The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Idiot, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky (2025)

PART I

I.

Towards the end of November, during a thaw, at nine o’clock one morning,a train on the Warsaw and Petersburg railway was approaching the latter city atfull speed. The morning was so damp and misty that it was only with greatdifficulty that the day succeeded in breaking; and it was impossible todistinguish anything more than a few yards away from the carriage windows.

Some of the passengers by this particular train were returning from abroad; butthe third-class carriages were the best filled, chiefly with insignificantpersons of various occupations and degrees, picked up at the different stationsnearer town. All of them seemed weary, and most of them had sleepy eyes and ashivering expression, while their complexions generally appeared to have takenon the colour of the fog outside.

When day dawned, two passengers in one of the third-class carriages foundthemselves opposite each other. Both were young fellows, both were ratherpoorly dressed, both had remarkable faces, and both were evidently anxious tostart a conversation. If they had but known why, at this particular moment,they were both remarkable persons, they would undoubtedly have wondered at thestrange chance which had set them down opposite to one another in a third-classcarriage of the Warsaw Railway Company.

One of them was a young fellow of about twenty-seven, not tall, with blackcurling hair, and small, grey, fiery eyes. His nose was broad and flat, and hehad high cheek bones; his thin lips were constantly compressed into animpudent, ironical—it might almost be called a malicious—smile; buthis forehead was high and well formed, and atoned for a good deal of theugliness of the lower part of his face. A special feature of this physiognomywas its death-like pallor, which gave to the whole man an indescribablyemaciated appearance in spite of his hard look, and at the same time a sort ofpassionate and suffering expression which did not harmonize with his impudent,sarcastic smile and keen, self-satisfied bearing. He wore a large fur—orrather astrachan—overcoat, which had kept him warm all night, while hisneighbour had been obliged to bear the full severity of a Russian Novembernight entirely unprepared. His wide sleeveless mantle with a large cape toit—the sort of cloak one sees upon travellers during the winter months inSwitzerland or North Italy—was by no means adapted to the long coldjourney through Russia, from Eydkuhnen to St. Petersburg.

The wearer of this cloak was a young fellow, also of about twenty-six ortwenty-seven years of age, slightly above the middle height, very fair, with athin, pointed and very light coloured beard; his eyes were large and blue, andhad an intent look about them, yet that heavy expression which some peopleaffirm to be a peculiarity as well as evidence, of an epileptic subject. Hisface was decidedly a pleasant one for all that; refined, but quite colourless,except for the circumstance that at this moment it was blue with cold. He helda bundle made up of an old faded silk handkerchief that apparently containedall his travelling wardrobe, and wore thick shoes and gaiters, his wholeappearance being very un-Russian.

His black-haired neighbour inspected these peculiarities, having nothing betterto do, and at length remarked, with that rude enjoyment of the discomforts ofothers which the common classes so often show:

“Cold?”

“Very,” said his neighbour, readily, “and this is a thaw,too. Fancy if it had been a hard frost! I never thought it would be so cold inthe old country. I’ve grown quite out of the way of it.”

“What, been abroad, I suppose?”

“Yes, straight from Switzerland.”

“Wheugh! my goodness!” The black-haired young fellow whistled, andthen laughed.

The conversation proceeded. The readiness of the fair-haired young man in thecloak to answer all his opposite neighbour’s questions was surprising. Heseemed to have no suspicion of any impertinence or inappropriateness in thefact of such questions being put to him. Replying to them, he made known to theinquirer that he certainly had been long absent from Russia, more than fouryears; that he had been sent abroad for his health; that he had suffered fromsome strange nervous malady—a kind of epilepsy, with convulsive spasms.His interlocutor burst out laughing several times at his answers; and more thanever, when to the question, “whether he had been cured?” thepatient replied:

“No, they did not cure me.”

“Hey! that’s it! You stumped up your money for nothing, and webelieve in those fellows, here!” remarked the black-haired individual,sarcastically.

“Gospel truth, sir, Gospel truth!” exclaimed another passenger, ashabbily dressed man of about forty, who looked like a clerk, and possessed ared nose and a very blotchy face. “Gospel truth! All they do is to gethold of our good Russian money free, gratis, and for nothing.”

“Oh, but you’re quite wrong in my particular instance,” saidthe Swiss patient, quietly. “Of course I can’t argue the matter,because I know only my own case; but my doctor gave me money—and he hadvery little—to pay my journey back, besides having kept me at his ownexpense, while there, for nearly two years.”

“Why? Was there no one else to pay for you?” asked the black-hairedone.

“No—Mr. Pavlicheff, who had been supporting me there, died a coupleof years ago. I wrote to Mrs. General Epanchin at the time (she is a distantrelative of mine), but she did not answer my letter. And so eventually I cameback.”

“And where have you come to?”

“That is—where am I going to stay? I—I really don’tquite know yet, I—”

Both the listeners laughed again.

“I suppose your whole set-up is in that bundle, then?” asked thefirst.

“I bet anything it is!” exclaimed the red-nosed passenger, withextreme satisfaction, “and that he has precious little in the luggagevan!—though of course poverty is no crime—we must rememberthat!”

It appeared that it was indeed as they had surmised. The young fellow hastenedto admit the fact with wonderful readiness.

“Your bundle has some importance, however,” continued the clerk,when they had laughed their fill (it was observable that the subject of theirmirth joined in the laughter when he saw them laughing); “for though Idare say it is not stuffed full of friedrichs d’or and louisd’or—judge from your costume and gaiters—still—if youcan add to your possessions such a valuable property as a relation like Mrs.General Epanchin, then your bundle becomes a significant object at once. Thatis, of course, if you really are a relative of Mrs. Epanchin’s, and havenot made a little error through—well, absence of mind, which is verycommon to human beings; or, say—through a too luxuriant fancy?”

“Oh, you are right again,” said the fair-haired traveller,“for I really am almost wrong when I say she and I are related.She is hardly a relation at all; so little, in fact, that I was not in theleast surprised to have no answer to my letter. I expected as much.”

“H’m! you spent your postage for nothing, then. H’m! you arecandid, however—and that is commendable. H’m! Mrs.Epanchin—oh yes! a most eminent person. I know her. As for Mr.Pavlicheff, who supported you in Switzerland, I know him too—at least, ifit was Nicolai Andreevitch of that name? A fine fellow he was—and had aproperty of four thousand souls in his day.”

“Yes, Nicolai Andreevitch—that was his name,” and the youngfellow looked earnestly and with curiosity at the all-knowing gentleman withthe red nose.

This sort of character is met with pretty frequently in a certain class. Theyare people who know everyone—that is, they know where a man is employed,what his salary is, whom he knows, whom he married, what money his wife had,who are his cousins, and second cousins, etc., etc. These men generally haveabout a hundred pounds a year to live on, and they spend their whole time andtalents in the amassing of this style of knowledge, which they reduce—orraise—to the standard of a science.

During the latter part of the conversation the black-haired young man hadbecome very impatient. He stared out of the window, and fidgeted, and evidentlylonged for the end of the journey. He was very absent; he would appear tolisten—and heard nothing; and he would laugh of a sudden, evidently withno idea of what he was laughing about.

“Excuse me,” said the red-nosed man to the young fellow with thebundle, rather suddenly; “whom have I the honour to be talking to?”

“Prince Lef Nicolaievitch Muishkin,” replied the latter, withperfect readiness.

“Prince Muishkin? Lef Nicolaievitch? H’m! I don’t know,I’m sure! I may say I have never heard of such a person,” said theclerk, thoughtfully. “At least, the name, I admit, is historical.Karamsin must mention the family name, of course, in his history—but asan individual—one never hears of any Prince Muishkin nowadays.”

