anything about it.\"\n\n\"You see, it is very important, it is most important to know where you\ngot this report from,\" said Lebedeff, excitedly. He had risen from his\nseat, and was trying to keep step with the prince, running after him, up\nand down. \"Because look here, prince, I don't mind telling you now that\nas we were going along to Wilkin's this morning, after telling me what\nyou know about the fire, and saving the count and all that, the general\nwas pleased to drop certain hints to the same effect about Ferdishenko,\nbut so vaguely and clumsily that I thought better to put a few questions\nto him on the matter, with the result that I found the whole thing was\nan invention of his excellency's own mind. Of course, he only lies with\nthe best intentions; still, he lies. But, such being the case, where\ncould you have heard the same report? It was the inspiration of the\nmoment with him, you understand, so who could have told _you?_ It is an\nimportant question, you see!\"\n\n\"It was Colia told me, and his father told _him_ at about six this\nmorning. They met at the threshold, when Colia was leaving the room for\nsomething or other.\" The prince told Lebedeff all that Colia had made\nknown to himself, in detail.\n\n\"There now, that's what we may call _scent!_\" said Lebedeff, rubbing his\nhands and laughing silently. \"I thought it must be so, you see. The\ngeneral interrupted his innocent slumbers, at six o'clock, in order\nto go and wake his beloved son, and warn him of the dreadful danger of\ncompanionship with Ferdishenko. Dear me! what a dreadfully dangerous man\nFerdishenko must be, and what touching paternal solicitude, on the part\nof his excellency, ha! ha! ha!\"\n\n\"Listen, Lebedeff,\" began the prince, quite overwhelmed; \"_do_ act\nquietly--don't make a scandal, Lebedeff, I ask you--I entreat you! No\none must know--_no one_, mind! In that case only, I will help you.\"\n\n\"Be assured, most honourable, most worthy of princes--be assured that\nthe whole matter shall be buried within my heart!\" cried Lebedeff, in a\nparoxysm of exaltation. \"I'd give every drop of my blood... Illustrious\nprince, I am a poor wretch in soul and spirit, but ask the veriest\nscoundrel whether he would prefer to deal with one like himself, or with\na noble-hearted man like you, and there is no doubt as to his choice!\nHe'll answer that he prefers the noble-hearted man--and there you\nhave the triumph of virtue! _Au revoir_, honoured prince! You and I\ntogether--softly! softly!\"\n\nX.\n\nThe prince understood at last why he shivered with dread every time\nhe thought of the three letters in his pocket, and why he had put off\nreading them until the evening.\n\nWhen he fell into a heavy sleep on the sofa on the verandah, without\nhaving had the courage to open a single one of the three envelopes, he\nagain dreamed a painful dream, and once more that poor, \"sinful\" woman\nappeared to him. Again she gazed at him with tears sparkling on her long\nlashes, and beckoned him after her; and again he awoke, as before, with\nthe picture of her face haunting him.\n\nHe longed to get up and go to her at once--but he _could not_. At length,\nalmost in despair, he unfolded the letters, and began to read them.\n\nThese letters, too, were like a dream. We sometimes have strange,\nimpossible dreams, contrary to all the laws of nature. When we awake we\nremember them and wonder at their strangeness. You remember, perhaps,\nthat you were in full possession of your reason during this succession\nof fantastic images; even that you acted with extraordinary logic and\ncunning while surrounded by murderers who hid their intentions and made\ngreat demonstrations of friendship, while waiting for an opportunity\nto cut your throat. You remember how you escaped them by some ingenious\nstratagem; then you doubted if they were really deceived, or whether\nthey were only pretending not to know your hiding-place; then you\nthought of another plan and hoodwinked them once again. You remember all\nthis quite clearly, but how is it that your reason calmly accepted all\nthe manifest absurdities and impossibilities that crowded into your\ndream? One of the murderers suddenly changed into a woman before your\nvery eyes; then the woman was transformed into a hideous, cunning little\ndwarf; and you believed it, and accepted it all almost as a matter of\ncourse--while at the same time your intelligence seemed unusually keen,\nand accomplished miracles of cunning, sagacity, and logic! Why is it\nthat when you awake to the world of realities you nearly always feel,\nsometimes very vividly, that the vanished dream has carried with it some\nenigma which you have failed to solve? You smile at the extravagance\nof your dream, and yet you feel that this tissue of absurdity contained\nsome real idea, something that belongs to your true life,--something\nthat exists, and has always existed, in your heart. You search your\ndream for some prophecy that you were expecting. It has left a deep\nimpression upon you, joyful or cruel, but what it means, or what has\nbeen predicted to you in it, you can neither understand nor remember.\n\nThe reading of these letters produced some such effect upon the prince.\nHe felt, before he even opened the envelopes, that the very fact of\ntheir existence was like a nightmare. How could she ever have made up\nher mind to write to her? he asked himself. How could she write about\nthat at all? And how could such a wild idea have entered her head?\nAnd yet, the strangest part of the matter was, that while he read the\nletters, he himself almost believed in the possibility, and even in the\njustification, of the idea he had thought so wild. Of course it was a\nmad dream, a nightmare, and yet there was something cruelly real about\nit. For hours he was haunted by what he had read. Several passages\nreturned again and again to his mind, and as he brooded over them, he\nfelt inclined to say to himself that he had foreseen and known all that\nwas written here; it even seemed to him that he had read the whole of\nthis some time or other, long, long ago; and all that had tormented and\ngrieved him up to now was to be found in these old, long since read,\nletters.\n\n\"When you open this letter\" (so the first began), \"look first at the\nsignature. The signature will tell you all, so that I need explain\nnothing, nor attempt to justify myself. Were I in any way on a footing\nwith you, you might be offended at my audacity; but who am I, and who\nare you? We are at such extremes, and I am so far removed from you, that\nI could not offend you if I wished to do so.\"\n\nFarther on, in another place, she wrote: \"Do not consider my words\nas the sickly ecstasies of a diseased mind, but you are, in my\nopinion--perfection! I have seen you--I see you every day. I do not\njudge you; I have not weighed you in the scales of Reason and found you\nPerfection--it is simply an article of faith. But I must confess one sin\nagainst you--I love you. One should not love perfection. One should\nonly look on it as perfection--yet I am in love with you. Though love\nequalizes, do not fear. I have not lowered you to my level, even in\nmy most secret thoughts. I have written 'Do not fear,' as if you could\nfear. I would kiss your footprints if I could; but, oh! I am not putting\nmyself on a level with you!--Look at the signature--quick, look at the\nsignature!\"\n\n\"However, observe\" (she wrote in another of the letters), \"that although\nI couple you with him, yet I have not once asked you whether you love\nhim. He fell in love with you, though he saw you but once. He spoke of\nyou as of 'the light.' These are his own words--I heard him use them.\nBut I understood without his saying it that you were all that light is\nto him. I lived near him for a whole month, and I understood then that\nyou, too, must love him. I think of you and him as one.\"\n\n\"What was the matter yesterday?\" (she wrote on another sheet). \"I passed\nby you, and you seemed to me to _blush_. Perhaps it was only my fancy.\nIf I were to bring you to the most loathsome den, and show you the\nrevelation of undisguised vice--you should not blush. You can never feel\nthe sense of personal affront. You may hate all who are mean, or base,\nor unworthy--but not for yourself--only for those whom they wrong. No\none can wrong _you_. Do you know, I think you ought to love me--for you\nare the same in my eyes as in his-you are as light. An angel cannot\nhate, perhaps cannot love, either. I often ask myself--is it possible to\nlove everybody? Indeed it is not; it is not in nature. Abstract love\nof humanity is nearly always love of self. But you are different. You\ncannot help loving all, since you can compare with none, and are above\nall personal offence or anger. Oh! how bitter it would be to me to\nknow that you felt anger or shame on my account, for that would be your\nfall--you would become comparable at once with such as me.\n\n\"Yesterday, after seeing you, I went home and thought out a picture.\n\n\"Artists always draw the Saviour as an actor in one of the Gospel\nstories. I should do differently. I should represent Christ alone--the\ndisciples did leave Him alone occasionally. I should paint one little\nchild left with Him. This child has been playing about near Him, and\nhad probably just been telling the Saviour something in its pretty\nbaby prattle. Christ had listened to it, but was now musing--one\nhand reposing on the child's bright head. His eyes have a far-away\nexpression. Thought, great as the Universe, is in them--His face is sad.\nThe little one leans its elbow upon Christ's knee, and with its cheek\nresting on its hand, gazes up at Him, pondering as children sometimes do\nponder. The sun is setting. There you have my picture.\n\n\"You are innocent--and in your innocence lies all your perfection--oh,\nremember that! What is my passion to you?--you are mine now; I shall be\nnear you all my life--I shall not live long!\"\n\nAt length, in the last letter of all, he found:\n\n\"For Heaven's sake, don't misunderstand me! Do not think that I\nhumiliate myself by writing thus to you, or that I belong to that class\nof people who take a satisfaction in humiliating themselves--from pride.\nI have my consolation, though it would be difficult to explain it--but I\ndo not humiliate myself.\n\n\"Why do I wish to unite you two? For your sakes or my own? For my own\nsake, naturally. All the problems of my life would thus be solved;\nI have thought so for a long time. I know that once when your sister\nAdelaida saw my portrait she said that such beauty could overthrow\nthe world. But I have renounced the world. You think it strange that\nI should say so, for you saw me decked with lace and diamonds, in the\ncompany of drunkards and wastrels. Take no notice of that; I know that\nI have almost ceased to exist. God knows what it is dwelling within me\nnow--it is not myself. I can see it every day in two dreadful eyes which\nare always looking at me, even when not present. These eyes are silent\nnow, they say nothing; but I know their secret. His house is gloomy, and\nthere is a secret in it. I am convinced that in some box he has a razor\nhidden, tied round with silk, just like the one that Moscow murderer\nhad. This man also lived with his mother, and had a razor hidden away,\ntied round with white silk, and with this razor he intended to cut a\nthroat.\n\n\"All the while I was in their house I felt sure that somewhere beneath\nthe floor there was hidden away some dreadful corpse, wrapped in\noil-cloth, perhaps buried there by his father, who knows? Just as in the\nMoscow case. I could have shown you the very spot!\n\n\"He is always silent, but I know well that he loves me so much that he\nmust hate me. My wedding and yours are to be on the same day; so I have\narranged with him. I have no secrets from him. I would kill him from\nvery fright, but he will kill me first. He has just burst out laughing,\nand says that I am raving. He knows I am writing to you.\"\n\nThere was much more of this delirious wandering in the letters--one of\nthem was very long.\n\nAt last the prince came out of the dark, gloomy park, in which he had\nwandered about for hours just as yesterday. The bright night seemed to\nhim to be lighter than ever. \"It must be quite early,\" he thought. (He\nhad forgotten his watch.) There was a sound of distant music somewhere.\n\"Ah,\" he thought, \"the Vauxhall! They won't be there today, of course!\"\nAt this moment he noticed that he was close to their house; he had felt\nthat he must gravitate to this spot eventually, and, with a beating\nheart, he mounted the verandah steps.\n\nNo one met him; the verandah was empty, and nearly pitch dark. He opened\nthe door into the room, but it, too, was dark and empty. He stood in the\nmiddle of the room in perplexity. Suddenly the door opened, and in came\nAlexandra, candle in hand. Seeing the prince she stopped before him in\nsurprise, looking at him questioningly.\n\nIt was clear that she had been merely passing through the room from door\nto door, and had not had the remotest notion that she would meet anyone.\n\n\"How did you come here?\" she asked, at last.\n\n\"I--I--came in--\"\n\n\"Mamma is not very well, nor is Aglaya. Adelaida has gone to bed, and\nI am just going. We were alone the whole evening. Father and Prince S.\nhave gone to town.\"\n\n\"I have come to you--now--to--\"\n\n\"Do you know what time it is?\"\n\n\"N--no!\"\n\n\"Half-past twelve. We are always in bed by one.\"\n\n\"I--I thought it was half-past nine!\"\n\n\"Never mind!\" she laughed, \"but why didn't you come earlier? Perhaps you\nwere expected!\"\n\n\"I thought\" he stammered, making for the door.\n\n\"_Au revoir!_ I shall amuse them all with this story tomorrow!\"\n\nHe walked along the road towards his own house. His heart was beating,\nhis thoughts were confused, everything around seemed to be part of a\ndream.\n\nAnd suddenly, just as twice already he had awaked from sleep with the\nsame vision, that very apparition now seemed to rise up before him. The\nwoman appeared to step out from the park, and stand in the path in front\nof him, as though she had been waiting for him there.\n\nHe shuddered and stopped; she seized his hand and pressed it frenziedly.\n\nNo, this was no apparition!\n\nThere she stood at last, face to face with him, for the first time since\ntheir parting.\n\nShe said something, but he looked silently back at her. His heart ached\nwith anguish. Oh! never would he banish the recollection of this meeting\nwith her, and he never remembered it but with the same pain and agony of\nmind.\n\nShe went on her knees before him--there in the open road--like a\nmadwoman. He retreated a step, but she caught his hand and kissed\nit, and, just as in his dream, the tears were sparkling on her long,\nbeautiful lashes.\n\n\"Get up!\" he said, in a frightened whisper, raising her. \"Get up at\nonce!\"\n\n\"Are you happy--are you happy?\" she asked. \"Say this one word. Are you\nhappy now? Today, this moment? Have you just been with her? What did she\nsay?\"\n\nShe did not rise from her knees; she would not listen to him; she put\nher questions hurriedly, as though she were pursued.\n\n\"I am going away tomorrow, as you bade me--I won't write--so that this\nis the last time I shall see you, the last time! This is really the _last\ntime!_\"\n\n\"Oh, be calm--be calm! Get up!\" he entreated, in despair.\n\nShe gazed thirstily at him and clutched his hands.\n\n\"Good-bye!\" she said at last, and rose and left him, very quickly.\n\nThe prince noticed that Rogojin had suddenly appeared at her side, and\nhad taken her arm and was leading her away.\n\n\"Wait a minute, prince,\" shouted the latter, as he went. \"I shall be\nback in five minutes.\"\n\nHe reappeared in five minutes as he had said. The prince was waiting for\nhim.\n\n\"I've put her in the carriage,\" he said; \"it has been waiting round the\ncorner there since ten o'clock. She expected that you would be with _them_\nall the evening. I told her exactly what you wrote me. She won't write\nto the girl any more, she promises; and tomorrow she will be off, as you\nwish. She desired to see you for the last time, although you refused,\nso we've been sitting and waiting on that bench till you should pass on\nyour way home.\"\n\n\"Did she bring you with her of her own accord?\"\n\n\"Of course she did!\" said Rogojin, showing his teeth; \"and I saw for\nmyself what I knew before. You've read her letters, I suppose?\"\n\n\"Did you read them?\" asked the prince, struck by the thought.\n\n\"Of course--she showed them to me herself. You are thinking of the\nrazor, eh? Ha, ha, ha!\"\n\n\"Oh, she is mad!\" cried the prince, wringing his hands. \"Who knows?\nPerhaps she is not so mad after all,\" said Rogojin, softly, as though\nthinking aloud.\n\nThe prince made no reply.\n\n\"Well, good-bye,\" said Rogojin. \"I'm off tomorrow too, you know.\nRemember me kindly! By-the-by,\" he added, turning round sharply again,\n\"did you answer her question just now? Are you happy, or not?\"\n\n\"No, no, no!\" cried the prince, with unspeakable sadness.\n\n\"Ha, ha! I never supposed you would say 'yes,'\" cried Rogojin, laughing\nsardonically.\n\nAnd he disappeared, without looking round again.\n\n\n\n\nPART IV\n\nI.\n\nA week had elapsed since the rendezvous of our two friends on the\ngreen bench in the park, when, one fine morning at about half-past ten\no'clock, Varvara Ardalionovna, otherwise Mrs. Ptitsin, who had been\nout to visit a friend, returned home in a state of considerable mental\ndepression.\n\nThere are certain people of whom it is difficult to say anything which\nwill at once throw them into relief--in other words, describe them\ngraphically in their typical characteristics. These are they who are\ngenerally known as \"commonplace people,\" and this class comprises, of\ncourse, the immense majority of mankind. Authors, as a rule, attempt to\nselect and portray types rarely met with in their entirety, but these\ntypes are nevertheless more real than real life itself.\n\n\"Podkoleosin\" [A character in Gogol's comedy, The Wedding.] was perhaps\nan exaggeration, but he was by no means a non-existent character; on the\ncontrary, how many intelligent people, after hearing of this Podkoleosin\nfrom Gogol, immediately began to find that scores of their friends were\nexactly like him! They knew, perhaps, before Gogol told them, that their\nfriends were like Podkoleosin, but they did not know what name to give\nthem. In real life, young fellows seldom jump out of the window just\nbefore their weddings, because such a feat, not to speak of its other\naspects, must be a decidedly unpleasant mode of escape; and yet there\nare plenty of bridegrooms, intelligent fellows too, who would be ready\nto confess themselves Podkoleosins in the depths of their consciousness,\njust before marriage. Nor does every husband feel bound to repeat\nat every step, \"_Tu l'as voulu, Georges Dandin!_\" like another typical\npersonage; and yet how many millions and billions of Georges Dandins\nthere are in real life who feel inclined to utter this soul-drawn cry\nafter their honeymoon, if not the day after the wedding! Therefore,\nwithout entering into any more serious examination of the question, I\nwill content myself with remarking that in real life typical characters\nare \"watered down,\" so to speak; and all these Dandins and Podkoleosins\nactually exist among us every day, but in a diluted form. I will just\nadd, however, that Georges Dandin might have existed exactly as Molière\npresented him, and probably does exist now and then, though rarely; and\nso I will end this scientific examination, which is beginning to\nlook like a newspaper criticism. But for all this, the question\nremains,--what are the novelists to do with commonplace people, and how\nare they to be presented to the reader in such a form as to be in\nthe least degree interesting? They cannot be left out altogether, for\ncommonplace people meet one at every turn of life, and to leave them out\nwould be to destroy the whole reality and probability of the story. To\nfill a novel with typical characters only, or with merely strange and\nuncommon people, would render the book unreal and improbable, and\nwould very likely destroy the interest. In my opinion, the duty of the\nnovelist is to seek out points of interest and instruction even in the\ncharacters of commonplace people.\n\nFor instance, when the whole essence of an ordinary person's nature lies\nin his perpetual and unchangeable commonplaceness; and when in spite of\nall his endeavours to do something out of the common, this person ends,\neventually, by remaining in his unbroken line of routine--. I think\nsuch an individual really does become a type of his own--a type of\ncommonplaceness which will not for the world, if it can help it,\nbe contented, but strains and yearns to be something original and\nindependent, without the slightest possibility of being so. To\nthis class of commonplace people belong several characters in this\nnovel;--characters which--I admit--I have not drawn very vividly up to\nnow for my reader's benefit.\n\nSuch were, for instance, Varvara Ardalionovna Ptitsin, her husband, and\nher brother, Gania.\n\nThere is nothing so annoying as to be fairly rich, of a fairly good\nfamily, pleasing presence, average education, to be \"not stupid,\"\nkind-hearted, and yet to have no talent at all, no originality, not a\nsingle idea of one's own--to be, in fact, \"just like everyone else.\"\n\nOf such people there are countless numbers in this world--far more even\nthan appear. They can be divided into two classes as all men can--that\nis, those of limited intellect, and those who are much cleverer. The\nformer of these classes is the happier.\n\nTo a commonplace man of limited intellect, for instance, nothing is\nsimpler than to imagine himself an original character, and to revel in\nthat belief without the slightest misgiving.\n\nMany of our young women have thought fit to cut their hair short, put on\nblue spectacles, and call themselves Nihilists. By doing this they have\nbeen able to persuade themselves, without further trouble, that they\nhave acquired new convictions of their own. Some men have but felt some\nlittle qualm of kindness towards their fellow-men, and the fact has\nbeen quite enough to persuade them that they stand alone in the van of\nenlightenment and that no one has such humanitarian feelings as they.\nOthers have but to read an idea of somebody else's, and they can\nimmediately assimilate it and believe that it was a child of their own\nbrain. The \"impudence of ignorance,\" if I may use the expression, is\ndeveloped to a wonderful extent in such cases;--unlikely as it appears,\nit is met with at every turn.\n\nThis confidence of a stupid man in his own talents has been wonderfully\ndepicted by Gogol in the amazing character of Pirogoff. Pirogoff has\nnot the slightest doubt of his own genius,--nay, of his _superiority_ of\ngenius,--so certain is he of it that he never questions it. How\nmany Pirogoffs have there not been among our writers--scholars,\npropagandists? I say \"have been,\" but indeed there are plenty of them at\nthis very day.\n\nOur friend, Gania, belonged to the other class--to the \"much cleverer\"\npersons, though he was from head to foot permeated and saturated with\nthe longing to be original. This class, as I have said above, is far\nless happy. For the \"clever commonplace\" person, though he may possibly\nimagine himself a man of genius and originality, none the less has\nwithin his heart the deathless worm of suspicion and doubt; and this\ndoubt sometimes brings a clever man to despair. (As a rule, however,\nnothing tragic happens;--his liver becomes a little damaged in the\ncourse of time, nothing more serious. Such men do not give up their\naspirations after originality without a severe struggle,--and there have\nbeen men who, though good fellows in themselves, and even benefactors\nto humanity, have sunk to the level of base criminals for the sake of\noriginality).\n\nGania was a beginner, as it were, upon this road. A deep and\nunchangeable consciousness of his own lack of talent, combined with a\nvast longing to be able to persuade himself that he was original, had\nrankled in his heart, even from childhood.\n\nHe seemed to have been born with overwrought nerves, and in his\npassionate desire to excel, he was often led to the brink of some\nrash step; and yet, having resolved upon such a step, when the moment\narrived, he invariably proved too sensible to take it. He was ready,\nin the same way, to do a base action in order to obtain his wished-for\nobject; and yet, when the moment came to do it, he found that he was too\nhonest for any great baseness. (Not that he objected to acts of petty\nmeanness--he was always ready for _them_.) He looked with hate and\nloathing on the poverty and downfall of his family, and treated his\nmother with haughty contempt, although he knew that his whole future\ndepended on her character and reputation.\n\nAglaya had simply frightened him; yet he did not give up all thoughts of\nher--though he never seriously hoped that she would condescend to him.\nAt the time of his \"adventure\" with Nastasia Philipovna he had come to\nthe conclusion that money was his only hope--money should do all for\nhim.\n\nAt the moment when he lost Aglaya, and after the scene with Nastasia, he\nhad felt so low in his own eyes that he actually brought the money back\nto the prince. Of this returning of the money given to him by a madwoman\nwho had received it from a madman, he had often repented since--though\nhe never ceased to be proud of his action. During the short time that\nMuishkin remained in Petersburg Gania had had time to come to hate him\nfor his sympathy, though the prince told him that it was \"not everyone\nwho would have acted so nobly\" as to return the money. He had long\npondered, too, over his relations with Aglaya, and had persuaded himself\nthat with such a strange, childish, innocent character as hers, things\nmight have ended very differently. Remorse then seized him; he threw up\nhis post, and buried himself in self-torment and reproach.\n\nHe lived at Ptitsin's, and openly showed contempt for the latter, though\nhe always listened to his advice, and was sensible enough to ask for it\nwhen he wanted it. Gavrila Ardalionovitch was angry with Ptitsin because\nthe latter did not care to become a Rothschild. \"If you are to be a\nJew,\" he said, \"do it properly--squeeze people right and left, show some\ncharacter; be the King of the Jews while you are about it.\"\n\nPtitsin was quiet and not easily offended--he only laughed. But on one\noccasion he explained seriously to Gania that he was no Jew, that he\ndid nothing dishonest, that he could not help the market price of money,\nthat, thanks to his accurate habits, he had already a good footing and\nwas respected, and that his business was flourishing.\n\n\"I shan't ever be a Rothschild, and there is no reason why I should,\" he\nadded, smiling; \"but I shall have a house in the Liteynaya, perhaps two,\nand that will be enough for me.\" \"Who knows but what I may have three!\"\nhe concluded to himself; but this dream, cherished inwardly, he never\nconfided to a soul.\n\nNature loves and favours such people. Ptitsin will certainly have his\nreward, not three houses, but four, precisely because from childhood up\nhe had realized that he would never be a Rothschild. That will be the\nlimit of Ptitsin's fortune, and, come what may, he will never have more\nthan four houses.\n\nVarvara Ardalionovna was not like her brother. She too, had passionate\ndesires, but they were persistent rather than impetuous. Her plans were\nas wise as her methods of carrying them out. No doubt she also belonged\nto the category of ordinary people who dream of being original, but she\nsoon discovered that she had not a grain of true originality, and she\ndid not let it trouble her too much. Perhaps a certain kind of pride\ncame to her help. She made her first concession to the demands of\npractical life with great resolution when she consented to marry\nPtitsin. However, when she married she did not say to herself, \"Never\nmind a mean action if it leads to the end in view,\" as her brother would\ncertainly have said in such a case; it is quite probable that he may\nhave said it when he expressed his elder-brotherly satisfaction at her\ndecision. Far from this; Varvara Ardalionovna did not marry until she\nfelt convinced that her future husband was unassuming, agreeable,\nalmost cultured, and that nothing on earth would tempt him to a really\ndishonourable deed. As to small meannesses, such trifles did not trouble\nher. Indeed, who is free from them? It is absurd to expect the ideal!\nBesides, she knew that her marriage would provide a refuge for all her\nfamily. Seeing Gania unhappy, she was anxious to help him, in spite of\ntheir former disputes and misunderstandings. Ptitsin, in a friendly way,\nwould press his brother-in-law to enter the army. \"You know,\" he said\nsometimes, jokingly, \"you despise generals and generaldom, but you will\nsee that 'they' will all end by being generals in their turn. You will\nsee it if you live long enough!\"\n\n\"But why should they suppose that I despise generals?\" Gania thought\nsarcastically to himself.\n\nTo serve her brother's interests, Varvara Ardalionovna was constantly at\nthe Epanchins' house, helped by the fact that in childhood she and Gania\nhad played with General Ivan Fedorovitch's daughters. It would have been\ninconsistent with her character if in these visits she had been pursuing\na chimera; her project was not chimerical at all; she was building on\na firm basis--on her knowledge of the character of the Epanchin family,\nespecially Aglaya, whom she studied closely. All Varvara's efforts\nwere directed towards bringing Aglaya and Gania together. Perhaps she\nachieved some result; perhaps, also, she made the mistake of depending\ntoo much upon her brother, and expecting more from him than he would\never be capable of giving. However this may be, her manoeuvres were\nskilful enough. For weeks at a time she would never mention Gania. Her\nattitude was modest but dignified, and she was always extremely truthful\nand sincere. Examining the depths of her conscience, she found nothing\nto reproach herself with, and this still further strengthened her in\nher designs. But Varvara Ardalionovna sometimes remarked that she felt\nspiteful; that there was a good deal of vanity in her, perhaps even of\nwounded vanity. She noticed this at certain times more than at others,\nand especially after her visits to the Epanchins.\n\nToday, as I have said, she returned from their house with a heavy\nfeeling of dejection. There was a sensation of bitterness, a sort of\nmocking contempt, mingled with it.\n\nArrived at her own house, Varia heard a considerable commotion going\non in the upper storey, and distinguished the voices of her father and\nbrother. On entering the salon she found Gania pacing up and down at\nfrantic speed, pale with rage and almost tearing his hair. She frowned,\nand subsided on to the sofa with a tired air, and without taking the\ntrouble to remove her hat. She very well knew that if she kept quiet and\nasked her brother nothing about his reason for tearing up and down the\nroom, his wrath would fall upon her head. So she hastened to put the\nquestion:\n\n\"The old story, eh?\"\n\n\"Old story? No! Heaven knows what's up now--I don't! Father has simply\ngone mad; mother's in floods of tears. Upon my word, Varia, I must kick\nhim out of the house; or else go myself,\" he added, probably remembering\nthat he could not well turn people out of a house which was not his own.\n\n\"You must make allowances,\" murmured Varia.\n\n\"Make allowances? For whom? Him--the old blackguard? No, no, Varia--that\nwon't do! It won't do, I tell you! And look at the swagger of the man!\nHe's all to blame himself, and yet he puts on so much 'side' that you'd\nthink--my word!--'It's too much trouble to go through the gate, you must\nbreak the fence for me!' That's the sort of air he puts on; but what's\nthe matter with you, Varia? What a curious expression you have!\"\n\n\"I'm all right,\" said Varia, in a tone that sounded as though she were\nall wrong.\n\nGania looked more intently at her.\n\n\"You've been _there?_\" he asked, suddenly.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Did you find out anything?\"\n\n\"Nothing unexpected. I discovered that it's all true. My husband was\nwiser than either of us. Just as he suspected from the beginning, so it\nhas fallen out. Where is he?\"\n\n\"Out. Well--what has happened?--go on.\"\n\n\"The prince is formally engaged to her--that's settled. The elder\nsisters told me about it. Aglaya has agreed. They don't attempt to\nconceal it any longer; you know how mysterious and secret they have all\nbeen up to now. Adelaida's wedding is put off again, so that both can be\nmarried on one day. Isn't that delightfully romantic? Somebody ought to\nwrite a poem on it. Sit down and write an ode instead of tearing up\nand down like that. This evening Princess Bielokonski is to arrive; she\ncomes just in time--they have a party tonight. He is to be presented\nto old Bielokonski, though I believe he knows her already; probably the\nengagement will be openly announced. They are only afraid that he may\nknock something down, or trip over something when he comes into the\nroom. It would be just like him.\"\n\nGania listened attentively, but to his sister's astonishment he was by\nno means so impressed by this news (which should, she thought, have been\nso important to him) as she had expected.\n\n\"Well, it was clear enough all along,\" he said, after a moment's\nreflection. \"So that's the end,\" he added, with a disagreeable smile,\ncontinuing to walk up and down the room, but much slower than before,\nand glancing slyly into his sister's face.\n\n\"It's a good thing that you take it philosophically, at all events,\"\nsaid Varia. \"I'm really very glad of it.\"\n\n\"Yes, it's off our hands--off _yours_, I should say.\"\n\n\"I think I have served you faithfully. I never even asked you what\nhappiness you expected to find with Aglaya.\"\n\n\"Did I ever expect to find happiness with Aglaya?\"\n\n\"Come, come, don't overdo your philosophy. Of course you did. Now it's\nall over, and a good thing, too; pair of fools that we have been! I\nconfess I have never been able to look at it seriously. I busied myself\nin it for your sake, thinking that there was no knowing what might\nhappen with a funny girl like that to deal with. There were ninety to\none chances against it. To this moment I can't make out why you wished\nfor it.\"\n\n\"H'm! now, I suppose, you and your husband will never weary of egging\nme on to work again. You'll begin your lectures about perseverance and\nstrength of will, and all that. I know it all by heart,\" said Gania,\nlaughing.\n\n\"He's got some new idea in his head,\" thought Varia. \"Are they pleased\nover there--the parents?\" asked Gania, suddenly.\n\n\"N--no, I don't think they are. You can judge for yourself. I think the\ngeneral is pleased enough; her mother is a little uneasy. She always\nloathed the idea of the prince as a _husband_; everybody knows that.\"\n\n\"Of course, naturally. The bridegroom is an impossible and ridiculous\none. I mean, has _she_ given her formal consent?\"\n\n\"She has not said 'no,' up to now, and that's all. It was sure to be so\nwith her. You know what she is like. You know how absurdly shy she is.\nYou remember how she used to hide in a cupboard as a child, so as to\navoid seeing visitors, for hours at a time. She is just the same now;\nbut, do you know, I think there is something serious in the matter, even\nfrom her side; I feel it, somehow. She laughs at the prince, they say,\nfrom morn to night in order to hide her real feelings; but you may be\nsure she finds occasion to say something or other to him on the sly, for\nhe himself is in a state of radiant happiness. He walks in the clouds;\nthey say he is extremely funny just now; I heard it from themselves.\nThey seemed to be laughing at me in their sleeves--those elder girls--I\ndon't know why.\"\n\nGania had begun to frown, and probably Varia added this last sentence\nin order to probe his thought. However, at this moment, the noise began\nagain upstairs.\n\n\"I'll turn him out!\" shouted Gania, glad of the opportunity of venting\nhis vexation. \"I shall just turn him out--we can't have this.\"\n\n\"Yes, and then he'll go about the place and disgrace us as he did\nyesterday.\"\n\n\"How 'as he did yesterday'? What do you mean? What did he do yesterday?\"\nasked Gania, in alarm.\n\n\"Why, goodness me, don't you know?\" Varia stopped short.\n\n\"What? You don't mean to say that he went there yesterday!\" cried Gania,\nflushing red with shame and anger. \"Good heavens, Varia! Speak! You have\njust been there. _Was_ he there or not, _quick?_\" And Gania rushed for the\ndoor. Varia followed and caught him by both hands.\n\n\"What are you doing? Where are you going to? You can't let him go now;\nif you do he'll go and do something worse.\"\n\n\"What did he do there? What did he say?\" \"They couldn't tell me\nthemselves; they couldn't make head or tail of it; but he frightened\nthem all. He came to see the general, who was not at home; so he asked\nfor Lizabetha Prokofievna. First of all, he begged her for some place,\nor situation, for work of some kind, and then he began to complain about\n_us_, about me and my husband, and you, especially _you_; he said a lot of\nthings.\"\n\n\"Oh! couldn't you find out?\" muttered Gania, trembling hysterically.\n\n\"No--nothing more than that. Why, they couldn't understand him\nthemselves; and very likely didn't tell me all.\"\n\nGania seized his head with both hands and tottered to the window; Varia\nsat down at the other window.\n\n\"Funny girl, Aglaya,\" she observed, after a pause. \"When she left me she\nsaid, 'Give my special and personal respects to your parents; I shall\ncertainly find an opportunity to see your father one day,' and so\nserious over it. She's a strange creature.\"\n\n\"Wasn't she joking? She was speaking sarcastically!\" \"Not a bit of it;\nthat's just the strange part of it.\"\n\n\"Does she know about father, do you think--or not?\"\n\n\"That they do _not_ know about it in the house is quite certain, the rest\nof them, I mean; but you have given me an idea. Aglaya perhaps knows.\nShe alone, though, if anyone; for the sisters were as astonished as I\nwas to hear her speak so seriously. If she knows, the prince must have\ntold her.\"\n\n\"Oh! it's not a great matter to guess who told her. A thief! A thief in\nour family, and the head of the family, too!\"\n\n\"Oh! nonsense!\" cried Varia, angrily. \"That was nothing but a drunkard's\ntale. Nonsense! Why, who invented the whole thing--Lebedeff and the\nprince--a pretty pair! Both were probably drunk.\"\n\n\"Father is a drunkard and a thief; I am a beggar, and the husband of my\nsister is a usurer,\" continued Gania, bitterly. \"There was a pretty list\nof advantages with which to enchant the heart of Aglaya.\"\n\n\"That same husband of your sister, the usurer--\"\n\n\"Feeds me? Go on. Don't stand on ceremony, pray.\"\n\n\"Don't lose your temper. You are just like a schoolboy. You think that\nall this sort of thing would harm you in Aglaya's eyes, do you? You\nlittle know her character. She is capable of refusing the most brilliant\nparty, and running away and starving in a garret with some wretched\nstudent; that's the sort of girl she is. You never could or did\nunderstand how interesting you would have seen in her eyes if you had\ncome firmly and proudly through our misfortunes. The prince has simply\ncaught her with hook and line; firstly, because he never thought of\nfishing for her, and secondly, because he is an idiot in the eyes of\nmost people. It's quite enough for her that by accepting him she puts\nher family out and annoys them all round--that's what she likes. You\ndon't understand these things.\"\n\n\"We shall see whether I understand or no!\" said Gania, enigmatically.\n\"But I shouldn't like her to know all about father, all the same. I\nthought the prince would manage to hold his tongue about this, at least.\nHe prevented Lebedeff spreading the news--he wouldn't even tell me all\nwhen I asked him--\"\n\n\"Then you must see that he is not responsible. What does it matter to\nyou now, in any case? What are you hoping for still? If you _have_ a hope\nleft, it is that your suffering air may soften her heart towards you.\"\n\n\"Oh, she would funk a scandal like anyone else. You are all tarred with\none brush!\"\n\n\"What! _Aglaya_ would have funked? You are a chicken-hearted fellow,\nGania!\" said Varia, looking at her brother with contempt. \"Not one of\nus is worth much. Aglaya may be a wild sort of a girl, but she is far\nnobler than any of us, a thousand times nobler!\"\n\n\"Well--come! there's nothing to get cross about,\" said Gania.\n\n\"All I'm afraid of is--mother. I'm afraid this scandal about father may\ncome to her ears; perhaps it has already. I am dreadfully afraid.\"\n\n\"It undoubtedly has already!\" observed Gania.\n\nVaria had risen from her place and had started to go upstairs to her\nmother; but at this observation of Gania's she turned and gazed at him\nattentively.\n\n\"Who could have told her?\"\n\n\"Hippolyte, probably. He would think it the most delightful amusement in\nthe world to tell her of it the instant he moved over here; I haven't a\ndoubt of it.\"\n\n\"But how could he know anything of it? Tell me that. Lebedeff and the\nprince determined to tell no one--even Colia knows nothing.\"\n\n\"What, Hippolyte? He found it out himself, of course. Why, you have no\nidea what a cunning little animal he is; dirty little gossip! He has\nthe most extraordinary nose for smelling out other people's secrets, or\nanything approaching to scandal. Believe it or not, but I'm pretty sure\nhe has got round Aglaya. If he hasn't, he soon will. Rogojin is intimate\nwith him, too. How the prince doesn't notice it, I can't understand. The\nlittle wretch considers me his enemy now and does his best to catch me\ntripping. What on earth does it matter to him, when he's dying? However,\nyou'll see; I shall catch _him_ tripping yet, and not he me.\"\n\n\"Why did you get him over here, if you hate him so? And is it really\nworth your while to try to score off him?\"\n\n\"Why, it was yourself who advised me to bring him over!\"\n\n\"I thought he might be useful. You know he is in love with Aglaya\nhimself, now, and has written to her; he has even written to Lizabetha\nProkofievna!\"\n\n\"Oh! he's not dangerous there!\" cried Gania, laughing angrily. \"However,\nI believe there is something of that sort in the air; he is very likely\nto be in love, for he is a mere boy. But he won't write anonymous\nletters to the old lady; that would be too audacious a thing for him to\nattempt; but I dare swear the very first thing he did was to show me up\nto Aglaya as a base deceiver and intriguer. I confess I was fool enough\nto attempt something through him at first. I thought he would throw\nhimself into my service out of revengeful feelings towards the prince,\nthe sly little beast! But I know him better now. As for the theft, he\nmay have heard of it from the widow in Petersburg, for if the old man\ncommitted himself to such an act, he can have done it for no other\nobject but to give the money to her. Hippolyte said to me, without any\nprelude, that the general had promised the widow four hundred roubles.\nOf course I understood, and the little wretch looked at me with a nasty\nsort of satisfaction. I know him; you may depend upon it he went and\ntold mother too, for the pleasure of wounding her. And why doesn't he\ndie, I should like to know? He undertook to die within three weeks,\nand here he is getting fatter. His cough is better, too. It was only\nyesterday that he said that was the second day he hadn't coughed blood.\"\n\n\"Well, turn him out!\"\n\n\"I don't _hate_, I despise him,\" said Gania, grandly. \"Well, I do hate\nhim, if you like!\" he added, with a sudden access of rage, \"and I'll\ntell him so to his face, even when he's dying! If you had but read his\nconfession--good Lord! what refinement of impudence! Oh, but I'd have\nliked to whip him then and there, like a schoolboy, just to see how\nsurprised he would have been! Now he hates everybody because he--Oh, I\nsay, what on earth are they doing there! Listen to that noise! I really\ncan't stand this any longer. Ptitsin!\" he cried, as the latter entered\nthe room, \"what in the name of goodness are we coming to? Listen to\nthat--\"\n\nBut the noise came rapidly nearer, the door burst open, and old General\nIvolgin, raging, furious, purple-faced, and trembling with anger, rushed\nin. He was followed by Nina Alexandrovna, Colia, and behind the rest,\nHippolyte.\n\nII.\n\nHippolyte had now been five days at the Ptitsins'. His flitting from the\nprince's to these new quarters had been brought about quite naturally\nand without many words. He did not quarrel with the prince--in fact,\nthey seemed to part as friends. Gania, who had been hostile enough on\nthat eventful evening, had himself come to see him a couple of days\nlater, probably in obedience to some sudden impulse. For some reason or\nother, Rogojin too had begun to visit the sick boy. The prince thought\nit might be better for him to move away from his (the prince's) house.\nHippolyte informed him, as he took his leave, that Ptitsin \"had been\nkind enough to offer him a corner,\" and did not say a word about Gania,\nthough Gania had procured his invitation, and himself came to fetch him\naway. Gania noticed this at the time, and put it to Hippolyte's debit on\naccount.\n\nGania was right when he told his sister that Hippolyte was getting\nbetter; that he was better was clear at the first glance. He entered the\nroom now last of all, deliberately, and with a disagreeable smile on his\nlips.\n\nNina Alexandrovna came in, looking frightened. She had changed much\nsince we last saw her, half a year ago, and had grown thin and pale.\nColia looked worried and perplexed. He could not understand the vagaries\nof the general, and knew nothing of the last achievement of that worthy,\nwhich had caused so much commotion in the house. But he could see that\nhis father had of late changed very much, and that he had begun to\nbehave in so extraordinary a fashion both at home and abroad that he\nwas not like the same man. What perplexed and disturbed him as much as\nanything was that his father had entirely given up drinking during the\nlast few days. Colia knew that he had quarrelled with both Lebedeff and\nthe prince, and had just bought a small bottle of vodka and brought it\nhome for his father.\n\n\"Really, mother,\" he had assured Nina Alexandrovna upstairs, \"really you\nhad better let him drink. He has not had a drop for three days; he must\nbe suffering agonies-- The general now entered the room, threw the door\nwide open, and stood on the threshold trembling with indignation.