“Of course not,” replied the prince; “there are none, exceptmyself. I believe I am the last and only one. As to my forefathers, they havealways been a poor lot; my own father was a sublieutenant in the army. Idon’t know how Mrs. Epanchin comes into the Muishkin family, but she isdescended from the Princess Muishkin, and she, too, is the last of herline.”

“And did you learn science and all that, with your professor overthere?” asked the black-haired passenger.

“Oh yes—I did learn a little, but—”

“I’ve never learned anything whatever,” said the other.

“Oh, but I learned very little, you know!” added the prince, asthough excusing himself. “They could not teach me very much on account ofmy illness.”

“Do you know the Rogojins?” asked his questioner, abruptly.

“No, I don’t—not at all! I hardly know anyone in Russia. Why,is that your name?”

“Yes, I am Rogojin, Parfen Rogojin.”

“Parfen Rogojin? dear me—then don’t you belong to those veryRogojins, perhaps—” began the clerk, with a very perceptibleincrease of civility in his tone.

“Yes—those very ones,” interrupted Rogojin, impatiently, andwith scant courtesy. I may remark that he had not once taken any notice of theblotchy-faced passenger, and had hitherto addressed all his remarks direct tothe prince.

“Dear me—is it possible?” observed the clerk, while his faceassumed an expression of great deference and servility—if not of absolutealarm: “what, a son of that very Semen Rogojin—hereditaryhonourable citizen—who died a month or so ago and left two million and ahalf of roubles?”

“And how do you know that he left two million and a half ofroubles?” asked Rogojin, disdainfully, and not deigning so much as tolook at the other. “However, it’s true enough that my father died amonth ago, and that here am I returning from Pskoff, a month after, with hardlya boot to my foot. They’ve treated me like a dog! I’ve been ill offever at Pskoff the whole time, and not a line, nor farthing of money, have Ireceived from my mother or my confounded brother!”

“And now you’ll have a million roubles, at least—goodnessgracious me!” exclaimed the clerk, rubbing his hands.

“Five weeks since, I was just like yourself,” continued Rogojin,addressing the prince, “with nothing but a bundle and the clothes I wore.I ran away from my father and came to Pskoff to my aunt’s house, where Icaved in at once with fever, and he went and died while I was away. All honourto my respected father’s memory—but he uncommonly nearly killed me,all the same. Give you my word, prince, if I hadn’t cut and run then,when I did, he’d have murdered me like a dog.”

“I suppose you angered him somehow?” asked the prince, looking atthe millionaire with considerable curiosity. But though there may have beensomething remarkable in the fact that this man was heir to millions of roublesthere was something about him which surprised and interested the prince morethan that. Rogojin, too, seemed to have taken up the conversation with unusualalacrity it appeared that he was still in a considerable state of excitement,if not absolutely feverish, and was in real need of someone to talk to for themere sake of talking, as safety-valve to his agitation.

As for his red-nosed neighbour, the latter—since the information as tothe identity of Rogojin—hung over him, seemed to be living on the honeyof his words and in the breath of his nostrils, catching at every syllable asthough it were a pearl of great price.

“Oh, yes; I angered him—I certainly did anger him,” repliedRogojin. “But what puts me out so is my brother. Of course my mothercouldn’t do anything—she’s too old—and whatever brotherSenka says is law for her! But why couldn’t he let me know? He sent atelegram, they say. What’s the good of a telegram? It frightened my auntso that she sent it back to the office unopened, and there it’s been eversince! It’s only thanks to Konief that I heard at all; he wrote me allabout it. He says my brother cut off the gold tassels from my father’scoffin, at night ‘because they’re worth a lot of money!’ sayshe. Why, I can get him sent off to Siberia for that alone, if I like;it’s sacrilege. Here, you—scarecrow!” he added, addressingthe clerk at his side, “is it sacrilege or not, by law?”

“Sacrilege, certainly—certainly sacrilege,” said the latter.

“And it’s Siberia for sacrilege, isn’t it?”

“Undoubtedly so; Siberia, of course!”

“They will think that I’m still ill,” continued Rogojin tothe prince, “but I sloped off quietly, seedy as I was, took the train andcame away. Aha, brother Senka, you’ll have to open your gates and let mein, my boy! I know he told tales about me to my father—I know that wellenough but I certainly did rile my father about Nastasia Philipovnathat’s very sure, and that was my own doing.”

“Nastasia Philipovna?” said the clerk, as though trying to thinkout something.

“Come, you know nothing about her,” said Rogojin,impatiently.

“And supposing I do know something?” observed the other,triumphantly.

“Bosh! there are plenty of Nastasia Philipovnas. And what an impertinentbeast you are!” he added angrily. “I thought some creature like youwould hang on to me as soon as I got hold of my money.”

“Oh, but I do know, as it happens,” said the clerk in anaggravating manner. “Lebedeff knows all about her. You are pleased toreproach me, your excellency, but what if I prove that I am right after all?Nastasia Philipovna’s family name is Barashkoff—I know, yousee—and she is a very well known lady, indeed, and comes of a goodfamily, too. She is connected with one Totski, Afanasy Ivanovitch, a man ofconsiderable property, a director of companies, and so on, and a great friendof General Epanchin, who is interested in the same matters as he is.”

“My eyes!” said Rogojin, really surprised at last. “The deviltake the fellow, how does he know that?”

“Why, he knows everything—Lebedeff knows everything! I was a monthor two with Lihachof after his father died, your excellency, and while he wasknocking about—he’s in the debtor’s prison now—I waswith him, and he couldn’t do a thing without Lebedeff; and I got to knowNastasia Philipovna and several people at that time.”

“Nastasia Philipovna? Why, you don’t mean to say that she andLihachof—” cried Rogojin, turning quite pale.

“No, no, no, no, no! Nothing of the sort, I assure you!” saidLebedeff, hastily. “Oh dear no, not for the world! Totski’s theonly man with any chance there. Oh, no! He takes her to his box at the opera atthe French theatre of an evening, and the officers and people all look at herand say, ‘By Jove, there’s the famous Nastasia Philipovna!’but no one ever gets any further than that, for there is nothing more tosay.”

“Yes, it’s quite true,” said Rogojin, frowning gloomily;“so Zaleshoff told me. I was walking about the Nefsky one fine day,prince, in my father’s old coat, when she suddenly came out of a shop andstepped into her carriage. I swear I was all of a blaze at once. Then I metZaleshoff—looking like a hair-dresser’s assistant, got up as fineas I don’t know who, while I looked like a tinker. ‘Don’tflatter yourself, my boy,’ said he; ‘she’s not for such asyou; she’s a princess, she is, and her name is Nastasia PhilipovnaBarashkoff, and she lives with Totski, who wishes to get rid of her becausehe’s growing rather old—fifty-five or so—and wants to marry acertain beauty, the loveliest woman in all Petersburg.’ And then he toldme that I could see Nastasia Philipovna at the opera-house that evening, if Iliked, and described which was her box. Well, I’d like to see my fatherallowing any of us to go to the theatre; he’d sooner have killed us, anyday. However, I went for an hour or so and saw Nastasia Philipovna, and I neverslept a wink all night after. Next morning my father happened to give me twogovernment loan bonds to sell, worth nearly five thousand roubles each.‘Sell them,’ said he, ‘and then take seven thousand fivehundred roubles to the office, give them to the cashier, and bring me back therest of the ten thousand, without looking in anywhere on the way; look sharp, Ishall be waiting for you.’ Well, I sold the bonds, but I didn’ttake the seven thousand roubles to the office; I went straight to the Englishshop and chose a pair of earrings, with a diamond the size of a nut in each.They cost four hundred roubles more than I had, so I gave my name, and theytrusted me. With the earrings I went at once to Zaleshoff’s. ‘Comeon!’ I said, ‘come on to Nastasia Philipovna’s,’ andoff we went without more ado. I tell you I hadn’t a notion of what wasabout me or before me or below my feet all the way; I saw nothing whatever. Wewent straight into her drawing-room, and then she came out to us.