\n\n\"Look here, my dear sir,\" he began, addressing Ptitsin in a very loud\ntone of voice; \"if you have really made up your mind to sacrifice an old\nman--your father too or at all events father of your wife--an old man\nwho has served his emperor--to a wretched little atheist like this, all\nI can say is, sir, my foot shall cease to tread your floors. Make your\nchoice, sir; make your choice quickly, if you please! Me or this--screw!\nYes, screw, sir; I said it accidentally, but let the word stand--this\nscrew, for he screws and drills himself into my soul--\"\n\n\"Hadn't you better say corkscrew?\" said Hippolyte.\n\n\"No, sir, _not_ corkscrew. I am a general, not a bottle, sir. Make your\nchoice, sir--me or him.\"\n\nHere Colia handed him a chair, and he subsided into it, breathless with\nrage.\n\n\"Hadn't you better--better--take a nap?\" murmured the stupefied Ptitsin.\n\n\"A nap?\" shrieked the general. \"I am not drunk, sir; you insult me!\nI see,\" he continued, rising, \"I see that all are against me here.\nEnough--I go; but know, sirs--know that--\"\n\nHe was not allowed to finish his sentence. Somebody pushed him back into\nhis chair, and begged him to be calm. Nina Alexandrovna trembled, and\ncried quietly. Gania retired to the window in disgust.\n\n\"But what have I done? What is his grievance?\" asked Hippolyte,\ngrinning.\n\n\"What have you done, indeed?\" put in Nina Alexandrovna. \"You ought to be\nashamed of yourself, teasing an old man like that--and in your position,\ntoo.\"\n\n\"And pray what _is_ my position, madame? I have the greatest respect for\nyou, personally; but--\"\n\n\"He's a little screw,\" cried the general; \"he drills holes in my heart\nand soul. He wishes me to be a pervert to atheism. Know, you young\ngreenhorn, that I was covered with honours before ever you were born;\nand you are nothing better than a wretched little worm, torn in two with\ncoughing, and dying slowly of your own malice and unbelief. What did\nGavrila bring you over here for? They're all against me, even to my own\nson--all against me.\"\n\n\"Oh, come--nonsense!\" cried Gania; \"if you did not go shaming us all\nover the town, things might be better for all parties.\"\n\n\"What--shame you? I?--what do you mean, you young calf? I shame you? I\ncan only do you honour, sir; I cannot shame you.\"\n\nHe jumped up from his chair in a fit of uncontrollable rage. Gania was\nvery angry too.\n\n\"Honour, indeed!\" said the latter, with contempt.\n\n\"What do you say, sir?\" growled the general, taking a step towards him.\n\n\"I say that I have but to open my mouth, and you--\"\n\nGania began, but did not finish. The two--father and son--stood before\none another, both unspeakably agitated, especially Gania.\n\n\"Gania, Gania, reflect!\" cried his mother, hurriedly.\n\n\"It's all nonsense on both sides,\" snapped out Varia. \"Let them alone,\nmother.\"\n\n\"It's only for mother's sake that I spare him,\" said Gania, tragically.\n\n\"Speak!\" said the general, beside himself with rage and excitement;\n\"speak--under the penalty of a father's curse!\"\n\n\"Oh, father's curse be hanged--you don't frighten me that way!\" said\nGania. \"Whose fault is it that you have been as mad as a March hare all\nthis week? It is just a week--you see, I count the days. Take care\nnow; don't provoke me too much, or I'll tell all. Why did you go to the\nEpanchins' yesterday--tell me that? And you call yourself an old\nman, too, with grey hair, and father of a family! H'm--nice sort of a\nfather.\"\n\n\"Be quiet, Gania,\" cried Colia. \"Shut up, you fool!\"\n\n\"Yes, but how have I offended him?\" repeated Hippolyte, still in the\nsame jeering voice. \"Why does he call me a screw? You all heard it. He\ncame to me himself and began telling me about some Captain Eropegoff.\nI don't wish for your company, general. I always avoided you--you know\nthat. What have I to do with Captain Eropegoff? All I did was to express\nmy opinion that probably Captain Eropegoff never existed at all!\"\n\n\"Of course he never existed!\" Gania interrupted.\n\nBut the general only stood stupefied and gazed around in a dazed way.\nGania's speech had impressed him, with its terrible candour. For the\nfirst moment or two he could find no words to answer him, and it was\nonly when Hippolyte burst out laughing, and said:\n\n\"There, you see! Even your own son supports my statement that there\nnever was such a person as Captain Eropegoff!\" that the old fellow\nmuttered confusedly:\n\n\"Kapiton Eropegoff--not Captain Eropegoff!--Kapiton--major\nretired--Eropegoff--Kapiton.\"\n\n\"Kapiton didn't exist either!\" persisted Gania, maliciously.\n\n\"What? Didn't exist?\" cried the poor general, and a deep blush suffused\nhis face.\n\n\"That'll do, Gania!\" cried Varia and Ptitsin.\n\n\"Shut up, Gania!\" said Colia.\n\nBut this intercession seemed to rekindle the general.\n\n\"What did you mean, sir, that he didn't exist? Explain yourself,\" he\nrepeated, angrily.\n\n\"Because he _didn't_ exist--never could and never did--there! You'd better\ndrop the subject, I warn you!\"\n\n\"And this is my son--my own son--whom I--oh, gracious Heaven!\nEropegoff--Eroshka Eropegoff didn't exist!\"\n\n\"Ha, ha! it's Eroshka now,\" laughed Hippolyte.\n\n\"No, sir, Kapitoshka--not Eroshka. I mean, Kapiton Alexeyevitch--retired\nmajor--married Maria Petrovna Lu--Lu--he was my friend and\ncompanion--Lutugoff--from our earliest beginnings. I closed his eyes for\nhim--he was killed. Kapiton Eropegoff never existed! tfu!\"\n\nThe general shouted in his fury; but it was to be concluded that his\nwrath was not kindled by the expressed doubt as to Kapiton's existence.\nThis was his scapegoat; but his excitement was caused by something quite\ndifferent. As a rule he would have merely shouted down the doubt as\nto Kapiton, told a long yarn about his friend, and eventually retired\nupstairs to his room. But today, in the strange uncertainty of human\nnature, it seemed to require but so small an offence as this to make\nhis cup to overflow. The old man grew purple in the face, he raised his\nhands. \"Enough of this!\" he yelled. \"My curse--away, out of the house\nI go! Colia, bring my bag away!\" He left the room hastily and in a\nparoxysm of rage.\n\nHis wife, Colia, and Ptitsin ran out after him.\n\n\"What have you done now?\" said Varia to Gania. \"He'll probably be making\noff _there_ again! What a disgrace it all is!\"\n\n\"Well, he shouldn't steal,\" cried Gania, panting with fury. And just at\nthis moment his eye met Hippolyte's.\n\n\"As for you, sir,\" he cried, \"you should at least remember that you are\nin a strange house and--receiving hospitality; you should not take the\nopportunity of tormenting an old man, sir, who is too evidently out of\nhis mind.\"\n\nHippolyte looked furious, but he restrained himself.\n\n\"I don't quite agree with you that your father is out of his mind,\" he\nobserved, quietly. \"On the contrary, I cannot help thinking he has been\nless demented of late. Don't you think so? He has grown so cunning and\ncareful, and weighs his words so deliberately; he spoke to me about that\nKapiton fellow with an object, you know! Just fancy--he wanted me to--\"\n\n\"Oh, devil take what he wanted you to do! Don't try to be too cunning\nwith me, young man!\" shouted Gania. \"If you are aware of the real reason\nfor my father's present condition (and you have kept such an excellent\nspying watch during these last few days that you are sure to be aware of\nit)--you had no right whatever to torment the--unfortunate man, and to\nworry my mother by your exaggerations of the affair; because the whole\nbusiness is nonsense--simply a drunken freak, and nothing more, quite\nunproved by any evidence, and I don't believe that much of it!\" (he\nsnapped his fingers). \"But you must needs spy and watch over us all,\nbecause you are a--a--\"\n\n\"Screw!\" laughed Hippolyte.\n\n\"Because you are a humbug, sir; and thought fit to worry people for half\nan hour, and tried to frighten them into believing that you would shoot\nyourself with your little empty pistol, pirouetting about and playing at\nsuicide! I gave you hospitality, you have fattened on it, your cough has\nleft you, and you repay all this--\"\n\n\"Excuse me--two words! I am Varvara Ardalionovna's guest, not yours;\n_you_ have extended no hospitality to me. On the contrary, if I am\nnot mistaken, I believe you are yourself indebted to Mr. Ptitsin's\nhospitality. Four days ago I begged my mother to come down here and find\nlodgings, because I certainly do feel better here, though I am not fat,\nnor have I ceased to cough. I am today informed that my room is ready\nfor me; therefore, having thanked your sister and mother for their\nkindness to me, I intend to leave the house this evening. I beg your\npardon--I interrupted you--I think you were about to add something?\"\n\n\"Oh--if that is the state of affairs--\" began Gania.\n\n\"Excuse me--I will take a seat,\" interrupted Hippolyte once more,\nsitting down deliberately; \"for I am not strong yet. Now then, I am\nready to hear you. Especially as this is the last chance we shall have\nof a talk, and very likely the last meeting we shall ever have at all.\"\n\nGania felt a little guilty.\n\n\"I assure you I did not mean to reckon up debits and credits,\" he began,\n\"and if you--\"\n\n\"I don't understand your condescension,\" said Hippolyte. \"As for me, I\npromised myself, on the first day of my arrival in this house, that\nI would have the satisfaction of settling accounts with you in a very\nthorough manner before I said good-bye to you. I intend to perform this\noperation now, if you like; after you, though, of course.\"\n\n\"May I ask you to be so good as to leave this room?\"\n\n\"You'd better speak out. You'll be sorry afterwards if you don't.\"\n\n\"Hippolyte, stop, please! It's so dreadfully undignified,\" said Varia.\n\n\"Well, only for the sake of a lady,\" said Hippolyte, laughing. \"I\nam ready to put off the reckoning, but only put it off, Varvara\nArdalionovna, because an explanation between your brother and myself has\nbecome an absolute necessity, and I could not think of leaving the house\nwithout clearing up all misunderstandings first.\"\n\n\"In a word, you are a wretched little scandal-monger,\" cried Gania, \"and\nyou cannot go away without a scandal!\"\n\n\"You see,\" said Hippolyte, coolly, \"you can't restrain yourself. You'll\nbe dreadfully sorry afterwards if you don't speak out now. Come, you\nshall have the first say. I'll wait.\"\n\nGania was silent and merely looked contemptuously at him.\n\n\"You won't? Very well. I shall be as short as possible, for my part. Two\nor three times to-day I have had the word 'hospitality' pushed down my\nthroat; this is not fair. In inviting me here you yourself entrapped\nme for your own use; you thought I wished to revenge myself upon the\nprince. You heard that Aglaya Ivanovna had been kind to me and read my\nconfession. Making sure that I should give myself up to your interests,\nyou hoped that you might get some assistance out of me. I will not go\ninto details. I don't ask either admission or confirmation of this from\nyourself; I am quite content to leave you to your conscience, and to\nfeel that we understand one another capitally.\"\n\n\"What a history you are weaving out of the most ordinary circumstances!\"\ncried Varia.\n\n\"I told you the fellow was nothing but a scandalmonger,\" said Gania.\n\n\"Excuse me, Varia Ardalionovna, I will proceed. I can, of course,\nneither love nor respect the prince, though he is a good-hearted fellow,\nif a little queer. But there is no need whatever for me to hate him. I\nquite understood your brother when he first offered me aid against the\nprince, though I did not show it; I knew well that your brother was\nmaking a ridiculous mistake in me. I am ready to spare him, however,\neven now; but solely out of respect for yourself, Varvara Ardalionovna.\n\n\"Having now shown you that I am not quite such a fool as I look, and\nthat I have to be fished for with a rod and line for a good long while\nbefore I am caught, I will proceed to explain why I specially wished to\nmake your brother look a fool. That my motive power is hate, I do not\nattempt to conceal. I have felt that before dying (and I am dying,\nhowever much fatter I may appear to you), I must absolutely make a fool\nof, at least, one of that class of men which has dogged me all my life,\nwhich I hate so cordially, and which is so prominently represented by\nyour much esteemed brother. I should not enjoy paradise nearly so much\nwithout having done this first. I hate you, Gavrila Ardalionovitch,\nsolely (this may seem curious to you, but I repeat)--solely because you\nare the type, and incarnation, and head, and crown of the most impudent,\nthe most self-satisfied, the most vulgar and detestable form of\ncommonplaceness. You are ordinary of the ordinary; you have no chance of\never fathering the pettiest idea of your own. And yet you are as jealous\nand conceited as you can possibly be; you consider yourself a great\ngenius; of this you are persuaded, although there are dark moments of\ndoubt and rage, when even this fact seems uncertain. There are spots\nof darkness on your horizon, though they will disappear when you become\ncompletely stupid. But a long and chequered path lies before you, and\nof this I am glad. In the first place you will never gain a certain\nperson.\"\n\n\"Come, come! This is intolerable! You had better stop, you little\nmischief-making wretch!\" cried Varia. Gania had grown very pale; he\ntrembled, but said nothing.\n\nHippolyte paused, and looked at him intently and with great\ngratification. He then turned his gaze upon Varia, bowed, and went out,\nwithout adding another word.\n\nGania might justly complain of the hardness with which fate treated him.\nVaria dared not speak to him for a long while, as he strode past her,\nbackwards and forwards. At last he went and stood at the window, looking\nout, with his back turned towards her. There was a fearful row going on\nupstairs again.\n\n\"Are you off?\" said Gania, suddenly, remarking that she had risen and\nwas about to leave the room. \"Wait a moment--look at this.\"\n\nHe approached the table and laid a small sheet of paper before her. It\nlooked like a little note.\n\n\"Good heavens!\" cried Varia, raising her hands.\n\nThis was the note:\n\n\"GAVRILA ARDOLIONOVITCH,--persuaded of your kindness of heart, I have\ndetermined to ask your advice on a matter of great importance to myself.\nI should like to meet you tomorrow morning at seven o'clock by the green\nbench in the park. It is not far from our house. Varvara Ardalionovna,\nwho must accompany you, knows the place well.\n\n\"A. E.\"\n\n\"What on earth is one to make of a girl like that?\" said Varia.\n\nGania, little as he felt inclined for swagger at this moment, could\nnot avoid showing his triumph, especially just after such humiliating\nremarks as those of Hippolyte. A smile of self-satisfaction beamed on\nhis face, and Varia too was brimming over with delight.\n\n\"And this is the very day that they were to announce the engagement!\nWhat will she do next?\"\n\n\"What do you suppose she wants to talk about tomorrow?\" asked Gania.\n\n\"Oh, _that's_ all the same! The chief thing is that she wants to see you\nafter six months' absence. Look here, Gania, this is a _serious_ business.\nDon't swagger again and lose the game--play carefully, but don't funk,\ndo you understand? As if she could possibly avoid seeing what I have\nbeen working for all this last six months! And just imagine, I was there\nthis morning and not a word of this! I was there, you know, on the sly.\nThe old lady did not know, or she would have kicked me out. I ran some\nrisk for you, you see. I did so want to find out, at all hazards.\"\n\nHere there was a frantic noise upstairs once more; several people seemed\nto be rushing downstairs at once.\n\n\"Now, Gania,\" cried Varia, frightened, \"we can't let him go out! We\ncan't afford to have a breath of scandal about the town at this moment.\nRun after him and beg his pardon--quick.\"\n\nBut the father of the family was out in the road already. Colia was\ncarrying his bag for him; Nina Alexandrovna stood and cried on the\ndoorstep; she wanted to run after the general, but Ptitsin kept her\nback.\n\n\"You will only excite him more,\" he said. \"He has nowhere else to go\nto--he'll be back here in half an hour. I've talked it all over with\nColia; let him play the fool a bit, it will do him good.\"\n\n\"What are you up to? Where are you off to? You've nowhere to go to, you\nknow,\" cried Gania, out of the window.\n\n\"Come back, father; the neighbours will hear!\" cried Varia.\n\nThe general stopped, turned round, raised his hands and remarked: \"My\ncurse be upon this house!\"\n\n\"Which observation should always be made in as theatrical a tone as\npossible,\" muttered Gania, shutting the window with a bang.\n\nThe neighbours undoubtedly did hear. Varia rushed out of the room.\n\nNo sooner had his sister left him alone, than Gania took the note out of\nhis pocket, kissed it, and pirouetted around.\n\nIII.\n\nAs a general rule, old General Ivolgin's paroxysms ended in smoke. He\nhad before this experienced fits of sudden fury, but not very often,\nbecause he was really a man of peaceful and kindly disposition. He had\ntried hundreds of times to overcome the dissolute habits which he had\ncontracted of late years. He would suddenly remember that he was \"a\nfather,\" would be reconciled with his wife, and shed genuine tears.\nHis feeling for Nina Alexandrovna amounted almost to adoration; she had\npardoned so much in silence, and loved him still in spite of the state\nof degradation into which he had fallen. But the general's struggles\nwith his own weakness never lasted very long. He was, in his way, an\nimpetuous man, and a quiet life of repentance in the bosom of his family\nsoon became insupportable to him. In the end he rebelled, and flew into\nrages which he regretted, perhaps, even as he gave way to them, but\nwhich were beyond his control. He picked quarrels with everyone,\nbegan to hold forth eloquently, exacted unlimited respect, and at last\ndisappeared from the house, and sometimes did not return for a long\ntime. He had given up interfering in the affairs of his family for\ntwo years now, and knew nothing about them but what he gathered from\nhearsay.\n\nBut on this occasion there was something more serious than usual.\nEveryone seemed to know something, but to be afraid to talk about it.\n\nThe general had turned up in the bosom of his family two or three days\nbefore, but not, as usual, with the olive branch of peace in his hand,\nnot in the garb of penitence--in which he was usually clad on such\noccasions--but, on the contrary, in an uncommonly bad temper. He had\narrived in a quarrelsome mood, pitching into everyone he came across,\nand talking about all sorts and kinds of subjects in the most unexpected\nmanner, so that it was impossible to discover what it was that was\nreally putting him out. At moments he would be apparently quite bright\nand happy; but as a rule he would sit moody and thoughtful. He would\nabruptly commence to hold forth about the Epanchins, about Lebedeff, or\nthe prince, and equally abruptly would stop short and refuse to speak\nanother word, answering all further questions with a stupid smile,\nunconscious that he was smiling, or that he had been asked a question.\nThe whole of the previous night he had spent tossing about and groaning,\nand poor Nina Alexandrovna had been busy making cold compresses and warm\nfomentations and so on, without being very clear how to apply them. He\nhad fallen asleep after a while, but not for long, and had awaked in\na state of violent hypochondria which had ended in his quarrel with\nHippolyte, and the solemn cursing of Ptitsin's establishment generally.\nIt was also observed during those two or three days that he was in a\nstate of morbid self-esteem, and was specially touchy on all points of\nhonour. Colia insisted, in discussing the matter with his mother, that\nall this was but the outcome of abstinence from drink, or perhaps of\npining after Lebedeff, with whom up to this time the general had been\nupon terms of the greatest friendship; but with whom, for some reason\nor other, he had quarrelled a few days since, parting from him in great\nwrath. There had also been a scene with the prince. Colia had asked an\nexplanation of the latter, but had been forced to conclude that he was\nnot told the whole truth.\n\nIf Hippolyte and Nina Alexandrovna had, as Gania suspected, had some\nspecial conversation about the general's actions, it was strange that\nthe malicious youth, whom Gania had called a scandal-monger to his face,\nhad not allowed himself a similar satisfaction with Colia.\n\nThe fact is that probably Hippolyte was not quite so black as Gania\npainted him; and it was hardly likely that he had informed Nina\nAlexandrovna of certain events, of which we know, for the mere pleasure\nof giving her pain. We must never forget that human motives are\ngenerally far more complicated than we are apt to suppose, and that we\ncan very rarely accurately describe the motives of another. It is much\nbetter for the writer, as a rule, to content himself with the bare\nstatement of events; and we shall take this line with regard to the\ncatastrophe recorded above, and shall state the remaining events\nconnected with the general's trouble shortly, because we feel that\nwe have already given to this secondary character in our story more\nattention than we originally intended.\n\nThe course of events had marched in the following order. When Lebedeff\nreturned, in company with the general, after their expedition to town a\nfew days since, for the purpose of investigation, he brought the prince\nno information whatever. If the latter had not himself been occupied\nwith other thoughts and impressions at the time, he must have observed\nthat Lebedeff not only was very uncommunicative, but even appeared\nanxious to avoid him.\n\nWhen the prince did give the matter a little attention, he recalled\nthe fact that during these days he had always found Lebedeff to be in\nradiantly good spirits, when they happened to meet; and further, that\nthe general and Lebedeff were always together. The two friends did not\nseem ever to be parted for a moment.\n\nOccasionally the prince heard loud talking and laughing upstairs, and\nonce he detected the sound of a jolly soldier's song going on above, and\nrecognized the unmistakable bass of the general's voice. But the sudden\noutbreak of song did not last; and for an hour afterwards the animated\nsound of apparently drunken conversation continued to be heard from\nabove. At length there was the clearest evidence of a grand mutual\nembracing, and someone burst into tears. Shortly after this, however,\nthere was a violent but short-lived quarrel, with loud talking on both\nsides.\n\nAll these days Colia had been in a state of great mental preoccupation.\nMuishkin was usually out all day, and only came home late at night. On\nhis return he was invariably informed that Colia had been looking for\nhim. However, when they did meet, Colia never had anything particular to\ntell him, excepting that he was highly dissatisfied with the general and\nhis present condition of mind and behaviour.\n\n\"They drag each other about the place,\" he said, \"and get drunk together\nat the pub close by here, and quarrel in the street on the way home, and\nembrace one another after it, and don't seem to part for a moment.\"\n\nWhen the prince pointed out that there was nothing new about that, for\nthat they had always behaved in this manner together, Colia did not know\nwhat to say; in fact he could not explain what it was that specially\nworried him, just now, about his father.\n\nOn the morning following the bacchanalian songs and quarrels recorded\nabove, as the prince stepped out of the house at about eleven o'clock,\nthe general suddenly appeared before him, much agitated.\n\n\"I have long sought the honour and opportunity of meeting\nyou--much-esteemed Lef Nicolaievitch,\" he murmured, pressing the\nprince's hand very hard, almost painfully so; \"long--very long.\"\n\nThe prince begged him to step in and sit down.\n\n\"No--I will not sit down,--I am keeping you, I see,--another time!--I\nthink I may be permitted to congratulate you upon the realization of\nyour heart's best wishes, is it not so?\"\n\n\"What best wishes?\"\n\nThe prince blushed. He thought, as so many in his position do, that\nnobody had seen, heard, noticed, or understood anything.\n\n\"Oh--be easy, sir, be easy! I shall not wound your tenderest feelings.\nI've been through it all myself, and I know well how unpleasant it is\nwhen an outsider sticks his nose in where he is not wanted. I experience\nthis every morning. I came to speak to you about another matter, though,\nan important matter. A very important matter, prince.\"\n\nThe latter requested him to take a seat once more, and sat down himself.\n\n\"Well--just for one second, then. The fact is, I came for advice. Of\ncourse I live now without any very practical objects in life; but,\nbeing full of self-respect, in which quality the ordinary Russian is so\ndeficient as a rule, and of activity, I am desirous, in a word, prince,\nof placing myself and my wife and children in a position of--in fact, I\nwant advice.\"\n\nThe prince commended his aspirations with warmth.\n\n\"Quite so--quite so! But this is all mere nonsense. I came here to speak\nof something quite different, something very important, prince. And\nI have determined to come to you as to a man in whose sincerity and\nnobility of feeling I can trust like--like--are you surprised at my\nwords, prince?\"\n\nThe prince was watching his guest, if not with much surprise, at all\nevents with great attention and curiosity.\n\nThe old man was very pale; every now and then his lips trembled, and his\nhands seemed unable to rest quietly, but continually moved from place to\nplace. He had twice already jumped up from his chair and sat down again\nwithout being in the least aware of it. He would take up a book from\nthe table and open it--talking all the while,--look at the heading of a\nchapter, shut it and put it back again, seizing another immediately, but\nholding it unopened in his hand, and waving it in the air as he spoke.\n\n\"But enough!\" he cried, suddenly. \"I see I have been boring you with\nmy--\"\n\n\"Not in the least--not in the least, I assure you. On the contrary, I am\nlistening most attentively, and am anxious to guess-\"\n\n\"Prince, I wish to place myself in a respectable position--I wish to\nesteem myself--and to--\"\n\n\"My dear sir, a man of such noble aspirations is worthy of all esteem by\nvirtue of those aspirations alone.\"\n\nThe prince brought out his \"copy-book sentence\" in the firm belief that\nit would produce a good effect. He felt instinctively that some such\nwell-sounding humbug, brought out at the proper moment, would soothe the\nold man's feelings, and would be specially acceptable to such a man in\nsuch a position. At all hazards, his guest must be despatched with heart\nrelieved and spirit comforted; that was the problem before the prince at\nthis moment.\n\nThe phrase flattered the general, touched him, and pleased him mightily.\nHe immediately changed his tone, and started off on a long and solemn\nexplanation. But listen as he would, the prince could make neither head\nnor tail of it.\n\nThe general spoke hotly and quickly for ten minutes; he spoke as though\nhis words could not keep pace with his crowding thoughts. Tears stood\nin his eyes, and yet his speech was nothing but a collection of\ndisconnected sentences, without beginning and without end--a string of\nunexpected words and unexpected sentiments--colliding with one another,\nand jumping over one another, as they burst from his lips.\n\n\"Enough!\" he concluded at last, \"you understand me, and that is the\ngreat thing. A heart like yours cannot help understanding the sufferings\nof another. Prince, you are the ideal of generosity; what are other men\nbeside yourself? But you are young--accept my blessing! My\nprincipal object is to beg you to fix an hour for a most important\nconversation--that is my great hope, prince. My heart needs but a little\nfriendship and sympathy, and yet I cannot always find means to satisfy\nit.\"\n\n\"But why not now? I am ready to listen, and--\"\n\n\"No, no--prince, not now! Now is a dream! And it is too, too important!\nIt is to be the hour of Fate to me--_my own_ hour. Our interview is not\nto be broken in upon by every chance comer, every impertinent guest--and\nthere are plenty of such stupid, impertinent fellows\"--(he bent over and\nwhispered mysteriously, with a funny, frightened look on his face)--\"who\nare unworthy to tie your shoe, prince. I don't say _mine_, mind--you will\nunderstand me, prince. Only _you_ understand me, prince--no one else.\n_He_ doesn't understand me, he is absolutely--_absolutely_ unable to\nsympathize. The first qualification for understanding another is Heart.\"\n\nThe prince was rather alarmed at all this, and was obliged to end by\nappointing the same hour of the following day for the interview desired.\nThe general left him much comforted and far less agitated than when he\nhad arrived.\n\nAt seven in the evening, the prince sent to request Lebedeff to pay\nhim a visit. Lebedeff came at once, and \"esteemed it an honour,\" as he\nobserved, the instant he entered the room. He acted as though there\nhad never been the slightest suspicion of the fact that he had\nsystematically avoided the prince for the last three days.\n\nHe sat down on the edge of his chair, smiling and making faces,\nand rubbing his hands, and looking as though he were in delighted\nexpectation of hearing some important communication, which had been long\nguessed by all.\n\nThe prince was instantly covered with confusion; for it appeared to be\nplain that everyone expected something of him--that everyone looked at\nhim as though anxious to congratulate him, and greeted him with hints,\nand smiles, and knowing looks.\n\nKeller, for instance, had run into the house three times of late, \"just\nfor a moment,\" and each time with the air of desiring to offer his\ncongratulations. Colia, too, in spite of his melancholy, had once\nor twice begun sentences in much the same strain of suggestion or\ninsinuation.\n\nThe prince, however, immediately began, with some show of annoyance, to\nquestion Lebedeff categorically, as to the general's present condition,\nand his opinion thereon. He described the morning's interview in a few\nwords.\n\n\"Everyone has his worries, prince, especially in these strange and\ntroublous times of ours,\" Lebedeff replied, drily, and with the air of a\nman disappointed of his reasonable expectations.\n\n\"Dear me, what a philosopher you are!\" laughed the prince.\n\n\"Philosophy is necessary, sir--very necessary--in our day. It is too\nmuch neglected. As for me, much esteemed prince, I am sensible of having\nexperienced the honour of your confidence in a certain matter up to\na certain point, but never beyond that point. I do not for a moment\ncomplain--\"\n\n\"Lebedeff, you seem to be angry for some reason!\" said the prince.\n\n\"Not the least bit in the world, esteemed and revered prince! Not the\nleast bit in the world!\" cried Lebedeff, solemnly, with his hand upon\nhis heart. \"On the contrary, I am too painfully aware that neither by my\nposition in the world, nor by my gifts of intellect and heart, nor by\nmy riches, nor by any former conduct of mine, have I in any way deserved\nyour confidence, which is far above my highest aspirations and hopes.\nOh no, prince; I may serve you, but only as your humble slave! I am not\nangry, oh no! Not angry; pained perhaps, but nothing more.\n\n\"My dear Lebedeff, I--\"\n\n\"Oh, nothing more, nothing more! I was saying to myself but now... 'I am\nquite unworthy of friendly relations with him,' say I; 'but perhaps as\nlandlord of this house I may, at some future date, in his good time,\nreceive information as to certain imminent and much to be desired\nchanges--'\"\n\nSo saying Lebedeff fixed the prince with his sharp little eyes, still in\nhope that he would get his curiosity satisfied.\n\nThe prince looked back at him in amazement.\n\n\"I don't understand what you are driving at!\" he cried, almost angrily,\n\"and, and--what an intriguer you are, Lebedeff!\" he added, bursting into\na fit of genuine laughter.\n\nLebedeff followed suit at once, and it was clear from his radiant face\nthat he considered his prospects of satisfaction immensely improved.\n\n\"And do you know,\" the prince continued, \"I am amazed at your naive\nways, Lebedeff! Don't be angry with me--not only yours, everybody else's\nalso! You are waiting to hear something from me at this very moment with\nsuch simplicity that I declare I feel quite ashamed of myself for having\nnothing whatever to tell you. I swear to you solemnly, that there is\nnothing to tell. There! Can you take that in?\" The prince laughed again.\n\nLebedeff assumed an air of dignity. It was true enough that he was\nsometimes naive to a degree in his curiosity; but he was also an\nexcessively cunning gentleman, and the prince was almost converting\nhim into an enemy by his repeated rebuffs. The prince did not snub\nLebedeff's curiosity, however, because he felt any contempt for him; but\nsimply because the subject was too delicate to talk about. Only a few\ndays before he had looked upon his own dreams almost as crimes. But\nLebedeff considered the refusal as caused by personal dislike to\nhimself, and was hurt accordingly. Indeed, there was at this moment a\npiece of news, most interesting to the prince, which Lebedeff knew\nand even had wished to tell him, but which he now kept obstinately to\nhimself.\n\n\"And what can I do for you, esteemed prince? Since I am told you sent\nfor me just now,\" he said, after a few moments' silence.\n\n\"Oh, it was about the general,\" began the prince, waking abruptly from\nthe fit of musing which he too had indulged in \"and--and about the theft\nyou told me of.\"\n\n\"That is--er--about--what theft?\"\n\n\"Oh come! just as if you didn't understand, Lukian Timofeyovitch! What\nare you up to? I can't make you out! The money, the money, sir! The four\nhundred roubles that you lost that day. You came and told me about\nit one morning, and then went off to Petersburg. There, _now_ do you\nunderstand?\"\n\n\"Oh--h--h! You mean the four hundred roubles!\" said Lebedeff, dragging\nthe words out, just as though it had only just dawned upon him what\nthe prince was talking about. \"Thanks very much, prince, for your kind\ninterest--you do me too much honour. I found the money, long ago!\"\n\n\"You found it? Thank God for that!\"\n\n\"Your exclamation proves the generous sympathy of your nature, prince;\nfor four hundred roubles--to a struggling family man like myself--is no\nsmall matter!\"\n\n\"I didn't mean that; at least, of course, I'm glad for your sake, too,\"\nadded the prince, correcting himself, \"but--how did you find it?\"\n\n\"Very simply indeed! I found it under the chair upon which my coat had\nhung; so that it is clear the purse simply fell out of the pocket and on\nto the floor!\"\n\n\"Under the chair? Impossible! Why, you told me yourself that you had\nsearched every corner of the room? How could you not have looked in the\nmost likely place of all?\"\n\n\"Of course I looked there,--of course I did! Very much so! I looked and\nscrambled about, and felt for it, and wouldn't believe it was not there,\nand looked again and again. It is always so in such cases. One longs and\nexpects to find a lost article; one sees it is not there, and the place\nis as bare as one's palm; and yet one returns and looks again and again,\nfifteen or twenty times, likely enough!\"\n\n\"Oh, quite so, of course. But how was it in your case?--I don't quite\nunderstand,\" said the bewildered prince. \"You say it wasn't there at\nfirst, and that you searched the place thoroughly, and yet it turned up\non that very spot!\"\n\n\"Yes, sir--on that very spot.\" The prince gazed strangely at Lebedeff.\n\"And the general?\" he asked, abruptly.\n\n\"The--the general? How do you mean, the general?\" said Lebedeff,\ndubiously, as though he had not taken in the drift of the prince's\nremark.\n\n\"Oh, good heavens! I mean, what did the general say when the purse\nturned up under the chair? You and he had searched for it together\nthere, hadn't you?\"\n\n\"Quite so--together! But the second time I thought better to say nothing\nabout finding it. I found it alone.\"\n\n\"But--why in the world--and the money? Was it all there?\"\n\n\"I opened the purse and counted it myself; right to a single rouble.\"\n\n\"I think you might have come and told me,\" said the prince,\nthoughtfully.\n\n\"Oh--I didn't like to disturb you, prince, in the midst of your private\nand doubtless most interesting personal reflections. Besides, I wanted\nto appear, myself, to have found nothing. I took the purse, and opened\nit, and counted the money, and shut it and put it down again under the\nchair.\"\n\n\"What in the world for?\"\n\n\"Oh, just out of curiosity,\" said Lebedeff, rubbing his hands and\nsniggering.\n\n\"What, it's still there then, is it? Ever since the day before\nyesterday?\"\n\n\"Oh no! You see, I was half in hopes the general might find it. Because\nif I found it, why should not he too observe an object lying before his\nvery eyes? I moved the chair several times so as to expose the purse\nto view, but the general never saw it. He is very absent just now,\nevidently. He talks and laughs and tells stories, and suddenly flies\ninto a rage with me, goodness knows why.\"\n\n\"Well, but--have you taken the purse away now?\"\n\n\"No, it disappeared from under the chair in the night.\"\n\n\"Where is it now, then?\"\n\n\"Here,\" laughed Lebedeff, at last, rising to his full height and looking\npleasantly at the prince, \"here, in the lining of my coat. Look, you can\nfeel it for yourself, if you like!\"\n\nSure enough there was something sticking out of the front of the\ncoat--something large. It certainly felt as though it might well be the\npurse fallen through a hole in the pocket into the lining.\n\n\"I took it out and had a look at it; it's all right. I've let it slip\nback into the lining now, as you see, and so I have been walking about\never since yesterday morning; it knocks against my legs when I walk\nalong.\"\n\n\"H'm! and you take no notice of it?\"\n\n\"Quite so, I take no notice of it. Ha, ha! and think of this, prince,\nmy pockets are always strong and whole, and yet, here in one night, is a\nhuge hole. I know the phenomenon is unworthy of your notice; but such is\nthe case. I examined the hole, and I declare it actually looks as though\nit had been made with a pen-knife, a most improbable contingency.\"\n\n\"And--and--the general?\"\n\n\"Ah, very angry all day, sir; all yesterday and all today. He shows\ndecided bacchanalian predilections at one time, and at another is\ntearful and sensitive, but at any moment he is liable to paroxysms of\nsuch rage that I assure you, prince, I am quite alarmed. I am not\na military man, you know. Yesterday we were sitting together in\nthe tavern, and the lining of my coat was--quite accidentally, of\ncourse--sticking out right in front. The general squinted at it, and\nflew into a rage. He never looks me quite in the face now, unless he is\nvery drunk or maudlin; but yesterday he looked at me in such a way that\na shiver went all down my back. I intend to find the purse tomorrow; but\ntill then I am going to have another night of it with him.\"\n\n\"What's the good of tormenting him like this?\" cried the prince.\n\n\"I don't torment him, prince, I don't indeed!\" cried Lebedeff, hotly. \"I\nlove him, my dear sir, I esteem him; and believe it or not, I love him\nall the better for this business, yes--and value him more.\"\n\nLebedeff said this so seriously that the prince quite lost his temper\nwith him.\n\n\"Nonsense! love him and torment him so! Why, by the very fact that he\nput the purse prominently before you, first under the chair and then\nin your lining, he shows that he does not wish to deceive you, but is\nanxious to beg your forgiveness in this artless way. Do you hear? He is\nasking your pardon. He confides in the delicacy of your feelings, and\nin your friendship for him. And you can allow yourself to humiliate so\nthoroughly honest a man!\"\n\n\"Thoroughly honest, quite so, prince, thoroughly honest!\" said Lebedeff,\nwith flashing eyes. \"And only you, prince, could have found so very\nappropriate an expression. I honour you for it, prince. Very well,\nthat's settled; I shall find the purse now and not tomorrow. Here, I\nfind it and take it out before your eyes! And the money is all right.\nTake it, prince, and keep it till tomorrow, will you? Tomorrow or next\nday I'll take it back again. I think, prince, that the night after\nits disappearance it was buried under a bush in the garden. So I\nbelieve--what do you think of that?\"\n\n\"Well, take care you don't tell him to his face that you have found the\npurse. Simply let him see that it is no longer in the lining of your\ncoat, and form his own conclusions.\"\n\n\"Do you think so? Had I not just better tell him I have found it, and\npretend I never guessed where it was?\"\n\n\"No, I don't think so,\" said the prince, thoughtfully; \"it's too late\nfor that--that would be dangerous now. No, no! Better say nothing about\nit. Be nice with him, you know, but don't show him--oh, _you_ know well\nenough--\"\n\n\"I know, prince, of course I know, but I'm afraid I shall not carry\nit out; for to do so one needs a heart like your own. He is so very\nirritable just now, and so proud. At one moment he will embrace me,\nand the next he flies out at me and sneers at me, and then I stick the\nlining forward on purpose. Well, _au revoir_, prince, I see I am keeping\nyou, and boring you, too, interfering with your most interesting private\nreflections.\"\n\n\"Now, do be careful! Secrecy, as before!\"\n\n\"Oh, silence isn't the word! Softly, softly!\"\n\nBut in spite of this conclusion to the episode, the prince remained as\npuzzled as ever, if not more so. He awaited next morning's interview\nwith the general most impatiently.\n\nIV.\n\nThe time appointed was twelve o'clock, and the prince, returning home\nunexpectedly late, found the general waiting for him. At the first\nglance, he saw that the latter was displeased, perhaps because he had\nbeen kept waiting. The prince apologized, and quickly took a seat. He\nseemed strangely timid before the general this morning, for some reason,\nand felt as though his visitor were some piece of china which he was\nafraid of breaking.\n\nOn scrutinizing him, the prince soon saw that the general was quite a\ndifferent man from what he had been the day before; he looked like one\nwho had come to some momentous resolve. His calmness, however, was more\napparent than real. He was courteous, but there was a suggestion of\ninjured innocence in his manner.\n\n\"I've brought your book back,\" he began, indicating a book lying on the\ntable. \"Much obliged to you for lending it to me.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes. Well, did you read it, general? It's curious, isn't it?\" said\nthe prince, delighted to be able to open up conversation upon an outside\nsubject.\n\n\"Curious enough, yes, but crude, and of course dreadful nonsense;\nprobably the man lies in every other sentence.\"\n\nThe general spoke with considerable confidence, and dragged his words\nout with a conceited drawl.\n\n\"Oh, but it's only the simple tale of an old soldier who saw the French\nenter Moscow. Some of his remarks were wonderfully interesting. Remarks\nof an eye-witness are always valuable, whoever he be, don't you think so?\"\n\n\"Had I been the publisher I should not have printed it. As to the\nevidence of eye-witnesses, in these days people prefer impudent lies to\nthe stories of men of worth and long service. I know of some notes of\nthe year 1812, which--I have determined, prince, to leave this house,\nMr. Lebedeff's house.\"\n\nThe general looked significantly at his host.\n\n\"Of course you have your own lodging at Pavlofsk at--at your daughter's\nhouse,\" began the prince, quite at a loss what to say. He suddenly\nrecollected that the general had come for advice on a most important\nmatter, affecting his destiny.\n\n\"At my wife's; in other words, at my own place, my daughter's house.\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon, I--\"\n\n\"I leave Lebedeff's house, my dear prince, because I have quarrelled\nwith this person. I broke with him last night, and am very sorry that I\ndid not do so before. I expect respect, prince, even from those to whom\nI give my heart, so to speak. Prince, I have often given away my heart,\nand am nearly always deceived. This person was quite unworthy of the\ngift.\"\n\n\"There is much that might be improved in him,\" said the prince,\nmoderately, \"but he has some qualities which--though amid them one\ncannot but discern a cunning nature--reveal what is often a diverting\nintellect.\"\n\nThe prince's tone was so natural and respectful that the general could\nnot possibly suspect him of any insincerity.\n\n\"Oh, that he possesses good traits, I was the first to show, when I very\nnearly made him a present of my friendship. I am not dependent upon his\nhospitality, and upon his house; I have my own family. I do not attempt\nto justify my own weakness. I have drunk with this man, and perhaps I\ndeplore the fact now, but I did not take him up for the sake of drink\nalone (excuse the crudeness of the expression, prince); I did not make\nfriends with him for that alone. I was attracted by his good qualities;\nbut when the fellow declares that he was a child in 1812, and had his\nleft leg cut off, and buried in the Vagarkoff cemetery, in Moscow,\nsuch a cock-and-bull story amounts to disrespect, my dear sir, to--to\nimpudent exaggeration.\"\n\n\"Oh, he was very likely joking; he said it for fun.\"\n\n\"I quite understand you. You mean that an innocent lie for the sake of a\ngood joke is harmless, and does not offend the human heart. Some people\nlie, if you like to put it so, out of pure friendship, in order to amuse\ntheir fellows; but when a man makes use of extravagance in order to show\nhis disrespect and to make clear how the intimacy bores him, it is time\nfor a man of honour to break off the said intimacy., and to teach the\noffender his place.\"\n\nThe general flushed with indignation as he spoke.\n\n\"Oh, but Lebedeff cannot have been in Moscow in 1812. He is much too\nyoung; it is all nonsense.\"\n\n\"Very well, but even if we admit that he _was_ alive in 1812, can one\nbelieve that a French chasseur pointed a cannon at him for a lark, and\nshot his left leg off? He says he picked his own leg up and took it away\nand buried it in the cemetery. He swore he had a stone put up over\nit with the inscription: 'Here lies the leg of Collegiate Secretary\nLebedeff,' and on the other side, 'Rest, beloved ashes, till the morn of\njoy,' and that he has a service read over it every year (which is simply\nsacrilege), and goes to Moscow once a year on purpose. He invites me to\nMoscow in order to prove his assertion, and show me his leg's tomb, and\nthe very cannon that shot him; he says it's the eleventh from the\ngate of the Kremlin, an old-fashioned falconet taken from the French\nafterwards.\"\n\n\"And, meanwhile both his legs are still on his body,\" said the prince,\nlaughing. \"I assure you, it is only an innocent joke, and you need not\nbe angry about it.\"\n\n\"Excuse me--wait a minute--he says that the leg we see is a wooden one,\nmade by Tchernosvitoff.\"\n\n\"They do say one can dance with those!\"\n\n\"Quite so, quite so; and he swears that his wife never found out that\none of his legs was wooden all the while they were married. When I\nshowed him the ridiculousness of all this, he said, 'Well, if you were\none of Napoleon's pages in 1812, you might let me bury my leg in the\nMoscow cemetery.'\n\n\"Why, did you say--\" began the prince, and paused in confusion.\n\nThe general gazed at his host disdainfully.\n\n\"Oh, go on,\" he said, \"finish your sentence, by all means. Say how odd\nit appears to you that a man fallen to such a depth of humiliation as\nI, can ever have been the actual eye-witness of great events. Go on, _I_\ndon't mind! Has _he_ found time to tell you scandal about me?\"\n\n\"No, I've heard nothing of this from Lebedeff, if you mean Lebedeff.\"\n\n\"H'm; I thought differently. You see, we were talking over this period\nof history. I was criticizing a current report of something which then\nhappened, and having been myself an eye-witness of the occurrence--you\nare smiling, prince--you are looking at my face as if--\"\n\n\"Oh no! not at all--I--\"\n\n\"I am rather young-looking, I know; but I am actually older than I\nappear to be. I was ten or eleven in the year 1812. I don't know my age\nexactly, but it has always been a weakness of mine to make it out less\nthan it really is.\n\n\"I assure you, general, I do not in the least doubt your statement. One\nof our living autobiographers states that when he was a small baby in\nMoscow in 1812 the French soldiers fed him with bread.\"\n\n\"Well, there you see!\" said the general, condescendingly. \"There is\nnothing whatever unusual about my tale. Truth very often appears to\nbe impossible. I was a page--it sounds strange, I dare say. Had I been\nfifteen years old I should probably have been terribly frightened\nwhen the French arrived, as my mother was (who had been too slow about\nclearing out of Moscow); but as I was only just ten I was not in the\nleast alarmed, and rushed through the crowd to the very door of the\npalace when Napoleon alighted from his horse.\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly, at ten years old you would not have felt the sense of\nfear, as you say,\" blurted out the prince, horribly uncomfortable in the\nsensation that he was just about to blush.\n\n\"Of course; and it all happened so easily and naturally. And yet, were\na novelist to describe the episode, he would put in all kinds of\nimpossible and incredible details.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" cried the prince, \"I have often thought that! Why, I know of a\nmurder, for the sake of a watch. It's in all the papers now. But if\nsome writer had invented it, all the critics would have jumped down his\nthroat and said the thing was too improbable for anything. And yet you\nread it in the paper, and you can't help thinking that out of these\nstrange disclosures is to be gained the full knowledge of Russian life\nand character. You said that well, general; it is so true,\" concluded\nthe prince, warmly, delighted to have found a refuge from the fiery\nblushes which had covered his face.\n\n\"Yes, it's quite true, isn't it?\" cried the general, his eyes sparkling\nwith gratification. \"A small boy, a child, would naturally realize no\ndanger; he would shove his way through the crowds to see the shine and\nglitter of the uniforms, and especially the great man of whom everyone\nwas speaking, for at that time all the world had been talking of no one\nbut this man for some years past. The world was full of his name; I--so\nto speak--drew it in with my mother's milk. Napoleon, passing a couple\nof paces from me, caught sight of me accidentally. I was very well\ndressed, and being all alone, in that crowd, as you will easily\nimagine...\n\n\"Oh, of course! Naturally the sight impressed him, and proved to him\nthat not _all_ the aristocracy had left Moscow; that at least some nobles\nand their children had remained behind.\"\n\n\"Just so! just so! He wanted to win over the aristocracy! When his eagle\neye fell on me, mine probably flashed back in response. '_Voilà un garçon\nbien éveillé! Qui est ton père?_' I immediately replied, almost panting\nwith excitement, 'A general, who died on the battle-fields of his country!'\n'_Le fils d'un boyard et d'un brave, pardessus le marché. J'aime\nles boyards. M'aimes-tu, petit?_'\n\n\"To this keen question I replied as keenly, 'The Russian heart can\nrecognize a great man even in the bitter enemy of his country.' At\nleast, I don't remember the exact words, you know, but the idea was\nas I say. Napoleon was struck; he thought a minute and then said to\nhis suite: 'I like that boy's pride; if all Russians think like this\nchild, then--' he didn't finish, but went on and entered the palace.\nI instantly mixed with his suite, and followed him. I was already in\nhigh favour. I remember when he came into the first hall, the emperor\nstopped before a portrait of the Empress Katherine, and after a\nthoughtful glance remarked, 'That was a great woman,' and passed on.\n\n\"Well, in a couple of days I was known all over the palace and the\nKremlin as 'le petit boyard.' I only went home to sleep. They were\nnearly out of their minds about me at home. A couple of days after this,\nNapoleon's page, De Bazancour, died; he had not been able to stand the\ntrials of the campaign. Napoleon remembered me; I was taken away without\nexplanation; the dead page's uniform was tried on me, and when I was\ntaken before the emperor, dressed in it, he nodded his head to me, and I\nwas told that I was appointed to the vacant post of page.\n\n\"Well, I was glad enough, for I had long felt the greatest sympathy for\nthis man; and then the pretty uniform and all that--only a child, you\nknow--and so on. It was a dark green dress coat with gold buttons--red\nfacings, white trousers, and a white silk waistcoat--silk stockings,\nshoes with buckles, and top-boots if I were riding out with his majesty\nor with the suite.\n\n\"Though the position of all of us at that time was not particularly\nbrilliant, and the poverty was dreadful all round, yet the etiquette at\ncourt was strictly preserved, and the more strictly in proportion to the\ngrowth of the forebodings of disaster.\"\n\n\"Quite so, quite so, of course!\" murmured the poor prince, who didn't\nknow where to look. \"Your memoirs would be most interesting.\"\n\nThe general was, of course, repeating what he had told Lebedeff the\nnight before, and thus brought it out glibly enough, but here he looked\nsuspiciously at the prince out of the corners of his eyes.\n\n\"My memoirs!\" he began, with redoubled pride and dignity. \"Write my\nmemoirs? The idea has not tempted me. And yet, if you please, my memoirs\nhave long been written, but they shall not see the light until dust\nreturns to dust. Then, I doubt not, they will be translated into all\nlanguages, not of course on account of their actual literary merit, but\nbecause of the great events of which I was the actual witness, though\nbut a child at the time. As a child, I was able to penetrate into the\nsecrecy of the great man's private room. At nights I have heard the\ngroans and wailings of this 'giant in distress.' He could feel no shame\nin weeping before such a mere child as I was, though I understood even\nthen that the reason for his suffering was the silence of the Emperor\nAlexander.\"\n\n\"Yes, of course; he had written letters to the latter with proposals of\npeace, had he not?\" put in the prince.\n\n\"We did not know the details of his proposals, but he wrote letter after\nletter, all day and every day. He was dreadfully agitated. Sometimes at\nnight I would throw myself upon his breast with tears (Oh, how I\nloved that man!). 'Ask forgiveness, Oh, ask forgiveness of the Emperor\nAlexander!' I would cry. I should have said, of course, 'Make peace\nwith Alexander,' but as a child I expressed my idea in the naive way\nrecorded. 'Oh, my child,' he would say (he loved to talk to me and\nseemed to forget my tender years), 'Oh, my child, I am ready to kiss\nAlexander's feet, but I hate and abominate the King of Prussia and the\nAustrian Emperor, and--and--but you know nothing of politics, my child.'\nHe would pull up, remembering whom he was speaking to, but his eyes\nwould sparkle for a long while after this. Well now, if I were to\ndescribe all this, and I have seen greater events than these, all these\ncritical gentlemen of the press and political parties--Oh, no thanks!\nI'm their very humble servant, but no thanks!\"\n\n\"Quite so--parties--you are very right,\" said the prince. \"I was reading\na book about Napoleon and the Waterloo campaign only the other day, by\nCharasse, in which the author does not attempt to conceal his joy at\nNapoleon's discomfiture at every page. Well now, I don't like that;\nit smells of 'party,' you know. You are quite right. And were you much\noccupied with your service under Napoleon?\"\n\nThe general was in ecstasies, for the prince's remarks, made, as they\nevidently were, in all seriousness and simplicity, quite dissipated the\nlast relics of his suspicion.\n\n\"I know Charasse's book! Oh! I was so angry with his work! I wrote to\nhim and said--I forget what, at this moment. You ask whether I was very\nbusy under the Emperor? Oh no! I was called 'page,' but hardly took my\nduty seriously. Besides, Napoleon very soon lost hope of conciliating\nthe Russians, and he would have forgotten all about me had he not loved\nme--for personal reasons--I don't mind saying so now. My heart was\ngreatly drawn to him, too. My duties were light. I merely had to be at\nthe palace occasionally to escort the Emperor out riding, and that\nwas about all. I rode very fairly well. He used to have a ride before\ndinner, and his suite on those occasions were generally Davoust, myself,\nand Roustan.\"\n\n\"Constant?\" said the prince, suddenly, and quite involuntarily.\n\n\"No; Constant was away then, taking a letter to the Empress Josephine.\nInstead of him there were always a couple of orderlies--and that was\nall, excepting, of course, the generals and marshals whom Napoleon\nalways took with him for the inspection of various localities, and\nfor the sake of consultation generally. I remember there was\none--Davoust--nearly always with him--a big man with spectacles. They\nused to argue and quarrel sometimes. Once they were in the Emperor's\nstudy together--just those two and myself--I was unobserved--and\nthey argued, and the Emperor seemed to be agreeing to something under\nprotest. Suddenly his eye fell on me and an idea seemed to flash across\nhim.\n\n\"'Child,' he said, abruptly. 'If I were to recognize the Russian\northodox religion and emancipate the serfs, do you think Russia would\ncome over to me?'\"\n\n\"'Never!' I cried, indignantly.\"\n\n\"The Emperor was much struck.\"\n\n\"'In the flashing eyes of this patriotic child I read and accept the\nfiat of the Russian people. Enough, Davoust, it is mere phantasy on our\npart. Come, let's hear your other project.'\"\n\n\"'Yes, but that was a great idea,\" said the prince, clearly interested.\n\"You ascribe it to Davoust, do you?\"\n\n\"Well, at all events, they were consulting together at the time. Of\ncourse it was the idea of an eagle, and must have originated with\nNapoleon; but the other project was good too--it was the 'Conseil du\nlion!' as Napoleon called it. This project consisted in a proposal\nto occupy the Kremlin with the whole army; to arm and fortify it\nscientifically, to kill as many horses as could be got, and salt their\nflesh, and spend the winter there; and in spring to fight their way out.\nNapoleon liked the idea--it attracted him. We rode round the Kremlin\nwalls every day, and Napoleon used to give orders where they were to be\npatched, where built up, where pulled down and so on. All was decided at\nlast. They were alone together--those two and myself.\n\n\"Napoleon was walking up and down with folded arms. I could not take my\neyes off his face--my heart beat loudly and painfully.\n\n\"'I'm off,' said Davoust. 'Where to?' asked Napoleon.\n\n\"'To salt horse-flesh,' said Davoust. Napoleon shuddered--his fate was\nbeing decided.\n\n\"'Child,' he addressed me suddenly, 'what do you think of our plan?' Of\ncourse he only applied to me as a sort of toss-up, you know. I turned to\nDavoust and addressed my reply to him. I said, as though inspired:\n\n\"'Escape, general! Go home!--'\n\n\"The project was abandoned; Davoust shrugged his shoulders and went out,\nwhispering to himself--'_Bah, il devient superstitieux!_' Next morning the\norder to retreat was given.\"\n\n\"All this is most interesting,\" said the prince, very softly, \"if it\nreally was so--that is, I mean--\" he hastened to correct himself.\n\n\"Oh, my dear prince,\" cried the general, who was now so intoxicated with\nhis own narrative that he probably could not have pulled up at the\nmost patent indiscretion. \"You say, if it really was so!' There was\nmore--_much_ more, I assure you! These are merely a few little political\nacts. I tell you I was the eye-witness of the nightly sorrow and\ngroanings of the great man, and of _that_ no one can speak but myself.\nTowards the end he wept no more, though he continued to emit an\noccasional groan; but his face grew more overcast day by day, as\nthough Eternity were wrapping its gloomy mantle about him. Occasionally\nwe passed whole hours of silence together at night, Roustan snoring\nin the next room--that fellow slept like a pig. 'But he's loyal to me\nand my dynasty,' said Napoleon of him.\n\n\"Sometimes it was very painful to me, and once he caught me with tears\nin my eyes. He looked at me kindly. 'You are sorry for me,' he said,\n'you, my child, and perhaps one other child--my son, the King of\nRome--may grieve for me. All the rest hate me; and my brothers are the\nfirst to betray me in misfortune.' I sobbed and threw myself into his\narms. He could not resist me--he burst into tears, and our tears mingled\nas we folded each other in a close embrace.\n\n\"'Write, oh, write a letter to the Empress Josephine!' I cried, sobbing.\nNapoleon started, reflected, and said, 'You remind me of a third heart\nwhich loves me. Thank you, my friend;' and then and there he sat down\nand wrote that letter to Josephine, with which Constant was sent off\nnext day.\"\n\n\"You did a good action,\" said the prince, \"for in the midst of his angry\nfeelings you insinuated a kind thought into his heart.\"\n\n\"Just so, prince, just so. How well you bring out that fact! Because\nyour own heart is good!\" cried the ecstatic old gentleman, and,\nstrangely enough, real tears glistened in his eyes. \"Yes, prince, it was\na wonderful spectacle. And, do you know, I all but went off to Paris,\nand should assuredly have shared his solitary exile with him; but, alas,\nour destinies were otherwise ordered! We parted, he to his island,\nwhere I am sure he thought of the weeping child who had embraced him\nso affectionately at parting in Moscow; and I was sent off to the cadet\ncorps, where I found nothing but roughness and harsh discipline. Alas,\nmy happy days were done!\"\n\n\"'I do not wish to deprive your mother of you, and, therefore, I will\nnot ask you to go with me,' he said, the morning of his departure, 'but\nI should like to do something for you.' He was mounting his horse as\nhe spoke. 'Write something in my sister's album for me,' I said rather\ntimidly, for he was in a state of great dejection at the moment. He\nturned, called for a pen, took the album. 'How old is your sister?'\nhe asked, holding the pen in his hand. 'Three years old,' I said. 'Ah,\n_petite fille alors!_' and he wrote in the album:\n\n  \"'Ne mentez jamais!\n    NAPOLÉON (votre ami sincère).'\n\n\"Such advice, and at such a moment, you must allow, prince, was--\"\n\n\"Yes, quite so; very remarkable.\"\n\n\"This page of the album, framed in gold, hung on the wall of my sister's\ndrawing-room all her life, in the most conspicuous place, till the day\nof her death; where it is now, I really don't know. Heavens! it's two\no'clock! _How_ I have kept you, prince! It is really most unpardonable of\nme.\"\n\nThe general rose.\n\n\"Oh, not in the least,\" said the prince. \"On the contrary, I have been\nso much interested, I'm really very much obliged to you.\"\n\n\"Prince,\", said the general, pressing his hand, and looking at him with\nflashing eyes, and an expression as though he were under the influence\nof a sudden thought which had come upon him with stunning force.\n\"Prince, you are so kind, so simple-minded, that sometimes I really\nfeel sorry for you! I gaze at you with a feeling of real affection. Oh,\nHeaven bless you! May your life blossom and fructify in love. Mine is\nover. Forgive me, forgive me!\"\n\nHe left the room quickly, covering his face with his hands.\n\nThe prince could not doubt the sincerity of his agitation. He\nunderstood, too, that the old man had left the room intoxicated with his\nown success. The general belonged to that class of liars, who, in spite\nof their transports of lying, invariably suspect that they are not\nbelieved. On this occasion, when he recovered from his exaltation, he\nwould probably suspect Muishkin of pitying him, and feel insulted.\n\n\"Have I been acting rightly in allowing him to develop such vast\nresources of imagination?\" the prince asked himself. But his answer was\na fit of violent laughter which lasted ten whole minutes. He tried to\nreproach himself for the laughing fit, but eventually concluded that he\nneedn't do so, since in spite of it he was truly sorry for the old man.\nThe same evening he received a strange letter, short but decided. The\ngeneral informed him that they must part for ever; that he was grateful,\nbut that even from him he could not accept \"signs of sympathy which were\nhumiliating to the dignity of a man already miserable enough.\"\n\nWhen the prince heard that the old man had gone to Nina Alexandrovna,\nthough, he felt almost easy on his account.\n\nWe have seen, however, that the general paid a visit to Lizabetha\nProkofievna and caused trouble there, the final upshot being that he\nfrightened Mrs. Epanchin, and angered her by bitter hints as to his son\nGania.\n\nHe had been turned out in disgrace, eventually, and this was the\ncause of his bad night and quarrelsome day, which ended in his sudden\ndeparture into the street in a condition approaching insanity, as\nrecorded before.\n\nColia did not understand the position. He tried severity with his\nfather, as they stood in the street after the latter had cursed the\nhousehold, hoping to bring him round that way.\n\n\"Well, where are we to go to now, father?\" he asked. \"You don't want\nto go to the prince's; you have quarrelled with Lebedeff; you have no\nmoney; I never have any; and here we are in the middle of the road, in a\nnice sort of mess.\"\n\n\"Better to be of a mess than in a mess! I remember making a joke\nsomething like that at the mess in eighteen hundred and forty--forty--I\nforget. 'Where is my youth, where is my golden youth?' Who was it said\nthat, Colia?\"\n\n\"It was Gogol, in Dead Souls, father,\" cried Colia, glancing at him in\nsome alarm.\n\n\"'Dead Souls,' yes, of course, dead. When I die, Colia, you must engrave\non my tomb:\n\n  \"'Here lies a Dead Soul,\n    Shame pursues me.'\n\n\"Who said that, Colia?\"\n\n\"I don't know, father.\"\n\n\"There was no Eropegoff? Eroshka Eropegoff?\" he cried, suddenly,\nstopping in the road in a frenzy. \"No Eropegoff! And my own son to say\nit! Eropegoff was in the place of a brother to me for eleven months. I\nfought a duel for him. He was married afterwards, and then killed on the\nfield of battle. The bullet struck the cross on my breast and glanced\noff straight into his temple. 'I'll never forget you,' he cried, and\nexpired. I served my country well and honestly, Colia, but shame, shame\nhas pursued me! You and Nina will come to my grave, Colia; poor Nina,\nI always used to call her Nina in the old days, and how she loved....\nNina, Nina, oh, Nina. What have I ever done to deserve your forgiveness\nand long-suffering? Oh, Colia, your mother has an angelic spirit, an\nangelic spirit, Colia!\"\n\n\"I know that, father. Look here, dear old father, come back home! Let's\ngo back to mother. Look, she ran after us when we came out. What have\nyou stopped her for, just as though you didn't take in what I said? Why\nare you crying, father?\"\n\nPoor Colia cried himself, and kissed the old man's hands\n\n\"You kiss my hands, _mine?_\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, yours, yours! What is there to surprise anyone in that? Come,\ncome, you mustn't go on like this, crying in the middle of the road; and\nyou a general too, a military man! Come, let's go back.\"\n\n\"God bless you, dear boy, for being respectful to a disgraced man. Yes,\nto a poor disgraced old fellow, your father. You shall have such a son\nyourself; le roi de Rome. Oh, curses on this house!\"\n\n\"Come, come, what does all this mean?\" cried Colia beside himself at\nlast. \"What is it? What has happened to you? Why don't you wish to come\nback home? Why have you gone out of your mind, like this?\"\n\n\"I'll explain it, I'll explain all to you. Don't shout! You shall hear.\nLe roi de Rome. Oh, I am sad, I am melancholy!\n\n\"'Nurse, where is your tomb?'\"\n\n\"Who said that, Colia?\"\n\n\"I don't know, I don't know who said it. Come home at once; come on!\nI'll punch Gania's head myself, if you like--only come. Oh, where _are_\nyou off to again?\" The general was dragging him away towards the door a\nhouse near. He sat down on the step, still holding Colia by the hand.\n\n\"Bend down--bend down your ear. I'll tell you all--disgrace--bend down,\nI'll tell you in your ear.\"\n\n\"What are you dreaming of?\" said poor, frightened Colia, stooping down\ntowards the old man, all the same.\n\n\"Le roi de Rome,\" whispered the general, trembling all over.\n\n\"What? What _do_ you mean? What roi de Rome?\"\n\n\"I--I,\" the general continued to whisper, clinging more and more\ntightly to the boy's shoulder. \"I--wish--to tell you--all--Maria--Maria\nPetrovna--Su--Su--Su.......\"\n\nColia broke loose, seized his father by the shoulders, and stared into\nhis eyes with frenzied gaze. The old man had grown livid--his lips were\nshaking, convulsions were passing over his features. Suddenly he leant\nover and began to sink slowly into Colia's arms.\n\n\"He's got a stroke!\" cried Colia, loudly, realizing what was the matter\nat last.\n\nV.\n\nIn point of fact, Varia had rather exaggerated the certainty of her\nnews as to the prince's betrothal to Aglaya. Very likely, with the\nperspicacity of her sex, she gave out as an accomplished fact what she\nfelt was pretty sure to become a fact in a few days. Perhaps she could\nnot resist the satisfaction of pouring one last drop of bitterness into\nher brother Gania's cup, in spite of her love for him. At all events,\nshe had been unable to obtain any definite news from the Epanchin\ngirls--the most she could get out of them being hints and surmises, and\nso on. Perhaps Aglaya's sisters had merely been pumping Varia for news\nwhile pretending to impart information; or perhaps, again, they had been\nunable to resist the feminine gratification of teasing a friend--for,\nafter all this time, they could scarcely have helped divining the aim of\nher frequent visits.\n\nOn the other hand, the prince, although he had told Lebedeff,--as we\nknow, that nothing had happened, and that he had nothing to impart,--the\nprince may have been in error. Something strange seemed to have\nhappened, without anything definite having actually happened. Varia had\nguessed that with her true feminine instinct.\n\nHow or why it came about that everyone at the Epanchins' became imbued\nwith one conviction--that something very important had happened to\nAglaya, and that her fate was in process of settlement--it would be very\ndifficult to explain. But no sooner had this idea taken root, than all\nat once declared that they had seen and observed it long ago; that they\nhad remarked it at the time of the \"poor knight\" joke, and even before,\nthough they had been unwilling to believe in such nonsense.\n\nSo said the sisters. Of course, Lizabetha Prokofievna had foreseen it\nlong before the rest; her \"heart had been sore\" for a long while,\nshe declared, and it was now so sore that she appeared to be quite\noverwhelmed, and the very thought of the prince became distasteful to\nher.\n\nThere was a question to be decided--most important, but most difficult;\nso much so, that Mrs. Epanchin did not even see how to put it into\nwords. Would the prince do or not? Was all this good or bad? If good\n(which might be the case, of course), _why_ good? If bad (which was\nhardly doubtful), _wherein_, especially, bad? Even the general, the\npaterfamilias, though astonished at first, suddenly declared that, \"upon\nhis honour, he really believed he had fancied something of the kind,\nafter all. At first, it seemed a new idea, and then, somehow, it looked\nas familiar as possible.\" His wife frowned him down there. This was\nin the morning; but in the evening, alone with his wife, he had given\ntongue again.\n\n\"Well, really, you know\"--(silence)--\"of course, you know all this is\nvery strange, if true, which I cannot deny; but\"--(silence).--\"But,\non the other hand, if one looks things in the face, you know--upon my\nhonour, the prince is a rare good fellow--and--and--and--well, his name,\nyou know--your family name--all this looks well, and perpetuates the\nname and title and all that--which at this moment is not standing so\nhigh as it might--from one point of view--don't you know? The world,\nthe world is the world, of course--and people will talk--and--and--the\nprince has property, you know--if it is not very large--and then\nhe--he--\" (Continued silence, and collapse of the general.)\n\nHearing these words from her husband, Lizabetha Prokofievna was driven\nbeside herself.\n\nAccording to her opinion, the whole thing had been one huge,\nfantastical, absurd, unpardonable mistake. \"First of all, this prince is\nan idiot, and, secondly, he is a fool--knows nothing of the world, and\nhas no place in it. Whom can he be shown to? Where can you take him to?\nWhat will old Bielokonski say? We never thought of such a husband as\n_that_ for our Aglaya!\"\n\nOf course, the last argument was the chief one. The maternal heart\ntrembled with indignation to think of such an absurdity, although in\nthat heart there rose another voice, which said: \"And _why_ is not the\nprince such a husband as you would have desired for Aglaya?\" It was this\nvoice which annoyed Lizabetha Prokofievna more than anything else.\n\nFor some reason or other, the sisters liked the idea of the prince. They\ndid not even consider it very strange; in a word, they might be expected\nat any moment to range themselves strongly on his side. But both of them\ndecided to say nothing either way. It had always been noticed in the\nfamily that the stronger Mrs. Epanchin's opposition was to any project,\nthe nearer she was, in reality, to giving in.\n\nAlexandra, however, found it difficult to keep absolute silence on\nthe subject. Long since holding, as she did, the post of \"confidential\nadviser to mamma,\" she was now perpetually called in council, and asked\nher opinion, and especially her assistance, in order to recollect \"how\non earth all this happened?\" Why did no one see it? Why did no one say\nanything about it? What did all that wretched \"poor knight\" joke mean?\nWhy was she, Lizabetha Prokofievna, driven to think, and foresee, and\nworry for everybody, while they all sucked their thumbs, and counted the\ncrows in the garden, and did nothing? At first, Alexandra had been very\ncareful, and had merely replied that perhaps her father's remark was not\nso far out: that, in the eyes of the world, probably the choice of the\nprince as a husband for one of the Epanchin girls would be considered a\nvery wise one. Warming up, however, she added that the prince was by no\nmeans a fool, and never had been; and that as to \"place in the world,\"\nno one knew what the position of a respectable person in Russia would\nimply in a few years--whether it would depend on successes in the\ngovernment service, on the old system, or what.\n\nTo all this her mother replied that Alexandra was a freethinker, and\nthat all this was due to that \"cursed woman's rights question.\"\n\nHalf an hour after this conversation, she went off to town, and thence\nto the Kammenny Ostrof, [\"Stone Island,\" a suburb and park of St.\nPetersburg] to see Princess Bielokonski, who had just arrived from\nMoscow on a short visit. The princess was Aglaya's godmother.\n\n\"Old Bielokonski\" listened to all the fevered and despairing lamentations\nof Lizabetha Prokofievna without the least emotion; the tears of this\nsorrowful mother did not evoke answering sighs--in fact, she laughed at\nher. She was a dreadful old despot, this princess; she could not allow\nequality in anything, not even in friendship of the oldest standing, and\nshe insisted on treating Mrs. Epanchin as her _protégée_, as she had been\nthirty-five years ago. She could never put up with the independence and\nenergy of Lizabetha's character. She observed that, as usual, the whole\nfamily had gone much too far ahead, and had converted a fly into an\nelephant; that, so far as she had heard their story, she was persuaded\nthat nothing of any seriousness had occurred; that it would surely\nbe better to wait until something _did_ happen; that the prince, in\nher opinion, was a very decent young fellow, though perhaps a little\neccentric, through illness, and not quite as weighty in the world as one\ncould wish. The worst feature was, she said, Nastasia Philipovna.\n\nLizabetha Prokofievna well understood that the old lady was angry at the\nfailure of Evgenie Pavlovitch--her own recommendation. She returned\nhome to Pavlofsk in a worse humour than when she left, and of course\neverybody in the house suffered. She pitched into everyone, because, she\ndeclared, they had 'gone mad.' Why were things always mismanaged in her\nhouse? Why had everybody been in such a frantic hurry in this matter?\nSo far as she could see, nothing whatever had happened. Surely they had\nbetter wait and see what was to happen, instead of making mountains out\nof molehills.\n\nAnd so the conclusion of the matter was that it would be far better to\ntake it quietly, and wait coolly to see what would turn up. But, alas!\npeace did not reign for more than ten minutes. The first blow dealt to\nits power was in certain news communicated to Lizabetha Prokofievna as\nto events which had happened during her trip to see the princess. (This\ntrip had taken place the day after that on which the prince had turned\nup at the Epanchins at nearly one o'clock at night, thinking it was\nnine.)\n\nThe sisters replied candidly and fully enough to their mother's\nimpatient questions on her return. They said, in the first place, that\nnothing particular had happened since her departure; that the prince\nhad been, and that Aglaya had kept him waiting a long while before\nshe appeared--half an hour, at least; that she had then come in, and\nimmediately asked the prince to have a game of chess; that the prince\ndid not know the game, and Aglaya had beaten him easily; that she had\nbeen in a wonderfully merry mood, and had laughed at the prince, and\nchaffed him so unmercifully that one was quite sorry to see his wretched\nexpression.\n\nShe had then asked him to play cards--the game called \"little fools.\"\nAt this game the tables were turned completely, for the prince had shown\nhimself a master at it. Aglaya had cheated and changed cards, and stolen\nothers, in the most bare-faced way, but, in spite of everything the\nprince had beaten her hopelessly five times running, and she had been\nleft \"little fool\" each time.\n\nAglaya then lost her temper, and began to say such awful things to the\nprince that he laughed no more, but grew dreadfully pale, especially\nwhen she said that she should not remain in the house with him, and that\nhe ought to be ashamed of coming to their house at all, especially at\nnight, \"_after all that had happened._\"\n\nSo saying, she had left the room, banging the door after her, and the\nprince went off, looking as though he were on his way to a funeral, in\nspite of all their attempts at consolation.\n\nSuddenly, a quarter of an hour after the prince's departure, Aglaya had\nrushed out of her room in such a hurry that she had not even wiped her\neyes, which were full of tears. She came back because Colia had brought\na hedgehog. Everybody came in to see the hedgehog. In answer to their\nquestions Colia explained that the hedgehog was not his, and that he had\nleft another boy, Kostia Lebedeff, waiting for him outside. Kostia was\ntoo shy to come in, because he was carrying a hatchet; they had bought\nthe hedgehog and the hatchet from a peasant whom they had met on the\nroad. He had offered to sell them the hedgehog, and they had paid fifty\ncopecks for it; and the hatchet had so taken their fancy that they had\nmade up their minds to buy it of their own accord. On hearing this,\nAglaya urged Colia to sell her the hedgehog; she even called him \"dear\nColia,\" in trying to coax him. He refused for a long time, but at last\nhe could hold out no more, and went to fetch Kostia Lebedeff. The latter\nappeared, carrying his hatchet, and covered with confusion. Then it came\nout that the hedgehog was not theirs, but the property of a schoolmate,\none Petroff, who had given them some money to buy Schlosser's History\nfor him, from another schoolfellow who at that moment was driven to\nraising money by the sale of his books. Colia and Kostia were about to\nmake this purchase for their friend when chance brought the hedgehog\nto their notice, and they had succumbed to the temptation of buying it.\nThey were now taking Petroff the hedgehog and hatchet which they had\nbought with his money, instead of Schlosser's History. But Aglaya so\nentreated them that at last they consented to sell her the hedgehog. As\nsoon as she had got possession of it, she put it in a wicker basket with\nColia's help, and covered it with a napkin. Then she said to Colia: \"Go\nand take this hedgehog to the prince from me, and ask him to accept it\nas a token of my profound respect.\" Colia joyfully promised to do the\nerrand, but he demanded explanations. \"What does the hedgehog mean? What\nis the meaning of such a present?\" Aglaya replied that it was none of\nhis business. \"I am sure that there is some allegory about it,\" Colia\npersisted. Aglaya grew angry, and called him \"a silly boy.\" \"If I did\nnot respect all women in your person,\" replied Colia, \"and if my own\nprinciples would permit it, I would soon prove to you, that I know how\nto answer such an insult!\" But, in the end, Colia went off with the\nhedgehog in great delight, followed by Kostia Lebedeff. Aglaya's\nannoyance was soon over, and seeing that Colia was swinging the\nhedgehog's basket violently to and fro, she called out to him from the\nverandah, as if they had never quarrelled: \"Colia, dear, please take\ncare not to drop him!\" Colia appeared to have no grudge against her,\neither, for he stopped, and answered most cordially: \"No, I will not\ndrop him! Don't be afraid, Aglaya Ivanovna!\" After which he went on his\nway. Aglaya burst out laughing and ran up to her room, highly delighted.\nHer good spirits lasted the whole day.\n\nAll this filled poor Lizabetha's mind with chaotic confusion. What on\nearth did it all mean? The most disturbing feature was the hedgehog.\nWhat was the symbolic signification of a hedgehog? What did they\nunderstand by it? What underlay it? Was it a cryptic message?\n\nPoor General Epanchin \"put his foot in it\" by answering the above\nquestions in his own way. He said there was no cryptic message at\nall. As for the hedgehog, it was just a hedgehog, which meant\nnothing--unless, indeed, it was a pledge of friendship,--the sign of\nforgetting of offences and so on. At all events, it was a joke, and, of\ncourse, a most pardonable and innocent one.\n\nWe may as well remark that the general had guessed perfectly accurately.\n\nThe prince, returning home from the interview with Aglaya, had sat\ngloomy and depressed for half an hour. He was almost in despair when\nColia arrived with the hedgehog.\n\nThen the sky cleared in a moment. The prince seemed to arise from the\ndead; he asked Colia all about it, made him repeat the story over and\nover again, and laughed and shook hands with the boys in his delight.\n\nIt seemed clear to the prince that Aglaya forgave him, and that he might\ngo there again this very evening; and in his eyes that was not only the\nmain thing, but everything in the world.\n\n\"What children we are still, Colia!\" he cried at last,\nenthusiastically,--\"and how delightful it is that we can be children\nstill!\"\n\n\"Simply--my dear prince,--simply she is in love with you,--that's the\nwhole of the secret!\" replied Colia, with authority.\n\nThe prince blushed, but this time he said nothing. Colia burst out\nlaughing and clapped his hands. A minute later the prince laughed too,\nand from this moment until the evening he looked at his watch every\nother minute to see how much time he had to wait before evening came.\n\nBut the situation was becoming rapidly critical.\n\nMrs. Epanchin could bear her suspense no longer, and in spite of the\nopposition of husband and daughters, she sent for Aglaya, determined to\nget a straightforward answer out of her, once for all.\n\n\"Otherwise,\" she observed hysterically, \"I shall die before evening.\"\n\nIt was only now that everyone realized to what a ridiculous dead-lock\nthe whole matter had been brought. Excepting feigned surprise,\nindignation, laughter, and jeering--both at the prince and at everyone\nwho asked her questions,--nothing could be got out of Aglaya.\n\nLizabetha Prokofievna went to bed and only rose again in time for tea,\nwhen the prince might be expected.\n\nShe awaited him in trembling agitation; and when he at last arrived she\nnearly went off into hysterics.\n\nMuishkin himself came in very timidly. He seemed to feel his way, and\nlooked in each person's eyes in a questioning way,--for Aglaya was\nabsent, which fact alarmed him at once.\n\nThis evening there were no strangers present--no one but the immediate\nmembers of the family. Prince S. was still in town, occupied with the\naffairs of Evgenie Pavlovitch's uncle.\n\n\"I wish at least _he_ would come and say something!\" complained poor\nLizabetha Prokofievna.\n\nThe general sat still with a most preoccupied air. The sisters were\nlooking very serious and did not speak a word, and Lizabetha Prokofievna\ndid not know how to commence the conversation.\n\nAt length she plunged into an energetic and hostile criticism of\nrailways, and glared at the prince defiantly.\n\nAlas Aglaya still did not come--and the prince was quite lost. He had\nthe greatest difficulty in expressing his opinion that railways were\nmost useful institutions,--and in the middle of his speech Adelaida\nlaughed, which threw him into a still worse state of confusion.\n\nAt this moment in marched Aglaya, as calm and collected as could be.\nShe gave the prince a ceremonious bow and solemnly took up a\nprominent position near the big round table. She looked at the prince\nquestioningly.\n\nAll present realized that the moment for the settlement of perplexities\nhad arrived.\n\n\"Did you get my hedgehog?\" she inquired, firmly and almost angrily.\n\n\"Yes, I got it,\" said the prince, blushing.\n\n\"Tell us now, at once, what you made of the present? I must have you\nanswer this question for mother's sake; she needs pacifying, and so do\nall the rest of the family!\"\n\n\"Look here, Aglaya--\" began the general.\n\n\"This--this is going beyond all limits!\" said Lizabetha Prokofievna,\nsuddenly alarmed.\n\n\"It is not in the least beyond all limits, mamma!\" said her daughter,\nfirmly. \"I sent the prince a hedgehog this morning, and I wish to hear\nhis opinion of it. Go on, prince.\"\n\n\"What--what sort of opinion, Aglaya Ivanovna?\"\n\n\"About the hedgehog.\"\n\n\"That is--I suppose you wish to know how I received the hedgehog, Aglaya\nIvanovna,--or, I should say, how I regarded your sending him to me? In\nthat case, I may tell you--in a word--that I--in fact--\"\n\nHe paused, breathless.\n\n\"Come--you haven't told us much!\" said Aglaya, after waiting some five\nseconds. \"Very well, I am ready to drop the hedgehog, if you like; but\nI am anxious to be able to clear up this accumulation of\nmisunderstandings. Allow me to ask you, prince,--I wish to hear from\nyou, personally--are you making me an offer, or not?\"\n\n\"Gracious heavens!\" exclaimed Lizabetha Prokofievna. The prince started.\nThe general stiffened in his chair; the sisters frowned.\n\n\"Don't deceive me now, prince--tell the truth. All these people\npersecute me with astounding questions--about you. Is there any ground\nfor all these questions, or not? Come!\"\n\n\"I have not asked you to marry me yet, Aglaya Ivanovna,\" said the\nprince, becoming suddenly animated; \"but you know yourself how much I\nlove you and trust you.\"\n\n\"No--I asked you this--answer this! Do you intend to ask for my hand, or\nnot?\"\n\n\"Yes--I do ask for it!\" said the prince, more dead than alive now.\n\nThere was a general stir in the room.\n\n\"No--no--my dear girl,\" began the general. \"You cannot proceed like\nthis, Aglaya, if that's how the matter stands. It's impossible. Prince,\nforgive it, my dear fellow, but--Lizabetha Prokofievna!\"--he appealed to\nhis spouse for help--\"you must really--\"\n\n\"Not I--not I! I retire from all responsibility,\" said Lizabetha\nProkofievna, with a wave of the hand.\n\n\"Allow me to speak, please, mamma,\" said Aglaya. \"I think I ought to\nhave something to say in the matter. An important moment of my destiny\nis about to be decided\"--(this is how Aglaya expressed herself)--\"and\nI wish to find out how the matter stands, for my own sake, though I am\nglad you are all here. Allow me to ask you, prince, since you cherish\nthose intentions, how you consider that you will provide for my\nhappiness?\"\n\n\"I--I don't quite know how to answer your question, Aglaya Ivanovna.\nWhat is there to say to such a question? And--and must I answer?\"\n\n\"I think you are rather overwhelmed and out of breath. Have a little\nrest, and try to recover yourself. Take a glass of water, or--but\nthey'll give you some tea directly.\"\n\n\"I love you, Aglaya Ivanovna,--I love you very much. I love only\nyou--and--please don't jest about it, for I do love you very much.\"\n\n\"Well, this matter is important. We are not children--we must look into\nit thoroughly. Now then, kindly tell me--what does your fortune consist\nof?\"\n\n\"No--Aglaya--come, enough of this, you mustn't behave like this,\" said\nher father, in dismay.\n\n\"It's disgraceful,\" said Lizabetha Prokofievna in a loud whisper.\n\n\"She's mad--quite!\" said Alexandra.\n\n\"Fortune--money--do you mean?\" asked the prince in some surprise.\n\n\"Just so.\"\n\n\"I have now--let's see--I have a hundred and thirty-five thousand\nroubles,\" said the prince, blushing violently.\n\n\"Is that all, really?\" said Aglaya, candidly, without the slightest\nshow of confusion. \"However, it's not so bad, especially if managed with\neconomy. Do you intend to serve?\"\n\n\"I--I intended to try for a certificate as private tutor.\"\n\n\"Very good. That would increase our income nicely. Have you any\nintention of being a Kammer-junker?\"\n\n\"A Kammer-junker? I had not thought of it, but--\"\n\nBut here the two sisters could restrain themselves no longer, and both\nof them burst into irrepressible laughter.\n\nAdelaida had long since detected in Aglaya's features the gathering\nsigns of an approaching storm of laughter, which she restrained with\namazing self-control.\n\nAglaya looked menacingly at her laughing sisters, but could not contain\nherself any longer, and the next minute she too had burst into an\nirrepressible, and almost hysterical, fit of mirth. At length she jumped\nup, and ran out of the room.\n\n\"I knew it was all a joke!\" cried Adelaida. \"I felt it ever since--since\nthe hedgehog.\"\n\n\"No, no! I cannot allow this,--this is a little too much,\" cried\nLizabetha Prokofievna, exploding with rage, and she rose from her seat\nand followed Aglaya out of the room as quickly as she could.\n\nThe two sisters hurriedly went after her.\n\nThe prince and the general were the only two persons left in the room.\n\n\"It's--it's really--now could you have imagined anything like it, Lef\nNicolaievitch?\" cried the general. He was evidently so much agitated\nthat he hardly knew what he wished to say. \"Seriously now, seriously I\nmean--\"\n\n\"I only see that Aglaya Ivanovna is laughing at me,\" said the poor\nprince, sadly.\n\n\"Wait a bit, my boy, I'll just go--you stay here, you know. But do just\nexplain, if you can, Lef Nicolaievitch, how in the world has all this\ncome about? And what does it all mean? You must understand, my dear\nfellow; I am a father, you see, and I ought to be allowed to understand\nthe matter--do explain, I beg you!\"\n\n\"I love Aglaya Ivanovna--she knows it,--and I think she must have long\nknown it.\"\n\nThe general shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"Strange--it's strange,\" he said, \"and you love her very much?\"\n\n\"Yes, very much.\"\n\n\"Well--it's all most strange to me. That is--my dear fellow, it is\nsuch a surprise--such a blow--that... You see, it is not your financial\nposition (though I should not object if you were a bit richer)--I am\nthinking of my daughter's happiness, of course, and the thing is--are\nyou able to give her the happiness she deserves? And then--is all this\na joke on her part, or is she in earnest? I don't mean on your side, but\non hers.\"\n\nAt this moment Alexandra's voice was heard outside the door, calling out\n\"Papa!\"\n\n\"Wait for me here, my boy--will you? Just wait and think it all over,\nand I'll come back directly,\" he said hurriedly, and made off with what\nlooked like the rapidity of alarm in response to Alexandra's call.\n\nHe found the mother and daughter locked in one another's arms, mingling\ntheir tears.\n\nThese were the tears of joy and peace and reconciliation. Aglaya was\nkissing her mother's lips and cheeks and hands; they were hugging each\nother in the most ardent way.\n\n\"There, look at her now--Ivan Fedorovitch! Here she is--all of her! This\nis our _real_ Aglaya at last!