“I didn’t say right out who I was, but Zaleshoff said: ‘FromParfen Rogojin, in memory of his first meeting with you yesterday; be so kindas to accept these!’

“She opened the parcel, looked at the earrings, and laughed.

“‘Thank your friend Mr. Rogojin for his kind attention,’ saysshe, and bowed and went off. Why didn’t I die there on the spot? Theworst of it all was, though, that the beast Zaleshoff got all the credit of it!I was short and abominably dressed, and stood and stared in her face and neversaid a word, because I was shy, like an ass! And there was he all in thefashion, pomaded and dressed out, with a smart tie on, bowing and scraping; andI bet anything she took him for me all the while!

“‘Look here now,’ I said, when we came out, ‘none ofyour interference here after this—do you understand?’ He laughed:‘And how are you going to settle up with your father?’ says he. Ithought I might as well jump into the Neva at once without going home first;but it struck me that I wouldn’t, after all, and I went home feeling likeone of the damned.”

“My goodness!” shivered the clerk. “And his father,” headded, for the prince’s instruction, “and his father would havegiven a man a ticket to the other world for ten roubles any day—not tospeak of ten thousand!”

The prince observed Rogojin with great curiosity; he seemed paler than ever atthis moment.

“What do you know about it?” cried the latter. “Well, myfather learned the whole story at once, and Zaleshoff blabbed it all over thetown besides. So he took me upstairs and locked me up, and swore at me for anhour. ‘This is only a foretaste,’ says he; ‘wait a bit tillnight comes, and I’ll come back and talk to you again.’

“Well, what do you think? The old fellow went straight off to NastasiaPhilipovna, touched the floor with his forehead, and began blubbering andbeseeching her on his knees to give him back the diamonds. So after awhile shebrought the box and flew out at him. ‘There,’ she says, ‘takeyour earrings, you wretched old miser; although they are ten times dearer thantheir value to me now that I know what it must have cost Parfen to get them!Give Parfen my compliments,’ she says, ‘and thank him verymuch!’ Well, I meanwhile had borrowed twenty-five roubles from a friend,and off I went to Pskoff to my aunt’s. The old woman there lectured me sothat I left the house and went on a drinking tour round the public-houses ofthe place. I was in a high fever when I got to Pskoff, and by nightfall I waslying delirious in the streets somewhere or other!”

“Oho! we’ll make Nastasia Philipovna sing another song now!”giggled Lebedeff, rubbing his hands with glee. “Hey, my boy, we’llget her some proper earrings now! We’ll get her such earringsthat—”

“Look here,” cried Rogojin, seizing him fiercely by the arm,“look here, if you so much as name Nastasia Philipovna again, I’lltan your hide as sure as you sit there!”

“Aha! do—by all means! if you tan my hide you won’t turn meaway from your society. You’ll bind me to you, with your lash, for ever.Ha, ha! here we are at the station, though.”

Sure enough, the train was just steaming in as he spoke.

Though Rogojin had declared that he left Pskoff secretly, a large collection offriends had assembled to greet him, and did so with profuse waving of hats andshouting.

“Why, there’s Zaleshoff here, too!” he muttered, gazing atthe scene with a sort of triumphant but unpleasant smile. Then he suddenlyturned to the prince: “Prince, I don’t know why I have taken afancy to you; perhaps because I met you just when I did. But no, it can’tbe that, for I met this fellow” (nodding at Lebedeff) “too, and Ihave not taken a fancy to him by any means. Come to see me, prince; we’lltake off those gaiters of yours and dress you up in a smart fur coat, the bestwe can buy. You shall have a dress coat, best quality, white waistcoat,anything you like, and your pocket shall be full of money. Come, and you shallgo with me to Nastasia Philipovna’s. Now then will you come or no?”

“Accept, accept, Prince Lef Nicolaievitch” said Lebedef solemnly;“don’t let it slip! Accept, quick!”

Prince Muishkin rose and stretched out his hand courteously, while he repliedwith some cordiality:

“I will come with the greatest pleasure, and thank you very much fortaking a fancy to me. I dare say I may even come today if I have time, for Itell you frankly that I like you very much too. I liked you especially when youtold us about the diamond earrings; but I liked you before that as well, thoughyou have such a dark-clouded sort of face. Thanks very much for the offer ofclothes and a fur coat; I certainly shall require both clothes and coat verysoon. As for money, I have hardly a copeck about me at this moment.”

“You shall have lots of money; by the evening I shall have plenty; socome along!”

“That’s true enough, he’ll have lots before evening!”put in Lebedeff.

“But, look here, are you a great hand with the ladies? Let’s knowthat first?” asked Rogojin.

“Oh no, oh no!” said the prince; “I couldn’t, youknow—my illness—I hardly ever saw a soul.”

“H’m! well—here, you fellow—you can come along with menow if you like!” cried Rogojin to Lebedeff, and so they all left thecarriage.

Lebedeff had his desire. He went off with the noisy group of Rogojin’sfriends towards the Voznesensky, while the prince’s route lay towards theLitaynaya. It was damp and wet. The prince asked his way of passers-by, andfinding that he was a couple of miles or so from his destination, he determinedto take a droshky.

II.

General Epanchin lived in his own house near the Litaynaya. Besides this largeresidence—five-sixths of which was let in flats and lodgings—thegeneral was owner of another enormous house in the Sadovaya bringing in evenmore rent than the first. Besides these houses he had a delightful littleestate just out of town, and some sort of factory in another part of the city.General Epanchin, as everyone knew, had a good deal to do with certaingovernment monopolies; he was also a voice, and an important one, in many richpublic companies of various descriptions; in fact, he enjoyed the reputation ofbeing a well-to-do man of busy habits, many ties, and affluent means. He hadmade himself indispensable in several quarters, amongst others in hisdepartment of the government; and yet it was a known fact that Fedor IvanovitchEpanchin was a man of no education whatever, and had absolutely risen from theranks.

This last fact could, of course, reflect nothing but credit upon the general;and yet, though unquestionably a sagacious man, he had his own littleweaknesses—very excusable ones,—one of which was a dislike to anyallusion to the above circumstance. He was undoubtedly clever. For instance, hemade a point of never asserting himself when he would gain more by keeping inthe background; and in consequence many exalted personages valued himprincipally for his humility and simplicity, and because “he knew hisplace.” And yet if these good people could only have had a peep into themind of this excellent fellow who “knew his place” so well! Thefact is that, in spite of his knowledge of the world and his really remarkableabilities, he always liked to appear to be carrying out other people’sideas rather than his own. And also, his luck seldom failed him, even at cards,for which he had a passion that he did not attempt to conceal. He played forhigh stakes, and moved, altogether, in very varied society.