\" said Lizabetha Prokofievna.\n\nAglaya raised her happy, tearful face from her mother's breast, glanced\nat her father, and burst out laughing. She sprang at him and hugged him\ntoo, and kissed him over and over again. She then rushed back to her\nmother and hid her face in the maternal bosom, and there indulged in\nmore tears. Her mother covered her with a corner of her shawl.\n\n\"Oh, you cruel little girl! How will you treat us all next, I wonder?\"\nshe said, but she spoke with a ring of joy in her voice, and as though\nshe breathed at last without the oppression which she had felt so long.\n\n\"Cruel?\" sobbed Aglaya. \"Yes, I _am_ cruel, and worthless, and\nspoiled--tell father so,--oh, here he is--I forgot Father, listen!\" She\nlaughed through her tears.\n\n\"My darling, my little idol,\" cried the general, kissing and fondling\nher hands (Aglaya did not draw them away); \"so you love this young man,\ndo you?\"\n\n\"No, no, no, can't _bear_ him, I can't _bear_ your young man!\" cried\nAglaya, raising her head. \"And if you dare say that _once_ more, papa--I'm\nserious, you know, I'm,--do you hear me--I'm serious!\"\n\nShe certainly did seem to be serious enough. She had flushed up all over\nand her eyes were blazing.\n\nThe general felt troubled and remained silent, while Lizabetha\nProkofievna telegraphed to him from behind Aglaya to ask no questions.\n\n\"If that's the case, darling--then, of course, you shall do exactly as\nyou like. He is waiting alone downstairs. Hadn't I better hint to him\ngently that he can go?\" The general telegraphed to Lizabetha Prokofievna\nin his turn.\n\n\"No, no, you needn't do anything of the sort; you mustn't hint gently\nat all. I'll go down myself directly. I wish to apologize to this young\nman, because I hurt his feelings.\"\n\n\"Yes, _seriously_,\" said the general, gravely.\n\n\"Well, you'd better stay here, all of you, for a little, and I'll go\ndown to him alone to begin with. I'll just go in and then you can follow\nme almost at once. That's the best way.\"\n\nShe had almost reached the door when she turned round again.\n\n\"I shall laugh--I know I shall; I shall die of laughing,\" she said,\nlugubriously.\n\nHowever, she turned and ran down to the prince as fast as her feet could\ncarry her.\n\n\"Well, what does it all mean? What do you make of it?\" asked the general\nof his spouse, hurriedly.\n\n\"I hardly dare say,\" said Lizabetha, as hurriedly, \"but I think it's as\nplain as anything can be.\"\n\n\"I think so too, as clear as day; she loves him.\"\n\n\"Loves him? She is head over ears in love, that's what she is,\" put in\nAlexandra.\n\n\"Well, God bless her, God bless her, if such is her destiny,\" said\nLizabetha, crossing herself devoutly.\n\n\"H'm destiny it is,\" said the general, \"and there's no getting out of\ndestiny.\"\n\nWith these words they all moved off towards the drawing-room, where\nanother surprise awaited them. Aglaya had not only not laughed, as she\nhad feared, but had gone to the prince rather timidly, and said to him:\n\n\"Forgive a silly, horrid, spoilt girl\"--(she took his hand here)--\"and\nbe quite assured that we all of us esteem you beyond all words. And if I\ndared to turn your beautiful, admirable simplicity to ridicule, forgive\nme as you would a little child its mischief. Forgive me all my absurdity\nof just now, which, of course, meant nothing, and could not have the\nslightest consequence.\" She spoke these words with great emphasis.\n\nHer father, mother, and sisters came into the room and were much struck\nwith the last words, which they just caught as they entered--\"absurdity\nwhich of course meant nothing\"--and still more so with the emphasis with\nwhich Aglaya had spoken.\n\nThey exchanged glances questioningly, but the prince did not seem to\nhave understood the meaning of Aglaya's words; he was in the highest\nheaven of delight.\n\n\"Why do you speak so?\" he murmured. \"Why do you ask my forgiveness?\"\n\nHe wished to add that he was unworthy of being asked for forgiveness\nby her, but paused. Perhaps he did understand Aglaya's sentence about\n\"absurdity which meant nothing,\" and like the strange fellow that he\nwas, rejoiced in the words.\n\nUndoubtedly the fact that he might now come and see Aglaya as much as\nhe pleased again was quite enough to make him perfectly happy; that he\nmight come and speak to her, and see her, and sit by her, and walk with\nher--who knows, but that all this was quite enough to satisfy him for\nthe whole of his life, and that he would desire no more to the end of\ntime?\n\n(Lizabetha Prokofievna felt that this might be the case, and she didn't\nlike it; though very probably she could not have put the idea into\nwords.)\n\nIt would be difficult to describe the animation and high spirits which\ndistinguished the prince for the rest of the evening.\n\nHe was so happy that \"it made one feel happy to look at him,\" as\nAglaya's sisters expressed it afterwards. He talked, and told stories\njust as he had done once before, and never since, namely on the very\nfirst morning of his acquaintance with the Epanchins, six months ago.\nSince his return to Petersburg from Moscow, he had been remarkably\nsilent, and had told Prince S. on one occasion, before everyone, that he\ndid not think himself justified in degrading any thought by his unworthy\nwords.\n\nBut this evening he did nearly all the talking himself, and told stories\nby the dozen, while he answered all questions put to him clearly,\ngladly, and with any amount of detail.\n\nThere was nothing, however, of love-making in his talk. His ideas were\nall of the most serious kind; some were even mystical and profound.\n\nHe aired his own views on various matters, some of his most private\nopinions and observations, many of which would have seemed rather funny,\nso his hearers agreed afterwards, had they not been so well expressed.\n\nThe general liked serious subjects of conversation; but both he and\nLizabetha Prokofievna felt that they were having a little too much of a\ngood thing tonight, and as the evening advanced, they both grew more\nor less melancholy; but towards night, the prince fell to telling funny\nstories, and was always the first to burst out laughing himself, which\nhe invariably did so joyously and simply that the rest laughed just as\nmuch at him as at his stories.\n\nAs for Aglaya, she hardly said a word all the evening; but she listened\nwith all her ears to Lef Nicolaievitch's talk, and scarcely took her\neyes off him.\n\n\"She looked at him, and stared and stared, and hung on every word he\nsaid,\" said Lizabetha afterwards, to her husband, \"and yet, tell her\nthat she loves him, and she is furious!\"\n\n\"What's to be done? It's fate,\" said the general, shrugging his\nshoulders, and, for a long while after, he continued to repeat: \"It's\nfate, it's fate!\"\n\nWe may add that to a business man like General Epanchin the present\nposition of affairs was most unsatisfactory. He hated the uncertainty in\nwhich they had been, perforce, left. However, he decided to say no\nmore about it, and merely to look on, and take his time and tune from\nLizabetha Prokofievna.\n\nThe happy state in which the family had spent the evening, as just\nrecorded, was not of very long duration. Next day Aglaya quarrelled with\nthe prince again, and so she continued to behave for the next few days.\nFor whole hours at a time she ridiculed and chaffed the wretched man,\nand made him almost a laughing-stock.\n\nIt is true that they used to sit in the little summer-house together for\nan hour or two at a time, very often, but it was observed that on\nthese occasions the prince would read the paper, or some book, aloud to\nAglaya.\n\n\"Do you know,\" Aglaya said to him once, interrupting the reading, \"I've\nremarked that you are dreadfully badly educated. You never know anything\nthoroughly, if one asks you; neither anyone's name, nor dates, nor about\ntreaties and so on. It's a great pity, you know!\"\n\n\"I told you I had not had much of an education,\" replied the prince.\n\n\"How am I to respect you, if that's the case? Read on now. No--don't!\nStop reading!\"\n\nAnd once more, that same evening, Aglaya mystified them all. Prince S.\nhad returned, and Aglaya was particularly amiable to him, and asked a\ngreat deal after Evgenie Pavlovitch. (Muishkin had not come in as yet.)\n\nSuddenly Prince S. hinted something about \"a new and approaching\nchange in the family.\" He was led to this remark by a communication\ninadvertently made to him by Lizabetha Prokofievna, that Adelaida's\nmarriage must be postponed a little longer, in order that the two\nweddings might come off together.\n\nIt is impossible to describe Aglaya's irritation. She flared up, and\nsaid some indignant words about \"all these silly insinuations.\"\nShe added that \"she had no intentions as yet of replacing anybody's\nmistress.\"\n\nThese words painfully impressed the whole party; but especially her\nparents. Lizabetha Prokofievna summoned a secret council of two, and\ninsisted upon the general's demanding from the prince a full explanation\nof his relations with Nastasia Philipovna. The general argued that it\nwas only a whim of Aglaya's; and that, had not Prince S. unfortunately\nmade that remark, which had confused the child and made her blush, she\nnever would have said what she did; and that he was sure Aglaya knew\nwell that anything she might have heard of the prince and Nastasia\nPhilipovna was merely the fabrication of malicious tongues, and that\nthe woman was going to marry Rogojin. He insisted that the prince had\nnothing whatever to do with Nastasia Philipovna, so far as any liaison\nwas concerned; and, if the truth were to be told about it, he added,\nnever had had.\n\nMeanwhile nothing put the prince out, and he continued to be in the\nseventh heaven of bliss. Of course he could not fail to observe some\nimpatience and ill-temper in Aglaya now and then; but he believed in\nsomething else, and nothing could now shake his conviction. Besides,\nAglaya's frowns never lasted long; they disappeared of themselves.\n\nPerhaps he was too easy in his mind. So thought Hippolyte, at all\nevents, who met him in the park one day.\n\n\"Didn't I tell you the truth now, when I said you were in love?\" he\nsaid, coming up to Muishkin of his own accord, and stopping him.\n\nThe prince gave him his hand and congratulated him upon \"looking so\nwell.\"\n\nHippolyte himself seemed to be hopeful about his state of health, as is\noften the case with consumptives.\n\nHe had approached the prince with the intention of talking sarcastically\nabout his happy expression of face, but very soon forgot his intention\nand began to talk about himself. He began complaining about everything,\ndisconnectedly and endlessly, as was his wont.\n\n\"You wouldn't believe,\" he concluded, \"how irritating they all are\nthere. They are such wretchedly small, vain, egotistical, _commonplace_\npeople! Would you believe it, they invited me there under the express\ncondition that I should die quickly, and they are all as wild as\npossible with me for not having died yet, and for being, on the\ncontrary, a good deal better! Isn't it a comedy? I don't mind betting\nthat you don't believe me!\"\n\nThe prince said nothing.\n\n\"I sometimes think of coming over to you again,\" said Hippolyte,\ncarelessly. \"So you _don't_ think them capable of inviting a man on\nthe condition that he is to look sharp and die?\"\n\n\"I certainly thought they invited you with quite other views.\"\n\n\"Ho, ho! you are not nearly so simple as they try to make you out! This\nis not the time for it, or I would tell you a thing or two about that\nbeauty, Gania, and his hopes. You are being undermined, pitilessly\nundermined, and--and it is really melancholy to see you so calm about\nit. But alas! it's your nature--you can't help it!\"\n\n\"My word! what a thing to be melancholy about! Why, do you think I\nshould be any happier if I were to feel disturbed about the excavations\nyou tell me of?\"\n\n\"It is better to be unhappy and know the worst, than to be happy in a\nfool's paradise! I suppose you don't believe that you have a rival in\nthat quarter?\"\n\n\"Your insinuations as to rivalry are rather cynical, Hippolyte. I'm\nsorry to say I have no right to answer you! As for Gania, I put it to\nyou, _can_ any man have a happy mind after passing through what he has had\nto suffer? I think that is the best way to look at it. He will\nchange yet, he has lots of time before him, and life is rich;\nbesides--besides...\" the prince hesitated. \"As to being undermined, I\ndon't know what in the world you are driving at, Hippolyte. I think we\nhad better drop the subject!\"\n\n\"Very well, we'll drop it for a while. You can't look at anything but\nin your exalted, generous way. You must put out your finger and touch a\nthing before you'll believe it, eh? Ha! ha! ha! I suppose you despise me\ndreadfully, prince, eh? What do you think?\"\n\n\"Why? Because you have suffered more than we have?\"\n\n\"No; because I am unworthy of my sufferings, if you like!\"\n\n\"Whoever _can_ suffer is worthy to suffer, I should think. Aglaya Ivanovna\nwished to see you, after she had read your confession, but--\"\n\n\"She postponed the pleasure--I see--I quite understand!\" said Hippolyte,\nhurriedly, as though he wished to banish the subject. \"I hear--they\ntell me--that you read her all that nonsense aloud? Stupid bosh it\nwas--written in delirium. And I can't understand how anyone can be so--I\nwon't say _cruel_, because the word would be humiliating to myself, but\nwe'll say childishly vain and revengeful, as to _reproach_ me with this\nconfession, and use it as a weapon against me. Don't be afraid, I'm not\nreferring to yourself.\"\n\n\"Oh, but I'm sorry you repudiate the confession, Hippolyte--it is\nsincere; and, do you know, even the absurd parts of it--and these are\nmany\" (here Hippolyte frowned savagely) \"are, as it were, redeemed by\nsuffering--for it must have cost you something to admit what you there\nsay--great torture, perhaps, for all I know. Your motive must have\nbeen a very noble one all through. Whatever may have appeared to the\ncontrary, I give you my word, I see this more plainly every day. I do\nnot judge you; I merely say this to have it off my mind, and I am only\nsorry that I did not say it all _then_--\"\n\nHippolyte flushed hotly. He had thought at first that the prince\nwas \"humbugging\" him; but on looking at his face he saw that he was\nabsolutely serious, and had no thought of any deception. Hippolyte\nbeamed with gratification.\n\n\"And yet I must die,\" he said, and almost added: \"a man like me!\n\n\"And imagine how that Gania annoys me! He has developed the idea--or\npretends to believe--that in all probability three or four others who\nheard my confession will die before I do. There's an idea for you--and\nall this by way of _consoling_ me! Ha! ha! ha! In the first place they\nhaven't died yet; and in the second, if they _did_ die--all of them--what\nwould be the satisfaction to me in that? He judges me by himself. But he\ngoes further, he actually pitches into me because, as he declares, 'any\ndecent fellow' would die quietly, and that 'all this' is mere egotism\non my part. He doesn't see what refinement of egotism it is on his own\npart--and at the same time, what ox-like coarseness! Have you ever read\nof the death of one Stepan Gleboff, in the eighteenth century? I read of\nit yesterday by chance.\"\n\n\"Who was he?\"\n\n\"He was impaled on a stake in the time of Peter.\"\n\n\"I know, I know! He lay there fifteen hours in the hard frost, and died\nwith the most extraordinary fortitude--I know--what of him?\"\n\n\"Only that God gives that sort of dying to some, and not to others.\nPerhaps you think, though, that I could not die like Gleboff?\"\n\n\"Not at all!\" said the prince, blushing. \"I was only going to say that\nyou--not that you could not be like Gleboff--but that you would have\nbeen more like--\"\n\n\"I guess what you mean--I should be an Osterman, not a Gleboff--eh? Is\nthat what you meant?\"\n\n\"What Osterman?\" asked the prince in some surprise.\n\n\"Why, Osterman--the diplomatist. Peter's Osterman,\" muttered Hippolyte,\nconfused. There was a moment's pause of mutual confusion.\n\n\"Oh, no, no!\" said the prince at last, \"that was not what I was going to\nsay--oh no! I don't think you would ever have been like Osterman.\"\n\nHippolyte frowned gloomily.\n\n\"I'll tell you why I draw the conclusion,\" explained the prince,\nevidently desirous of clearing up the matter a little. \"Because, though\nI often think over the men of those times, I cannot for the life of me\nimagine them to be like ourselves. It really appears to me that they\nwere of another race altogether than ourselves of today. At that time\npeople seemed to stick so to one idea; now, they are more nervous, more\nsensitive, more enlightened--people of two or three ideas at once--as\nit were. The man of today is a broader man, so to speak--and I declare\nI believe that is what prevents him from being so self-contained and\nindependent a being as his brother of those earlier days. Of course my\nremark was only made under this impression, and not in the least--\"\n\n\"I quite understand. You are trying to comfort me for the naiveness with\nwhich you disagreed with me--eh? Ha! ha! ha! You are a regular\nchild, prince! However, I cannot help seeing that you always treat me\nlike--like a fragile china cup. Never mind, never mind, I'm not a bit\nangry! At all events we have had a very funny talk. Do you know, all\nthings considered, I should like to be something better than Osterman!\nI wouldn't take the trouble to rise from the dead to be an Osterman.\nHowever, I see I must make arrangements to die soon, or I myself--.\nWell--leave me now! _Au revoir._ Look here--before you go, just give me\nyour opinion: how do you think I ought to die, now? I mean--the best,\nthe most virtuous way? Tell me!\"\n\n\"You should pass us by and forgive us our happiness,\" said the prince in\na low voice.\n\n\"Ha! ha! ha! I thought so. I thought I should hear something like\nthat. Well, you are--you really are--oh dear me! Eloquence, eloquence!\nGood-bye!\"\n\nVI.\n\nAs to the evening party at the Epanchins' at which Princess Bielokonski\nwas to be present, Varia had reported with accuracy; though she had\nperhaps expressed herself too strongly.\n\nThe thing was decided in a hurry and with a certain amount of quite\nunnecessary excitement, doubtless because \"nothing could be done in this\nhouse like anywhere else.\"\n\nThe impatience of Lizabetha Prokofievna \"to get things settled\"\nexplained a good deal, as well as the anxiety of both parents for the\nhappiness of their beloved daughter. Besides, Princess Bielokonski was\ngoing away soon, and they hoped that she would take an interest in\nthe prince. They were anxious that he should enter society under the\nauspices of this lady, whose patronage was the best of recommendations\nfor any young man.\n\nEven if there seems something strange about the match, the general and\nhis wife said to each other, the \"world\" will accept Aglaya's fiance\nwithout any question if he is under the patronage of the princess. In\nany case, the prince would have to be \"shown\" sooner or later; that is,\nintroduced into society, of which he had, so far, not the least idea.\nMoreover, it was only a question of a small gathering of a few intimate\nfriends. Besides Princess Bielokonski, only one other lady was expected,\nthe wife of a high dignitary. Evgenie Pavlovitch, who was to escort the\nprincess, was the only young man.\n\nMuishkin was told of the princess's visit three days beforehand, but\nnothing was said to him about the party until the night before it was to\ntake place.\n\nHe could not help observing the excited and agitated condition of all\nmembers of the family, and from certain hints dropped in conversation he\ngathered that they were all anxious as to the impression he should\nmake upon the princess. But the Epanchins, one and all, believed that\nMuishkin, in his simplicity of mind, was quite incapable of realizing\nthat they could be feeling any anxiety on his account, and for this\nreason they all looked at him with dread and uneasiness.\n\nIn point of fact, he did attach marvellously little importance to the\napproaching event. He was occupied with altogether different thoughts.\nAglaya was growing hourly more capricious and gloomy, and this\ndistressed him. When they told him that Evgenie Pavlovitch was expected,\nhe evinced great delight, and said that he had long wished to see\nhim--and somehow these words did not please anyone.\n\nAglaya left the room in a fit of irritation, and it was not until late\nin the evening, past eleven, when the prince was taking his departure,\nthat she said a word or two to him, privately, as she accompanied him as\nfar as the front door.\n\n\"I should like you,\" she said, \"not to come here tomorrow until evening,\nwhen the guests are all assembled. You know there are to be guests,\ndon't you?\"\n\nShe spoke impatiently and with severity; this was the first allusion she\nhad made to the party of tomorrow.\n\nShe hated the idea of it, everyone saw that; and she would probably\nhave liked to quarrel about it with her parents, but pride and modesty\nprevented her from broaching the subject.\n\nThe prince jumped to the conclusion that Aglaya, too, was nervous about\nhim, and the impression he would make, and that she did not like to\nadmit her anxiety; and this thought alarmed him.\n\n\"Yes, I am invited,\" he replied.\n\nShe was evidently in difficulties as to how best to go on. \"May I speak\nof something serious to you, for once in my life?\" she asked, angrily.\nShe was irritated at she knew not what, and could not restrain her\nwrath.\n\n\"Of course you may; I am very glad to listen,\" replied Muishkin.\n\nAglaya was silent a moment and then began again with evident dislike of\nher subject:\n\n\"I do not wish to quarrel with them about this; in some things they\nwon't be reasonable. I always did feel a loathing for the laws which\nseem to guide mamma's conduct at times. I don't speak of father, for\nhe cannot be expected to be anything but what he is. Mother is a\nnoble-minded woman, I know; you try to suggest anything mean to her,\nand you'll see! But she is such a slave to these miserable creatures! I\ndon't mean old Bielokonski alone. She is a contemptible old thing, but\nshe is able to twist people round her little finger, and I admire that\nin her, at all events! How mean it all is, and how foolish! We were\nalways middle-class, thoroughly middle-class, people. Why should we\nattempt to climb into the giddy heights of the fashionable world? My\nsisters are all for it. It's Prince S. they have to thank for poisoning\ntheir minds. Why are you so glad that Evgenie Pavlovitch is coming?\"\n\n\"Listen to me, Aglaya,\" said the prince, \"I do believe you are nervous\nlest I shall make a fool of myself tomorrow at your party?\"\n\n\"Nervous about you?\" Aglaya blushed. \"Why should I be nervous about\nyou? What would it matter to me if you were to make ever such a fool of\nyourself? How can you say such a thing? What do you mean by 'making a\nfool of yourself'? What a vulgar expression! I suppose you intend to\ntalk in that sort of way tomorrow evening? Look up a few more such\nexpressions in your dictionary; do, you'll make a grand effect! I'm\nsorry that you seem to be able to come into a room as gracefully as you\ndo; where did you learn the art? Do you think you can drink a cup of tea\ndecently, when you know everybody is looking at you, on purpose to see\nhow you do it?\"\n\n\"Yes, I think I can.\"\n\n\"Can you? I'm sorry for it then, for I should have had a good laugh at\nyou otherwise. Do break _something_ at least, in the drawing-room! Upset\nthe Chinese vase, won't you? It's a valuable one; _do_ break it. Mamma\nvalues it, and she'll go out of her mind--it was a present. She'll cry\nbefore everyone, you'll see! Wave your hand about, you know, as you\nalways do, and just smash it. Sit down near it on purpose.\"\n\n\"On the contrary, I shall sit as far from it as I can. Thanks for the\nhint.\"\n\n\"Ha, ha! Then you are afraid you _will_ wave your arms about! I wouldn't\nmind betting that you'll talk about some lofty subject, something\nserious and learned. How delightful, how tactful that will be!\"\n\n\"I should think it would be very foolish indeed, unless it happened to\ncome in appropriately.\"\n\n\"Look here, once for all,\" cried Aglaya, boiling over, \"if I hear you\ntalking about capital punishment, or the economical condition of\nRussia, or about Beauty redeeming the world, or anything of that sort,\nI'll--well, of course I shall laugh and seem very pleased, but I warn\nyou beforehand, don't look me in the face again! I'm serious now,\nmind, this time I _am really_ serious.\" She certainly did say this very\nseriously, so much so, that she looked quite different from what she\nusually was, and the prince could not help noticing the fact. She did\nnot seem to be joking in the slightest degree.\n\n\"Well, you've put me into such a fright that I shall certainly make\na fool of myself, and very likely break something too. I wasn't a bit\nalarmed before, but now I'm as nervous as can be.\"\n\n\"Then don't speak at all. Sit still and don't talk.\"\n\n\"Oh, I can't do that, you know! I shall say something foolish out of\npure 'funk,' and break something for the same excellent reason; I know\nI shall. Perhaps I shall slip and fall on the slippery floor; I've done\nthat before now, you know. I shall dream of it all night now. Why did\nyou say anything about it?\"\n\nAglaya looked blackly at him.\n\n\"Do you know what, I had better not come at all tomorrow! I'll plead\nsick-list and stay away,\" said the prince, with decision.\n\nAglaya stamped her foot, and grew quite pale with anger.\n\n\"Oh, my goodness! Just listen to that! 'Better not come,' when the party\nis on purpose for him! Good Lord! What a delightful thing it is to have\nto do with such a--such a stupid as you are!\"\n\n\"Well, I'll come, I'll come,\" interrupted the prince, hastily, \"and I'll\ngive you my word of honour that I will sit the whole evening and not say\na word.\"\n\n\"I believe that's the best thing you can do. You said you'd 'plead\nsick-list' just now; where in the world do you get hold of such\nexpressions? Why do you talk to me like this? Are you trying to irritate\nme, or what?\"\n\n\"Forgive me, it's a schoolboy expression. I won't do it again. I know\nquite well, I see it, that you are anxious on my account (now, don't be\nangry), and it makes me very happy to see it. You wouldn't believe\nhow frightened I am of misbehaving somehow, and how glad I am of your\ninstructions. But all this panic is simply nonsense, you know, Aglaya! I\ngive you my word it is; I am so pleased that you are such a child, such\na dear good child. How _charming_ you can be if you like, Aglaya.\"\n\nAglaya wanted to be angry, of course, but suddenly some quite unexpected\nfeeling seized upon her heart, all in a moment.\n\n\"And you won't reproach me for all these rude words of mine--some\nday--afterwards?\" she asked, of a sudden.\n\n\"What an idea! Of course not. And what are you blushing for again? And\nthere comes that frown once more! You've taken to looking too gloomy\nsometimes, Aglaya, much more than you used to. I know why it is.\"\n\n\"Be quiet, do be quiet!\"\n\n\"No, no, I had much better speak out. I have long wished to say it, and\n_have_ said it, but that's not enough, for you didn't believe me. Between\nus two there stands a being who--\"\n\n\"Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet, be quiet!\" Aglaya struck in, suddenly,\nseizing his hand in hers, and gazing at him almost in terror.\n\nAt this moment she was called by someone. She broke loose from him with\nan air of relief and ran away.\n\nThe prince was in a fever all night. It was strange, but he had suffered\nfrom fever for several nights in succession. On this particular night,\nwhile in semi-delirium, he had an idea: what if on the morrow he were\nto have a fit before everybody? The thought seemed to freeze his blood\nwithin him. All night he fancied himself in some extraordinary society\nof strange persons. The worst of it was that he was talking nonsense;\nhe knew that he ought not to speak at all, and yet he talked the whole\ntime; he seemed to be trying to persuade them all to something. Evgenie\nand Hippolyte were among the guests, and appeared to be great friends.\n\nHe awoke towards nine o'clock with a headache, full of confused ideas\nand strange impressions. For some reason or other he felt most anxious\nto see Rogojin, to see and talk to him, but what he wished to say he\ncould not tell. Next, he determined to go and see Hippolyte. His mind\nwas in a confused state, so much so that the incidents of the morning\nseemed to be imperfectly realized, though acutely felt.\n\nOne of these incidents was a visit from Lebedeff. Lebedeff came rather\nearly--before ten--but he was tipsy already. Though the prince was not\nin an observant condition, yet he could not avoid seeing that for at\nleast three days--ever since General Ivolgin had left the house Lebedeff\nhad been behaving very badly. He looked untidy and dirty at all times\nof the day, and it was said that he had begun to rage about in his own\nhouse, and that his temper was very bad. As soon as he arrived this\nmorning, he began to hold forth, beating his breast and apparently\nblaming himself for something.\n\n\"I've--I've had a reward for my meanness--I've had a slap in the face,\"\nhe concluded, tragically.\n\n\"A slap in the face? From whom? And so early in the morning?\"\n\n\"Early?\" said Lebedeff, sarcastically. \"Time counts for nothing, even in\nphysical chastisement; but my slap in the face was not physical, it was\nmoral.\"\n\nHe suddenly took a seat, very unceremoniously, and began his story. It\nwas very disconnected; the prince frowned, and wished he could get away;\nbut suddenly a few words struck him. He sat stiff with wonder--Lebedeff\nsaid some extraordinary things.\n\nIn the first place he began about some letter; the name of Aglaya\nIvanovna came in. Then suddenly he broke off and began to accuse the\nprince of something; he was apparently offended with him. At first he\ndeclared that the prince had trusted him with his confidences as to \"a\ncertain person\" (Nastasia Philipovna), but that of late his friendship\nhad been thrust back into his bosom, and his innocent question as to\n\"approaching family changes\" had been curtly put aside, which Lebedeff\ndeclared, with tipsy tears, he could not bear; especially as he knew so\nmuch already both from Rogojin and Nastasia Philipovna and her friend,\nand from Varvara Ardalionovna, and even from Aglaya Ivanovna, through\nhis daughter Vera. \"And who told Lizabetha Prokofievna something in\nsecret, by letter? Who told her all about the movements of a certain\nperson called Nastasia Philipovna? Who was the anonymous person, eh?\nTell me!\"\n\n\"Surely not you?\" cried the prince.\n\n\"Just so,\" said Lebedeff, with dignity; \"and only this very morning I\nhave sent up a letter to the noble lady, stating that I have a matter of\ngreat importance to communicate. She received the letter; I know she got\nit; and she received _me_, too.\"\n\n\"Have you just seen Lizabetha Prokofievna?\" asked the prince, scarcely\nbelieving his ears.\n\n\"Yes, I saw her, and got the said slap in the face as mentioned. She\nchucked the letter back to me unopened, and kicked me out of the house,\nmorally, not physically, although not far off it.\"\n\n\"What letter do you mean she returned unopened?\"\n\n\"What! didn't I tell you? Ha, ha, ha! I thought I had. Why, I received a\nletter, you know, to be handed over--\"\n\n\"From whom? To whom?\"\n\nBut it was difficult, if not impossible, to extract anything from\nLebedeff. All the prince could gather was, that the letter had been\nreceived very early, and had a request written on the outside that it\nmight be sent on to the address given.\n\n\"Just as before, sir, just as before! To a certain person, and from\na certain hand. The individual's name who wrote the letter is to be\nrepresented by the letter A.--\"\n\n\"What? Impossible! To Nastasia Philipovna? Nonsense!\" cried the prince.\n\n\"It was, I assure you, and if not to her then to Rogojin, which is\nthe same thing. Mr. Hippolyte has had letters, too, and all from the\nindividual whose name begins with an A.,\" smirked Lebedeff, with a\nhideous grin.\n\nAs he kept jumping from subject to subject, and forgetting what he had\nbegun to talk about, the prince said nothing, but waited, to give him\ntime.\n\nIt was all very vague. Who had taken the letters, if letters there were?\nProbably Vera--and how could Lebedeff have got them? In all probability,\nhe had managed to steal the present letter from Vera, and had himself\ngone over to Lizabetha Prokofievna with some idea in his head. So the\nprince concluded at last.\n\n\"You are mad!\" he cried, indignantly.\n\n\"Not quite, esteemed prince,\" replied Lebedeff, with some acerbity. \"I\nconfess I thought of doing you the service of handing the letter over to\nyourself, but I decided that it would pay me better to deliver it up to\nthe noble lady aforesaid, as I had informed her of everything hitherto\nby anonymous letters; so when I sent her up a note from myself, with\nthe letter, you know, in order to fix a meeting for eight o'clock this\nmorning, I signed it 'your secret correspondent.' They let me in at\nonce--very quickly--by the back door, and the noble lady received me.\"\n\n\"Well? Go on.\"\n\n\"Oh, well, when I saw her she almost punched my head, as I say; in fact\nso nearly that one might almost say she did punch my head. She threw\nthe letter in my face; she seemed to reflect first, as if she would\nhave liked to keep it, but thought better of it and threw it in my face\ninstead. 'If anybody can have been such a fool as to trust a man like\nyou to deliver the letter,' says she,' take it and deliver it! 'Hey! she\nwas grandly indignant. A fierce, fiery lady that, sir!\"\n\n\"Where's the letter now?\"\n\n\"Oh, I've still got it, here!\"\n\nAnd he handed the prince the very letter from Aglaya to Gania, which the\nlatter showed with so much triumph to his sister at a later hour.\n\n\"This letter cannot be allowed to remain in your hands.\"\n\n\"It's for you--for you! I've brought it you on purpose!\" cried Lebedeff,\nexcitedly. \"Why, I'm yours again now, heart and hand, your slave; there\nwas but a momentary pause in the flow of my love and esteem for you. Mea\nculpa, mea culpa! as the Pope of Rome says.\n\n\"This letter should be sent on at once,\" said the prince, disturbed.\n\"I'll hand it over myself.\"\n\n\"Wouldn't it be better, esteemed prince, wouldn't it be\nbetter--to--don't you know--\"\n\nLebedeff made a strange and very expressive grimace; he twisted about in\nhis chair, and did something, apparently symbolical, with his hands.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" said the prince.\n\n\"Why, open it, for the time being, don't you know?\" he said, most\nconfidentially and mysteriously.\n\nThe prince jumped up so furiously that Lebedeff ran towards the door;\nhaving gained which strategic position, however, he stopped and looked\nback to see if he might hope for pardon.\n\n\"Oh, Lebedeff, Lebedeff! Can a man really sink to such depths of\nmeanness?\" said the prince, sadly.\n\nLebedeff's face brightened.\n\n\"Oh, I'm a mean wretch--a mean wretch!\" he said, approaching the prince\nonce more, and beating his breast, with tears in his eyes.\n\n\"It's abominable dishonesty, you know!\"\n\n\"Dishonesty--it is, it is! That's the very word!\"\n\n\"What in the world induces you to act so? You are nothing but a spy.\nWhy did you write anonymously to worry so noble and generous a lady? Why\nshould not Aglaya Ivanovna write a note to whomever she pleases? What\ndid you mean to complain of today? What did you expect to get by it?\nWhat made you go at all?\"\n\n\"Pure amiable curiosity,--I assure you--desire to do a service. That's\nall. Now I'm entirely yours again, your slave; hang me if you like!\"\n\n\"Did you go before Lizabetha Prokofievna in your present condition?\"\ninquired the prince.\n\n\"No--oh no, fresher--more the correct card. I only became this like\nafter the humiliation I suffered there,\n\n\"Well--that'll do; now leave me.\"\n\nThis injunction had to be repeated several times before the man could be\npersuaded to move. Even then he turned back at the door, came as far as\nthe middle of the room, and there went through his mysterious motions\ndesigned to convey the suggestion that the prince should open the\nletter. He did not dare put his suggestion into words again.\n\nAfter this performance, he smiled sweetly and left the room on tiptoe.\n\nAll this had been very painful to listen to. One fact stood out certain\nand clear, and that was that poor Aglaya must be in a state of great\ndistress and indecision and mental torment (\"from jealousy,\" the prince\nwhispered to himself). Undoubtedly in this inexperienced, but hot and\nproud little head, there were all sorts of plans forming, wild and\nimpossible plans, maybe; and the idea of this so frightened the prince\nthat he could not make up his mind what to do. Something must be done,\nthat was clear.\n\nHe looked at the address on the letter once more. Oh, he was not in the\nleast degree alarmed about Aglaya writing such a letter; he could trust\nher. What he did not like about it was that he could not trust Gania.\n\nHowever, he made up his mind that he would himself take the note and\ndeliver it. Indeed, he went so far as to leave the house and walk up the\nroad, but changed his mind when he had nearly reached Ptitsin's door.\nHowever, he there luckily met Colia, and commissioned him to deliver the\nletter to his brother as if direct from Aglaya. Colia asked no questions\nbut simply delivered it, and Gania consequently had no suspicion that it\nhad passed through so many hands.\n\nArrived home again, the prince sent for Vera Lebedeff and told her as\nmuch as was necessary, in order to relieve her mind, for she had been in\na dreadful state of anxiety since she had missed the letter. She heard\nwith horror that her father had taken it. Muishkin learned from her that\nshe had on several occasions performed secret missions both for Aglaya\nand for Rogojin, without, however, having had the slightest idea that in\nso doing she might injure the prince in any way.\n\nThe latter, with one thing and another, was now so disturbed and\nconfused, that when, a couple of hours or so later, a message came from\nColia that the general was ill, he could hardly take the news in.\n\nHowever, when he did master the fact, it acted upon him as a tonic\nby completely distracting his attention. He went at once to Nina\nAlexandrovna's, whither the general had been carried, and stayed there\nuntil the evening. He could do no good, but there are people whom\nto have near one is a blessing at such times. Colia was in an almost\nhysterical state; he cried continuously, but was running about all day,\nall the same; fetching doctors, of whom he collected three; going to the\nchemist's, and so on.\n\nThe general was brought round to some extent, but the doctors\ndeclared that he could not be said to be out of danger. Varia and Nina\nAlexandrovna never left the sick man's bedside; Gania was excited and\ndistressed, but would not go upstairs, and seemed afraid to look at the\npatient. He wrung his hands when the prince spoke to him, and said that\n\"such a misfortune at such a moment\" was terrible.\n\nThe prince thought he knew what Gania meant by \"such a moment.\"\n\nHippolyte was not in the house. Lebedeff turned up late in the\nafternoon; he had been asleep ever since his interview with the prince\nin the morning. He was quite sober now, and cried with real sincerity\nover the sick general--mourning for him as though he were his own\nbrother. He blamed himself aloud, but did not explain why. He repeated\nover and over again to Nina Alexandrovna that he alone was to blame--no\none else--but that he had acted out of \"pure amiable curiosity,\" and\nthat \"the deceased,\" as he insisted upon calling the still living\ngeneral, had been the greatest of geniuses.\n\nHe laid much stress on the genius of the sufferer, as if this idea must\nbe one of immense solace in the present crisis.\n\nNina Alexandrovna--seeing his sincerity of feeling--said at last,\nand without the faintest suspicion of reproach in her voice: \"Come,\ncome--don't cry! God will forgive you!\"\n\nLebedeff was so impressed by these words, and the tone in which\nthey were spoken, that he could not leave Nina Alexandrovna all the\nevening--in fact, for several days. Till the general's death, indeed, he\nspent almost all his time at his side.\n\nTwice during the day a messenger came to Nina Alexandrovna from the\nEpanchins to inquire after the invalid.\n\nWhen--late in the evening--the prince made his appearance in Lizabetha\nProkofievna's drawing-room, he found it full of guests. Mrs. Epanchin\nquestioned him very fully about the general as soon as he appeared; and\nwhen old Princess Bielokonski wished to know \"who this general was, and\nwho was Nina Alexandrovna,\" she proceeded to explain in a manner which\npleased the prince very much.\n\nHe himself, when relating the circumstances of the general's illness to\nLizabetha Prokofievna, \"spoke beautifully,\" as Aglaya's sisters declared\nafterwards--\"modestly, quietly, without gestures or too many words, and\nwith great dignity.\" He had entered the room with propriety and grace,\nand he was perfectly dressed; he not only did not \"fall down on the\nslippery floor,\" as he had expressed it, but evidently made a very\nfavourable impression upon the assembled guests.\n\nAs for his own impression on entering the room and taking his seat,\nhe instantly remarked that the company was not in the least such\nas Aglaya's words had led him to fear, and as he had dreamed of--in\nnightmare form--all night.\n\nThis was the first time in his life that he had seen a little corner of\nwhat was generally known by the terrible name of \"society.\" He had long\nthirsted, for reasons of his own, to penetrate the mysteries of the\nmagic circle, and, therefore, this assemblage was of the greatest\npossible interest to him.\n\nHis first impression was one of fascination. Somehow or other he felt\nthat all these people must have been born on purpose to be together! It\nseemed to him that the Epanchins were not having a party at all; that\nthese people must have been here always, and that he himself was one\nof them--returned among them after a long absence, but one of them,\nnaturally and indisputably.\n\nIt never struck him that all this refined simplicity and nobility and\nwit and personal dignity might possibly be no more than an exquisite\nartistic polish. The majority of the guests--who were somewhat\nempty-headed, after all, in spite of their aristocratic bearing--never\nguessed, in their self-satisfied composure, that much of their\nsuperiority was mere veneer, which indeed they had adopted unconsciously\nand by inheritance.\n\nThe prince would never so much as suspect such a thing in the delight of\nhis first impression.\n\nHe saw, for instance, that one important dignitary, old enough to be his\ngrandfather, broke off his own conversation in order to listen to _him_--a\nyoung and inexperienced man; and not only listened, but seemed to\nattach value to his opinion, and was kind and amiable, and yet they\nwere strangers and had never seen each other before. Perhaps what most\nappealed to the prince's impressionability was the refinement of the old\nman's courtesy towards him. Perhaps the soil of his susceptible nature\nwas really predisposed to receive a pleasant impression.\n\nMeanwhile all these people-though friends of the family and of each\nother to a certain extent--were very far from being such intimate\nfriends of the family and of each other as the prince concluded. There\nwere some present who never would think of considering the Epanchins\ntheir equals. There were even some who hated one another cordially. For\ninstance, old Princess Bielokonski had all her life despised the wife\nof the \"dignitary,\" while the latter was very far from loving Lizabetha\nProkofievna. The dignitary himself had been General Epanchin's protector\nfrom his youth up; and the general considered him so majestic a\npersonage that he would have felt a hearty contempt for himself if\nhe had even for one moment allowed himself to pose as the great man's\nequal, or to think of him--in his fear and reverence-as anything less\nthan an Olympic God! There were others present who had not met for\nyears, and who had no feeling whatever for each other, unless it were\ndislike; and yet they met tonight as though they had seen each other but\nyesterday in some friendly and intimate assembly of kindred spirits.\n\nIt was not a large party, however. Besides Princess Bielokonski and the\nold dignitary (who was really a great man) and his wife, there was an\nold military general--a count or baron with a German name, a man reputed\nto possess great knowledge and administrative ability. He was one\nof those Olympian administrators who know everything except Russia,\npronounce a word of extraordinary wisdom, admired by all, about once in\nfive years, and, after being an eternity in the service, generally die\nfull of honour and riches, though they have never done anything great,\nand have even been hostile to all greatness. This general was Ivan\nFedorovitch's immediate superior in the service; and it pleased the\nlatter to look upon him also as a patron. On the other hand, the great\nman did not at all consider himself Epanchin's patron. He was always\nvery cool to him, while taking advantage of his ready services, and\nwould instantly have put another in his place if there had been the\nslightest reason for the change.\n\nAnother guest was an elderly, important-looking gentleman, a distant\nrelative of Lizabetha Prokofievna's. This gentleman was rich, held a\ngood position, was a great talker, and had the reputation of being \"one\nof the dissatisfied,\" though not belonging to the dangerous sections\nof that class. He had the manners, to some extent, of the English\naristocracy, and some of their tastes (especially in the matter of\nunder-done roast beef, harness, men-servants, etc.). He was a great\nfriend of the dignitary's, and Lizabetha Prokofievna, for some reason or\nother, had got hold of the idea that this worthy intended at no distant\ndate to offer the advantages of his hand and heart to Alexandra.\n\nBesides the elevated and more solid individuals enumerated, there were\npresent a few younger though not less elegant guests. Besides Prince S.\nand Evgenie Pavlovitch, we must name the eminent and fascinating Prince\nN.--once the vanquisher of female hearts all over Europe. This gentleman\nwas no longer in the first bloom of youth--he was forty-five, but still\nvery handsome. He was well off, and lived, as a rule, abroad, and was\nnoted as a good teller of stories. Then came a few guests belonging to\na lower stratum of society--people who, like the Epanchins themselves,\nmoved only occasionally in this exalted sphere. The Epanchins liked to\ndraft among their more elevated guests a few picked representatives of\nthis lower stratum, and Lizabetha Prokofievna received much praise for\nthis practice, which proved, her friends said, that she was a woman of\ntact. The Epanchins prided themselves upon the good opinion people held\nof them.\n\nOne of the representatives of the middle-class present today was a\ncolonel of engineers, a very serious man and a great friend of Prince\nS., who had introduced him to the Epanchins. He was extremely silent in\nsociety, and displayed on the forefinger of his right hand a large ring,\nprobably bestowed upon him for services of some sort. There was also\na poet, German by name, but a Russian poet; very presentable, and even\nhandsome-the sort of man one could bring into society with impunity.\nThis gentleman belonged to a German family of decidedly bourgeois\norigin, but he had a knack of acquiring the patronage of \"big-wigs,\" and\nof retaining their favour. He had translated some great German poem into\nRussian verse, and claimed to have been a friend of a famous Russian\npoet, since dead. (It is strange how great a multitude of literary\npeople there are who have had the advantages of friendship with some\ngreat man of their own profession who is, unfortunately, dead.) The\ndignitary's wife had introduced this worthy to the Epanchins. This\nlady posed as the patroness of literary people, and she certainly\nhad succeeded in obtaining pensions for a few of them, thanks to her\ninfluence with those in authority on such matters. She was a lady of\nweight in her own way. Her age was about forty-five, so that she was a\nvery young wife for such an elderly husband as the dignitary. She had\nbeen a beauty in her day and still loved, as many ladies of forty-five\ndo love, to dress a little too smartly. Her intellect was nothing to\nboast of, and her literary knowledge very doubtful. Literary patronage\nwas, however, with her as much a mania as was the love of gorgeous\nclothes. Many books and translations were dedicated to her by her\nproteges, and a few of these talented individuals had published some of\ntheir own letters to her, upon very weighty subjects.\n\nThis, then, was the society that the prince accepted at once as true\ncoin, as pure gold without alloy.\n\nIt so happened, however, that on this particular evening all these good\npeople were in excellent humour and highly pleased with themselves.\nEvery one of them felt that they were doing the Epanchins the greatest\npossible honour by their presence. But alas! the prince never suspected\nany such subtleties! For instance, he had no suspicion of the fact that\nthe Epanchins, having in their mind so important a step as the marriage\nof their daughter, would never think of presuming to take it without\nhaving previously \"shown off\" the proposed husband to the dignitary--the\nrecognized patron of the family. The latter, too, though he would\nprobably have received news of a great disaster to the Epanchin family\nwith perfect composure, would nevertheless have considered it a personal\noffence if they had dared to marry their daughter without his advice, or\nwe might almost say, his leave.\n\nThe amiable and undoubtedly witty Prince N. could not but feel that\nhe was as a sun, risen for one night only to shine upon the Epanchin\ndrawing-room. He accounted them immeasurably his inferiors, and it was\nthis feeling which caused his special amiability and delightful ease and\ngrace towards them. He knew very well that he must tell some story this\nevening for the edification of the company, and led up to it with the\ninspiration of anticipatory triumph.\n\nThe prince, when he heard the story afterwards, felt that he had never\nyet come across so wonderful a humorist, or such remarkable brilliancy\nas was shown by this man; and yet if he had only known it, this story\nwas the oldest, stalest, and most worn-out yarn, and every drawing-room\nin town was sick to death of it. It was only in the innocent Epanchin\nhousehold that it passed for a new and brilliant tale--as a sudden and\nstriking reminiscence of a splendid and talented man.\n\nEven the German poet, though as amiable as possible, felt that he was\ndoing the house the greatest of honours by his presence in it.\n\nBut the prince only looked at the bright side; he did not turn the coat\nand see the shabby lining.\n\nAglaya had not foreseen that particular calamity. She herself looked\nwonderfully beautiful this evening. All three sisters were dressed very\ntastefully, and their hair was done with special care.\n\nAglaya sat next to Evgenie Pavlovitch, and laughed and talked to him\nwith an unusual display of friendliness. Evgenie himself behaved rather\nmore sedately than usual, probably out of respect to the dignitary.\nEvgenie had been known in society for a long while. He had appeared at\nthe Epanchins' today with crape on his hat, and Princess Bielokonski had\ncommended this action on his part. Not every society man would have worn\ncrape for \"such an uncle.\" Lizabetha Prokofievna had liked it also, but\nwas too preoccupied to take much notice. The prince remarked that Aglaya\nlooked attentively at him two or three times, and seemed to be satisfied\nwith his behaviour.\n\nLittle by little he became very happy indeed. All his late anxieties and\napprehensions (after his conversation with Lebedeff) now appeared like\nso many bad dreams--impossible, and even laughable.\n\nHe did not speak much, only answering such questions as were put to him,\nand gradually settled down into unbroken silence, listening to what went\non, and steeped in perfect satisfaction and contentment.\n\nLittle by little a sort of inspiration, however, began to stir within\nhim, ready to spring into life at the right moment. When he did begin\nto speak, it was accidentally, in response to a question, and apparently\nwithout any special object.\n\nVII.\n\nWhile he feasted his eyes upon Aglaya, as she talked merrily with\nEvgenie and Prince N., suddenly the old anglomaniac, who was talking to\nthe dignitary in another corner of the room, apparently telling him a\nstory about something or other--suddenly this gentleman pronounced\nthe name of \"Nicolai Andreevitch Pavlicheff\" aloud. The prince quickly\nturned towards him, and listened.\n\nThe conversation had been on the subject of land, and the present\ndisorders, and there must have been something amusing said, for the old\nman had begun to laugh at his companion's heated expressions.\n\nThe latter was describing in eloquent words how, in consequence of\nrecent legislation, he was obliged to sell a beautiful estate in the N.\nprovince, not because he wanted ready money--in fact, he was obliged\nto sell it at half its value. \"To avoid another lawsuit about the\nPavlicheff estate, I ran away,\" he said. \"With a few more inheritances\nof that kind I should soon be ruined!\"\n\nAt this point General Epanchin, noticing how interested Muishkin had\nbecome in the conversation, said to him, in a low tone:\n\n\"That gentleman--Ivan Petrovitch--is a relation of your late friend, Mr.\nPavlicheff. You wanted to find some of his relations, did you not?\"\n\nThe general, who had been talking to his chief up to this moment, had\nobserved the prince's solitude and silence, and was anxious to draw him\ninto the conversation, and so introduce him again to the notice of some\nof the important personages.\n\n\"Lef Nicolaievitch was a ward of Nicolai Andreevitch Pavlicheff, after\nthe death of his own parents,\" he remarked, meeting Ivan Petrovitch's\neye.\n\n\"Very happy to meet him, I'm sure,\" remarked the latter. \"I remember\nLef Nicolaievitch well. When General Epanchin introduced us just now,\nI recognized you at once, prince. You are very little changed, though\nI saw you last as a child of some ten or eleven years old. There was\nsomething in your features, I suppose, that--\"\n\n\"You saw me as a child!\" exclaimed the prince, with surprise.\n\n\"Oh! yes, long ago,\" continued Ivan Petrovitch, \"while you were living\nwith my cousin at Zlatoverhoff. You don't remember me? No, I dare\nsay you don't; you had some malady at the time, I remember. It was so\nserious that I was surprised--\"\n\n\"No; I remember nothing!\" said the prince. A few more words of\nexplanation followed, words which were spoken without the smallest\nexcitement by his companion, but which evoked the greatest agitation in\nthe prince; and it was discovered that two old ladies to whose care the\nprince had been left by Pavlicheff, and who lived at Zlatoverhoff, were\nalso relations of Ivan Petrovitch.\n\nThe latter had no idea and could give no information as to why\nPavlicheff had taken so great an interest in the little prince, his\nward.\n\n\"In point of fact I don't think I thought much about it,\" said the old\nfellow. He seemed to have a wonderfully good memory, however, for he\ntold the prince all about the two old ladies, Pavlicheff's cousins, who\nhad taken care of him, and whom, he declared, he had taken to task\nfor being too severe with the prince as a small sickly boy--the elder\nsister, at least; the younger had been kind, he recollected. They\nboth now lived in another province, on a small estate left to them by\nPavlicheff. The prince listened to all this with eyes sparkling with\nemotion and delight.\n\nHe declared with unusual warmth that he would never forgive himself for\nhaving travelled about in the central provinces during these last six\nmonths without having hunted up his two old friends.\n\nHe declared, further, that he had intended to go every day, but had\nalways been prevented by circumstances; but that now he would promise\nhimself the pleasure--however far it was, he would find them out. And so\nIvan Petrovitch _really_ knew Natalia Nikitishna!--what a saintly nature\nwas hers!--and Martha Nikitishna! Ivan Petrovitch must excuse him,\nbut really he was not quite fair on dear old Martha. She was severe,\nperhaps; but then what else could she be with such a little idiot as he\nwas then? (Ha, ha.) He really was an idiot then, Ivan Petrovitch must\nknow, though he might not believe it. (Ha, ha.) So he had really seen\nhim there! Good heavens! And was he really and truly and actually a\ncousin of Pavlicheff's?\n\n\"I assure you of it,\" laughed Ivan Petrovitch, gazing amusedly at the\nprince.\n\n\"Oh! I didn't say it because I _doubt_ the fact, you know. (Ha, ha.)\nHow could I doubt such a thing? (Ha, ha, ha.) I made the remark\nbecause--because Nicolai Andreevitch Pavlicheff was such a splendid man,\ndon't you see! Such a high-souled man, he really was, I assure you.\"\n\nThe prince did not exactly pant for breath, but he \"seemed almost\nto _choke_ out of pure simplicity and goodness of heart,\" as Adelaida\nexpressed it, on talking the party over with her fiance, the Prince S.,\nnext morning.\n\n\"But, my goodness me,\" laughed Ivan Petrovitch, \"why can't I be cousin\nto even a splendid man?\"\n\n\"Oh, dear!\" cried the prince, confused, trying to hurry his words\nout, and growing more and more eager every moment: \"I've gone and said\nanother stupid thing. I don't know what to say. I--I didn't mean that,\nyou know--I--I--he really was such a splendid man, wasn't he?\"\n\nThe prince trembled all over. Why was he so agitated? Why had he flown\ninto such transports of delight without any apparent reason? He had far\noutshot the measure of joy and emotion consistent with the occasion. Why\nthis was it would be difficult to say.\n\nHe seemed to feel warmly and deeply grateful to someone for something or\nother--perhaps to Ivan Petrovitch; but likely enough to all the guests,\nindividually, and collectively. He was much too happy.\n\nIvan Petrovitch began to stare at him with some surprise; the dignitary,\ntoo, looked at him with considerable attention; Princess Bielokonski\nglared at him angrily, and compressed her lips. Prince N., Evgenie,\nPrince S., and the girls, all broke off their own conversations and\nlistened. Aglaya seemed a little startled; as for Lizabetha Prokofievna,\nher heart sank within her.\n\nThis was odd of Lizabetha Prokofievna and her daughters. They had\nthemselves decided that it would be better if the prince did not talk\nall the evening. Yet seeing him sitting silent and alone, but perfectly\nhappy, they had been on the point of exerting themselves to draw him\ninto one of the groups of talkers around the room. Now that he was in\nthe midst of a talk they became more than ever anxious and perturbed.\n\n\"That he was a splendid man is perfectly true; you are quite right,\"\nrepeated Ivan Petrovitch, but seriously this time. \"He was a fine and a\nworthy fellow--worthy, one may say, of the highest respect,\" he added,\nmore and more seriously at each pause; \"and it is agreeable to see, on\nyour part, such--\"\n\n\"Wasn't it this same Pavlicheff about whom there was a strange story in\nconnection with some abbot? I don't remember who the abbot was, but I\nremember at one time everybody was talking about it,\" remarked the old\ndignitary.\n\n\"Yes--Abbot Gurot, a Jesuit,\" said Ivan Petrovitch. \"Yes, that's the\nsort of thing our best men are apt to do. A man of rank, too, and\nrich--a man who, if he had continued to serve, might have done anything;\nand then to throw up the service and everything else in order to go over\nto Roman Catholicism and turn Jesuit--openly, too--almost triumphantly.\nBy Jove! it was positively a mercy that he died when he did--it was\nindeed--everyone said so at the time.\"\n\nThe prince was beside himself.\n\n\"Pavlicheff?--Pavlicheff turned Roman Catholic? Impossible!\" he cried,\nin horror.\n\n\"H'm! impossible is rather a strong word,\" said Ivan Petrovitch. \"You\nmust allow, my dear prince... However, of course you value the memory of\nthe deceased so very highly; and he certainly was the kindest of men;\nto which fact, by the way, I ascribe, more than to anything else, the\nsuccess of the abbot in influencing his religious convictions. But you\nmay ask me, if you please, how much trouble and worry I, personally,\nhad over that business, and especially with this same Gurot! Would you\nbelieve it,\" he continued, addressing the dignitary, \"they actually\ntried to put in a claim under the deceased's will, and I had to resort\nto the very strongest measures in order to bring them to their senses?\nI assure you they knew their cue, did these gentlemen--wonderful! Thank\ngoodness all this was in Moscow, and I got the Court, you know, to help\nme, and we soon brought them to their senses.\n\n\"You wouldn't believe how you have pained and astonished me,\" cried the\nprince.\n\n\"Very sorry; but in point of fact, you know, it was all nonsense and\nwould have ended in smoke, as usual--I'm sure of that. Last year,\"--he\nturned to the old man again,--\"Countess K. joined some Roman Convent\nabroad. Our people never seem to be able to offer any resistance so soon\nas they get into the hands of these--intriguers--especially abroad.\"\n\n\"That is all thanks to our lassitude, I think,\" replied the old man,\nwith authority. \"And then their way of preaching; they have a skilful\nmanner of doing it! And they know how to startle one, too. I got quite\na fright myself in '32, in Vienna, I assure you; but I didn't cave in to\nthem, I ran away instead, ha, ha!\"\n\n\"Come, come, I've always heard that you ran away with the beautiful\nCountess Levitsky that time--throwing up everything in order to do\nit--and not from the Jesuits at all,\" said Princess Bielokonski,\nsuddenly.\n\n\"Well, yes--but we call it from the Jesuits, you know; it comes to\nthe same thing,\" laughed the old fellow, delighted with the pleasant\nrecollection.\n\n\"You seem to be very religious,\" he continued, kindly, addressing the\nprince, \"which is a thing one meets so seldom nowadays among young\npeople.\"\n\nThe prince was listening open-mouthed, and still in a condition of\nexcited agitation. The old man was evidently interested in him, and\nanxious to study him more closely.\n\n\"Pavlicheff was a man of bright intellect and a good Christian, a\nsincere Christian,\" said the prince, suddenly. \"How could he possibly\nembrace a faith which is unchristian? Roman Catholicism is, so to speak,\nsimply the same thing as unchristianity,\" he added with flashing eyes,\nwhich seemed to take in everybody in the room.\n\n\"Come, that's a little _too_ strong, isn't it?\" murmured the old man,\nglancing at General Epanchin in surprise.\n\n\"How do you make out that the Roman Catholic religion is _unchristian?_\nWhat is it, then?\" asked Ivan Petrovitch, turning to the prince.\n\n\"It is not a Christian religion, in the first place,\" said the latter,\nin extreme agitation, quite out of proportion to the necessity of the\nmoment. \"And in the second place, Roman Catholicism is, in my opinion,\nworse than Atheism itself. Yes--that is my opinion. Atheism only\npreaches a negation, but Romanism goes further; it preaches a\ndisfigured, distorted Christ--it preaches Anti-Christ--I assure you, I\nswear it! This is my own personal conviction, and it has long distressed\nme. The Roman Catholic believes that the Church on earth cannot stand\nwithout universal temporal Power. He cries 'non possumus!' In my\nopinion the Roman Catholic religion is not a faith at all, but simply a\ncontinuation of the Roman Empire, and everything is subordinated to\nthis idea--beginning with faith. The Pope has seized territories and an\nearthly throne, and has held them with the sword. And so the thing has\ngone on, only that to the sword they have added lying, intrigue, deceit,\nfanaticism, superstition, swindling;--they have played fast and loose\nwith the most sacred and sincere feelings of men;--they have exchanged\neverything--everything for money, for base earthly _power!_ And is this\nnot the teaching of Anti-Christ? How could the upshot of all this\nbe other than Atheism? Atheism is the child of Roman Catholicism--it\nproceeded from these Romans themselves, though perhaps they would not\nbelieve it. It grew and fattened on hatred of its parents; it is the\nprogeny of their lies and spiritual feebleness. Atheism! In our country\nit is only among the upper classes that you find unbelievers; men who\nhave lost the root or spirit of their faith; but abroad whole masses of\nthe people are beginning to profess unbelief--at first because of\nthe darkness and lies by which they were surrounded; but now out of\nfanaticism, out of loathing for the Church and Christianity!\"\n\nThe prince paused to get breath. He had spoken with extraordinary\nrapidity, and was very pale.\n\nAll present interchanged glances, but at last the old dignitary burst\nout laughing frankly. Prince N. took out his eye-glass to have a good\nlook at the speaker. The German poet came out of his corner and crept\nnearer to the table, with a spiteful smile.\n\n\"You exaggerate the matter very much,\" said Ivan Petrovitch, with rather\na bored air. \"There are, in the foreign Churches, many representatives\nof their faith who are worthy of respect and esteem.\"\n\n\"Oh, but I did not speak of individual representatives. I was merely\ntalking about Roman Catholicism, and its essence--of Rome itself. A\nChurch can never entirely disappear; I never hinted at that!\"\n\n\"Agreed that all this may be true; but we need not discuss a subject\nwhich belongs to the domain of theology.\"\n\n\"Oh, no; oh, no! Not to theology alone, I assure you! Why, Socialism is\nthe progeny of Romanism and of the Romanistic spirit. It and its brother\nAtheism proceed from Despair in opposition to Catholicism. It seeks to\nreplace in itself the moral power of religion, in order to appease the\nspiritual thirst of parched humanity and save it; not by Christ, but\nby force. 'Don't dare to believe in God, don't dare to possess any\nindividuality, any property! _Fraternité ou la Mort_; two million heads.\n'By their works ye shall know them'--we are told. And we must not\nsuppose that all this is harmless and without danger to ourselves. Oh,\nno; we must resist, and quickly, quickly! We must let our Christ shine\nforth upon the Western nations, our Christ whom we have preserved\nintact, and whom they have never known. Not as slaves, allowing\nourselves to be caught by the hooks of the Jesuits, but carrying our\nRussian civilization to _them_, we must stand before them, not letting it\nbe said among us that their preaching is 'skilful,' as someone expressed\nit just now.\"\n\n\"But excuse me, excuse me;\" cried Ivan Petrovitch considerably\ndisturbed, and looking around uneasily. \"Your ideas are, of course, most\npraiseworthy, and in the highest degree patriotic; but you exaggerate\nthe matter terribly. It would be better if we dropped the subject.\"\n\n\"No, sir, I do not exaggerate, I understate the matter, if anything,\nundoubtedly understate it; simply because I cannot express myself as I\nshould like, but--\"\n\n\"Allow me!\"\n\nThe prince was silent. He sat straight up in his chair and gazed\nfervently at Ivan Petrovitch.\n\n\"It seems to me that you have been too painfully impressed by the news\nof what happened to your good benefactor,\" said the old dignitary,\nkindly, and with the utmost calmness of demeanour. \"You are excitable,\nperhaps as the result of your solitary life. If you would make up your\nmind to live more among your fellows in society, I trust, I am sure,\nthat the world would be glad to welcome you, as a remarkable young man;\nand you would soon find yourself able to look at things more calmly. You\nwould see that all these things are much simpler than you think; and,\nbesides, these rare cases come about, in my opinion, from ennui and from\nsatiety.\"\n\n\"Exactly, exactly! That is a true thought!\" cried the prince. \"From\nennui, from our ennui but not from satiety! Oh, no, you are wrong there!\nSay from _thirst_ if you like; the thirst of fever! And please do not\nsuppose that this is so small a matter that we may have a laugh at it\nand dismiss it; we must be able to foresee our disasters and arm against\nthem. We Russians no sooner arrive at the brink of the water, and\nrealize that we are really at the brink, than we are so delighted with\nthe outlook that in we plunge and swim to the farthest point we can\nsee. Why is this? You say you are surprised at Pavlicheff's action; you\nascribe it to madness, to kindness of heart, and what not, but it is not\nso.\n\n\"Our Russian intensity not only astonishes ourselves; all Europe wonders\nat our conduct in such cases! For, if one of us goes over to Roman\nCatholicism, he is sure to become a Jesuit at once, and a rabid one into\nthe bargain. If one of us becomes an Atheist, he must needs begin to\ninsist on the prohibition of faith in God by force, that is, by the\nsword. Why is this? Why does he then exceed all bounds at once? Because\nhe has found land at last, the fatherland that he sought in vain before;\nand, because his soul is rejoiced to find it, he throws himself upon it\nand kisses it! Oh, it is not from vanity alone, it is not from feelings\nof vanity that Russians become Atheists and Jesuits! But from spiritual\nthirst, from anguish of longing for higher things, for dry firm land,\nfor foothold on a fatherland which they never believed in because they\nnever knew it. It is easier for a Russian to become an Atheist, than for\nany other nationality in the world. And not only does a Russian 'become\nan Atheist,' but he actually _believes in_ Atheism, just as though he\nhad found a new faith, not perceiving that he has pinned his faith to\na negation. Such is our anguish of thirst! 'Whoso has no country has no\nGod.' That is not my own expression; it is the expression of a merchant,\none of the Old Believers, whom I once met while travelling. He did not\nsay exactly these words. I think his expression was:\n\n\"'Whoso forsakes his country forsakes his God.'\n\n\"But let these thirsty Russian souls find, like Columbus' discoverers, a\nnew world; let them find the Russian world, let them search and discover\nall the gold and treasure that lies hid in the bosom of their own land!\nShow them the restitution of lost humanity, in the future, by Russian\nthought alone, and by means of the God and of the Christ of our Russian\nfaith, and you will see how mighty and just and wise and good a giant\nwill rise up before the eyes of the astonished and frightened world;\nastonished because they expect nothing but the sword from us, because\nthey think they will get nothing out of us but barbarism. This has\nbeen the case up to now, and the longer matters go on as they are now\nproceeding, the more clear will be the truth of what I say; and I--\"\n\nBut at this moment something happened which put a most unexpected end to\nthe orator's speech. All this heated tirade, this outflow of passionate\nwords and ecstatic ideas which seemed to hustle and tumble over each\nother as they fell from his lips, bore evidence of some unusually\ndisturbed mental condition in the young fellow who had \"boiled over\" in\nsuch a remarkable manner, without any apparent reason.\n\nOf those who were present, such as knew the prince listened to his\noutburst in a state of alarm, some with a feeling of mortification. It\nwas so unlike his usual timid self-constraint; so inconsistent with his\nusual taste and tact, and with his instinctive feeling for the higher\nproprieties. They could not understand the origin of the outburst; it\ncould not be simply the news of Pavlicheff's perversion. By the ladies\nthe prince was regarded as little better than a lunatic, and Princess\nBielokonski admitted afterwards that \"in another minute she would have\nbolted.\"\n\nThe two old gentlemen looked quite alarmed. The old general (Epanchin's\nchief) sat and glared at the prince in severe displeasure. The colonel\nsat immovable. Even the German poet grew a little pale, though he wore\nhis usual artificial smile as he looked around to see what the others\nwould do.\n\nIn point of fact it is quite possible that the matter would have ended\nin a very commonplace and natural way in a few minutes. The undoubtedly\nastonished, but now more collected, General Epanchin had several times\nendeavoured to interrupt the prince, and not having succeeded he was now\npreparing to take firmer and more vigorous measures to attain his end.\nIn another minute or two he would probably have made up his mind to lead\nthe prince quietly out of the room, on the plea of his being ill (and it\nwas more than likely that the general was right in his belief that the\nprince _was_ actually ill), but it so happened that destiny had something\ndifferent in store.\n\nAt the beginning of the evening, when the prince first came into the\nroom, he had sat down as far as possible from the Chinese vase which\nAglaya had spoken of the day before.\n\nWill it be believed that, after Aglaya's alarming words, an ineradicable\nconviction had taken possession of his mind that, however he might try\nto avoid this vase next day, he must certainly break it? But so it was.\n\nDuring the evening other impressions began to awaken in his mind, as\nwe have seen, and he forgot his presentiment. But when Pavlicheff was\nmentioned and the general introduced him to Ivan Petrovitch, he had\nchanged his place, and went over nearer to the table; when, it so\nhappened, he took the chair nearest to the beautiful vase, which stood\non a pedestal behind him, just about on a level with his elbow.\n\nAs he spoke his last words he had risen suddenly from his seat with a\nwave of his arm, and there was a general cry of horror.\n\nThe huge vase swayed backwards and forwards; it seemed to be uncertain\nwhether or no to topple over on to the head of one of the old men,\nbut eventually determined to go the other way, and came crashing over\ntowards the German poet, who darted out of the way in terror.\n\nThe crash, the cry, the sight of the fragments of valuable china\ncovering the carpet, the alarm of the company--what all this meant\nto the poor prince it would be difficult to convey to the mind of the\nreader, or for him to imagine.\n\nBut one very curious fact was that all the shame and vexation and\nmortification which he felt over the accident were less powerful than\nthe deep impression of the almost supernatural truth of his premonition.\nHe stood still in alarm--in almost superstitious alarm, for a moment;\nthen all mists seemed to clear away from his eyes; he was conscious of\nnothing but light and joy and ecstasy; his breath came and went; but\nthe moment passed. Thank God it was not that! He drew a long breath and\nlooked around.\n\nFor some minutes he did not seem to comprehend the excitement around\nhim; that is, he comprehended it and saw everything, but he stood aside,\nas it were, like someone invisible in a fairy tale, as though he had\nnothing to do with what was going on, though it pleased him to take an\ninterest in it.\n\nHe saw them gather up the broken bits of china; he heard the loud\ntalking of the guests and observed how pale Aglaya looked, and how very\nstrangely she was gazing at him. There was no hatred in her expression,\nand no anger whatever. It was full of alarm for him, and sympathy and\naffection, while she looked around at the others with flashing, angry\neyes. His heart filled with a sweet pain as he gazed at her.\n\nAt length he observed, to his amazement, that all had taken their seats\nagain, and were laughing and talking as though nothing had happened.\nAnother minute and the laughter grew louder--they were laughing at him,\nat his dumb stupor--laughing kindly and merrily. Several of them\nspoke to him, and spoke so kindly and cordially, especially Lizabetha\nProkofievna--she was saying the kindest possible things to him.\n\nSuddenly he became aware that General Epanchin was tapping him on the\nshoulder; Ivan Petrovitch was laughing too, but still more kind and\nsympathizing was the old dignitary. He took the prince by the hand and\npressed it warmly; then he patted it, and quietly urged him to recollect\nhimself--speaking to him exactly as he would have spoken to a little\nfrightened child, which pleased the prince wonderfully; and next seated\nhim beside himself.\n\nThe prince gazed into his face with pleasure, but still seemed to have\nno power to speak. His breath failed him. The old man's face pleased him\ngreatly.\n\n\"Do you really forgive me?\" he said at last. \"And--and Lizabetha\nProkofievna too?\" The laugh increased, tears came into the prince's\neyes, he could not believe in all this kindness--he was enchanted.\n\n\"The vase certainly was a very beautiful one. I remember it here for\nfifteen years--yes, quite that!\" remarked Ivan Petrovitch.\n\n\"Oh, what a dreadful calamity! A wretched vase smashed, and a man half\ndead with remorse about it,\" said Lizabetha Prokofievna, loudly. \"What\nmade you so dreadfully startled, Lef Nicolaievitch?\" she added, a little\ntimidly. \"Come, my dear boy! cheer up. You really alarm me, taking the\naccident so to heart.\"\n\n\"Do you forgive me all--_all_, besides the vase, I mean?\" said the prince,\nrising from his seat once more, but the old gentleman caught his hand\nand drew him down again--he seemed unwilling to let him go.\n\n\"_C'est très-curieux et c'est très-sérieux_,\" he whispered across the\ntable to Ivan Petrovitch, rather loudly. Probably the prince heard him.\n\n\"So that I have not offended any of you? You will not believe how happy\nI am to be able to think so. It is as it should be. As if I _could_ offend\nanyone here! I should offend you again by even suggesting such a thing.\"\n\n\"Calm yourself, my dear fellow. You are exaggerating again; you really\nhave no occasion to be so grateful to us. It is a feeling which does you\ngreat credit, but an exaggeration, for all that.\"\n\n\"I am not exactly thanking you, I am only feeling a growing admiration\nfor you--it makes me happy to look at you. I dare say I am speaking very\nfoolishly, but I must speak--I must explain, if it be out of nothing\nbetter than self-respect.\"\n\nAll he said and did was abrupt, confused, feverish--very likely the\nwords he spoke, as often as not, were not those he wished to say. He\nseemed to inquire whether he _might_ speak. His eyes lighted on Princess\nBielokonski.\n\n\"All right, my friend, talk away, talk away!\" she remarked. \"Only don't\nlose your breath; you were in such a hurry when you began, and look what\nyou've come to now! Don't be afraid of speaking--all these ladies\nand gentlemen have seen far stranger people than yourself; you don't\nastonish _them_. You are nothing out-of-the-way remarkable, you know.\nYou've done nothing but break a vase, and give us all a fright.\"\n\nThe prince listened, smiling.\n\n\"Wasn't it you,\" he said, suddenly turning to the old gentleman, \"who\nsaved the student Porkunoff and a clerk called Shoabrin from being sent\nto Siberia, two or three months since?\"\n\nThe old dignitary blushed a little, and murmured that the prince had\nbetter not excite himself further.\n\n\"And I have heard of _you_,\" continued the prince, addressing Ivan\nPetrovitch, \"that when some of your villagers were burned out you gave\nthem wood to build up their houses again, though they were no longer\nyour serfs and had behaved badly towards you.\"\n\n\"Oh, come, come! You are exaggerating,\" said Ivan Petrovitch, beaming\nwith satisfaction, all the same. He was right, however, in this\ninstance, for the report had reached the prince's ears in an incorrect\nform.\n\n\"And you, princess,\" he went on, addressing Princess Bielokonski, \"was\nit not you who received me in Moscow, six months since, as kindly as\nthough I had been your own son, in response to a letter from Lizabetha\nProkofievna; and gave me one piece of advice, again as to your own son,\nwhich I shall never forget? Do you remember?\"\n\n\"What are you making such a fuss about?\" said the old lady, with\nannoyance. \"You are a good fellow, but very silly. One gives you a\nhalfpenny, and you are as grateful as though one had saved your life.\nYou think this is praiseworthy on your part, but it is not--it is not,\nindeed.\"\n\nShe seemed to be very angry, but suddenly burst out laughing, quite\ngood-humouredly.\n\nLizabetha Prokofievna's face brightened up, too; so did that of General\nEpanchin.\n\n\"I told you Lef Nicolaievitch was a man--a man--if only he would not\nbe in such a hurry, as the princess remarked,\" said the latter, with\ndelight.\n\nAglaya alone seemed sad and depressed; her face was flushed, perhaps\nwith indignation.\n\n\"He really is very charming,\" whispered the old dignitary to Ivan\nPetrovitch.\n\n\"I came into this room with anguish in my heart,\" continued the prince,\nwith ever-growing agitation, speaking quicker and quicker, and with\nincreasing strangeness. \"I--I was afraid of you all, and afraid of\nmyself. I was most afraid of myself. When I returned to Petersburg, I\npromised myself to make a point of seeing our greatest men, and members\nof our oldest families--the old families like my own. I am now among\nprinces like myself, am I not? I wished to know you, and it was\nnecessary, very, very necessary. I had always heard so much that was\nevil said of you all--more evil than good; as to how small and petty\nwere your interests, how absurd your habits, how shallow your education,\nand so on. There is so much written and said about you! I came here\ntoday with anxious curiosity; I wished to see for myself and form my\nown convictions as to whether it were true that the whole of this upper\nstratum of Russian society is _worthless_, has outlived its time, has\nexisted too long, and is only fit to die--and yet is dying with petty,\nspiteful warring against that which is destined to supersede it and take\nits place--hindering the Coming Men, and knowing not that itself is in\na dying condition. I did not fully believe in this view even before, for\nthere never was such a class among us--excepting perhaps at court, by\naccident--or by uniform; but now there is not even that, is there? It\nhas vanished, has it not?\"\n\n\"No, not a bit of it,\" said Ivan Petrovitch, with a sarcastic laugh.\n\n\"Good Lord, he's off again!\" said Princess Bielokonski, impatiently.\n\n\"Laissez-le dire! He is trembling all over,\" said the old man, in a\nwarning whisper.\n\nThe prince certainly was beside himself.\n\n\"Well? What have I seen?\" he continued. \"I have seen men of graceful\nsimplicity of intellect; I have seen an old man who is not above\nspeaking kindly and even _listening_ to a boy like myself; I see before\nme persons who can understand, who can forgive--kind, good Russian\nhearts--hearts almost as kind and cordial as I met abroad. Imagine how\ndelighted I must have been, and how surprised! Oh, let me express\nthis feeling! I have so often heard, and I have even believed, that\nin society there was nothing but empty forms, and that reality had\nvanished; but I now see for myself that this can never be the case _here_,\namong us--it may be the order elsewhere, but not in Russia. Surely you\nare not all Jesuits and deceivers! I heard Prince N.'s story just now.\nWas it not simple-minded, spontaneous humour? Could such words come from\nthe lips of a man who is dead?--a man whose heart and talents are dried\nup? Could dead men and women have treated me so kindly as you have all\nbeen treating me to-day? Is there not material for the future in all\nthis--for hope? Can such people fail to _understand?_ Can such men fall\naway from reality?\"\n\n\"Once more let us beg you to be calm, my dear boy. We'll talk of all\nthis another time--I shall do so with the greatest pleasure, for one,\"\nsaid the old dignitary, with a smile.\n\nIvan Petrovitch grunted and twisted round in his chair. General Epanchin\nmoved nervously. The latter's chief had started a conversation with the\nwife of the dignitary, and took no notice whatever of the prince, but\nthe old lady very often glanced at him, and listened to what he was\nsaying.\n\n\"No, I had better speak,\" continued the prince, with a new outburst\nof feverish emotion, and turning towards the old man with an air of\nconfidential trustfulness. \"Yesterday, Aglaya Ivanovna forbade me\nto talk, and even specified the particular subjects I must not touch\nupon--she knows well enough that I am odd when I get upon these matters.\nI am nearly twenty-seven years old, and yet I know I am little better\nthan a child. I have no right to express my ideas, and said so long ago.\nOnly in Moscow, with Rogojin, did I ever speak absolutely freely! He and\nI read Pushkin together--all his works. Rogojin knew nothing of Pushkin,\nhad not even heard his name. I am always afraid of spoiling a great\nThought or Idea by my absurd manner. I have no eloquence, I know. I\nalways make the wrong gestures--inappropriate gestures--and therefore\nI degrade the Thought, and raise a laugh instead of doing my subject\njustice. I have no sense of proportion either, and that is the chief\nthing. I know it would be much better if I were always to sit still and\nsay nothing. When I do so, I appear to be quite a sensible sort of a\nperson, and what's more, I think about things. But now I must speak; it\nis better that I should. I began to speak because you looked so kindly\nat me; you have such a beautiful face. I promised Aglaya Ivanovna\nyesterday that I would not speak all the evening.\"\n\n\"Really?\" said the old man, smiling.\n\n\"But, at times, I can't help thinking that I am wrong in feeling so\nabout it, you know. Sincerity is more important than elocution, isn't\nit?\"\n\n\"Sometimes.\"\n\n\"I want to explain all to you--everything--everything! I know you think\nme Utopian, don't you--an idealist? Oh, no! I'm not, indeed--my ideas\nare all so simple. You don't believe me? You are smiling. Do you know,\nI am sometimes very wicked--for I lose my faith? This evening as I came\nhere, I thought to myself, 'What shall I talk about? How am I to begin,\nso that they may be able to understand partially, at all events?' How\nafraid I was--dreadfully afraid! And yet, how _could_ I be afraid--was it\nnot shameful of me? Was I afraid of finding a bottomless abyss of empty\nselfishness? Ah! that's why I am so happy at this moment, because I find\nthere is no bottomless abyss at all--but good, healthy material, full of\nlife.\n\n\"It is not such a very dreadful circumstance that we are odd people, is\nit? For we really are odd, you know--careless, reckless, easily wearied\nof anything. We don't look thoroughly into matters--don't care to\nunderstand things. We are all like this--you and I, and all of them!\nWhy, here are you, now--you are not a bit angry with me for calling you\n'odd,' are you? And, if so, surely there is good material in you? Do you\nknow, I sometimes think it is a good thing to be odd. We can forgive\none another more easily, and be more humble. No one can begin by being\nperfect--there is much one cannot understand in life at first. In order\nto attain to perfection, one must begin by failing to understand much.\nAnd if we take in knowledge too quickly, we very likely are not taking\nit in at all. I say all this to you--you who by this time understand so\nmuch--and doubtless have failed to understand so much, also. I am not\nafraid of you any longer. You are not angry that a mere boy should say\nsuch words to you, are you? Of course not! You know how to forget and to\nforgive. You are laughing, Ivan Petrovitch? You think I am a champion\nof other classes of people--that I am _their_ advocate, a democrat, and\nan orator of Equality?\" The prince laughed hysterically; he had several\ntimes burst into these little, short nervous laughs. \"Oh, no--it is for\nyou, for myself, and for all of us together, that I am alarmed. I am a\nprince of an old family myself, and I am sitting among my peers; and I\nam talking like this in the hope of saving us all; in the hope that our\nclass will not disappear altogether--into the darkness--unguessing its\ndanger--blaming everything around it, and losing ground every day. Why\nshould we disappear and give place to others, when we may still, if\nwe choose, remain in the front rank and lead the battle? Let us be\nservants, that we may become lords in due season!\"\n\nHe tried to get upon his feet again, but the old man still restrained\nhim, gazing at him with increasing perturbation as he went on.\n\n\"Listen--I know it is best not to speak! It is best simply to give a\ngood example--simply to begin the work. I have done this--I have\nbegun, and--and--oh! _can_ anyone be unhappy, really? Oh! what does grief\nmatter--what does misfortune matter, if one knows how to be happy? Do\nyou know, I cannot understand how anyone can pass by a green tree, and\nnot feel happy only to look at it! How anyone can talk to a man and not\nfeel happy in loving him! Oh, it is my own fault that I cannot express\nmyself well enough! But there are lovely things at every step I\ntake--things which even the most miserable man must recognize as\nbeautiful. Look at a little child--look at God's day-dawn--look at the\ngrass growing--look at the eyes that love you, as they gaze back into\nyour eyes!\"\n\nHe had risen, and was speaking standing up. The old gentleman was\nlooking at him now in unconcealed alarm. Lizabetha Prokofievna wrung her\nhands. \"Oh, my God!\" she cried. She had guessed the state of the case\nbefore anyone else.\n\nAglaya rushed quickly up to him, and was just in time to receive him in\nher arms, and to hear with dread and horror that awful, wild cry as he\nfell writhing to the ground.\n\nThere he lay on the carpet, and someone quickly placed a cushion under\nhis head.\n\nNo one had expected this.\n\nIn a quarter of an hour or so Prince N. and Evgenie Pavlovitch and the\nold dignitary were hard at work endeavouring to restore the harmony\nof the evening, but it was of no avail, and very soon after the guests\nseparated and went their ways.\n\nA great deal of sympathy was expressed; a considerable amount of advice\nwas volunteered; Ivan Petrovitch expressed his opinion that the young\nman was \"a Slavophile, or something of that sort\"; but that it was not a\ndangerous development. The old dignitary said nothing.\n\nTrue enough, most of the guests, next day and the day after, were not\nin very good humour. Ivan Petrovitch was a little offended, but not\nseriously so. General Epanchin's chief was rather cool towards him for\nsome while after the occurrence. The old dignitary, as patron of the\nfamily, took the opportunity of murmuring some kind of admonition to the\ngeneral, and added, in flattering terms, that he was most interested\nin Aglaya's future. He was a man who really did possess a kind heart,\nalthough his interest in the prince, in the earlier part of the evening,\nwas due, among other reasons, to the latter's connection with Nastasia\nPhilipovna, according to popular report. He had heard a good deal of\nthis story here and there, and was greatly interested in it, so much so\nthat he longed to ask further questions about it.\n\nPrincess Bielokonski, as she drove away on this eventful evening, took\noccasion to say to Lizabetha Prokofievna:\n\n\"Well--he's a good match--and a bad one; and if you want my opinion,\nmore bad than good. You can see for yourself the man is an invalid.\"\n\nLizabetha therefore decided that the prince was impossible as a husband\nfor Aglaya; and during the ensuing night she made a vow that never while\nshe lived should he marry Aglaya. With this resolve firmly impressed\nupon her mind, she awoke next day; but during the morning, after her\nearly lunch, she fell into a condition of remarkable inconsistency.\n\nIn reply to a very guarded question of her sisters', Aglaya had answered\ncoldly, but exceedingly haughtily:\n\n\"I have never given him my word at all, nor have I ever counted him as\nmy future husband--never in my life. He is just as little to me as all\nthe rest.\"\n\nLizabetha Prokofievna suddenly flared up.\n\n\"I did not expect that of you, Aglaya,\" she said. \"He is an impossible\nhusband for you,--I know it; and thank God that we agree upon that\npoint; but I did not expect to hear such words from you. I thought I\nshould hear a very different tone from you. I would have turned out\neveryone who was in the room last night and kept him,--that's the sort\nof man he is, in my opinion!\"\n\nHere she suddenly paused, afraid of what she had just said. But she\nlittle knew how unfair she was to her daughter at that moment. It was\nall settled in Aglaya's mind. She was only waiting for the hour that\nwould bring the matter to a final climax; and every hint, every careless\nprobing of her wound, did but further lacerate her heart.\n\nVIII.\n\nThis same morning dawned for the prince pregnant with no less painful\npresentiments,--which fact his physical state was, of course, quite\nenough to account for; but he was so indefinably melancholy,--his\nsadness could not attach itself to anything in particular, and this\ntormented him more than anything else. Of course certain facts stood\nbefore him, clear and painful, but his sadness went beyond all that he\ncould remember or imagine; he realized that he was powerless to console\nhimself unaided. Little by little he began to develop the expectation\nthat this day something important, something decisive, was to happen to\nhim.