As to age, General Epanchin was in the very prime of life; that is, aboutfifty-five years of age,—the flowering time of existence, when realenjoyment of life begins. His healthy appearance, good colour, sound, thoughdiscoloured teeth, sturdy figure, preoccupied air during business hours, andjolly good humour during his game at cards in the evening, all bore witness tohis success in life, and combined to make existence a bed of roses to hisexcellency. The general was lord of a flourishing family, consisting of hiswife and three grown-up daughters. He had married young, while still alieutenant, his wife being a girl of about his own age, who possessed neitherbeauty nor education, and who brought him no more than fifty souls of landedproperty, which little estate served, however, as a nest-egg for far moreimportant accumulations. The general never regretted his early marriage, orregarded it as a foolish youthful escapade; and he so respected and feared hiswife that he was very near loving her. Mrs. Epanchin came of the princely stockof Muishkin, which if not a brilliant, was, at all events, a decidedly ancientfamily; and she was extremely proud of her descent.

With a few exceptions, the worthy couple had lived through their long unionvery happily. While still young the wife had been able to make importantfriends among the aristocracy, partly by virtue of her family descent, andpartly by her own exertions; while, in after life, thanks to their wealth andto the position of her husband in the service, she took her place among thehigher circles as by right.

During these last few years all three of the general’sdaughters—Alexandra, Adelaida, and Aglaya—had grown up and matured.Of course they were only Epanchins, but their mother’s family was noble;they might expect considerable fortunes; their father had hopes of attaining tovery high rank indeed in his country’s service—all of which wassatisfactory. All three of the girls were decidedly pretty, even the eldest,Alexandra, who was just twenty-five years old. The middle daughter was nowtwenty-three, while the youngest, Aglaya, was twenty. This youngest girl wasabsolutely a beauty, and had begun of late to attract considerable attention insociety. But this was not all, for every one of the three was clever, welleducated, and accomplished.

It was a matter of general knowledge that the three girls were very fond of oneanother, and supported each other in every way; it was even said that the twoelder ones had made certain sacrifices for the sake of the idol of thehousehold, Aglaya. In society they not only disliked asserting themselves, butwere actually retiring. Certainly no one could blame them for being tooarrogant or haughty, and yet everybody was well aware that they were proud andquite understood their own value. The eldest was musical, while the second wasa clever artist, which fact she had concealed until lately. In a word, theworld spoke well of the girls; but they were not without their enemies, andoccasionally people talked with horror of the number of books they had read.

They were in no hurry to marry. They liked good society, but were not too keenabout it. All this was the more remarkable, because everyone was well aware ofthe hopes and aims of their parents.

It was about eleven o’clock in the forenoon when the prince rang the bellat General Epanchin’s door. The general lived on the first floor or flatof the house, as modest a lodging as his position permitted. A liveried servantopened the door, and the prince was obliged to enter into long explanationswith this gentleman, who, from the first glance, looked at him and his bundlewith grave suspicion. At last, however, on the repeated positive assurance thathe really was Prince Muishkin, and must absolutely see the general on business,the bewildered domestic showed him into a little ante-chamber leading to awaiting-room that adjoined the general’s study, there handing him over toanother servant, whose duty it was to be in this ante-chamber all the morning,and announce visitors to the general. This second individual wore a dress coat,and was some forty years of age; he was the general’s special studyservant, and well aware of his own importance.

“Wait in the next room, please; and leave your bundle here,” saidthe door-keeper, as he sat down comfortably in his own easy-chair in theante-chamber. He looked at the prince in severe surprise as the latter settledhimself in another chair alongside, with his bundle on his knees.

“If you don’t mind, I would rather sit here with you,” saidthe prince; “I should prefer it to sitting in there.”

“Oh, but you can’t stay here. You are a visitor—a guest, soto speak. Is it the general himself you wish to see?”

The man evidently could not take in the idea of such a shabby-looking visitor,and had decided to ask once more.

“Yes—I have business—” began the prince.

“I do not ask you what your business may be, all I have to do is toannounce you; and unless the secretary comes in here I cannot do that.”

The man’s suspicions seemed to increase more and more. The prince was toounlike the usual run of daily visitors; and although the general certainly didreceive, on business, all sorts and conditions of men, yet in spite of thisfact the servant felt great doubts on the subject of this particular visitor.The presence of the secretary as an intermediary was, he judged, essential inthis case.

“Surely you—are from abroad?” he inquired at last, in aconfused sort of way. He had begun his sentence intending to say, “Surelyyou are not Prince Muishkin, are you?”

“Yes, straight from the train! Did not you intend to say, ‘Surelyyou are not Prince Muishkin?’ just now, but refrained out ofpoliteness?”

“H’m!” grunted the astonished servant.

“I assure you I am not deceiving you; you shall not have to answer forme. As to my being dressed like this, and carrying a bundle, there’snothing surprising in that—the fact is, my circumstances are notparticularly rosy at this moment.”

“H’m!—no, I’m not afraid of that, you see; I have toannounce you, that’s all. The secretary will be out directly—thatis, unless you—yes, that’s the rub—unless you—come, youmust allow me to ask you—you’ve not come to beg, have you?”

“Oh dear no, you can be perfectly easy on that score. I have quiteanother matter on hand.”

“You must excuse my asking, you know. Your appearance led me tothink—but just wait for the secretary; the general is busy now, but thesecretary is sure to come out.”

“Oh—well, look here, if I have some time to wait, would you mindtelling me, is there any place about where I could have a smoke? I have my pipeand tobacco with me.”

“Smoke?” said the man, in shocked but disdainful surprise,blinking his eyes at the prince as though he could not believe his senses.“No, sir, you cannot smoke here, and I wonder you are not ashamed of thevery suggestion. Ha, ha! a cool idea that, I declare!”

“Oh, I didn’t mean in this room! I know I can’t smoke here,of course. I’d adjourn to some other room, wherever you like to show meto. You see, I’m used to smoking a good deal, and now I haven’t hada puff for three hours; however, just as you like.”

“Now how on earth am I to announce a man like that?” muttered theservant. “In the first place, you’ve no right in here at all; youought to be in the waiting-room, because you’re a sort of visitor—aguest, in fact—and I shall catch it for this. Look here, do you intend totake up you abode with us?” he added, glancing once more at theprince’s bundle, which evidently gave him no peace.

“No, I don’t think so. I don’t think I should stay even ifthey were to invite me. I’ve simply come to make their acquaintance, andnothing more.”

“Make their acquaintance?” asked the man, in amazement, and withredoubled suspicion. “Then why did you say you had business with thegeneral?”

“Oh well, very little business. There is one little matter—someadvice I am going to ask him for; but my principal object is simply tointroduce myself, because I am Prince Muishkin, and Madame Epanchin is the lastof her branch of the house, and besides herself and me there are no otherMuishkins left.”

“What—you’re a relation then, are you?” asked theservant, so bewildered that he began to feel quite alarmed.

“Well, hardly so. If you stretch a point, we are relations, of course,but so distant that one cannot really take cognizance of it. I once wrote toyour mistress from abroad, but she did not reply. However, I have thought itright to make acquaintance with her on my arrival. I am telling you all this inorder to ease your mind, for I see you are still far from comfortable on myaccount. All you have to do is to announce me as Prince Muishkin, and theobject of my visit will be plain enough. If I am received—very good; ifnot, well, very good again. But they are sure to receive me, I should think;Madame Epanchin will naturally be curious to see the only remainingrepresentative of her family. She values her Muishkin descent very highly, if Iam rightly informed.”

The prince’s conversation was artless and confiding to a degree, and theservant could not help feeling that as from visitor to common serving-man thisstate of things was highly improper. His conclusion was that one of two thingsmust be the explanation—either that this was a begging impostor, or thatthe prince, if prince he were, was simply a fool, without the slightestambition; for a sensible prince with any ambition would certainly not waitabout in ante-rooms with servants, and talk of his own private affairs likethis. In either case, how was he to announce this singular visitor?

“I really think I must request you to step into the next room!” hesaid, with all the insistence he could muster.

“Why? If I had been sitting there now, I should not have had theopportunity of making these personal explanations. I see you are still uneasyabout me and keep eyeing my cloak and bundle. Don’t you think you mightgo in yourself now, without waiting for the secretary to come out?”

“No, no! I can’t announce a visitor like yourself without thesecretary. Besides the general said he was not to be disturbed—he is withthe Colonel C—. Gavrila Ardalionovitch goes in without announcing.”

“Who may that be? a clerk?”

“What? Gavrila Ardalionovitch? Oh no; he belongs to one of the companies.Look here, at all events put your bundle down, here.”

“Yes, I will if I may; and—can I take off my cloak”

“Of course; you can’t go in there with it on, anyhow.”

The prince rose and took off his mantle, revealing a neat enough morningcostume—a little worn, but well made. He wore a steel watch chain andfrom this chain there hung a silver Geneva watch. Fool the prince might be,still, the general’s servant felt that it was not correct for him tocontinue to converse thus with a visitor, in spite of the fact that the princepleased him somehow.

“And what time of day does the lady receive?” the latter asked,reseating himself in his old place.

“Oh, that’s not in my province! I believe she receives atany time; it depends upon the visitors. The dressmaker goes in at eleven.Gavrila Ardalionovitch is allowed much earlier than other people, too; he iseven admitted to early lunch now and then.”

“It is much warmer in the rooms here than it is abroad at thisseason,” observed the prince; “but it is much warmer there out ofdoors. As for the houses—a Russian can’t live in them in the winteruntil he gets accustomed to them.”

“Don’t they heat them at all?”

“Well, they do heat them a little; but the houses and stoves are sodifferent to ours.”

“H’m! were you long away?”

“Four years! and I was in the same place nearly all the time,—inone village.”

“You must have forgotten Russia, hadn’t you?”

“Yes, indeed I had—a good deal; and, would you believe it, I oftenwonder at myself for not having forgotten how to speak Russian? Even now, as Italk to you, I keep saying to myself ‘how well I am speaking it.’Perhaps that is partly why I am so talkative this morning. I assure you, eversince yesterday evening I have had the strongest desire to go on and on talkingRussian.”

“H’m! yes; did you live in Petersburg in former years?”

This good flunkey, in spite of his conscientious scruples, really could notresist continuing such a very genteel and agreeable conversation.

“In Petersburg? Oh no! hardly at all, and now they say so much is changedin the place that even those who did know it well are obliged to relearn whatthey knew. They talk a good deal about the new law courts, and changes there,don’t they?”

“H’m! yes, that’s true enough. Well now, how is the law overthere, do they administer it more justly than here?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that! I’ve heard much that is goodabout our legal administration, too. There is no capital punishment here forone thing.”

“Is there over there?”

“Yes—I saw an execution in France—at Lyons. Schneider took meover with him to see it.”

“What, did they hang the fellow?”

“No, they cut off people’s heads in France.”

“What did the fellow do?—yell?”

“Oh no—it’s the work of an instant. They put a man inside aframe and a sort of broad knife falls by machinery—they call the thing aguillotine—it falls with fearful force and weight—the head springsoff so quickly that you can’t wink your eye in between. But all thepreparations are so dreadful. When they announce the sentence, you know, andprepare the criminal and tie his hands, and cart him off to thescaffold—that’s the fearful part of the business. The people allcrowd round—even women—though they don’t at all approve ofwomen looking on.”

“No, it’s not a thing for women.”

“Of course not—of course not!—bah! The criminal was a fineintelligent fearless man; Le Gros was his name; and I may tellyou—believe it or not, as you like—that when that man stepped uponthe scaffold he cried, he did indeed,—he was as white as a bit ofpaper. Isn’t it a dreadful idea that he should have cried—cried!Whoever heard of a grown man crying from fear—not a child, but a man whonever had cried before—a grown man of forty-five years. Imagine what musthave been going on in that man’s mind at such a moment; what dreadfulconvulsions his whole spirit must have endured; it is an outrage on the soulthat’s what it is. Because it is said ‘thou shalt not kill,’is he to be killed because he murdered some one else? No, it is not right,it’s an impossible theory. I assure you, I saw the sight a month ago andit’s dancing before my eyes to this moment. I dream of it, often.”

The prince had grown animated as he spoke, and a tinge of colour suffused hispale face, though his way of talking was as quiet as ever. The servant followedhis words with sympathetic interest. Clearly he was not at all anxious to bringthe conversation to an end. Who knows? Perhaps he too was a man of imaginationand with some capacity for thought.

“Well, at all events it is a good thing that there’s no pain whenthe poor fellow’s head flies off,” he remarked.

“Do you know, though,” cried the prince warmly, “you madethat remark now, and everyone says the same thing, and the machine is designedwith the purpose of avoiding pain, this guillotine I mean; but a thought cameinto my head then: what if it be a bad plan after all? You may laugh at myidea, perhaps—but I could not help its occurring to me all the same. Nowwith the rack and tortures and so on—you suffer terrible pain of course;but then your torture is bodily pain only (although no doubt you have plenty ofthat) until you die. But here I should imagine the most terrible part ofthe whole punishment is, not the bodily pain at all—but the certainknowledge that in an hour,—then in ten minutes, then in half a minute,then now—this very instant—your soul must quit your body andthat you will no longer be a man—and that this is certain,certain! That’s the point—the certainty of it. Just thatinstant when you place your head on the block and hear the iron grate over yourhead—then—that quarter of a second is the most awful of all.

“This is not my own fantastical opinion—many people have thoughtthe same; but I feel it so deeply that I’ll tell you what I think. Ibelieve that to execute a man for murder is to punish him immeasurably moredreadfully than is equivalent to his crime. A murder by sentence is far moredreadful than a murder committed by a criminal. The man who is attacked byrobbers at night, in a dark wood, or anywhere, undoubtedly hopes and hopes thathe may yet escape until the very moment of his death. There are plenty ofinstances of a man running away, or imploring for mercy—at all eventshoping on in some degree—even after his throat was cut. But in the caseof an execution, that last hope—having which it is so immeasurably lessdreadful to die,—is taken away from the wretch and certaintysubstituted in its place! There is his sentence, and with it that terriblecertainty that he cannot possibly escape death—which, I consider, must bethe most dreadful anguish in the world. You may place a soldier before acannon’s mouth in battle, and fire upon him—and he will still hope.But read to that same soldier his death-sentence, and he will either go mad orburst into tears. Who dares to say that any man can suffer this without goingmad? No, no! it is an abuse, a shame, it is unnecessary—why should such athing exist? Doubtless there may be men who have been sentenced, who havesuffered this mental anguish for a while and then have been reprieved; perhapssuch men may have been able to relate their feelings afterwards. Our LordChrist spoke of this anguish and dread. No! no! no! No man should be treatedso, no man, no man!”

The servant, though of course he could not have expressed all this as theprince did, still clearly entered into it and was greatly conciliated, as wasevident from the increased amiability of his expression. “If you arereally very anxious for a smoke,” he remarked, “I think it mightpossibly be managed, if you are very quick about it. You see they might comeout and inquire for you, and you wouldn’t be on the spot. You see thatdoor there? Go in there and you’ll find a little room on the right; youcan smoke there, only open the window, because I ought not to allow it really,and—.” But there was no time, after all.

A young fellow entered the ante-room at this moment, with a bundle of papers inhis hand. The footman hastened to help him take off his overcoat. The newarrival glanced at the prince out of the corners of his eyes.