\n\nHis attack of yesterday had been a slight one. Excepting some little\nheaviness in the head and pain in the limbs, he did not feel any\nparticular effects. His brain worked all right, though his soul was\nheavy within him.\n\nHe rose late, and immediately upon waking remembered all about the\nprevious evening; he also remembered, though not quite so clearly, how,\nhalf an hour after his fit, he had been carried home.\n\nHe soon heard that a messenger from the Epanchins' had already been to\ninquire after him. At half-past eleven another arrived; and this pleased\nhim.\n\nVera Lebedeff was one of the first to come to see him and offer her\nservices. No sooner did she catch sight of him than she burst into\ntears; but when he tried to soothe her she began to laugh. He was quite\nstruck by the girl's deep sympathy for him; he seized her hand and\nkissed it. Vera flushed crimson.\n\n\"Oh, don't, don't!\" she exclaimed in alarm, snatching her hand away. She\nwent hastily out of the room in a state of strange confusion.\n\nLebedeff also came to see the prince, in a great hurry to get away to\nthe \"deceased,\" as he called General Ivolgin, who was alive still, but\nvery ill. Colia also turned up, and begged the prince for pity's sake to\ntell him all he knew about his father which had been concealed from him\ntill now. He said he had found out nearly everything since yesterday;\nthe poor boy was in a state of deep affliction. With all the sympathy\nwhich he could bring into play, the prince told Colia the whole story\nwithout reserve, detailing the facts as clearly as he could. The\ntale struck Colia like a thunderbolt. He could not speak. He listened\nsilently, and cried softly to himself the while. The prince perceived\nthat this was an impression which would last for the whole of the boy's\nlife. He made haste to explain his view of the matter, and pointed out\nthat the old man's approaching death was probably brought on by horror\nat the thought of his action; and that it was not everyone who was\ncapable of such a feeling.\n\nColia's eyes flashed as he listened.\n\n\"Gania and Varia and Ptitsin are a worthless lot! I shall not quarrel\nwith them; but from this moment our feet shall not travel the same road.\nOh, prince, I have felt much that is quite new to me since yesterday!\nIt is a lesson for me. I shall now consider my mother as entirely my\nresponsibility; though she may be safe enough with Varia. Still, meat\nand drink is not everything.\"\n\nHe jumped up and hurried off, remembering suddenly that he was wanted\nat his father's bedside; but before he went out of the room he inquired\nhastily after the prince's health, and receiving the latter's reply,\nadded:\n\n\"Isn't there something else, prince? I heard yesterday, but I have\nno right to talk about this... If you ever want a true friend and\nservant--neither you nor I are so very happy, are we?--come to me. I\nwon't ask you questions, though.\"\n\nHe ran off and left the prince more dejected than ever.\n\nEveryone seemed to be speaking prophetically, hinting at some misfortune\nor sorrow to come; they had all looked at him as though they knew\nsomething which he did not know. Lebedeff had asked questions, Colia had\nhinted, and Vera had shed tears. What was it?\n\nAt last, with a sigh of annoyance, he said to himself that it was\nnothing but his own cursed sickly suspicion. His face lighted up with\njoy when, at about two o'clock, he espied the Epanchins coming along to\npay him a short visit, \"just for a minute.\" They really had only come\nfor a minute.\n\nLizabetha Prokofievna had announced, directly after lunch, that they\nwould all take a walk together. The information was given in the form of\na command, without explanation, drily and abruptly. All had issued forth\nin obedience to the mandate; that is, the girls, mamma, and Prince S.\nLizabetha Prokofievna went off in a direction exactly contrary to the\nusual one, and all understood very well what she was driving at, but\nheld their peace, fearing to irritate the good lady. She, as though\nanxious to avoid any conversation, walked ahead, silent and alone. At\nlast Adelaida remarked that it was no use racing along at such a pace,\nand that she could not keep up with her mother.\n\n\"Look here,\" said Lizabetha Prokofievna, turning round suddenly; \"we are\npassing his house. Whatever Aglaya may think, and in spite of anything\nthat may happen, he is not a stranger to us; besides which, he is ill\nand in misfortune. I, for one, shall call in and see him. Let anyone\nfollow me who cares to.\"\n\nOf course every one of them followed her.\n\nThe prince hastened to apologize, very properly, for yesterday's mishap\nwith the vase, and for the scene generally.\n\n\"Oh, that's nothing,\" replied Lizabetha; \"I'm not sorry for the vase,\nI'm sorry for you. H'm! so you can see that there was a 'scene,' can\nyou? Well, it doesn't matter much, for everyone must realize now that it\nis impossible to be hard on you. Well, _au revoir_. I advise you to have\na walk, and then go to sleep again if you can. Come in as usual, if\nyou feel inclined; and be assured, once for all, whatever happens, and\nwhatever may have happened, you shall always remain the friend of the\nfamily--mine, at all events. I can answer for myself.\"\n\nIn response to this challenge all the others chimed in and re-echoed\nmamma's sentiments.\n\nAnd so they took their departure; but in this hasty and kindly designed\nvisit there was hidden a fund of cruelty which Lizabetha Prokofievna\nnever dreamed of. In the words \"as usual,\" and again in her added,\n\"mine, at all events,\" there seemed an ominous knell of some evil to\ncome.\n\nThe prince began to think of Aglaya. She had certainly given him a\nwonderful smile, both at coming and again at leave-taking, but had not\nsaid a word, not even when the others all professed their friendship for\nhim. She had looked very intently at him, but that was all. Her face had\nbeen paler than usual; she looked as though she had slept badly.\n\nThe prince made up his mind that he would make a point of going there\n\"as usual,\" tonight, and looked feverishly at his watch.\n\nVera came in three minutes after the Epanchins had left. \"Lef\nNicolaievitch,\" she said, \"Aglaya Ivanovna has just given me a message\nfor you.\"\n\nThe prince trembled.\n\n\"Is it a note?\"\n\n\"No, a verbal message; she had hardly time even for that. She begs you\nearnestly not to go out of the house for a single moment all to-day,\nuntil seven o'clock in the evening. It may have been nine; I didn't\nquite hear.\"\n\n\"But--but, why is this? What does it mean?\"\n\n\"I don't know at all; but she said I was to tell you particularly.\"\n\n\"Did she say that?\"\n\n\"Not those very words. She only just had time to whisper as she went by;\nbut by the way she looked at me I knew it was important. She looked at\nme in a way that made my heart stop beating.\"\n\nThe prince asked a few more questions, and though he learned nothing\nelse, he became more and more agitated.\n\nLeft alone, he lay down on the sofa, and began to think.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" he thought, \"someone is to be with them until nine tonight\nand she is afraid that I may come and make a fool of myself again, in\npublic.\" So he spent his time longing for the evening and looking at his\nwatch. But the clearing-up of the mystery came long before the evening,\nand came in the form of a new and agonizing riddle.\n\nHalf an hour after the Epanchins had gone, Hippolyte arrived, so tired\nthat, almost unconscious, he sank into a chair, and broke into such a\nfit of coughing that he could not stop. He coughed till the blood came.\nHis eyes glittered, and two red spots on his cheeks grew brighter and\nbrighter. The prince murmured something to him, but Hippolyte only\nsigned that he must be left alone for a while, and sat silent. At last\nhe came to himself.\n\n\"I am off,\" he said, hoarsely, and with difficulty.\n\n\"Shall I see you home?\" asked the prince, rising from his seat, but\nsuddenly stopping short as he remembered Aglaya's prohibition against\nleaving the house. Hippolyte laughed.\n\n\"I don't mean that I am going to leave your house,\" he continued,\nstill gasping and coughing. \"On the contrary, I thought it absolutely\nnecessary to come and see you; otherwise I should not have troubled you.\nI am off there, you know, and this time I believe, seriously, that I am\noff! It's all over. I did not come here for sympathy, believe me. I lay\ndown this morning at ten o'clock with the intention of not rising again\nbefore that time; but I thought it over and rose just once more in\norder to come here; from which you may deduce that I had some reason for\nwishing to come.\"\n\n\"It grieves me to see you so, Hippolyte. Why didn't you send me a\nmessage? I would have come up and saved you this trouble.\"\n\n\"Well, well! Enough! You've pitied me, and that's all that good manners\nexact. I forgot, how are you?\"\n\n\"I'm all right; yesterday I was a little--\"\n\n\"I know, I heard; the china vase caught it! I'm sorry I wasn't there.\nI've come about something important. In the first place I had, the\npleasure of seeing Gavrila Ardalionovitch and Aglaya Ivanovna enjoying a\nrendezvous on the green bench in the park. I was astonished to see what\na fool a man can look. I remarked upon the fact to Aglaya Ivanovna when\nhe had gone. I don't think anything ever surprises you, prince!\" added\nHippolyte, gazing incredulously at the prince's calm demeanour. \"To be\nastonished by nothing is a sign, they say, of a great intellect. In my\nopinion it would serve equally well as a sign of great foolishness. I\nam not hinting about you; pardon me! I am very unfortunate today in my\nexpressions.\n\n\"I knew yesterday that Gavrila Ardalionovitch--\" began the prince, and\npaused in evident confusion, though Hippolyte had shown annoyance at his\nbetraying no surprise.\n\n\"You knew it? Come, that's news! But no--perhaps better not tell me. And\nwere you a witness of the meeting?\"\n\n\"If you were there yourself you must have known that I was _not_ there!\"\n\n\"Oh! but you may have been sitting behind the bushes somewhere. However,\nI am very glad, on your account, of course. I was beginning to be afraid\nthat Mr. Gania--might have the preference!\"\n\n\"May I ask you, Hippolyte, not to talk of this subject? And not to use\nsuch expressions?\"\n\n\"Especially as you know all, eh?\"\n\n\"You are wrong. I know scarcely anything, and Aglaya Ivanovna is aware\nthat I know nothing. I knew nothing whatever about this meeting. You say\nthere was a meeting. Very well; let's leave it so--\"\n\n\"Why, what do you mean? You said you knew, and now suddenly you know\nnothing! You say 'very well; let's leave it so.' But I say, don't be\nso confiding, especially as you know nothing. You are confiding simply\n_because_ you know nothing. But do you know what these good people have\nin their minds' eye--Gania and his sister? Perhaps you are suspicious?\nWell, well, I'll drop the subject!\" he added, hastily, observing the\nprince's impatient gesture. \"But I've come to you on my own business;\nI wish to make you a clear explanation. What a nuisance it is that one\ncannot die without explanations! I have made such a quantity of them\nalready. Do you wish to hear what I have to say?\"\n\n\"Speak away, I am listening.\"\n\n\"Very well, but I'll change my mind, and begin about Gania. Just fancy\nto begin with, if you can, that I, too, was given an appointment at\nthe green bench today! However, I won't deceive you; I asked for the\nappointment. I said I had a secret to disclose. I don't know whether I\ncame there too early, I think I must have; but scarcely had I sat down\nbeside Aglaya Ivanovna than I saw Gavrila Ardalionovitch and his sister\nVaria coming along, arm in arm, just as though they were enjoying a\nmorning walk together. Both of them seemed very much astonished, not\nto say disturbed, at seeing me; they evidently had not expected\nthe pleasure. Aglaya Ivanovna blushed up, and was actually a little\nconfused. I don't know whether it was merely because I was there, or\nwhether Gania's beauty was too much for her! But anyway, she turned\ncrimson, and then finished up the business in a very funny manner.\nShe jumped up from her seat, bowed back to Gania, smiled to Varia, and\nsuddenly observed: 'I only came here to express my gratitude for all\nyour kind wishes on my behalf, and to say that if I find I need your\nservices, believe me--' Here she bowed them away, as it were, and they\nboth marched off again, looking very foolish. Gania evidently could not\nmake head nor tail of the matter, and turned as red as a lobster; but\nVaria understood at once that they must get away as quickly as they\ncould, so she dragged Gania away; she is a great deal cleverer than he\nis. As for myself, I went there to arrange a meeting to be held between\nAglaya Ivanovna and Nastasia Philipovna.\"\n\n\"Nastasia Philipovna!\" cried the prince.\n\n\"Aha! I think you are growing less cool, my friend, and are beginning\nto be a trifle surprised, aren't you? I'm glad that you are not above\nordinary human feelings, for once. I'll console you a little now, after\nyour consternation. See what I get for serving a young and high-souled\nmaiden! This morning I received a slap in the face from the lady!\"\n\n\"A--a moral one?\" asked the prince, involuntarily.\n\n\"Yes--not a physical one! I don't suppose anyone--even a woman--would\nraise a hand against me now. Even Gania would hesitate! I did think at\none time yesterday, that he would fly at me, though. I bet anything that\nI know what you are thinking of now! You are thinking: 'Of course one\ncan't strike the little wretch, but one could suffocate him with a\npillow, or a wet towel, when he is asleep! One _ought_ to get rid of him\nsomehow.' I can see in your face that you are thinking that at this very\nsecond.\"\n\n\"I never thought of such a thing for a moment,\" said the prince, with\ndisgust.\n\n\"I don't know--I dreamed last night that I was being suffocated with a\nwet cloth by--somebody. I'll tell you who it was--Rogojin! What do you\nthink, can a man be suffocated with a wet cloth?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"I've heard so. Well, we'll leave that question just now. Why am I a\nscandal-monger? Why did she call me a scandal-monger? And mind, _after_\nshe had heard every word I had to tell her, and had asked all sorts of\nquestions besides--but such is the way of women. For _her_ sake I entered\ninto relations with Rogojin--an interesting man! At _her_ request I\narranged a personal interview between herself and Nastasia Philipovna.\nCould she have been angry because I hinted that she was enjoying\nNastasia Philipovna's 'leavings'? Why, I have been impressing it upon\nher all this while for her own good. Two letters have I written her in\nthat strain, and I began straight off today about its being humiliating\nfor her. Besides, the word 'leavings' is not my invention. At all\nevents, they all used it at Gania's, and she used it herself. So why am\nI a scandal-monger? I see--I see you are tremendously amused, at this\nmoment! Probably you are laughing at me and fitting those silly lines to\nmy case--\n\n\"'Maybe sad Love upon his setting smiles, And with vain hopes his\nfarewell hour beguiles.\n\n\"Ha, ha, ha!\"\n\nHippolyte suddenly burst into a fit of hysterical laughter, which turned\ninto a choking cough.\n\n\"Observe,\" he gasped, through his coughing, \"what a fellow Gania is!\nHe talks about Nastasia's 'leavings,' but what does he want to take\nhimself?\"\n\nThe prince sat silent for a long while. His mind was filled with dread\nand horror.\n\n\"You spoke of a meeting with Nastasia Philipovna,\" he said at last, in a\nlow voice.\n\n\"Oh--come! Surely you must know that there is to be a meeting today\nbetween Nastasia and Aglaya Ivanovna, and that Nastasia has been sent\nfor on purpose, through Rogojin, from St. Petersburg? It has been\nbrought about by invitation of Aglaya Ivanovna and my own efforts, and\nNastasia is at this moment with Rogojin, not far from here--at Dana\nAlexeyevna's--that curious friend of hers; and to this questionable\nhouse Aglaya Ivanovna is to proceed for a friendly chat with Nastasia\nPhilipovna, and for the settlement of several problems. They are going\nto play at arithmetic--didn't you know about it? Word of honour?\"\n\n\"It's a most improbable story.\"\n\n\"Oh, very well! if it's improbable--it is--that's all! And yet--where\nshould you have heard it? Though I must say, if a fly crosses the room\nit's known all over the place here. However, I've warned you, and you\nmay be grateful to me. Well--_au revoir_--probably in the next world! One\nmore thing--don't think that I am telling you all this for your sake.\nOh, dear, no! Do you know that I dedicated my confession to Aglaya\nIvanovna? I did though, and how she took it, ha, ha! Oh, no! I am not\nacting from any high, exalted motives. But though I may have behaved\nlike a cad to you, I have not done _her_ any harm. I don't apologize for\nmy words about 'leavings' and all that. I am atoning for that, you\nsee, by telling you the place and time of the meeting. Goodbye! You\nhad better take your measures, if you are worthy the name of a man! The\nmeeting is fixed for this evening--that's certain.\"\n\nHippolyte walked towards the door, but the prince called him back and he\nstopped.\n\n\"Then you think Aglaya Ivanovna herself intends to go to Nastasia\nPhilipovna's tonight?\" he asked, and bright hectic spots came out on his\ncheeks and forehead.\n\n\"I don't know absolutely for certain; but in all probability it is so,\"\nreplied Hippolyte, looking round. \"Nastasia would hardly go to her; and\nthey can't meet at Gania's, with a man nearly dead in the house.\"\n\n\"It's impossible, for that very reason,\" said the prince. \"How would she\nget out if she wished to? You don't know the habits of that house--she\n_could_ not get away alone to Nastasia Philipovna's! It's all nonsense!\"\n\n\"Look here, my dear prince, no one jumps out of the window if they can\nhelp it; but when there's a fire, the dandiest gentleman or the finest\nlady in the world will skip out! When the moment comes, and\nthere's nothing else to be done--our young lady will go to Nastasia\nPhilipovna's! Don't they let the young ladies out of the house alone,\nthen?\"\n\n\"I didn't mean that exactly.\"\n\n\"If you didn't mean that, then she has only to go down the steps and\nwalk off, and she need never come back unless she chooses: Ships are\nburned behind one sometimes, and one doesn't care to return whence one\ncame. Life need not consist only of lunches, and dinners, and Prince\nS's. It strikes me you take Aglaya Ivanovna for some conventional\nboarding-school girl. I said so to her, and she quite agreed with me.\nWait till seven or eight o'clock. In your place I would send someone\nthere to keep watch, so as to seize the exact moment when she steps out\nof the house. Send Colia. He'll play the spy with pleasure--for you at\nleast. Ha, ha, ha!\"\n\nHippolyte went out.\n\nThere was no reason for the prince to set anyone to watch, even if he\nhad been capable of such a thing. Aglaya's command that he should stay\nat home all day seemed almost explained now. Perhaps she meant to call\nfor him, herself, or it might be, of course, that she was anxious to\nmake sure of his not coming there, and therefore bade him remain at\nhome. His head whirled; the whole room seemed to be turning round. He\nlay down on the sofa, and closed his eyes.\n\nOne way or the other the question was to be decided at last--finally.\n\nOh, no, he did not think of Aglaya as a boarding-school miss, or a young\nlady of the conventional type! He had long since feared that she might\ntake some such step as this. But why did she wish to see Nastasia?\n\nHe shivered all over as he lay; he was in high fever again.\n\nNo! he did not account her a child. Certain of her looks, certain of her\nwords, of late, had filled him with apprehension. At times it had struck\nhim that she was putting too great a restraint upon herself, and he\nremembered that he had been alarmed to observe this. He had tried, all\nthese days, to drive away the heavy thoughts that oppressed him;\nbut what was the hidden mystery of that soul? The question had long\ntormented him, although he implicitly trusted that soul. And now it was\nall to be cleared up. It was a dreadful thought. And \"that woman\" again!\nWhy did he always feel as though \"that woman\" were fated to appear at\neach critical moment of his life, and tear the thread of his destiny\nlike a bit of rotten string? That he always _had_ felt this he was ready\nto swear, although he was half delirious at the moment. If he had tried\nto forget her, all this time, it was simply because he was afraid of\nher. Did he love the woman or hate her? This question he did not once\nask himself today; his heart was quite pure. He knew whom he loved. He\nwas not so much afraid of this meeting, nor of its strangeness, nor of\nany reasons there might be for it, unknown to himself; he was afraid\nof the woman herself, Nastasia Philipovna. He remembered, some days\nafterwards, how during all those fevered hours he had seen but _her_ eyes,\n_her_ look, had heard _her_ voice, strange words of hers; he remembered\nthat this was so, although he could not recollect the details of his\nthoughts.\n\nHe could remember that Vera brought him some dinner, and that he took\nit; but whether he slept after dinner, or no, he could not recollect.\n\nHe only knew that he began to distinguish things clearly from the moment\nwhen Aglaya suddenly appeared, and he jumped up from the sofa and went\nto meet her. It was just a quarter past seven then.\n\nAglaya was quite alone, and dressed, apparently hastily, in a light\nmantle. Her face was pale, as it had been in the morning, and her\neyes were ablaze with bright but subdued fire. He had never seen that\nexpression in her eyes before.\n\nShe gazed attentively at him.\n\n\"You are quite ready, I observe,\" she said, with absolute composure,\n\"dressed, and your hat in your hand. I see somebody has thought fit to\nwarn you, and I know who. Hippolyte?\"\n\n\"Yes, he told me,\" said the prince, feeling only half alive.\n\n\"Come then. You know, I suppose, that you must escort me there? You are\nwell enough to go out, aren't you?\"\n\n\"I am well enough; but is it really possible?--\"\n\nHe broke off abruptly, and could not add another word. This was his one\nattempt to stop the mad child, and, after he had made it, he followed\nher as though he had no will of his own. Confused as his thoughts were,\nhe was, nevertheless, capable of realizing the fact that if he did\nnot go with her, she would go alone, and so he must go with her at all\nhazards. He guessed the strength of her determination; it was beyond him\nto check it.\n\nThey walked silently, and said scarcely a word all the way. He only\nnoticed that she seemed to know the road very well; and once, when he\nthought it better to go by a certain lane, and remarked to her that it\nwould be quieter and less public, she only said, \"it's all the same,\"\nand went on.\n\nWhen they were almost arrived at Daria Alexeyevna's house (it was a\nlarge wooden structure of ancient date), a gorgeously-dressed lady and\na young girl came out of it. Both these ladies took their seats in a\ncarriage, which was waiting at the door, talking and laughing loudly\nthe while, and drove away without appearing to notice the approaching\ncouple.\n\nNo sooner had the carriage driven off than the door opened once more;\nand Rogojin, who had apparently been awaiting them, let them in and\nclosed it after them.\n\n\"There is not another soul in the house now excepting our four selves,\"\nhe said aloud, looking at the prince in a strange way.\n\nNastasia Philipovna was waiting for them in the first room they went\ninto. She was dressed very simply, in black.\n\nShe rose at their entrance, but did not smile or give her hand, even to\nthe prince. Her anxious eyes were fixed upon Aglaya. Both sat down, at\na little distance from one another--Aglaya on the sofa, in the corner\nof the room, Nastasia by the window. The prince and Rogojin remained\nstanding, and were not invited to sit.\n\nMuishkin glanced at Rogojin in perplexity, but the latter only smiled\ndisagreeably, and said nothing. The silence continued for some few\nmoments.\n\nAn ominous expression passed over Nastasia Philipovna's face, of a\nsudden. It became obstinate-looking, hard, and full of hatred; but she\ndid not take her eyes off her visitors for a moment.\n\nAglaya was clearly confused, but not frightened. On entering she had\nmerely glanced momentarily at her rival, and then had sat still, with\nher eyes on the ground, apparently in thought. Once or twice she\nglanced casually round the room. A shade of disgust was visible in her\nexpression; she looked as though she were afraid of contamination in\nthis place.\n\nShe mechanically arranged her dress, and fidgeted uncomfortably,\neventually changing her seat to the other end of the sofa. Probably\nshe was unconscious of her own movements; but this very unconsciousness\nadded to the offensiveness of their suggested meaning.\n\nAt length she looked straight into Nastasia's eyes, and instantly read\nall there was to read in her rival's expression. Woman understood woman!\nAglaya shuddered.\n\n\"You know of course why I requested this meeting?\" she said at last,\nquietly, and pausing twice in the delivery of this very short sentence.\n\n\"No--I know nothing about it,\" said Nastasia, drily and abruptly.\n\nAglaya blushed. Perhaps it struck her as very strange and impossible\nthat she should really be sitting here and waiting for \"that woman's\"\nreply to her question.\n\nAt the first sound of Nastasia's voice a shudder ran through her frame.\nOf course \"that woman\" observed and took in all this.\n\n\"You know quite well, but you are pretending to be ignorant,\" said\nAglaya, very low, with her eyes on the ground.\n\n\"Why should I?\" asked Nastasia Philipovna, smiling slightly.\n\n\"You want to take advantage of my position, now that I am in your\nhouse,\" continued Aglaya, awkwardly.\n\n\"For that position _you_ are to blame and not I,\" said Nastasia, flaring\nup suddenly. \"_I_ did not invite _you_, but you me; and to this moment I\nam quite ignorant as to why I am thus honoured.\"\n\nAglaya raised her head haughtily.\n\n\"Restrain your tongue!\" she said. \"I did not come here to fight you with\nyour own weapons.\n\n\"Oh! then you did come 'to fight,' I may conclude? Dear me!--and I\nthought you were cleverer--\"\n\nThey looked at one another with undisguised malice. One of these women\nhad written to the other, so lately, such letters as we have seen; and\nit all was dispersed at their first meeting. Yet it appeared that\nnot one of the four persons in the room considered this in any degree\nstrange.\n\nThe prince who, up to yesterday, would not have believed that he could\neven dream of such an impossible scene as this, stood and listened and\nlooked on, and felt as though he had long foreseen it all. The most\nfantastic dream seemed suddenly to have been metamorphosed into the most\nvivid reality.\n\nOne of these women so despised the other, and so longed to express her\ncontempt for her (perhaps she had only come for that very purpose, as\nRogojin said next day), that howsoever fantastical was the other woman,\nhowsoever afflicted her spirit and disturbed her understanding, no\npreconceived idea of hers could possibly stand up against that deadly\nfeminine contempt of her rival. The prince felt sure that Nastasia\nwould say nothing about the letters herself; but he could judge by her\nflashing eyes and the expression of her face what the thought of those\nletters must be costing her at this moment. He would have given half his\nlife to prevent Aglaya from speaking of them. But Aglaya suddenly braced\nherself up, and seemed to master herself fully, all in an instant.\n\n\"You have not quite understood,\" she said. \"I did not come to quarrel\nwith you, though I do not like you. I came to speak to you as... as one\nhuman being to another. I came with my mind made up as to what I had\nto say to you, and I shall not change my intention, although you may\nmisunderstand me. So much the worse for you, not for myself! I wished to\nreply to all you have written to me and to reply personally, because I\nthink that is the more convenient way. Listen to my reply to all your\nletters. I began to be sorry for Prince Lef Nicolaievitch on the very\nday I made his acquaintance, and when I heard--afterwards--of all that\ntook place at your house in the evening, I was sorry for him because he\nwas such a simple-minded man, and because he, in the simplicity of his\nsoul, believed that he could be happy with a woman of your character.\nWhat I feared actually took place; you could not love him, you tortured\nhim, and threw him over. You could not love him because you are too\nproud--no, not proud, that is an error; because you are too vain--no,\nnot quite that either; too self-loving; you are self-loving to madness.\nYour letters to me are a proof of it. You could not love so simple a\nsoul as his, and perhaps in your heart you despised him and laughed at\nhim. All you could love was your shame and the perpetual thought that\nyou were disgraced and insulted. If you were less shameful, or had no\ncause at all for shame, you would be still more unhappy than you are\nnow.\"\n\nAglaya brought out these thronging words with great satisfaction. They\ncame from her lips hurriedly and impetuously, and had been prepared and\nthought out long ago, even before she had ever dreamed of the present\nmeeting. She watched with eagerness the effect of her speech as shown in\nNastasia's face, which was distorted with agitation.\n\n\"You remember,\" she continued, \"he wrote me a letter at that time;\nhe says you know all about that letter and that you even read it. I\nunderstand all by means of this letter, and understand it correctly. He\nhas since confirmed it all to me--what I now say to you, word for word.\nAfter receiving his letter I waited; I guessed that you would soon come\nback here, because you could never do without Petersburg; you are still\ntoo young and lovely for the provinces. However, this is not my own\nidea,\" she added, blushing dreadfully; and from this moment the colour\nnever left her cheeks to the end of her speech. \"When I next saw the\nprince I began to feel terribly pained and hurt on his account. Do not\nlaugh; if you laugh you are unworthy of understanding what I say.\"\n\n\"Surely you see that I am not laughing,\" said Nastasia, sadly and\nsternly.\n\n\"However, it's all the same to me; laugh or not, just as you please.\nWhen I asked him about you, he told me that he had long since ceased to\nlove you, that the very recollection of you was a torture to him, but\nthat he was sorry for you; and that when he thought of you his heart was\npierced. I ought to tell you that I never in my life met a man anything\nlike him for noble simplicity of mind and for boundless trustfulness.\nI guessed that anyone who liked could deceive him, and that he would\nimmediately forgive anyone who did deceive him; and it was for this that\nI grew to love him--\"\n\nAglaya paused for a moment, as though suddenly brought up in\nastonishment that she could have said these words, but at the same time\na great pride shone in her eyes, like a defiant assertion that it would\nnot matter to her if \"this woman\" laughed in her face for the admission\njust made.\n\n\"I have told you all now, and of course you understand what I wish of\nyou.\"\n\n\"Perhaps I do; but tell me yourself,\" said Nastasia Philipovna, quietly.\n\nAglaya flushed up angrily.\n\n\"I wished to find out from you,\" she said, firmly, \"by what right you\ndare to meddle with his feelings for me? By what right you dared send me\nthose letters? By what right do you continually remind both me and him\nthat you love him, after you yourself threw him over and ran away from\nhim in so insulting and shameful a way?\"\n\n\"I never told either him or you that I loved him!\" replied Nastasia\nPhilipovna, with an effort. \"And--and I did run away from him--you are\nright there,\" she added, scarcely audibly.\n\n\"Never told either him or me?\" cried Aglaya. \"How about your letters?\nWho asked you to try to persuade me to marry him? Was not that a\ndeclaration from you? Why do you force yourself upon us in this way? I\nconfess I thought at first that you were anxious to arouse an aversion\nfor him in my heart by your meddling, in order that I might give him up;\nand it was only afterwards that I guessed the truth. You imagined that\nyou were doing an heroic action! How could you spare any love for him,\nwhen you love your own vanity to such an extent? Why could you not\nsimply go away from here, instead of writing me those absurd letters?\nWhy do you not _now_ marry that generous man who loves you, and has done\nyou the honour of offering you his hand? It is plain enough why; if you\nmarry Rogojin you lose your grievance; you will have nothing more to\ncomplain of. You will be receiving too much honour. Evgenie Pavlovitch\nwas saying the other day that you had read too many poems and are too\nwell educated for--your position; and that you live in idleness. Add to\nthis your vanity, and, there you have reason enough--\"\n\n\"And do you not live in idleness?\"\n\nThings had come to this unexpected point too quickly. Unexpected because\nNastasia Philipovna, on her way to Pavlofsk, had thought and considered\na good deal, and had expected something different, though perhaps not\naltogether good, from this interview; but Aglaya had been carried away\nby her own outburst, just as a rolling stone gathers impetus as it\ncareers downhill, and could not restrain herself in the satisfaction of\nrevenge.\n\nIt was strange, Nastasia Philipovna felt, to see Aglaya like this. She\ngazed at her, and could hardly believe her eyes and ears for a moment or\ntwo.\n\nWhether she were a woman who had read too many poems, as Evgenie\nPavlovitch supposed, or whether she were mad, as the prince had\nassured Aglaya, at all events, this was a woman who, in spite of her\noccasionally cynical and audacious manner, was far more refined and\ntrustful and sensitive than appeared. There was a certain amount of\nromantic dreaminess and caprice in her, but with the fantastic was\nmingled much that was strong and deep.\n\nThe prince realized this, and great suffering expressed itself in his\nface.\n\nAglaya observed it, and trembled with anger.\n\n\"How dare you speak so to me?\" she said, with a haughtiness which was\nquite indescribable, replying to Nastasia's last remark.\n\n\"You must have misunderstood what I said,\" said Nastasia, in some\nsurprise.\n\n\"If you wished to preserve your good name, why did you not give up\nyour--your 'guardian,' Totski, without all that theatrical posturing?\"\nsaid Aglaya, suddenly a propos of nothing.\n\n\"What do you know of my position, that you dare to judge me?\" cried\nNastasia, quivering with rage, and growing terribly white.\n\n\"I know this much, that you did not go out to honest work, but went away\nwith a rich man, Rogojin, in order to pose as a fallen angel. I don't\nwonder that Totski was nearly driven to suicide by such a fallen angel.\"\n\n\"Silence!\" cried Nastasia Philipovna. \"You are about as fit to\nunderstand me as the housemaid here, who bore witness against her lover\nin court the other day. She would understand me better than you do.\"\n\n\"Probably an honest girl living by her own toil. Why do you speak of a\nhousemaid so contemptuously?\"\n\n\"I do not despise toil; I despise you when you speak of toil.\"\n\n\"If you had cared to be an honest woman, you would have gone out as a\nlaundress.\"\n\nBoth had risen, and were gazing at one another with pallid faces.\n\n\"Aglaya, don't! This is unfair,\" cried the prince, deeply distressed.\n\nRogojin was not smiling now; he sat and listened with folded arms, and\nlips tight compressed.\n\n\"There, look at her,\" cried Nastasia, trembling with passion. \"Look at\nthis young lady! And I imagined her an angel! Did you come to me without\nyour governess, Aglaya Ivanovna? Oh, fie, now shall I just tell you why\nyou came here today? Shall I tell you without any embellishments? You\ncame because you were afraid of me!\"\n\n\"Afraid of _you?_\" asked Aglaya, beside herself with naive amazement that\nthe other should dare talk to her like this.\n\n\"Yes, me, of course! Of course you were afraid of me, or you would not\nhave decided to come. You cannot despise one you fear. And to think that\nI have actually esteemed you up to this very moment! Do you know why\nyou are afraid of me, and what is your object now? You wished to satisfy\nyourself with your own eyes as to which he loves best, myself or you,\nbecause you are fearfully jealous.\"\n\n\"He has told me already that he hates you,\" murmured Aglaya, scarcely\naudibly.\n\n\"Perhaps, perhaps! I am not worthy of him, I know. But I think you are\nlying, all the same. He cannot hate me, and he cannot have said so. I am\nready to forgive you, in consideration of your position; but I confess\nI thought better of you. I thought you were wiser, and more beautiful,\ntoo; I did, indeed! Well, take your treasure! See, he is gazing at you,\nhe can't recollect himself. Take him, but on one condition; go away at\nonce, this instant!\"\n\nShe fell back into a chair, and burst into tears. But suddenly some new\nexpression blazed in her eyes. She stared fixedly at Aglaya, and rose\nfrom her seat.\n\n\"Or would you like me to bid him, _bid him_, do you hear, _command him_,\nnow, at once, to throw you up, and remain mine for ever? Shall I? He\nwill stay, and he will marry me too, and you shall trot home all alone.\nShall I?--shall I say the word?\" she screamed like a madwoman, scarcely\nbelieving herself that she could really pronounce such wild words.\n\nAglaya had made for the door in terror, but she stopped at the\nthreshold, and listened. \"Shall I turn Rogojin off? Ha! ha! you thought\nI would marry him for your benefit, did you? Why, I'll call out _now_, if\nyou like, in your presence, 'Rogojin, get out!' and say to the prince,\n'Do you remember what you promised me?' Heavens! what a fool I have been\nto humiliate myself before them! Why, prince, you yourself gave me your\nword that you would marry me whatever happened, and would never abandon\nme. You said you loved me and would forgive me all, and--and resp--yes,\nyou even said that! I only ran away from you in order to set you free,\nand now I don't care to let you go again. Why does she treat me so--so\nshamefully? I am not a loose woman--ask Rogojin there! He'll tell you.\nWill you go again now that she has insulted me, before your eyes, too;\nturn away from me and lead her away, arm-in-arm? May you be accursed\ntoo, for you were the only one I trusted among them all! Go away,\nRogojin, I don't want you,\" she continued, blind with fury, and forcing\nthe words out with dry lips and distorted features, evidently not\nbelieving a single word of her own tirade, but, at the same time, doing\nher utmost to prolong the moment of self-deception.\n\nThe outburst was so terribly violent that the prince thought it would\nhave killed her.\n\n\"There he is!\" she shrieked again, pointing to the prince and addressing\nAglaya. \"There he is! and if he does not approach me at once and take\n_me_ and throw you over, then have him for your own--I give him up to\nyou! I don't want him!\"\n\nBoth she and Aglaya stood and waited as though in expectation, and both\nlooked at the prince like madwomen.\n\nBut he, perhaps, did not understand the full force of this challenge; in\nfact, it is certain he did not. All he could see was the poor despairing\nface which, as he had said to Aglaya, \"had pierced his heart for ever.\"\n\nHe could bear it no longer, and with a look of entreaty, mingled with\nreproach, he addressed Aglaya, pointing to Nastasia the while:\n\n\"How can you?\" he murmured; \"she is so unhappy.\"\n\nBut he had no time to say another word before. Aglaya's terrible look\nbereft him of speech. In that look was embodied so dreadful a suffering\nand so deadly a hatred, that he gave a cry and flew to her; but it was\ntoo late.\n\nShe could not hold out long enough even to witness his movement in her\ndirection. She had hidden her face in her hands, cried once \"Oh, my\nGod!\" and rushed out of the room. Rogojin followed her to undo the bolts\nof the door and let her out into the street.\n\nThe prince made a rush after her, but he was caught and held back. The\ndistorted, livid face of Nastasia gazed at him reproachfully, and her\nblue lips whispered:\n\n\"What? Would you go to her--to her?\"\n\nShe fell senseless into his arms.\n\nHe raised her, carried her into the room, placed her in an arm-chair,\nand stood over her, stupefied. On the table stood a tumbler of water.\nRogojin, who now returned, took this and sprinkled a little in her face.\nShe opened her eyes, but for a moment she understood nothing.\n\nSuddenly she looked around, shuddered, gave a loud cry, and threw\nherself in the prince's arms.\n\n\"Mine, mine!\" she cried. \"Has the proud young lady gone? Ha, ha, ha!\"\nshe laughed hysterically. \"And I had given him up to her! Why--why did\nI? Mad--mad! Get away, Rogojin! Ha, ha, ha!\"\n\nRogojin stared intently at them; then he took his hat, and without a\nword, left the room.\n\nA few moments later, the prince was seated by Nastasia on the sofa,\ngazing into her eyes and stroking her face and hair, as he would a\nlittle child's. He laughed when she laughed, and was ready to cry when\nshe cried. He did not speak, but listened to her excited, disconnected\nchatter, hardly understanding a word of it the while. No sooner did\nhe detect the slightest appearance of complaining, or weeping, or\nreproaching, than he would smile at her kindly, and begin stroking her\nhair and her cheeks, soothing and consoling her once more, as if she\nwere a child.\n\nIX.\n\nA fortnight had passed since the events recorded in the last chapter,\nand the position of the actors in our story had become so changed that\nit is almost impossible for us to continue the tale without some few\nexplanations. Yet we feel that we ought to limit ourselves to the simple\nrecord of facts, without much attempt at explanation, for a very patent\nreason: because we ourselves have the greatest possible difficulty in\naccounting for the facts to be recorded. Such a statement on our part\nmay appear strange to the reader. How is anyone to tell a story which he\ncannot understand himself? In order to keep clear of a false position,\nwe had perhaps better give an example of what we mean; and probably the\nintelligent reader will soon understand the difficulty. More especially\nare we inclined to take this course since the example will constitute a\ndistinct march forward of our story, and will not hinder the progress of\nthe events remaining to be recorded.\n\nDuring the next fortnight--that is, through the early part of July--the\nhistory of our hero was circulated in the form of strange, diverting,\nmost unlikely-sounding stories, which passed from mouth to mouth,\nthrough the streets and villas adjoining those inhabited by Lebedeff,\nPtitsin, Nastasia Philipovna and the Epanchins; in fact, pretty\nwell through the whole town and its environs. All society--both the\ninhabitants of the place and those who came down of an evening for the\nmusic--had got hold of one and the same story, in a thousand varieties\nof detail--as to how a certain young prince had raised a terrible\nscandal in a most respectable household, had thrown over a daughter of\nthe family, to whom he was engaged, and had been captured by a woman of\nshady reputation whom he was determined to marry at once--breaking off\nall old ties for the satisfaction of his insane idea; and, in spite of\nthe public indignation roused by his action, the marriage was to take\nplace in Pavlofsk openly and publicly, and the prince had announced his\nintention of going through with it with head erect and looking the whole\nworld in the face. The story was so artfully adorned with scandalous\ndetails, and persons of so great eminence and importance were\napparently mixed up in it, while, at the same time, the evidence was so\ncircumstantial, that it was no wonder the matter gave food for plenty of\ncuriosity and gossip.\n\nAccording to the reports of the most talented gossip-mongers--those who,\nin every class of society, are always in haste to explain every event\nto their neighbours--the young gentleman concerned was of good family--a\nprince--fairly rich--weak of intellect, but a democrat and a dabbler\nin the Nihilism of the period, as exposed by Mr. Turgenieff. He could\nhardly talk Russian, but had fallen in love with one of the Miss\nEpanchins, and his suit met with so much encouragement that he had been\nreceived in the house as the recognized bridegroom-to-be of the young\nlady. But like the Frenchman of whom the story is told that he studied\nfor holy orders, took all the oaths, was ordained priest, and next\nmorning wrote to his bishop informing him that, as he did not believe\nin God and considered it wrong to deceive the people and live upon their\npockets, he begged to surrender the orders conferred upon him the day\nbefore, and to inform his lordship that he was sending this letter to\nthe public press,--like this Frenchman, the prince played a false game.\nIt was rumoured that he had purposely waited for the solemn occasion of\na large evening party at the house of his future bride, at which he was\nintroduced to several eminent persons, in order publicly to make known\nhis ideas and opinions, and thereby insult the \"big-wigs,\" and to throw\nover his bride as offensively as possible; and that, resisting the\nservants who were told off to turn him out of the house, he had seized\nand thrown down a magnificent china vase. As a characteristic addition\nto the above, it was currently reported that the young prince really\nloved the lady to whom he was engaged, and had thrown her over out of\npurely Nihilistic motives, with the intention of giving himself the\nsatisfaction of marrying a fallen woman in the face of all the world,\nthereby publishing his opinion that there is no distinction between\nvirtuous and disreputable women, but that all women are alike, free; and\na \"fallen\" woman, indeed, somewhat superior to a virtuous one.\n\nIt was declared that he believed in no classes or anything else,\nexcepting \"the woman question.\"\n\nAll this looked likely enough, and was accepted as fact by most of the\ninhabitants of the place, especially as it was borne out, more or less,\nby daily occurrences.