“This gentleman declares, Gavrila Ardalionovitch,” began the man,confidentially and almost familiarly, “that he is Prince Muishkin and arelative of Madame Epanchin’s. He has just arrived from abroad, withnothing but a bundle by way of luggage—.”

The prince did not hear the rest, because at this point the servant continuedhis communication in a whisper.

Gavrila Ardalionovitch listened attentively, and gazed at the prince with greatcuriosity. At last he motioned the man aside and stepped hurriedly towards theprince.

“Are you Prince Muishkin?” he asked, with the greatest courtesy andamiability.

He was a remarkably handsome young fellow of some twenty-eight summers, fairand of middle height; he wore a small beard, and his face was most intelligent.Yet his smile, in spite of its sweetness, was a little thin, if I may so callit, and showed his teeth too evenly; his gaze though decidedly good-humouredand ingenuous, was a trifle too inquisitive and intent to be altogetheragreeable.

“Probably when he is alone he looks quite different, and hardly smiles atall!” thought the prince.

He explained about himself in a few words, very much the same as he had toldthe footman and Rogojin beforehand.

Gavrila Ardalionovitch meanwhile seemed to be trying to recall something.

“Was it not you, then, who sent a letter a year or less ago—fromSwitzerland, I think it was—to Elizabetha Prokofievna (Mrs.Epanchin)?”

“It was.”

“Oh, then, of course they will remember who you are. You wish to see thegeneral? I’ll tell him at once—he will be free in a minute; butyou—you had better wait in the ante-chamber,—hadn’t you? Whyis he here?” he added, severely, to the man.

“I tell you, sir, he wished it himself!”

At this moment the study door opened, and a military man, with a portfoliounder his arm, came out talking loudly, and after bidding good-bye to someoneinside, took his departure.

“You there, Gania?” cried a voice from the study, “come inhere, will you?”

Gavrila Ardalionovitch nodded to the prince and entered the room hastily.

A couple of minutes later the door opened again and the affable voice of Ganiacried:

“Come in please, prince!”

III.

General Ivan Fedorovitch Epanchin was standing in the middle of the room, andgazed with great curiosity at the prince as he entered. He even advanced acouple of steps to meet him.

The prince came forward and introduced himself.

“Quite so,” replied the general, “and what can I do foryou?”

“Oh, I have no special business; my principal object was to make youracquaintance. I should not like to disturb you. I do not know your times andarrangements here, you see, but I have only just arrived. I came straight fromthe station. I am come direct from Switzerland.”

The general very nearly smiled, but thought better of it and kept his smileback. Then he reflected, blinked his eyes, stared at his guest once more fromhead to foot; then abruptly motioned him to a chair, sat down himself, andwaited with some impatience for the prince to speak.

Gania stood at his table in the far corner of the room, turning over papers.

“I have not much time for making acquaintances, as a rule,” saidthe general, “but as, of course, you have your object in coming,I—”

“I felt sure you would think I had some object in view when I resolved topay you this visit,” the prince interrupted; “but I give you myword, beyond the pleasure of making your acquaintance I had no personal objectwhatever.”

“The pleasure is, of course, mutual; but life is not all pleasure, as youare aware. There is such a thing as business, and I really do not see whatpossible reason there can be, or what we have in common to—”

“Oh, there is no reason, of course, and I suppose there is nothing incommon between us, or very little; for if I am Prince Muishkin, and your wifehappens to be a member of my house, that can hardly be called a‘reason.’ I quite understand that. And yet that was my whole motivefor coming. You see I have not been in Russia for four years, and knew verylittle about anything when I left. I had been very ill for a long time, and Ifeel now the need of a few good friends. In fact, I have a certain questionupon which I much need advice, and do not know whom to go to for it. I thoughtof your family when I was passing through Berlin. ‘They are almostrelations,’ I said to myself, ‘so I’ll begin with them;perhaps we may get on with each other, I with them and they with me, if theyare kind people;’ and I have heard that you are very kind people!”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, I’m sure,” replied the general,considerably taken aback. “May I ask where you have taken up yourquarters?”

“Nowhere, as yet.”

“What, straight from the station to my house? And how about yourluggage?”

“I only had a small bundle, containing linen, with me, nothing more. Ican carry it in my hand, easily. There will be plenty of time to take a room insome hotel by the evening.”

“Oh, then you do intend to take a room?”

“Of course.”

“To judge from your words, you came straight to my house with theintention of staying there.”

“That could only have been on your invitation. I confess, however, that Ishould not have stayed here even if you had invited me, not for any particularreason, but because it is—well, contrary to my practice and nature,somehow.”

“Oh, indeed! Then it is perhaps as well that I neither did inviteyou, nor do invite you now. Excuse me, prince, but we had better makethis matter clear, once for all. We have just agreed that with regard to ourrelationship there is not much to be said, though, of course, it would havebeen very delightful to us to feel that such relationship did actually exist;therefore, perhaps—”

“Therefore, perhaps I had better get up and go away?” said theprince, laughing merrily as he rose from his place; just as merrily as thoughthe circumstances were by no means strained or difficult. “And I give youmy word, general, that though I know nothing whatever of manners and customs ofsociety, and how people live and all that, yet I felt quite sure that thisvisit of mine would end exactly as it has ended now. Oh, well, I supposeit’s all right; especially as my letter was not answered. Well, good-bye,and forgive me for having disturbed you!”

The prince’s expression was so good-natured at this moment, and soentirely free from even a suspicion of unpleasant feeling was the smile withwhich he looked at the general as he spoke, that the latter suddenly paused,and appeared to gaze at his guest from quite a new point of view, all in aninstant.

“Do you know, prince,” he said, in quite a different tone, “Ido not know you at all, yet, and after all, Elizabetha Prokofievna would verylikely be pleased to have a peep at a man of her own name. Wait a little, ifyou don’t mind, and if you have time to spare?”

“Oh, I assure you I’ve lots of time, my time is entirely myown!” And the prince immediately replaced his soft, round hat on thetable. “I confess, I thought Elizabetha Prokofievna would very likelyremember that I had written her a letter. Just now your servant—outsidethere—was dreadfully suspicious that I had come to beg of you. I noticedthat! Probably he has very strict instructions on that score; but I assure youI did not come to beg. I came to make some friends. But I am rather bothered athaving disturbed you; that’s all I care about.—”

“Look here, prince,” said the general, with a cordial smile,“if you really are the sort of man you appear to be, it may be a sourceof great pleasure to us to make your better acquaintance; but, you see, I am avery busy man, and have to be perpetually sitting here and signing papers, oroff to see his excellency, or to my department, or somewhere; so that though Ishould be glad to see more of people, nice people—you see,I—however, I am sure you are so well brought up that you will see atonce, and—but how old are you, prince?”

“Twenty-six.”

“No? I thought you very much younger.”

“Yes, they say I have a ‘young’ face. As to disturbing you Ishall soon learn to avoid doing that, for I hate disturbing people. Besides,you and I are so differently constituted, I should think, that there must bevery little in common between us. Not that I will ever believe there isnothing in common between any two people, as some declare is the case. Iam sure people make a great mistake in sorting each other into groups, byappearances; but I am boring you, I see, you—”

“Just two words: have you any means at all? Or perhaps you may beintending to undertake some sort of employment? Excuse my questioning you,but—”

“Oh, my dear sir, I esteem and understand your kindness in putting thequestion. No; at present I have no means whatever, and no employment either,but I hope to find some. I was living on other people abroad. Schneider, theprofessor who treated me and taught me, too, in Switzerland, gave me justenough money for my journey, so that now I have but a few copecks left. Therecertainly is one question upon which I am anxious to have advice,but—”

“Tell me, how do you intend to live now, and what are your plans?”interrupted the general.

“I wish to work, somehow or other.”

“Oh yes, but then, you see, you are a philosopher. Have you any talents,or ability in any direction—that is, any that would bring in money andbread? Excuse me again—”

“Oh, don’t apologize. No, I don’t think I have either talentsor special abilities of any kind; on the contrary. I have always been aninvalid and unable to learn much. As for bread, I should think—”

The general interrupted once more with questions; while the prince againreplied with the narrative we have heard before. It appeared that the generalhad known Pavlicheff; but why the latter had taken an interest in the prince,that young gentleman could not explain; probably by virtue of the oldfriendship with his father, he thought.

The prince had been left an orphan when quite a little child, and Pavlicheffhad entrusted him to an old lady, a relative of his own, living in the country,the child needing the fresh air and exercise of country life. He was educated,first by a governess, and afterwards by a tutor, but could not remember muchabout this time of his life. His fits were so frequent then, that they madealmost an idiot of him (the prince used the expression “idiot”himself). Pavlicheff had met Professor Schneider in Berlin, and the latter hadpersuaded him to send the boy to Switzerland, to Schneider’sestablishment there, for the cure of his epilepsy, and, five years before thistime, the prince was sent off. But Pavlicheff had died two or three yearssince, and Schneider had himself supported the young fellow, from that day tothis, at his own expense. Although he had not quite cured him, he had greatlyimproved his condition; and now, at last, at the prince’s own desire, andbecause of a certain matter which came to the ears of the latter, Schneider haddespatched the young man to Russia.

The general was much astonished.

“Then you have no one, absolutely no one in Russia?” heasked.

“No one, at present; but I hope to make friends; and then I have a letterfrom—”

“At all events,” put in the general, not listening to the newsabout the letter, “at all events, you must have learned something,and your malady would not prevent your undertaking some easy work, in one ofthe departments, for instance?”

“Oh dear no, oh no! As for a situation, I should much like to find onefor I am anxious to discover what I really am fit for. I have learned a gooddeal in the last four years, and, besides, I read a great many Russianbooks.”

“Russian books, indeed? Then, of course, you can read and write quitecorrectly?”

“Oh dear, yes!”

“Capital! And your handwriting?”

“Ah, there I am really talented! I may say I am a realcaligraphist. Let me write you something, just to show you,” said theprince, with some excitement.

“With pleasure! In fact, it is very necessary. I like your readiness,prince; in fact, I must say—I—I—like you very well,altogether,” said the general.

“What delightful writing materials you have here, such a lot of pencilsand things, and what beautiful paper! It’s a charming room altogether. Iknow that picture, it’s a Swiss view. I’m sure the artist paintedit from nature, and that I have seen the very place—”

“Quite likely, though I bought it here. Gania, give the prince somepaper. Here are pens and paper; now then, take this table. What’sthis?” the general continued to Gania, who had that moment taken a largephotograph out of his portfolio, and shown it to his senior. “Halloa!Nastasia Philipovna! Did she send it you herself? Herself?” he inquired,with much curiosity and great animation.

“She gave it me just now, when I called in to congratulate her. I askedher for it long ago. I don’t know whether she meant it for a hint that Ihad come empty-handed, without a present for her birthday, or what,”added Gania, with an unpleasant smile.

“Oh, nonsense, nonsense,” said the general, with decision.“What extraordinary ideas you have, Gania! As if she would hint;that’s not her way at all. Besides, what could you give her,without having thousands at your disposal? You might have given her yourportrait, however. Has she ever asked you for it?”

“No, not yet. Very likely she never will. I suppose you haven’tforgotten about tonight, have you, Ivan Fedorovitch? You were one of thosespecially invited, you know.”

“Oh no, I remember all right, and I shall go, of course. I should thinkso! She’s twenty-five years old today! And, you know, Gania, you must beready for great things; she has promised both myself and Afanasy Ivanovitchthat she will give a decided answer tonight, yes or no. So be prepared!”

Gania suddenly became so ill at ease that his face grew paler than ever.

“Are you sure she said that?” he asked, and his voice seemed toquiver as he spoke.

“Yes, she promised. We both worried her so that she gave in; but shewished us to tell you nothing about it until the day.”

The general watched Gania’s confusion intently, and clearly did not likeit.

“Remember, Ivan Fedorovitch,” said Gania, in great agitation,“that I was to be free too, until her decision; and that even then I wasto have my ‘yes or no’ free.”

“Why, don’t you, aren’t you—” began the general,in alarm.

“Oh, don’t misunderstand—”

“But, my dear fellow, what are you doing, what do you mean?”

“Oh, I’m not rejecting her. I may have expressed myself badly, butI didn’t mean that.”

“Reject her! I should think not!” said the general with annoyance,and apparently not in the least anxious to conceal it. “Why, my dearfellow, it’s not a question of your rejecting her, it is whether you areprepared to receive her consent joyfully, and with proper satisfaction. How arethings going on at home?”

“At home? Oh, I can do as I like there, of course; only my father willmake a fool of himself, as usual. He is rapidly becoming a general nuisance. Idon’t ever talk to him now, but I hold him in check, safe enough. I swearif it had not been for my mother, I should have shown him the way out, longago. My mother is always crying, of course, and my sister sulks. I had to tellthem at last that I intended to be master of my own destiny, and that I expectto be obeyed at home. At least, I gave my sister to understand as much, and mymother was present.”

“Well, I must say, I cannot understand it!” said the general,shrugging his shoulders and dropping his hands. “You remember yourmother, Nina Alexandrovna, that day she came and sat here and groaned—andwhen I asked her what was the matter, she says, ‘Oh, it’s such adishonour to us!’ dishonour! Stuff and nonsense! I should like toknow who can reproach Nastasia Philipovna, or who can say a word of any kindagainst her. Did she mean because Nastasia had been living with Totski? Whatnonsense it is! You would not let her come near your daughters, says NinaAlexandrovna. What next, I wonder? I don’t see how she can failto—to understand—”

“Her own position?” prompted Gania. “She does understand.Don’t be annoyed with her. I have warned her not to meddle in otherpeople’s affairs. However, although there’s comparative peace athome at present, the storm will break if anything is finally settledtonight.”

The prince heard the whole of the foregoing conversation, as he sat at thetable, writing. He finished at last, and brought the result of his labour tothe general’s desk.

“So this is Nastasia Philipovna,” he said, looking attentively andcuriously at the portrait. “How wonderfully beautiful!” heimmediately added, with warmth. The picture was certainly that of an unusuallylovely woman. She was photographed in a black silk dress of simple design, herhair was evidently dark and plainly arranged, her eyes were deep andthoughtful, the expression of her face passionate, but proud. She was ratherthin, perhaps, and a little pale. Both Gania and the general gazed at theprince in amazement.

“How do you know it’s Nastasia Philipovna?” asked thegeneral; “you surely don’t know her already, do you?”

“Yes, I do! I have only been one day in Russia, but I have heard of thegreat beauty!” And the prince proceeded to narrate his meeting withRogojin in the train and the whole of the latter’s story.

“There’s news!” said the general in some excitement, afterlistening to the story with engrossed attention.

“Oh, of course it’s nothing but humbug!” cried Gania, alittle disturbed, however. “It’s all humbug; the young merchant waspleased to indulge in a little innocent recreation! I have heard something ofRogojin!”

“Yes, so have I!” replied the general. “Nastasia Philipovnatold us all about the earrings that very day. But now it is quite a differentmatter. You see the fellow really has a million of roubles, and he ispassionately in love. The whole story smells of passion, and we all know whatthis class of gentry is capable of when infatuated. I am much afraid of somedisagreeable scandal, I am indeed!”