\n\nOf course much was said that could not be determined absolutely. For\ninstance, it was reported that the poor girl had so loved her future\nhusband that she had followed him to the house of the other woman, the\nday after she had been thrown over; others said that he had insisted on\nher coming, himself, in order to shame and insult her by his taunts and\nNihilistic confessions when she reached the house. However all\nthese things might be, the public interest in the matter grew\ndaily, especially as it became clear that the scandalous wedding was\nundoubtedly to take place.\n\nSo that if our readers were to ask an explanation, not of the wild\nreports about the prince's Nihilistic opinions, but simply as to how\nsuch a marriage could possibly satisfy his real aspirations, or as to\nthe spiritual condition of our hero at this time, we confess that we\nshould have great difficulty in giving the required information.\n\nAll we know is, that the marriage really was arranged, and that the\nprince had commissioned Lebedeff and Keller to look after all the\nnecessary business connected with it; that he had requested them to\nspare no expense; that Nastasia herself was hurrying on the wedding;\nthat Keller was to be the prince's best man, at his own earnest request;\nand that Burdovsky was to give Nastasia away, to his great delight. The\nwedding was to take place before the middle of July.\n\nBut, besides the above, we are cognizant of certain other undoubted\nfacts, which puzzle us a good deal because they seem flatly to\ncontradict the foregoing.\n\nWe suspect, for instance, that having commissioned Lebedeff and the\nothers, as above, the prince immediately forgot all about masters of\nceremonies and even the ceremony itself; and we feel quite certain that\nin making these arrangements he did so in order that he might absolutely\nescape all thought of the wedding, and even forget its approach if he\ncould, by detailing all business concerning it to others.\n\nWhat did he think of all this time, then? What did he wish for? There is\nno doubt that he was a perfectly free agent all through, and that as\nfar as Nastasia was concerned, there was no force of any kind brought\nto bear on him. Nastasia wished for a speedy marriage, true!--but the\nprince agreed at once to her proposals; he agreed, in fact, so casually\nthat anyone might suppose he was but acceding to the most simple and\nordinary suggestion.\n\nThere are many strange circumstances such as this before us; but in\nour opinion they do but deepen the mystery, and do not in the smallest\ndegree help us to understand the case.\n\nHowever, let us take one more example. Thus, we know for a fact that\nduring the whole of this fortnight the prince spent all his days and\nevenings with Nastasia; he walked with her, drove with her; he began to\nbe restless whenever he passed an hour without seeing her--in fact,\nto all appearances, he sincerely loved her. He would listen to her for\nhours at a time with a quiet smile on his face, scarcely saying a word\nhimself. And yet we know, equally certainly, that during this period he\nseveral times set off, suddenly, to the Epanchins', not concealing\nthe fact from Nastasia Philipovna, and driving the latter to absolute\ndespair. We know also that he was not received at the Epanchins' so long\nas they remained at Pavlofsk, and that he was not allowed an interview\nwith Aglaya;--but next day he would set off once more on the same\nerrand, apparently quite oblivious of the fact of yesterday's visit\nhaving been a failure,--and, of course, meeting with another refusal.\nWe know, too, that exactly an hour after Aglaya had fled from Nastasia\nPhilipovna's house on that fateful evening, the prince was at the\nEpanchins',--and that his appearance there had been the cause of the\ngreatest consternation and dismay; for Aglaya had not been home, and the\nfamily only discovered then, for the first time, that the two of them\nhad been to Nastasia's house together.\n\nIt was said that Elizabetha Prokofievna and her daughters had there and\nthen denounced the prince in the strongest terms, and had refused\nany further acquaintance and friendship with him; their rage and\ndenunciations being redoubled when Varia Ardalionovna suddenly arrived\nand stated that Aglaya had been at her house in a terrible state of mind\nfor the last hour, and that she refused to come home.\n\nThis last item of news, which disturbed Lizabetha Prokofievna more than\nanything else, was perfectly true. On leaving Nastasia's, Aglaya had\nfelt that she would rather die than face her people, and had therefore\ngone straight to Nina Alexandrovna's. On receiving the news, Lizabetha\nand her daughters and the general all rushed off to Aglaya, followed\nby Prince Lef Nicolaievitch--undeterred by his recent dismissal; but\nthrough Varia he was refused a sight of Aglaya here also. The end of the\nepisode was that when Aglaya saw her mother and sisters crying over her\nand not uttering a word of reproach, she had flung herself into their\narms and gone straight home with them.\n\nIt was said that Gania managed to make a fool of himself even on this\noccasion; for, finding himself alone with Aglaya for a minute or two\nwhen Varia had gone to the Epanchins', he had thought it a fitting\nopportunity to make a declaration of his love, and on hearing this\nAglaya, in spite of her state of mind at the time, had suddenly burst\nout laughing, and had put a strange question to him. She asked him\nwhether he would consent to hold his finger to a lighted candle in proof\nof his devotion! Gania--it was said--looked so comically bewildered that\nAglaya had almost laughed herself into hysterics, and had rushed out of\nthe room and upstairs,--where her parents had found her.\n\nHippolyte told the prince this last story, sending for him on purpose.\nWhen Muishkin heard about the candle and Gania's finger he had laughed\nso that he had quite astonished Hippolyte,--and then shuddered and burst\ninto tears. The prince's condition during those days was strange and\nperturbed. Hippolyte plainly declared that he thought he was out of his\nmind;--this, however, was hardly to be relied upon.\n\nOffering all these facts to our readers and refusing to explain them,\nwe do not for a moment desire to justify our hero's conduct. On the\ncontrary, we are quite prepared to feel our share of the indignation\nwhich his behaviour aroused in the hearts of his friends. Even Vera\nLebedeff was angry with him for a while; so was Colia; so was Keller,\nuntil he was selected for best man; so was Lebedeff himself,--who began\nto intrigue against him out of pure irritation;--but of this anon. In\nfact we are in full accord with certain forcible words spoken to the\nprince by Evgenie Pavlovitch, quite unceremoniously, during the course\nof a friendly conversation, six or seven days after the events at\nNastasia Philipovna's house.\n\nWe may remark here that not only the Epanchins themselves, but all who\nhad anything to do with them, thought it right to break with the prince\nin consequence of his conduct. Prince S. even went so far as to turn\naway and cut him dead in the street. But Evgenie Pavlovitch was not\nafraid to compromise himself by paying the prince a visit, and did so,\nin spite of the fact that he had recommenced to visit at the Epanchins',\nwhere he was received with redoubled hospitality and kindness after the\ntemporary estrangement.\n\nEvgenie called upon the prince the day after that on which the Epanchins\nleft Pavlofsk. He knew of all the current rumours,--in fact, he had\nprobably contributed to them himself. The prince was delighted to see\nhim, and immediately began to speak of the Epanchins;--which simple and\nstraightforward opening quite took Evgenie's fancy, so that he melted at\nonce, and plunged in medias res without ceremony.\n\nThe prince did not know, up to this, that the Epanchins had left the\nplace. He grew very pale on hearing the news; but a moment later he\nnodded his head, and said thoughtfully:\n\n\"I knew it was bound to be so.\" Then he added quickly:\n\n\"Where have they gone to?\"\n\nEvgenie meanwhile observed him attentively, and the rapidity of the\nquestions, their simplicity, the prince's candour, and at the same\ntime, his evident perplexity and mental agitation, surprised him\nconsiderably. However, he told Muishkin all he could, kindly and\nin detail. The prince hardly knew anything, for this was the first\ninformant from the household whom he had met since the estrangement.\n\nEvgenie reported that Aglaya had been really ill, and that for two\nnights she had not slept at all, owing to high fever; that now she was\nbetter and out of serious danger, but still in a nervous, hysterical\nstate.\n\n\"It's a good thing that there is peace in the house, at all events,\" he\ncontinued. \"They never utter a hint about the past, not only in Aglaya's\npresence, but even among themselves. The old people are talking of a\ntrip abroad in the autumn, immediately after Adelaida's wedding; Aglaya\nreceived the news in silence.\"\n\nEvgenie himself was very likely going abroad also; so were Prince S.\nand his wife, if affairs allowed of it; the general was to stay at home.\nThey were all at their estate of Colmina now, about twenty miles or so\nfrom St. Petersburg. Princess Bielokonski had not returned to Moscow\nyet, and was apparently staying on for reasons of her own. Lizabetha\nProkofievna had insisted that it was quite impossible to remain in\nPavlofsk after what had happened. Evgenie had told her of all the\nrumours current in town about the affair; so that there could be no talk\nof their going to their house on the Yelagin as yet.\n\n\"And in point of fact, prince,\" added Evgenie Pavlovitch, \"you must\nallow that they could hardly have stayed here, considering that they\nknew of all that went on at your place, and in the face of your daily\nvisits to their house, visits which you insisted upon making in spite of\ntheir refusal to see you.\"\n\n\"Yes--yes, quite so; you are quite right. I wished to see Aglaya\nIvanovna, you know!\" said the prince, nodding his head.\n\n\"Oh, my dear fellow,\" cried Evgenie, warmly, with real sorrow in his\nvoice, \"how could you permit all that to come about as it has? Of\ncourse, of course, I know it was all so unexpected. I admit that you,\nonly naturally, lost your head, and--and could not stop the foolish\ngirl; that was not in your power. I quite see so much; but you really\nshould have understood how seriously she cared for you. She could not\nbear to share you with another; and you could bring yourself to throw\naway and shatter such a treasure! Oh, prince, prince!\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, you are quite right again,\" said the poor prince, in anguish\nof mind. \"I was wrong, I know. But it was only Aglaya who looked on\nNastasia Philipovna so; no one else did, you know.\"\n\n\"But that's just the worst of it all, don't you see, that there was\nabsolutely nothing serious about the matter in reality!\" cried Evgenie,\nbeside himself: \"Excuse me, prince, but I have thought over all this; I\nhave thought a great deal over it; I know all that had happened before;\nI know all that took place six months since; and I know there was\n_nothing_ serious about the matter, it was but fancy, smoke, fantasy,\ndistorted by agitation, and only the alarmed jealousy of an absolutely\ninexperienced girl could possibly have mistaken it for serious reality.\"\n\nHere Evgenie Pavlovitch quite let himself go, and gave the reins to his\nindignation.\n\nClearly and reasonably, and with great psychological insight, he drew a\npicture of the prince's past relations with Nastasia Philipovna.\nEvgenie Pavlovitch always had a ready tongue, but on this occasion his\neloquence, surprised himself. \"From the very beginning,\" he said, \"you\nbegan with a lie; what began with a lie was bound to end with a lie;\nsuch is the law of nature. I do not agree, in fact I am angry, when I\nhear you called an idiot; you are far too intelligent to deserve such\nan epithet; but you are so far _strange_ as to be unlike others; that you\nmust allow, yourself. Now, I have come to the conclusion that the basis\nof all that has happened, has been first of all your innate inexperience\n(remark the expression 'innate,' prince). Then follows your unheard-of\nsimplicity of heart; then comes your absolute want of sense of\nproportion (to this want you have several times confessed); and lastly,\na mass, an accumulation, of intellectual convictions which you, in your\nunexampled honesty of soul, accept unquestionably as also innate and\nnatural and true. Admit, prince, that in your relations with Nastasia\nPhilipovna there has existed, from the very first, something democratic,\nand the fascination, so to speak, of the 'woman question'? I know all\nabout that scandalous scene at Nastasia Philipovna's house when Rogojin\nbrought the money, six months ago. I'll show you yourself as in a\nlooking-glass, if you like. I know exactly all that went on, in every\ndetail, and why things have turned out as they have. You thirsted, while\nin Switzerland, for your home-country, for Russia; you read, doubtless,\nmany books about Russia, excellent books, I dare say, but hurtful to\n_you_; and you arrived here; as it were, on fire with the longing to be\nof service. Then, on the very day of your arrival, they tell you a sad\nstory of an ill-used woman; they tell _you_, a knight, pure and without\nreproach, this tale of a poor woman! The same day you actually _see_\nher; you are attracted by her beauty, her fantastic, almost demoniacal,\nbeauty--(I admit her beauty, of course).\n\n\"Add to all this your nervous nature, your epilepsy, and your sudden\narrival in a strange town--the day of meetings and of exciting scenes,\nthe day of unexpected acquaintanceships, the day of sudden actions,\nthe day of meeting with the three lovely Epanchin girls, and among\nthem Aglaya--add your fatigue, your excitement; add Nastasia' s evening\nparty, and the tone of that party, and--what were you to expect of\nyourself at such a moment as that?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, yes!\" said the prince, once more, nodding his head, and\nblushing slightly. \"Yes, it was so, or nearly so--I know it. And\nbesides, you see, I had not slept the night before, in the train, or the\nnight before that, either, and I was very tired.\"\n\n\"Of course, of course, quite so; that's what I am driving at!\"\ncontinued Evgenie, excitedly. \"It is as clear as possible, and most\ncomprehensible, that you, in your enthusiasm, should plunge headlong\ninto the first chance that came of publicly airing your great idea that\nyou, a prince, and a pure-living man, did not consider a woman disgraced\nif the sin were not her own, but that of a disgusting social libertine!\nOh, heavens! it's comprehensible enough, my dear prince, but that is not\nthe question, unfortunately! The question is, was there any reality\nand truth in your feelings? Was it nature, or nothing but intellectual\nenthusiasm? What do you think yourself? We are told, of course, that a\nfar worse woman was _forgiven_, but we don't find that she was told that\nshe had done well, or that she was worthy of honour and respect! Did not\nyour common-sense show you what was the real state of the case, a few\nmonths later? The question is now, not whether she is an innocent woman\n(I do not insist one way or the other--I do not wish to); but can her\nwhole career justify such intolerable pride, such insolent, rapacious\negotism as she has shown? Forgive me, I am too violent, perhaps, but--\"\n\n\"Yes--I dare say it is all as you say; I dare say you are quite right,\"\nmuttered the prince once more. \"She is very sensitive and easily put\nout, of course; but still, she...\"\n\n\"She is worthy of sympathy? Is that what you wished to say, my good\nfellow? But then, for the mere sake of vindicating her worthiness of\nsympathy, you should not have insulted and offended a noble and generous\ngirl in her presence! This is a terrible exaggeration of sympathy! How\ncan you love a girl, and yet so humiliate her as to throw her over for\nthe sake of another woman, before the very eyes of that other woman,\nwhen you have already made her a formal proposal of marriage? And you\n_did_ propose to her, you know; you did so before her parents and sisters.\nCan you be an honest man, prince, if you act so? I ask you! And did you\nnot deceive that beautiful girl when you assured her of your love?\"\n\n\"Yes, you are quite right. Oh! I feel that I am very guilty!\" said\nMuishkin, in deepest distress.\n\n\"But as if that is enough!\" cried Evgenie, indignantly. \"As if it is\nenough simply to say: 'I know I am very guilty!' You are to blame, and\nyet you persevere in evil-doing. Where was your heart, I should like to\nknow, your _christian heart_, all that time? Did she look as though she\nwere suffering less, at that moment? You saw her face--was she suffering\nless than the other woman? How could you see her suffering and allow it\nto continue? How could you?\"\n\n\"But I did not allow it,\" murmured the wretched prince.\n\n\"How--what do you mean you didn't allow?\"\n\n\"Upon my word, I didn't! To this moment I don't know how it all\nhappened. I--I ran after Aglaya Ivanovna, but Nastasia Philipovna fell\ndown in a faint; and since that day they won't let me see Aglaya--that's\nall I know.\"\n\n\"It's all the same; you ought to have run after Aglaya though the other\nwas fainting.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, I ought--but I couldn't! She would have died--she would\nhave killed herself. You don't know her; and I should have told Aglaya\neverything afterwards--but I see, Evgenie Pavlovitch, you don't know\nall. Tell me now, why am I not allowed to see Aglaya? I should have\ncleared it all up, you know. Neither of them kept to the real point, you\nsee. I could never explain what I mean to you, but I think I could to\nAglaya. Oh! my God, my God! You spoke just now of Aglaya's face at the\nmoment when she ran away. Oh, my God! I remember it! Come along,\ncome along--quick!\" He pulled at Evgenie's coat-sleeve nervously and\nexcitedly, and rose from his chair.\n\n\"Where to?\"\n\n\"Come to Aglaya--quick, quick!\"\n\n\"But I told you she is not at Pavlofsk. And what would be the use if she\nwere?\"\n\n\"Oh, she'll understand, she'll understand!\" cried the prince, clasping\nhis hands. \"She would understand that all this is not the point--not a\nbit the real point--it is quite foreign to the real question.\"\n\n\"How can it be foreign? You _are_ going to be married, are you not? Very\nwell, then you are persisting in your course. _Are_ you going to marry her\nor not?\"\n\n\"Yes, I shall marry her--yes.\"\n\n\"Then why is it 'not the point'?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, it is not the point, not a bit. It makes no difference, my\nmarrying her--it means nothing.\"\n\n\"How 'means nothing'? You are talking nonsense, my friend. You are\nmarrying the woman you love in order to secure her happiness, and Aglaya\nsees and knows it. How can you say that it's 'not the point'?\"\n\n\"Her happiness? Oh, no! I am only marrying her--well, because she wished\nit. It means nothing--it's all the same. She would certainly have\ndied. I see now that that marriage with Rogojin was an insane idea. I\nunderstand all now that I did not understand before; and, do you know,\nwhen those two stood opposite to one another, I could not bear Nastasia\nPhilipovna's face! You must know, Evgenie Pavlovitch, I have never told\nanyone before--not even Aglaya--that I cannot bear Nastasia Philipovna's\nface.\" (He lowered his voice mysteriously as he said this.) \"You\ndescribed that evening at Nastasia Philipovna's (six months since) very\naccurately just now; but there is one thing which you did not mention,\nand of which you took no account, because you do not know. I mean her\n_face_--I looked at her face, you see. Even in the morning when I saw her\nportrait, I felt that I could not _bear_ to look at it. Now, there's Vera\nLebedeff, for instance, her eyes are quite different, you know. I'm\n_afraid_ of her face!\" he added, with real alarm.\n\n\"You are _afraid_ of it?\"\n\n\"Yes--she's mad!\" he whispered, growing pale.\n\n\"Do you know this for certain?\" asked Evgenie, with the greatest\ncuriosity.\n\n\"Yes, for certain--quite for certain, now! I have discovered it\n_absolutely_ for certain, these last few days.\"\n\n\"What are you doing, then?\" cried Evgenie, in horror. \"You must be\nmarrying her solely out of _fear_, then! I can't make head or tail of it,\nprince. Perhaps you don't even love her?\"\n\n\"Oh, no; I love her with all my soul. Why, she is a child! She's a child\nnow--a real child. Oh! you know nothing about it at all, I see.\"\n\n\"And are you assured, at the same time, that you love Aglaya too?\"\n\n\"Yes--yes--oh; yes!\"\n\n\"How so? Do you want to make out that you love them _both?_\"\n\n\"Yes--yes--both! I do!\"\n\n\"Excuse me, prince, but think what you are saying! Recollect yourself!\"\n\n\"Without Aglaya--I--I _must_ see Aglaya!--I shall die in my sleep very\nsoon--I thought I was dying in my sleep last night. Oh! if Aglaya only\nknew all--I mean really, _really_ all! Because she must know _all_--that's\nthe first condition towards understanding. Why cannot we ever know all\nabout another, especially when that other has been guilty? But I\ndon't know what I'm talking about--I'm so confused. You pained me so\ndreadfully. Surely--surely Aglaya has not the same expression now as\nshe had at the moment when she ran away? Oh, yes! I am guilty and I\nknow it--I know it! Probably I am in fault all round--I don't quite know\nhow--but I am in fault, no doubt. There is something else, but I cannot\nexplain it to you, Evgenie Pavlovitch. I have no words; but Aglaya will\nunderstand. I have always believed Aglaya will understand--I am assured\nshe will.\"\n\n\"No, prince, she will not. Aglaya loved like a woman, like a human\nbeing, not like an abstract spirit. Do you know what, my poor prince?\nThe most probable explanation of the matter is that you never loved\neither the one or the other in reality.\"\n\n\"I don't know--perhaps you are right in much that you have said, Evgenie\nPavlovitch. You are very wise, Evgenie Pavlovitch--oh! how my head is\nbeginning to ache again! Come to her, quick--for God's sake, come!\"\n\n\"But I tell you she is not in Pavlofsk! She's in Colmina.\"\n\n\"Oh, come to Colmina, then! Come--let us go at once!\"\n\n\"No--no, impossible!\" said Evgenie, rising.\n\n\"Look here--I'll write a letter--take a letter for me!\"\n\n\"No--no, prince; you must forgive me, but I can't undertake any such\ncommissions! I really can't.\"\n\nAnd so they parted.\n\nEvgenie Pavlovitch left the house with strange convictions. He, too,\nfelt that the prince must be out of his mind.\n\n\"And what did he mean by that _face_--a face which he so fears, and yet\nso loves? And meanwhile he really may die, as he says, without seeing\nAglaya, and she will never know how devotedly he loves her! Ha, ha, ha!\nHow does the fellow manage to love two of them? Two different kinds of\nlove, I suppose! This is very interesting--poor idiot! What on earth\nwill become of him now?\"\n\nX.\n\nThe prince did not die before his wedding--either by day or night, as\nhe had foretold that he might. Very probably he passed disturbed nights,\nand was afflicted with bad dreams; but, during the daytime, among his\nfellow-men, he seemed as kind as ever, and even contented; only a little\nthoughtful when alone.\n\nThe wedding was hurried on. The day was fixed for exactly a week after\nEvgenie's visit to the prince. In the face of such haste as this,\neven the prince's best friends (if he had had any) would have felt the\nhopelessness of any attempt to save \"the poor madman.\" Rumour said that\nin the visit of Evgenie Pavlovitch was to be discerned the influence of\nLizabetha Prokofievna and her husband... But if those good souls, in\nthe boundless kindness of their hearts, were desirous of saving the\neccentric young fellow from ruin, they were unable to take any stronger\nmeasures to attain that end. Neither their position, nor their private\ninclination, perhaps (and only naturally), would allow them to use any\nmore pronounced means.\n\nWe have observed before that even some of the prince's nearest\nneighbours had begun to oppose him. Vera Lebedeff's passive disagreement\nwas limited to the shedding of a few solitary tears; to more frequent\nsitting alone at home, and to a diminished frequency in her visits to\nthe prince's apartments.\n\nColia was occupied with his father at this time. The old man died during\na second stroke, which took place just eight days after the first. The\nprince showed great sympathy in the grief of the family, and during the\nfirst days of their mourning he was at the house a great deal with Nina\nAlexandrovna. He went to the funeral, and it was observable that the\npublic assembled in church greeted his arrival and departure with\nwhisperings, and watched him closely.\n\nThe same thing happened in the park and in the street, wherever he went.\nHe was pointed out when he drove by, and he often overheard the name of\nNastasia Philipovna coupled with his own as he passed. People looked\nout for her at the funeral, too, but she was not there; and another\nconspicuous absentee was the captain's widow, whom Lebedeff had\nprevented from coming.\n\nThe funeral service produced a great effect on the prince. He whispered\nto Lebedeff that this was the first time he had ever heard a Russian\nfuneral service since he was a little boy. Observing that he was looking\nabout him uneasily, Lebedeff asked him whom he was seeking.\n\n\"Nothing. I only thought I--\"\n\n\"Is it Rogojin?\"\n\n\"Why--is he here?\"\n\n\"Yes, he's in church.\"\n\n\"I thought I caught sight of his eyes!\" muttered the prince, in\nconfusion. \"But what of it!--Why is he here? Was he asked?\"\n\n\"Oh, dear, no! Why, they don't even know him! Anyone can come in, you\nknow. Why do you look so amazed? I often meet him; I've seen him at\nleast four times, here at Pavlofsk, within the last week.\"\n\n\"I haven't seen him once--since that day!\" the prince murmured.\n\nAs Nastasia Philipovna had not said a word about having met Rogojin\nsince \"that day,\" the prince concluded that the latter had his own\nreasons for wishing to keep out of sight. All the day of the funeral our\nhero was in a deeply thoughtful state, while Nastasia Philipovna was\nparticularly merry, both in the daytime and in the evening.\n\nColia had made it up with the prince before his father's death, and it\nwas he who urged him to make use of Keller and Burdovsky, promising\nto answer himself for the former's behaviour. Nina Alexandrovna and\nLebedeff tried to persuade him to have the wedding in St. Petersburg,\ninstead of in the public fashion contemplated, down here at Pavlofsk\nin the height of the season. But the prince only said that Nastasia\nPhilipovna desired to have it so, though he saw well enough what\nprompted their arguments.\n\nThe next day Keller came to visit the prince. He was in a high state of\ndelight with the post of honour assigned to him at the wedding.\n\nBefore entering he stopped on the threshold, raised his hand as if\nmaking a solemn vow, and cried:\n\n\"I won't drink!\"\n\nThen he went up to the prince, seized both his hands, shook them warmly,\nand declared that he had at first felt hostile towards the project of\nthis marriage, and had openly said so in the billiard-rooms, but that\nthe reason simply was that, with the impatience of a friend, he had\nhoped to see the prince marry at least a Princess de Rohan or de Chabot;\nbut that now he saw that the prince's way of thinking was ten times more\nnoble than that of \"all the rest put together.\" For he desired neither\npomp nor wealth nor honour, but only the truth! The sympathies of\nexalted personages were well known, and the prince was too highly\nplaced by his education, and so on, not to be in some sense an exalted\npersonage!\n\n\"But all the common herd judge differently; in the town, at\nthe meetings, in the villas, at the band, in the inns and the\nbilliard-rooms, the coming event has only to be mentioned and there are\nshouts and cries from everybody. I have even heard talk of getting up a\n'charivari' under the windows on the wedding-night. So if 'you have need\nof the pistol' of an honest man, prince, I am ready to fire half a dozen\nshots even before you rise from your nuptial couch!\"\n\nKeller also advised, in anticipation of the crowd making a rush after\nthe ceremony, that a fire-hose should be placed at the entrance to the\nhouse; but Lebedeff was opposed to this measure, which he said might\nresult in the place being pulled down.\n\n\"I assure you, prince, that Lebedeff is intriguing against you. He wants\nto put you under control. Imagine that! To take 'from you the use of\nyour free-will and your money--that' is to say, the two things that\ndistinguish us from the animals! I have heard it said positively. It is\nthe sober truth.\"\n\nThe prince recollected that somebody had told him something of the kind\nbefore, and he had, of course, scoffed at it. He only laughed now, and\nforgot the hint at once.\n\nLebedeff really had been busy for some little while; but, as usual, his\nplans had become too complex to succeed, through sheer excess of ardour.\nWhen he came to the prince--the very day before the wedding--to confess\n(for he always confessed to the persons against whom he intrigued,\nespecially when the plan failed), he informed our hero that he himself\nwas a born Talleyrand, but for some unknown reason had become simple\nLebedeff. He then proceeded to explain his whole game to the prince,\ninteresting the latter exceedingly.\n\nAccording to Lebedeff's account, he had first tried what he could do\nwith General Epanchin. The latter informed him that he wished well to\nthe unfortunate young man, and would gladly do what he could to \"save\nhim,\" but that he did not think it would be seemly for him to interfere\nin this matter. Lizabetha Prokofievna would neither hear nor see him.\nPrince S. and Evgenie Pavlovitch only shrugged their shoulders, and\nimplied that it was no business of theirs. However, Lebedeff had not\nlost heart, and went off to a clever lawyer,--a worthy and respectable\nman, whom he knew well. This old gentleman informed him that the thing\nwas perfectly feasible if he could get hold of competent witnesses as\nto Muishkin's mental incapacity. Then, with the assistance of a few\ninfluential persons, he would soon see the matter arranged.\n\nLebedeff immediately procured the services of an old doctor, and carried\nthe latter away to Pavlofsk to see the prince, by way of viewing the\nground, as it were, and to give him (Lebedeff) counsel as to whether\nthe thing was to be done or not. The visit was not to be official, but\nmerely friendly.\n\nMuishkin remembered the doctor's visit quite well. He remembered that\nLebedeff had said that he looked ill, and had better see a doctor; and\nalthough the prince scouted the idea, Lebedeff had turned up almost\nimmediately with his old friend, explaining that they had just met at\nthe bedside of Hippolyte, who was very ill, and that the doctor had\nsomething to tell the prince about the sick man.\n\nThe prince had, of course, at once received him, and had plunged into\na conversation about Hippolyte. He had given the doctor an account of\nHippolyte's attempted suicide; and had proceeded thereafter to talk of\nhis own malady,--of Switzerland, of Schneider, and so on; and so\ndeeply was the old man interested by the prince's conversation and his\ndescription of Schneider's system, that he sat on for two hours.\n\nMuishkin gave him excellent cigars to smoke, and Lebedeff, for his part,\nregaled him with liqueurs, brought in by Vera, to whom the doctor--a\nmarried man and the father of a family--addressed such compliments that\nshe was filled with indignation. They parted friends, and, after leaving\nthe prince, the doctor said to Lebedeff: \"If all such people were put\nunder restraint, there would be no one left for keepers.\" Lebedeff then,\nin tragic tones, told of the approaching marriage, whereupon the other\nnodded his head and replied that, after all, marriages like that were\nnot so rare; that he had heard that the lady was very fascinating and of\nextraordinary beauty, which was enough to explain the infatuation of a\nwealthy man; that, further, thanks to the liberality of Totski and of\nRogojin, she possessed--so he had heard--not only money, but pearls,\ndiamonds, shawls, and furniture, and consequently she could not be\nconsidered a bad match. In brief, it seemed to the doctor that the\nprince's choice, far from being a sign of foolishness, denoted, on the\ncontrary, a shrewd, calculating, and practical mind. Lebedeff had been\nmuch struck by this point of view, and he terminated his confession\nby assuring the prince that he was ready, if need be, to shed his very\nlife's blood for him.\n\nHippolyte, too, was a source of some distraction to the prince at this\ntime; he would send for him at any and every hour of the day. They\nlived,--Hippolyte and his mother and the children,--in a small house not\nfar off, and the little ones were happy, if only because they were able\nto escape from the invalid into the garden. The prince had enough to do\nin keeping the peace between the irritable Hippolyte and his mother, and\neventually the former became so malicious and sarcastic on the subject\nof the approaching wedding, that Muishkin took offence at last, and\nrefused to continue his visits.\n\nA couple of days later, however, Hippolyte's mother came with tears in\nher eyes, and begged the prince to come back, \"or _he_ would eat her up\nbodily.\" She added that Hippolyte had a great secret to disclose. Of\ncourse the prince went. There was no secret, however, unless we reckon\ncertain pantings and agitated glances around (probably all put on) as\nthe invalid begged his visitor to \"beware of Rogojin.\"\n\n\"He is the sort of man,\" he continued, \"who won't give up his object,\nyou know; he is not like you and me, prince--he belongs to quite a\ndifferent order of beings. If he sets his heart on a thing he won't be\nafraid of anything--\" and so on.\n\nHippolyte was very ill, and looked as though he could not long survive.\nHe was tearful at first, but grew more and more sarcastic and malicious\nas the interview proceeded.\n\nThe prince questioned him in detail as to his hints about Rogojin. He\nwas anxious to seize upon some facts which might confirm Hippolyte's\nvague warnings; but there were none; only Hippolyte's own private\nimpressions and feelings.\n\nHowever, the invalid--to his immense satisfaction--ended by seriously\nalarming the prince.\n\nAt first Muishkin had not cared to make any reply to his sundry\nquestions, and only smiled in response to Hippolyte's advice to \"run for\nhis life--abroad, if necessary. There are Russian priests everywhere,\nand one can get married all over the world.\"\n\nBut it was Hippolyte's last idea which upset him.\n\n\"What I am really alarmed about, though,\" he said, \"is Aglaya Ivanovna.\nRogojin knows how you love her. Love for love. You took Nastasia\nPhilipovna from him. He will murder Aglaya Ivanovna; for though she is\nnot yours, of course, now, still such an act would pain you,--wouldn't\nit?\"\n\nHe had attained his end. The prince left the house beside himself with\nterror.\n\nThese warnings about Rogojin were expressed on the day before the\nwedding. That evening the prince saw Nastasia Philipovna for the last\ntime before they were to meet at the altar; but Nastasia was not in a\nposition to give him any comfort or consolation. On the contrary, she\nonly added to his mental perturbation as the evening went on. Up to this\ntime she had invariably done her best to cheer him--she was afraid of\nhis looking melancholy; she would try singing to him, and telling him\nevery sort of funny story or reminiscence that she could recall. The\nprince nearly always pretended to be amused, whether he were so\nactually or no; but often enough he laughed sincerely, delighted by the\nbrilliancy of her wit when she was carried away by her narrative, as she\nvery often was. Nastasia would be wild with joy to see the impression\nshe had made, and to hear his laugh of real amusement; and she would\nremain the whole evening in a state of pride and happiness. But this\nevening her melancholy and thoughtfulness grew with every hour.\n\nThe prince had told Evgenie Pavlovitch with perfect sincerity that he\nloved Nastasia Philipovna with all his soul. In his love for her there\nwas the sort of tenderness one feels for a sick, unhappy child which\ncannot be left alone. He never spoke of his feelings for Nastasia\nto anyone, not even to herself. When they were together they never\ndiscussed their \"feelings,\" and there was nothing in their cheerful,\nanimated conversation which an outsider could not have heard. Daria\nAlexeyevna, with whom Nastasia was staying, told afterwards how she had\nbeen filled with joy and delight only to look at them, all this time.\n\nThanks to the manner in which he regarded Nastasia's mental and moral\ncondition, the prince was to some extent freed from other perplexities.\nShe was now quite different from the woman he had known three months\nbefore. He was not astonished, for instance, to see her now so impatient\nto marry him--she who formerly had wept with rage and hurled curses and\nreproaches at him if he mentioned marriage! \"It shows that she no longer\nfears, as she did then, that she would make me unhappy by marrying me,\"\nhe thought. And he felt sure that so sudden a change could not be a\nnatural one. This rapid growth of self-confidence could not be due only\nto her hatred for Aglaya. To suppose that would be to suspect the depth\nof her feelings. Nor could it arise from dread of the fate that awaited\nher if she married Rogojin. These causes, indeed, as well as others,\nmight have played a part in it, but the true reason, Muishkin decided,\nwas the one he had long suspected--that the poor sick soul had come to\nthe end of its forces. Yet this was an explanation that did not procure\nhim any peace of mind. At times he seemed to be making violent efforts\nto think of nothing, and one would have said that he looked on his\nmarriage as an unimportant formality, and on his future happiness as a\nthing not worth considering. As to conversations such as the one held\nwith Evgenie Pavlovitch, he avoided them as far as possible, feeling\nthat there were certain objections to which he could make no answer.\n\nThe prince had observed that Nastasia knew well enough what Aglaya was\nto him. He never spoke of it, but he had seen her face when she had\ncaught him starting off for the Epanchins' house on several occasions.\nWhen the Epanchins left Pavlofsk, she had beamed with radiance and\nhappiness. Unsuspicious and unobservant as he was, he had feared at that\ntime that Nastasia might have some scheme in her mind for a scene or\nscandal which would drive Aglaya out of Pavlofsk. She had encouraged\nthe rumours and excitement among the inhabitants of the place as to her\nmarriage with the prince, in order to annoy her rival; and, finding\nit difficult to meet the Epanchins anywhere, she had, on one occasion,\ntaken him for a drive past their house. He did not observe what was\nhappening until they were almost passing the windows, when it was too\nlate to do anything. He said nothing, but for two days afterwards he was\nill.\n\nNastasia did not try that particular experiment again. A few days before\nthat fixed for the wedding, she grew grave and thoughtful. She always\nended by getting the better of her melancholy, and becoming merry and\ncheerful again, but not quite so unaffectedly happy as she had been some\ndays earlier.\n\nThe prince redoubled his attentive study of her symptoms. It was a most\ncurious circumstance, in his opinion, that she never spoke of Rogojin.\nBut once, about five days before the wedding, when the prince was at\nhome, a messenger arrived begging him to come at once, as Nastasia\nPhilipovna was very ill.\n\nHe had found her in a condition approaching to absolute madness. She\nscreamed, and trembled, and cried out that Rogojin was hiding out there\nin the garden--that she had seen him herself--and that he would murder\nher in the night--that he would cut her throat. She was terribly\nagitated all day. But it so happened that the prince called at\nHippolyte's house later on, and heard from his mother that she had been\nin town all day, and had there received a visit from Rogojin, who had\nmade inquiries about Pavlofsk. On inquiry, it turned out that Rogojin\nvisited the old lady in town at almost the same moment when Nastasia\ndeclared that she had seen him in the garden; so that the whole thing\nturned out to be an illusion on her part. Nastasia immediately went\nacross to Hippolyte's to inquire more accurately, and returned immensely\nrelieved and comforted.\n\nOn the day before the wedding, the prince left Nastasia in a state of\ngreat animation. Her wedding-dress and all sorts of finery had just\narrived from town. Muishkin had not imagined that she would be so\nexcited over it, but he praised everything, and his praise rendered her\ndoubly happy.\n\nBut Nastasia could not hide the cause of her intense interest in her\nwedding splendour. She had heard of the indignation in the town, and\nknew that some of the populace was getting up a sort of charivari with\nmusic, that verses had been composed for the occasion, and that the\nrest of Pavlofsk society more or less encouraged these preparations. So,\nsince attempts were being made to humiliate her, she wanted to hold her\nhead even higher than usual, and to overwhelm them all with the beauty\nand taste of her toilette. \"Let them shout and whistle, if they dare!\"\nHer eyes flashed at the thought. But, underneath this, she had another\nmotive, of which she did not speak. She thought that possibly Aglaya,\nor at any rate someone sent by her, would be present incognito at\nthe ceremony, or in the crowd, and she wished to be prepared for this\neventuality.\n\nThe prince left her at eleven, full of these thoughts, and went home.\nBut it was not twelve o'clock when a messenger came to say that Nastasia\nwas very bad, and he must come at once.\n\nOn hurrying back he found his bride locked up in her own room and could\nhear her hysterical cries and sobs. It was some time before she could be\nmade to hear that the prince had come, and then she opened the door only\njust sufficiently to let him in, and immediately locked it behind him.\nShe then fell on her knees at his feet. (So at least Dana Alexeyevna\nreported.)\n\n\"What am I doing? What am I doing to you?\" she sobbed convulsively,\nembracing his knees.\n\nThe prince was a whole hour soothing and comforting her, and left her,\nat length, pacified and composed. He sent another messenger during the\nnight to inquire after her, and two more next morning. The last\nbrought back a message that Nastasia was surrounded by a whole army of\ndressmakers and maids, and was as happy and as busy as such a beauty\nshould be on her wedding morning, and that there was not a vestige of\nyesterday's agitation remaining. The message concluded with the\nnews that at the moment of the bearer's departure there was a great\nconfabulation in progress as to which diamonds were to be worn, and how.\n\nThis message entirely calmed the prince's mind.\n\nThe following report of the proceedings on the wedding day may be\ndepended upon, as coming from eye-witnesses.\n\nThe wedding was fixed for eight o'clock in the evening. Nastasia\nPhilipovna was ready at seven. From six o'clock groups of people began\nto gather at Nastasia's house, at the prince's, and at the church door,\nbut more especially at the former place. The church began to fill at\nseven.\n\nColia and Vera Lebedeff were very anxious on the prince's account, but\nthey were so busy over the arrangements for receiving the guests after\nthe wedding, that they had not much time for the indulgence of personal\nfeelings.\n\nThere were to be very few guests besides the best men and so on; only\nDana Alexeyevna, the Ptitsins, Gania, and the doctor. When the prince\nasked Lebedeff why he had invited the doctor, who was almost a stranger,\nLebedeff replied:\n\n\"Why, he wears an 'order,' and it looks so well!\"\n\nThis idea amused the prince.\n\nKeller and Burdovsky looked wonderfully correct in their dress-coats and\nwhite kid gloves, although Keller caused the bridegroom some alarm by\nhis undisguisedly hostile glances at the gathering crowd of sight-seers\noutside.\n\nAt about half-past seven the prince started for the church in his\ncarriage.\n\nWe may remark here that he seemed anxious not to omit a single one of\nthe recognized customs and traditions observed at weddings. He wished\nall to be done as openly as possible, and \"in due order.\"\n\nArrived at the church, Muishkin, under Keller's guidance, passed\nthrough the crowd of spectators, amid continuous whispering and excited\nexclamations. The prince stayed near the altar, while Keller made off\nonce more to fetch the bride.\n\nOn reaching the gate of Daria Alexeyevna's house, Keller found a far\ndenser crowd than he had encountered at the prince's. The remarks and\nexclamations of the spectators here were of so irritating a nature that\nKeller was very near making them a speech on the impropriety of their\nconduct, but was luckily caught by Burdovsky, in the act of turning to\naddress them, and hurried indoors.\n\nNastasia Philipovna was ready. She rose from her seat, looked into the\nglass and remarked, as Keller told the tale afterwards, that she was \"as\npale as a corpse.\" She then bent her head reverently, before the ikon in\nthe corner, and left the room.\n\nA torrent of voices greeted her appearance at the front door. The crowd\nwhistled, clapped its hands, and laughed and shouted; but in a moment or\ntwo isolated voices were distinguishable.\n\n\"What a beauty!\" cried one.\n\n\"Well, she isn't the first in the world, nor the last,\" said another.\n\n\"Marriage covers everything,\" observed a third.\n\n\"I defy you to find another beauty like that,\" said a fourth.\n\n\"She's a real princess! I'd sell my soul for such a princess as that!\"\n\nNastasia came out of the house looking as white as any handkerchief; but\nher large dark eyes shone upon the vulgar crowd like blazing coals.\nThe spectators' cries were redoubled, and became more exultant and\ntriumphant every moment. The door of the carriage was open, and Keller\nhad given his hand to the bride to help her in, when suddenly with\na loud cry she rushed from him, straight into the surging crowd. Her\nfriends about her were stupefied with amazement; the crowd parted as she\nrushed through it, and suddenly, at a distance of five or six yards\nfrom the carriage, appeared Rogojin. It was his look that had caught her\neyes.\n\nNastasia rushed to him like a madwoman, and seized both his hands.\n\n\"Save me!\" she cried. \"Take me away, anywhere you like, quick!\"\n\nRogojin seized her in his arms and almost carried her to the carriage.\nThen, in a flash, he tore a hundred-rouble note out of his pocket and\nheld it to the coachman.\n\n\"To the station, quick! If you catch the train you shall have another.\nQuick!\"\n\nHe leaped into the carriage after Nastasia and banged the door. The\ncoachman did not hesitate a moment; he whipped up the horses, and they\nwere off.\n\n\"One more second and I should have stopped him,\" said Keller,\nafterwards. In fact, he and Burdovsky jumped into another carriage and\nset off in pursuit; but it struck them as they drove along that it was\nnot much use trying to bring Nastasia back by force.\n\n\"Besides,\" said Burdovsky, \"the prince would not like it, would he?\" So\nthey gave up the pursuit.\n\nRogojin and Nastasia Philipovna reached the station just in time for the\ntrain. As he jumped out of the carriage and was almost on the point\nof entering the train, Rogojin accosted a young girl standing on the\nplatform and wearing an old-fashioned, but respectable-looking, black\ncloak and a silk handkerchief over her head.\n\n\"Take fifty roubles for your cloak?\" he shouted, holding the money\nout to the girl. Before the astonished young woman could collect her\nscattered senses, he pushed the money into her hand, seized the mantle,\nand threw it and the handkerchief over Nastasia's head and shoulders.\nThe latter's wedding-array would have attracted too much attention, and\nit was not until some time later that the girl understood why her old\ncloak and kerchief had been bought at such a price.\n\nThe news of what had happened reached the church with extraordinary\nrapidity. When Keller arrived, a host of people whom he did not know\nthronged around to ask him questions. There was much excited talking,\nand shaking of heads, even some laughter; but no one left the church,\nall being anxious to observe how the now celebrated bridegroom would\ntake the news. He grew very pale upon hearing it, but took it quite\nquietly.\n\n\"I was afraid,\" he muttered, scarcely audibly, \"but I hardly thought it\nwould come to this.\" Then after a short silence, he added: \"However, in\nher state, it is quite consistent with the natural order of things.\"\n\nEven Keller admitted afterwards that this was \"extraordinarily\nphilosophical\" on the prince's part. He left the church quite calm, to\nall appearances, as many witnesses were found to declare afterwards. He\nseemed anxious to reach home and be left alone as quickly as possible;\nbut this was not to be. He was accompanied by nearly all the invited\nguests, and besides this, the house was almost besieged by excited bands\nof people, who insisted upon being allowed to enter the verandah. The\nprince heard Keller and Lebedeff remonstrating and quarrelling with\nthese unknown individuals, and soon went out himself. He approached\nthe disturbers of his peace, requested courteously to be told what was\ndesired; then politely putting Lebedeff and Keller aside, he addressed\nan old gentleman who was standing on the verandah steps at the head of\nthe band of would-be guests, and courteously requested him to honour him\nwith a visit. The old fellow was quite taken aback by this, but entered,\nfollowed by a few more, who tried to appear at their ease. The rest\nremained outside, and presently the whole crowd was censuring those who\nhad accepted the invitation. The prince offered seats to his strange\nvisitors, tea was served, and a general conversation sprang up.\nEverything was done most decorously, to the considerable surprise of the\nintruders. A few tentative attempts were made to turn the conversation\nto the events of the day, and a few indiscreet questions were asked; but\nMuishkin replied to everybody with such simplicity and good-humour, and\nat the same time with so much dignity, and showed such confidence in the\ngood breeding of his guests, that the indiscreet talkers were quickly\nsilenced. By degrees the conversation became almost serious. One\ngentleman suddenly exclaimed, with great vehemence: \"Whatever happens,\nI shall not sell my property; I shall wait. Enterprise is better than\nmoney, and there, sir, you have my whole system of economy, if you\nwish!\" He addressed the prince, who warmly commended his sentiments,\nthough Lebedeff whispered in his ear that this gentleman, who talked so\nmuch of his \"property,\" had never had either house or home.\n\nNearly an hour passed thus, and when tea was over the visitors seemed to\nthink that it was time to go. As they went out, the doctor and the old\ngentleman bade Muishkin a warm farewell, and all the rest took their\nleave with hearty protestations of good-will, dropping remarks to the\neffect that \"it was no use worrying,\" and that \"perhaps all would turn\nout for the best,\" and so on. Some of the younger intruders would have\nasked for champagne, but they were checked by the older ones. When all\nhad departed, Keller leaned over to Lebedeff, and said:\n\n\"With you and me there would have been a scene. We should have shouted\nand fought, and called in the police. But he has simply made some new\nfriends--and such friends, too! I know them!\"\n\nLebedeff, who was slightly intoxicated, answered with a sigh:\n\n\"Things are hidden from the wise and prudent, and revealed unto babes.\nI have applied those words to him before, but now I add that God has\npreserved the babe himself from the abyss, He and all His saints.\"\n\nAt last, about half-past ten, the prince was left alone. His head ached.\nColia was the last to go, after having helped him to change his wedding\nclothes. They parted on affectionate terms, and, without speaking of\nwhat had happened, Colia promised to come very early the next day. He\nsaid later that the prince had given no hint of his intentions when they\nsaid good-bye, but had hidden them even from him. Soon there was hardly\nanyone left in the house. Burdovsky had gone to see Hippolyte; Keller\nand Lebedeff had wandered off together somewhere.\n\nOnly Vera Lebedeff remained hurriedly rearranging the furniture in\nthe rooms. As she left the verandah, she glanced at the prince. He was\nseated at the table, with both elbows upon it, and his head resting\non his hands. She approached him, and touched his shoulder gently.\nThe prince started and looked at her in perplexity; he seemed to be\ncollecting his senses for a minute or so, before he could remember where\nhe was. As recollection dawned upon him, he became violently agitated.\nAll he did, however, was to ask Vera very earnestly to knock at his door\nand awake him in time for the first train to Petersburg next morning.\nVera promised, and the prince entreated her not to tell anyone of his\nintention. She promised this, too; and at last, when she had half-closed\nthe door, he called her back a third time, took her hands in his, kissed\nthem, then kissed her forehead, and in a rather peculiar manner said to\nher, \"Until tomorrow!\"\n\nSuch was Vera's story afterwards.\n\nShe went away in great anxiety about him, but when she saw him in the\nmorning, he seemed to be quite himself again, greeted her with a smile,\nand told her that he would very likely be back by the evening. It\nappears that he did not consider it necessary to inform anyone excepting\nVera of his departure for town.\n\nXI.\n\nAn hour later he was in St. Petersburg, and by ten o'clock he had rung\nthe bell at Rogojin's.\n\nHe had gone to the front door, and was kept waiting a long while before\nanyone came. At last the door of old Mrs. Rogojin's flat was opened, and\nan aged servant appeared.\n\n\"Parfen Semionovitch is not at home,\" she announced from the doorway.\n\"Whom do you want?\"\n\n\"Parfen Semionovitch.\"\n\n\"He is not in.\"\n\nThe old woman examined the prince from head to foot with great\ncuriosity.\n\n\"At all events tell me whether he slept at home last night, and whether\nhe came alone?\"\n\nThe old woman continued to stare at him, but said nothing.\n\n\"Was not Nastasia Philipovna here with him, yesterday evening?\"\n\n\"And, pray, who are you yourself?\"\n\n\"Prince Lef Nicolaievitch Muishkin; he knows me well.\"\n\n\"He is not at home.\"\n\nThe woman lowered her eyes.\n\n\"And Nastasia Philipovna?\"\n\n\"I know nothing about it.\"\n\n\"Stop a minute! When will he come back?\"\n\n\"I don't know that either.\"\n\nThe door was shut with these words, and the old woman disappeared. The\nprince decided to come back within an hour. Passing out of the house, he\nmet the porter.\n\n\"Is Parfen Semionovitch at home?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Why did they tell me he was not at home, then?\" \"Where did they tell\nyou so,--at his door?\" \"No, at his mother's flat; I rang at Parfen\nSemionovitch's door and nobody came.\"\n\n\"Well, he may have gone out. I can't tell. Sometimes he takes the keys\nwith him, and leaves the rooms empty for two or three days.\"\n\n\"Do you know for certain that he was at home last night?\"\n\n\"Yes, he was.\"\n\n\"Was Nastasia Philipovna with him?\"\n\n\"I don't know; she doesn't come often. I think I should have known if\nshe had come.\"\n\nThe prince went out deep in thought, and walked up and down the pavement\nfor some time. The windows of all the rooms occupied by Rogojin were\nclosed, those of his mother's apartments were open. It was a hot, bright\nday. The prince crossed the road in order to have a good look at the\nwindows again; not only were Rogojin's closed, but the white blinds were\nall down as well.\n\nHe stood there for a minute and then, suddenly and strangely enough, it\nseemed to him that a little corner of one of the blinds was lifted,\nand Rogojin's face appeared for an instant and then vanished. He waited\nanother minute, and decided to go and ring the bell once more; however,\nhe thought better of it again and put it off for an hour.\n\nThe chief object in his mind at this moment was to get as quickly as\nhe could to Nastasia Philipovna's lodging. He remembered that, not long\nsince, when she had left Pavlofsk at his request, he had begged her\nto put up in town at the house of a respectable widow, who had\nwell-furnished rooms to let, near the Ismailofsky barracks. Probably\nNastasia had kept the rooms when she came down to Pavlofsk this last\ntime; and most likely she would have spent the night in them, Rogojin\nhaving taken her straight there from the station.\n\nThe prince took a droshky. It struck him as he drove on that he ought\nto have begun by coming here, since it was most improbable that Rogojin\nshould have taken Nastasia to his own house last night. He remembered\nthat the porter said she very rarely came at all, so that it was still\nless likely that she would have gone there so late at night.\n\nVainly trying to comfort himself with these reflections, the prince\nreached the Ismailofsky barracks more dead than alive.\n\nTo his consternation the good people at the lodgings had not only heard\nnothing of Nastasia, but all came out to look at him as if he were a\nmarvel of some sort. The whole family, of all ages, surrounded him, and\nhe was begged to enter. He guessed at once that they knew perfectly well\nwho he was, and that yesterday ought to have been his wedding-day; and\nfurther that they were dying to ask about the wedding, and especially\nabout why he should be here now, inquiring for the woman who in all\nreasonable human probability might have been expected to be with him in\nPavlofsk.\n\nHe satisfied their curiosity, in as few words as possible, with regard\nto the wedding, but their exclamations and sighs were so numerous and\nsincere that he was obliged to tell the whole story--in a short form,\nof course. The advice of all these agitated ladies was that the prince\nshould go at once and knock at Rogojin's until he was let in: and when\nlet in insist upon a substantial explanation of everything. If Rogojin\nwas really not at home, the prince was advised to go to a certain house,\nthe address of which was given, where lived a German lady, a friend of\nNastasia Philipovna's. It was possible that she might have spent the\nnight there in her anxiety to conceal herself.\n\nThe prince rose from his seat in a condition of mental collapse. The\ngood ladies reported afterwards that \"his pallor was terrible to see,\nand his legs seemed to give way underneath him.\" With difficulty he was\nmade to understand that his new friends would be glad of his address, in\norder to act with him if possible. After a moment's thought he gave the\naddress of the small hotel, on the stairs of which he had had a fit some\nfive weeks since. He then set off once more for Rogojin's.\n\nThis time they neither opened the door at Rogojin's flat nor at the one\nopposite. The prince found the porter with difficulty, but when found,\nthe man would hardly look at him or answer his questions, pretending\nto be busy. Eventually, however, he was persuaded to reply so far as to\nstate that Rogojin had left the house early in the morning and gone to\nPavlofsk, and that he would not return today at all.\n\n\"I shall wait; he may come back this evening.\"\n\n\"He may not be home for a week.\"\n\n\"Then, at all events, he _did_ sleep here, did he?\"\n\n\"Well--he did sleep here, yes.\"\n\nAll this was suspicious and unsatisfactory. Very likely the porter had\nreceived new instructions during the interval of the prince's absence;\nhis manner was so different now. He had been obliging--now he was as\nobstinate and silent as a mule. However, the prince decided to call\nagain in a couple of hours, and after that to watch the house, in case\nof need. His hope was that he might yet find Nastasia at the address\nwhich he had just received. To that address he now set off at full\nspeed.\n\nBut alas! at the German lady's house they did not even appear to\nunderstand what he wanted. After a while, by means of certain hints, he\nwas able to gather that Nastasia must have had a quarrel with her friend\ntwo or three weeks ago, since which date the latter had neither heard\nnor seen anything of her. He was given to understand that the subject of\nNastasia's present whereabouts was not of the slightest interest to her;\nand that Nastasia might marry all the princes in the world for all she\ncared! So Muishkin took his leave hurriedly. It struck him now that she\nmight have gone away to Moscow just as she had done the last time, and\nthat Rogojin had perhaps gone after her, or even _with_ her. If only he\ncould find some trace!\n\nHowever, he must take his room at the hotel; and he started off in that\ndirection. Having engaged his room, he was asked by the waiter whether\nhe would take dinner; replying mechanically in the affirmative, he sat\ndown and waited; but it was not long before it struck him that dining\nwould delay him. Enraged at this idea, he started up, crossed the\ndark passage (which filled him with horrible impressions and gloomy\nforebodings), and set out once more for Rogojin's. Rogojin had not\nreturned, and no one came to the door. He rang at the old lady's door\nopposite, and was informed that Parfen Semionovitch would not return for\nthree days. The curiosity with which the old servant stared at him again\nimpressed the prince disagreeably. He could not find the porter this\ntime at all.\n\nAs before, he crossed the street and watched the windows from the other\nside, walking up and down in anguish of soul for half an hour or so in\nthe stifling heat. Nothing stirred; the blinds were motionless; indeed,\nthe prince began to think that the apparition of Rogojin's face could\nhave been nothing but fancy. Soothed by this thought, he drove off once\nmore to his friends at the Ismailofsky barracks. He was expected\nthere. The mother had already been to three or four places to look for\nNastasia, but had not found a trace of any kind.\n\nThe prince said nothing, but entered the room, sat down silently, and\nstared at them, one after the other, with the air of a man who cannot\nunderstand what is being said to him. It was strange--one moment he\nseemed to be so observant, the next so absent; his behaviour struck\nall the family as most remarkable. At length he rose from his seat, and\nbegged to be shown Nastasia's rooms. The ladies reported afterwards how\nhe had examined everything in the apartments. He observed an open book\non the table, Madam Bovary, and requested the leave of the lady of the\nhouse to take it with him. He had turned down the leaf at the open page,\nand pocketed it before they could explain that it was a library book. He\nhad then seated himself by the open window, and seeing a card-table, he\nasked who played cards.\n\nHe was informed that Nastasia used to play with Rogojin every evening,\neither at \"preference\" or \"little fool,\" or \"whist\"; that this had been\ntheir practice since her last return from Pavlofsk; that she had taken\nto this amusement because she did not like to see Rogojin sitting silent\nand dull for whole evenings at a time; that the day after Nastasia had\nmade a remark to this effect, Rogojin had whipped a pack of cards out\nof his pocket. Nastasia had laughed, but soon they began playing. The\nprince asked where were the cards, but was told that Rogojin used to\nbring a new pack every day, and always carried it away in his pocket.\n\nThe good ladies recommended the prince to try knocking at Rogojin's once\nmore--not at once, but in the evening. Meanwhile, the mother would go to\nPavlofsk to inquire at Dana Alexeyevna's whether anything had been heard\nof Nastasia there. The prince was to come back at ten o'clock and meet\nher, to hear her news and arrange plans for the morrow.\n\nIn spite of the kindly-meant consolations of his new friends, the prince\nwalked to his hotel in inexpressible anguish of spirit, through the hot,\ndusty streets, aimlessly staring at the faces of those who passed him.\nArrived at his destination, he determined to rest awhile in his room\nbefore he started for Rogojin's once more. He sat down, rested his\nelbows on the table and his head on his hands, and fell to thinking.\n\nHeaven knows how long and upon what subjects he thought. He thought\nof many things--of Vera Lebedeff, and of her father; of Hippolyte; of\nRogojin himself, first at the funeral, then as he had met him in the\npark, then, suddenly, as they had met in this very passage, outside,\nwhen Rogojin had watched in the darkness and awaited him with uplifted\nknife. The prince remembered his enemy's eyes as they had glared at him\nin the darkness. He shuddered, as a sudden idea struck him.\n\nThis idea was, that if Rogojin were in Petersburg, though he might hide\nfor a time, yet he was quite sure to come to him--the prince--before\nlong, with either good or evil intentions, but probably with the same\nintention as on that other occasion. At all events, if Rogojin were to\ncome at all he would be sure to seek the prince here--he had no other\ntown address--perhaps in this same corridor; he might well seek him here\nif he needed him. And perhaps he did need him. This idea seemed quite\nnatural to the prince, though he could not have explained why he should\nso suddenly have become necessary to Rogojin. Rogojin would not come if\nall were well with him, that was part of the thought; he would come if\nall were not well; and certainly, undoubtedly, all would not be well\nwith him. The prince could not bear this new idea; he took his hat and\nrushed out towards the street. It was almost dark in the passage.\n\n\"What if he were to come out of that corner as I go by and--and stop\nme?\" thought the prince, as he approached the familiar spot. But no one\ncame out.\n\nHe passed under the gateway and into the street. The crowds of people\nwalking about--as is always the case at sunset in Petersburg, during the\nsummer--surprised him, but he walked on in the direction of Rogojin's\nhouse.\n\nAbout fifty yards from the hotel, at the first cross-road, as he passed\nthrough the crowd of foot-passengers sauntering along, someone touched\nhis shoulder, and said in a whisper into his ear:\n\n\"Lef Nicolaievitch, my friend, come along with me.\" It was Rogojin.\n\nThe prince immediately began to tell him, eagerly and joyfully, how he\nhad but the moment before expected to see him in the dark passage of the\nhotel.\n\n\"I was there,\" said Rogojin, unexpectedly. \"Come along.\" The prince was\nsurprised at this answer; but his astonishment increased a couple of\nminutes afterwards, when he began to consider it. Having thought it\nover, he glanced at Rogojin in alarm. The latter was striding along a\nyard or so ahead, looking straight in front of him, and mechanically\nmaking way for anyone he met.\n\n\"Why did you not ask for me at my room if you were in the hotel?\" asked\nthe prince, suddenly.\n\nRogojin stopped and looked at him; then reflected, and replied as though\nhe had not heard the question:\n\n\"Look here, Lef Nicolaievitch, you go straight on to the house; I shall\nwalk on the other side. See that we keep together.\"\n\nSo saying, Rogojin crossed the road.\n\nArrived on the opposite pavement, he looked back to see whether the\nprince were moving, waved his hand in the direction of the Gorohovaya,\nand strode on, looking across every moment to see whether Muishkin\nunderstood his instructions. The prince supposed that Rogojin desired to\nlook out for someone whom he was afraid to miss; but if so, why had he\nnot told _him_ whom to look out for? So the two proceeded for half a mile\nor so. Suddenly the prince began to tremble from some unknown cause. He\ncould not bear it, and signalled to Rogojin across the road.\n\nThe latter came at once.\n\n\"Is Nastasia Philipovna at your house?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And was it you looked out of the window under the blind this morning?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Then why did--\"\n\nBut the prince could not finish his question; he did not know what to\nsay. Besides this, his heart was beating so that he found it difficult\nto speak at all. Rogojin was silent also and looked at him as before,\nwith an expression of deep thoughtfulness.\n\n\"Well, I'm going,\" he said, at last, preparing to recross the road. \"You\ngo along here as before; we will keep to different sides of the road;\nit's better so, you'll see.\"\n\nWhen they reached the Gorohovaya, and came near the house, the prince's\nlegs were trembling so that he could hardly walk. It was about ten\no'clock. The old lady's windows were open, as before; Rogojin's were\nall shut, and in the darkness the white blinds showed whiter than ever.\nRogojin and the prince each approached the house on his respective side\nof the road; Rogojin, who was on the near side, beckoned the prince\nacross. He went over to the doorway.\n\n\"Even the porter does not know that I have come home now. I told him,\nand told them at my mother's too, that I was off to Pavlofsk,\" said\nRogojin, with a cunning and almost satisfied smile. \"We'll go in quietly\nand nobody will hear us.\"\n\nHe had the key in his hand. Mounting the staircase he turned and\nsignalled to the prince to go more softly; he opened the door very\nquietly, let the prince in, followed him, locked the door behind him,\nand put the key in his pocket.\n\n\"Come along,\" he whispered.\n\nHe had spoken in a whisper all the way. In spite of his apparent outward\ncomposure, he was evidently in a state of great mental agitation.\nArrived in a large salon, next to the study, he went to the window and\ncautiously beckoned the prince up to him.\n\n\"When you rang the bell this morning I thought it must be you. I went to\nthe door on tip-toe and heard you talking to the servant opposite. I had\ntold her before that if anyone came and rang--especially you, and I gave\nher your name--she was not to tell about me. Then I thought, what if\nhe goes and stands opposite and looks up, or waits about to watch the\nhouse? So I came to this very window, looked out, and there you were\nstaring straight at me. That's how it came about.\"\n\n\"Where is Nastasia Philipovna?\" asked the prince, breathlessly.\n\n\"She's here,\" replied Rogojin, slowly, after a slight pause.\n\n\"Where?\"\n\nRogojin raised his eyes and gazed intently at the prince.\n\n\"Come,\" he said.\n\nHe continued to speak in a whisper, very deliberately as before, and\nlooked strangely thoughtful and dreamy. Even while he told the story of\nhow he had peeped through the blind, he gave the impression of wishing\nto say something else. They entered the study. In this room some changes\nhad taken place since the prince last saw it. It was now divided into\ntwo equal parts by a heavy green silk curtain stretched across it,\nseparating the alcove beyond, where stood Rogojin's bed, from the rest\nof the room.\n\nThe heavy curtain was drawn now, and it was very dark. The bright\nPetersburg summer nights were already beginning to close in, and but for\nthe full moon, it would have been difficult to distinguish anything in\nRogojin's dismal room, with the drawn blinds. They could just see one\nanothers faces, however, though not in detail. Rogojin's face was white,\nas usual. His glittering eyes watched the prince with an intent stare.\n\n\"Had you not better light a candle?\" said Muishkin.\n\n\"No, I needn't,\" replied Rogojin, and taking the other by the hand he\ndrew him down to a chair. He himself took a chair opposite and drew it\nup so close that he almost pressed against the prince's knees. At their\nside was a little round table.\n\n\"Sit down,\" said Rogojin; \"let's rest a bit.\" There was silence for a\nmoment.\n\n\"I knew you would be at that hotel,\" he continued, just as men sometimes\ncommence a serious conversation by discussing any outside subject before\nleading up to the main point. \"As I entered the passage it struck me\nthat perhaps you were sitting and waiting for me, just as I was waiting\nfor you. Have you been to the old lady at Ismailofsky barracks?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the prince, squeezing the word out with difficulty owing to\nthe dreadful beating of his heart.\n\n\"I thought you would. 'They'll talk about it,' I thought; so I\ndetermined to go and fetch you to spend the night here--'We will be\ntogether,' I thought, 'for this one night--'\"\n\n\"Rogojin, _where_ is Nastasia Philipovna?\" said the prince, suddenly\nrising from his seat. He was quaking in all his limbs, and his words\ncame in a scarcely audible whisper. Rogojin rose also.\n\n\"There,\" he whispered, nodding his head towards the curtain.\n\n\"Asleep?\" whispered the prince.\n\nRogojin looked intently at him again, as before.\n\n\"Let's go in--but you mustn't--well--let's go in.\"\n\nHe lifted the curtain, paused--and turned to the prince. \"Go in,\" he\nsaid, motioning him to pass behind the curtain. Muishkin went in.\n\n\"It's so dark,\" he said.\n\n\"You can see quite enough,\" muttered Rogojin.\n\n\"I can just see there's a bed--\"\n\n\"Go nearer,\" suggested Rogojin, softly.\n\nThe prince took a step forward--then another--and paused. He stood and\nstared for a minute or two.\n\nNeither of the men spoke a word while at the bedside. The prince's heart\nbeat so loud that its knocking seemed to be distinctly audible in the\ndeathly silence.\n\nBut now his eyes had become so far accustomed to the darkness that he\ncould distinguish the whole of the bed. Someone was asleep upon\nit--in an absolutely motionless sleep. Not the slightest movement was\nperceptible, not the faintest breathing could be heard. The sleeper\nwas covered with a white sheet; the outline of the limbs was hardly\ndistinguishable. He could only just make out that a human being lay\noutstretched there.\n\nAll around, on the bed, on a chair beside it, on the floor, were\nscattered the different portions of a magnificent white silk dress, bits\nof lace, ribbons and flowers. On a small table at the bedside glittered\na mass of diamonds, torn off and thrown down anyhow. From under a heap\nof lace at the end of the bed peeped a small white foot, which looked as\nthough it had been chiselled out of marble; it was terribly still.\n\nThe prince gazed and gazed, and felt that the more he gazed the more\ndeath-like became the silence. Suddenly a fly awoke somewhere, buzzed\nacross the room, and settled on the pillow. The prince shuddered.\n\n\"Let's go,\" said Rogojin, touching his shoulder. They left the alcove\nand sat down in the two chairs they had occupied before, opposite to one\nanother. The prince trembled more and more violently, and never took his\nquestioning eyes off Rogojin's face.\n\n\"I see you are shuddering, Lef Nicolaievitch,\" said the latter, at\nlength, \"almost as you did once in Moscow, before your fit; don't you\nremember? I don't know what I shall do with you--\"\n\nThe prince bent forward to listen, putting all the strain he could\nmuster upon his understanding in order to take in what Rogojin said, and\ncontinuing to gaze at the latter's face.\n\n\"Was it you?\" he muttered, at last, motioning with his head towards the\ncurtain.\n\n\"Yes, it was I,\" whispered Rogojin, looking down.\n\nNeither spoke for five minutes.\n\n\"Because, you know,\" Rogojin recommenced, as though continuing a former\nsentence, \"if you were ill now, or had a fit, or screamed, or anything,\nthey might hear it in the yard, or even in the street, and guess that\nsomeone was passing the night in the house. They would all come and\nknock and want to come in, because they know I am not at home. I didn't\nlight a candle for the same reason. When I am not here--for two or\nthree days at a time, now and then--no one comes in to tidy the house\nor anything; those are my orders. So that I want them to not know we are\nspending the night here--\"\n\n\"Wait,\" interrupted the prince. \"I asked both the porter and the woman\nwhether Nastasia Philipovna had spent last night in the house; so they\nknew--\"\n\n\"I know you asked. I told them that she had called in for ten minutes,\nand then gone straight back to Pavlofsk. No one knows she slept here.\nLast night we came in just as carefully as you and I did today. I\nthought as I came along with her that she would not like to creep in so\nsecretly, but I was quite wrong. She whispered, and walked on tip-toe;\nshe carried her skirt over her arm, so that it shouldn't rustle, and\nshe held up her finger at me on the stairs, so that I shouldn't make\na noise--it was you she was afraid of. She was mad with terror in the\ntrain, and she begged me to bring her to this house. I thought of taking\nher to her rooms at the Ismailofsky barracks first; but she wouldn't\nhear of it. She said, 'No--not there; he'll find me out at once there.\nTake me to your own house, where you can hide me, and tomorrow we'll set\noff for Moscow.' Thence she would go to Orel, she said. When she went to\nbed, she was still talking about going to Orel.\"\n\n\"Wait! What do you intend to do now, Parfen?\"\n\n\"Well, I'm afraid of you. You shudder and tremble so. We'll pass the\nnight here together. There are no other beds besides that one; but I've\nthought how we'll manage. I'll take the cushions off all the sofas, and\nlay them down on the floor, up against the curtain here--for you and\nme--so that we shall be together. For if they come in and look about\nnow, you know, they'll find her, and carry her away, and they'll be\nasking me questions, and I shall say I did it, and then they'll take me\naway, too, don't you see? So let her lie close to us--close to you and\nme.\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" agreed the prince, warmly.\n\n\"So we will not say anything about it, or let them take her away?\"\n\n\"Not for anything!\" cried the other; \"no, no, no!\"\n\n\"So I had decided, my friend; not to give her up to anyone,\" continued\nRogojin. \"We'll be very quiet. I have only been out of the house one\nhour all day, all the rest of the time I have been with her. I dare say\nthe air is very bad here. It is so hot. Do you find it bad?\"\n\n\"I don't know--perhaps--by morning it will be.\"\n\n\"I've covered her with oil-cloth--best American oilcloth, and put\nthe sheet over that, and four jars of disinfectant, on account of the\nsmell--as they did at Moscow--you remember? And she's lying so still;\nyou shall see, in the morning, when it's light. What! can't you get up?\"\nasked Rogojin, seeing the other was trembling so that he could not rise\nfrom his seat.\n\n\"My legs won't move,\" said the prince; \"it's fear, I know. When my fear\nis over, I'll get up--\"\n\n\"Wait a bit--I'll make the bed, and you can lie down. I'll lie down,\ntoo, and we'll listen and watch, for I don't know yet what I shall do...\nI tell you beforehand, so that you may be ready in case I--\"\n\nMuttering these disconnected words, Rogojin began to make up the beds.\nIt was clear that he had devised these beds long before; last night he\nslept on the sofa. But there was no room for two on the sofa, and he\nseemed anxious that he and the prince should be close to one another;\ntherefore, he now dragged cushions of all sizes and shapes from the\nsofas, and made a sort of bed of them close by the curtain. He then\napproached the prince, and gently helped him to rise, and led him\ntowards the bed. But the prince could now walk by himself, so that his\nfear must have passed; for all that, however, he continued to shudder.\n\n\"It's hot weather, you see,\" continued Rogojin, as he lay down on the\ncushions beside Muishkin, \"and, naturally, there will be a smell. I\ndaren't open the window. My mother has some beautiful flowers in pots;\nthey have a delicious scent; I thought of fetching them in, but that old\nservant will find out, she's very inquisitive.\n\n\"Yes, she is inquisitive,\" assented the prince.\n\n\"I thought of buying flowers, and putting them all round her; but I was\nafraid it would make us sad to see her with flowers round her.\"\n\n\"Look here,\" said the prince; he was bewildered, and his brain wandered.\nHe seemed to be continually groping for the questions he wished to ask,\nand then losing them. \"Listen--tell me--how did you--with a knife?--That\nsame one?\"\n\n\"Yes, that same one.\"\n\n\"Wait a minute, I want to ask you something else, Parfen; all sorts of\nthings; but tell me first, did you intend to kill her before my wedding,\nat the church door, with your knife?\"\n\n\"I don't know whether I did or not,\" said Rogojin, drily, seeming to be\na little astonished at the question, and not quite taking it in.\n\n\"Did you never take your knife to Pavlofsk with you?\" \"No. As to the\nknife,\" he added, \"this is all I can tell you about it.\" He was silent\nfor a moment, and then said, \"I took it out of the locked drawer this\nmorning about three, for it was in the early morning all this--happened.\nIt has been inside the book ever since--and--and--this is what is such\na marvel to me, the knife only went in a couple of inches at most, just\nunder her left breast, and there wasn't more than half a tablespoonful\nof blood altogether, not more.\"\n\n\"Yes--yes--yes--\" The prince jumped up in extraordinary agitation.\n\"I know, I know, I've read of that sort of thing--it's internal\nhaemorrhage, you know. Sometimes there isn't a drop--if the blow goes\nstraight to the heart--\"\n\n\"Wait--listen!\" cried Rogojin, suddenly, starting up. \"Somebody's\nwalking about, do you hear? In the hall.\" Both sat up to listen.\n\n\"I hear,\" said the prince in a whisper, his eyes fixed on Rogojin.\n\n\"Footsteps?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Shall we shut the door, and lock it, or not?\"\n\n\"Yes, lock it.\"\n\nThey locked the door, and both lay down again. There was a long silence.\n\n\"Yes, by-the-by,\" whispered the prince, hurriedly and excitedly as\nbefore, as though he had just seized hold of an idea and was afraid of\nlosing it again. \"I--I wanted those cards! They say you played cards\nwith her?\"\n\n\"Yes, I played with her,\" said Rogojin, after a short silence.\n\n\"Where are the cards?\"\n\n\"Here they are,\" said Rogojin, after a still longer pause.\n\nHe pulled out a pack of cards, wrapped in a bit of paper, from his\npocket, and handed them to the prince. The latter took them, with a sort\nof perplexity. A new, sad, helpless feeling weighed on his heart; he had\nsuddenly realized that not only at this moment, but for a long while,\nhe had not been saying what he wanted to say, had not been acting as he\nwanted to act; and that these cards which he held in his hand, and which\nhe had been so delighted to have at first, were now of no use--no use...\nHe rose, and wrung his hands. Rogojin lay motionless, and seemed neither\nto hear nor see his movements; but his eyes blazed in the darkness, and\nwere fixed in a wild stare.\n\nThe prince sat down on a chair, and watched him in alarm. Half an hour\nwent by.\n\nSuddenly Rogojin burst into a loud abrupt laugh, as though he had quite\nforgotten that they must speak in whispers.\n\n\"That officer, eh!--that young officer--don't you remember that fellow\nat the band? Eh? Ha, ha, ha! Didn't she whip him smartly, eh?\"\n\nThe prince jumped up from his seat in renewed terror. When Rogojin\nquieted down (which he did at once) the prince bent over him, sat down\nbeside him, and with painfully beating heart and still more painful\nbreath, watched his face intently. Rogojin never turned his head, and\nseemed to have forgotten all about him. The prince watched and waited.\nTime went on--it began to grow light.\n\nRogojin began to wander--muttering disconnectedly; then he took to\nshouting and laughing. The prince stretched out a trembling hand and\ngently stroked his hair and his cheeks--he could do nothing more. His\nlegs trembled again and he seemed to have lost the use of them. A\nnew sensation came over him, filling his heart and soul with infinite\nanguish.\n\nMeanwhile the daylight grew full and strong; and at last the prince\nlay down, as though overcome by despair, and laid his face against the\nwhite, motionless face of Rogojin. His tears flowed on to Rogojin's\ncheek, though he was perhaps not aware of them himself.\n\nAt all events when, after many hours, the door was opened and people\nthronged in, they found the murderer unconscious and in a raging fever.\nThe prince was sitting by him, motionless, and each time that the sick\nman gave a laugh, or a shout, he hastened to pass his own trembling hand\nover his companion's hair and cheeks, as though trying to soothe and\nquiet him. But alas! he understood nothing of what was said to him, and\nrecognized none of those who surrounded him.\n\nIf Schneider himself had arrived then and seen his former pupil and\npatient, remembering the prince's condition during the first year in\nSwitzerland, he would have flung up his hands, despairingly, and cried,\nas he did then:\n\n\"An idiot!\"\n\nXII.\n\nWhen the widow hurried away to Pavlofsk, she went straight to Daria\nAlexeyevna's house, and telling all she knew, threw her into a state of\ngreat alarm. Both ladies decided to communicate at once with Lebedeff,\nwho, as the friend and landlord of the prince, was also much agitated.\nVera Lebedeff told all she knew, and by Lebedeff's advice it was decided\nthat all three should go to Petersburg as quickly as possible, in order\nto avert \"what might so easily happen.\"\n\nThis is how it came about that at eleven o'clock next morning Rogojin's\nflat was opened by the police in the presence of Lebedeff, the two\nladies, and Rogojin's own brother, who lived in the wing.\n\nThe evidence of the porter went further than anything else towards the\nsuccess of Lebedeff in gaining the assistance of the police. He declared\nthat he had seen Rogojin return to the house last night, accompanied by\na friend, and that both had gone upstairs very secretly and cautiously.\nAfter this there was no hesitation about breaking open the door, since\nit could not be got open in any other way.\n\nRogojin suffered from brain fever for two months. When he recovered from\nthe attack he was at once brought up on trial for murder.\n\nHe gave full, satisfactory, and direct evidence on every point; and the\nprince's name was, thanks to this, not brought into the proceedings.\nRogojin was very quiet during the progress of the trial. He did not\ncontradict his clever and eloquent counsel, who argued that the brain\nfever, or inflammation of the brain, was the cause of the crime;\nclearly proving that this malady had existed long before the murder was\nperpetrated, and had been brought on by the sufferings of the accused.\n\nBut Rogojin added no words of his own in confirmation of this view, and\nas before, he recounted with marvellous exactness the details of\nhis crime. He was convicted, but with extenuating circumstances, and\ncondemned to hard labour in Siberia for fifteen years. He heard his\nsentence grimly, silently, and thoughtfully. His colossal fortune, with\nthe exception of the comparatively small portion wasted in the first\nwanton period of his inheritance, went to his brother, to the great\nsatisfaction of the latter.\n\nThe old lady, Rogojin's mother, is still alive, and remembers her\nfavourite son Parfen sometimes, but not clearly. God spared her the\nknowledge of this dreadful calamity which had overtaken her house.\n\nLebedeff, Keller, Gania, Ptitsin, and many other friends of ours\ncontinue to live as before. There is scarcely any change in them, so\nthat there is no need to tell of their subsequent doings.\n\nHippolyte died in great agitation, and rather sooner than he expected,\nabout a fortnight after Nastasia Philipovna's death. Colia was much\naffected by these events, and drew nearer to his mother in heart and\nsympathy. Nina Alexandrovna is anxious, because he is \"thoughtful beyond\nhis years,\" but he will, we think, make a useful and active man.\n\nThe prince's further fate was more or less decided by Colia, who\nselected, out of all the persons he had met during the last six or seven\nmonths, Evgenie Pavlovitch, as friend and confidant. To him he made over\nall that he knew as to the events above recorded, and as to the present\ncondition of the prince. He was not far wrong in his choice. Evgenie\nPavlovitch took the deepest interest in the fate of the unfortunate\n\"idiot,\" and, thanks to his influence, the prince found himself once\nmore with Dr. Schneider, in Switzerland.\n\nEvgenie Pavlovitch, who went abroad at this time, intending to live a\nlong while on the continent, being, as he often said, quite superfluous\nin Russia, visits his sick friend at Schneider's every few months.\n\nBut Dr. Schneider frowns ever more and more and shakes his head; he\nhints that the brain is fatally injured; he does not as yet declare that\nhis patient is incurable, but he allows himself to express the gravest\nfears.\n\nEvgenie takes this much to heart, and he has a heart, as is proved\nby the fact that he receives and even answers letters from Colia. But\nbesides this, another trait in his character has become apparent, and as\nit is a good trait we will make haste to reveal it. After each visit\nto Schneider's establishment, Evgenie Pavlovitch writes another letter,\nbesides that to Colia, giving the most minute particulars concerning the\ninvalid's condition. In these letters is to be detected, and in each one\nmore than the last, a growing feeling of friendship and sympathy.\n\nThe individual who corresponds thus with Evgenie Pavlovitch, and who\nengages so much of his attention and respect, is Vera Lebedeff. We have\nnever been able to discover clearly how such relations sprang up.\nOf course the root of them was in the events which we have already\nrecorded, and which so filled Vera with grief on the prince's account\nthat she fell seriously ill. But exactly how the acquaintance and\nfriendship came about, we cannot say.\n\nWe have spoken of these letters chiefly because in them is often to be\nfound some news of the Epanchin family, and of Aglaya in particular.\nEvgenie Pavlovitch wrote of her from Paris, that after a short and\nsudden attachment to a certain Polish count, an exile, she had suddenly\nmarried him, quite against the wishes of her parents, though they had\neventually given their consent through fear of a terrible scandal.\nThen, after a six months' silence, Evgenie Pavlovitch informed his\ncorrespondent, in a long letter, full of detail, that while paying his\nlast visit to Dr. Schneider's establishment, he had there come across\nthe whole Epanchin family (excepting the general, who had remained in\nSt. Petersburg) and Prince S. The meeting was a strange one. They\nall received Evgenie Pavlovitch with effusive delight; Adelaida and\nAlexandra were deeply grateful to him for his \"angelic kindness to the\nunhappy prince.\"\n\nLizabetha Prokofievna, when she saw poor Muishkin, in his enfeebled and\nhumiliated condition, had wept bitterly. Apparently all was forgiven\nhim.\n\nPrince S. had made a few just and sensible remarks. It seemed to Evgenie\nPavlovitch that there was not yet perfect harmony between Adelaida and\nher fiance, but he thought that in time the impulsive young girl would\nlet herself be guided by his reason and experience. Besides, the recent\nevents that had befallen her family had given Adelaida much to think\nabout, especially the sad experiences of her younger sister. Within six\nmonths, everything that the family had dreaded from the marriage with\nthe Polish count had come to pass. He turned out to be neither count\nnor exile--at least, in the political sense of the word--but had had to\nleave his native land owing to some rather dubious affair of the past.\nIt was his noble patriotism, of which he made a great display, that\nhad rendered him so interesting in Aglaya's eyes. She was so fascinated\nthat, even before marrying him, she joined a committee that had been\norganized abroad to work for the restoration of Poland; and further,\nshe visited the confessional of a celebrated Jesuit priest, who made an\nabsolute fanatic of her. The supposed fortune of the count had dwindled\nto a mere nothing, although he had given almost irrefutable evidence of\nits existence to Lizabetha Prokofievna and Prince S.\n\nBesides this, before they had been married half a year, the count and\nhis friend the priest managed to bring about a quarrel between Aglaya\nand her family, so that it was now several months since they had seen\nher. In a word, there was a great deal to say; but Mrs. Epanchin, and\nher daughters, and even Prince S., were still so much distressed by\nAglaya's latest infatuations and adventures, that they did not care to\ntalk of them, though they must have known that Evgenie knew much of the\nstory already.\n\nPoor Lizabetha Prokofievna was most anxious to get home, and, according\nto Evgenie's account, she criticized everything foreign with much\nhostility.\n\n\"They can't bake bread anywhere, decently; and they all freeze in their\nhouses, during winter, like a lot of mice in a cellar. At all events,\nI've had a good Russian cry over this poor fellow,\" she added, pointing\nto the prince, who had not recognized her in the slightest degree.\n\"So enough of this nonsense; it's time we faced the truth. All this\ncontinental life, all this Europe of yours, and all the trash about\n'going abroad' is simply foolery, and it is mere foolery on our part\nto come. Remember what I say, my friend; you'll live to agree with me\nyourself.\"\n\nSo spoke the good lady, almost angrily, as she took leave of Evgenie\nPavlovitch."