“You are afraid of the million, I suppose,” said Gania, grinningand showing his teeth.

“And you are not, I presume, eh?”

“How did he strike you, prince?” asked Gania, suddenly. “Didhe seem to be a serious sort of a man, or just a common rowdy fellow? What wasyour own opinion about the matter?”

While Gania put this question, a new idea suddenly flashed into his brain, andblazed out, impatiently, in his eyes. The general, who was really agitated anddisturbed, looked at the prince too, but did not seem to expect much from hisreply.

“I really don’t quite know how to tell you,” replied theprince, “but it certainly did seem to me that the man was full ofpassion, and not, perhaps, quite healthy passion. He seemed to be still farfrom well. Very likely he will be in bed again in a day or two, especially ifhe lives fast.”

“No! do you think so?” said the general, catching at the idea.

“Yes, I do think so!”

“Yes, but the sort of scandal I referred to may happen at any moment. Itmay be this very evening,” remarked Gania to the general, with a smile.

“Of course; quite so. In that case it all depends upon what is going onin her brain at this moment.”

“You know the kind of person she is at times.”

“How? What kind of person is she?” cried the general, arrived atthe limits of his patience. “Look here, Gania, don’t you goannoying her tonight. What you are to do is to be as agreeable towards her asever you can. Well, what are you smiling at? You must understand, Gania, that Ihave no interest whatever in speaking like this. Whichever way the question issettled, it will be to my advantage. Nothing will move Totski from hisresolution, so I run no risk. If there is anything I desire, you must know thatit is your benefit only. Can’t you trust me? You are a sensible fellow,and I have been counting on you; for, in this matter, that, that—”

“Yes, that’s the chief thing,” said Gania, helping thegeneral out of his difficulties again, and curling his lips in an envenomedsmile, which he did not attempt to conceal. He gazed with his fevered eyesstraight into those of the general, as though he were anxious that the lattermight read his thoughts.

The general grew purple with anger.

“Yes, of course it is the chief thing!” he cried, looking sharplyat Gania. “What a very curious man you are, Gania! You actually seem tobe glad to hear of this millionaire fellow’s arrival—just asthough you wished for an excuse to get out of the whole thing. This is anaffair in which you ought to act honestly with both sides, and give duewarning, to avoid compromising others. But, even now, there is still time. Doyou understand me? I wish to know whether you desire this arrangement orwhether you do not? If not, say so,—and—and welcome! No one istrying to force you into the snare, Gavrila Ardalionovitch, if you see a snarein the matter, at least.”

“I do desire it,” murmured Gania, softly but firmly, lowering hiseyes; and he relapsed into gloomy silence.

The general was satisfied. He had excited himself, and was evidently nowregretting that he had gone so far. He turned to the prince, and suddenly thedisagreeable thought of the latter’s presence struck him, and thecertainty that he must have heard every word of the conversation. But he feltat ease in another moment; it only needed one glance at the prince to see thatin that quarter there was nothing to fear.

“Oh!” cried the general, catching sight of the prince’sspecimen of caligraphy, which the latter had now handed him for inspection.“Why, this is simply beautiful; look at that, Gania, there’s realtalent there!”

On a sheet of thick writing-paper the prince had written in medieval charactersthe legend:

“The gentle Abbot Pafnute signed this.”

“There,” explained the prince, with great delight and animation,“there, that’s the abbot’s real signature—from amanuscript of the fourteenth century. All these old abbots and bishops used towrite most beautifully, with such taste and so much care and diligence. Haveyou no copy of Pogodin, general? If you had one I could show you another type.Stop a bit—here you have the large round writing common in France duringthe eighteenth century. Some of the letters are shaped quite differently fromthose now in use. It was the writing current then, and employed by publicwriters generally. I copied this from one of them, and you can see how good itis. Look at the well-rounded a and d. I have tried to translate the Frenchcharacter into the Russian letters—a difficult thing to do, but I think Ihave succeeded fairly. Here is a fine sentence, written in a good, originalhand—‘Zeal triumphs over all.’ That is the script of theRussian War Office. That is how official documents addressed to importantpersonages should be written. The letters are round, the type black, and thestyle somewhat remarkable. A stylist would not allow these ornaments, orattempts at flourishes—just look at these unfinished tails!—but ithas distinction and really depicts the soul of the writer. He would like togive play to his imagination, and follow the inspiration of his genius, but asoldier is only at ease in the guard-room, and the pen stops half-way, a slaveto discipline. How delightful! The first time I met an example of thishandwriting, I was positively astonished, and where do you think I chanced tofind it? In Switzerland, of all places! Now that is an ordinary English hand.It can hardly be improved, it is so refined and exquisite—almostperfection. This is an example of another kind, a mixture of styles. The copywas given me by a French commercial traveller. It is founded on the English,but the downstrokes are a little blacker, and more marked. Notice that the ovalhas some slight modification—it is more rounded. This writing allows forflourishes; now a flourish is a dangerous thing! Its use requires such taste,but, if successful, what a distinction it gives to the whole! It results in anincomparable type—one to fall in love with!”

“Dear me! How you have gone into all the refinements and details of thequestion! Why, my dear fellow, you are not a caligraphist, you are an artist!Eh, Gania?”

“Wonderful!” said Gania. “And he knows it too,” headded, with a sarcastic smile.

“You may smile,—but there’s a career in this,” said thegeneral. “You don’t know what a great personage I shall show thisto, prince. Why, you can command a situation at thirty-five roubles per monthto start with. However, it’s half-past twelve,” he concluded,looking at his watch; “so to business, prince, for I must be setting towork and shall not see you again today. Sit down a minute. I have told you thatI cannot receive you myself very often, but I should like to be of someassistance to you, some small assistance, of a kind that would give yousatisfaction. I shall find you a place in one of the State departments, an easyplace—but you will require to be accurate. Now, as to your plans—inthe house, or rather in the family of Gania here—my young friend, whom Ihope you will know better—his mother and sister have prepared two orthree rooms for lodgers, and let them to highly recommended young fellows, withboard and attendance. I am sure Nina Alexandrovna will take you in on myrecommendation. There you will be comfortable and well taken care of; for I donot think, prince, that you are the sort of man to be left to the mercy of Fatein a town like Petersburg. Nina Alexandrovna, Gania’s mother, and VarvaraAlexandrovna, are ladies for whom I have the highest possible esteem andrespect. Nina Alexandrovna is the wife of General Ardalion Alexandrovitch, myold brother in arms, with whom, I regret to say, on account of certaincircumstances, I am no longer acquainted. I give you all this information,prince, in order to make it clear to you that I am personally recommending youto this family, and that in so doing, I am more or less taking upon myself toanswer for you. The terms are most reasonable, and I trust that your salarywill very shortly prove amply sufficient for your expenditure. Of coursepocket-money is a necessity, if only a little; do not be angry, prince, if Istrongly recommend you to avoid carrying money in your pocket. But as yourpurse is quite empty at the present moment, you must allow me to press thesetwenty-five roubles upon your acceptance, as something to begin with. Of coursewe will settle this little matter another time, and if you are the upright,honest man you look, I anticipate very little trouble between us on that score.Taking so much interest in you as you may perceive I do, I am not without myobject, and you shall know it in good time. You see, I am perfectly candid withyou. I hope, Gania, you have nothing to say against the prince’s takingup his abode in your house?”

“Oh, on the contrary! my mother will be very glad,” said Gania,courteously and kindly.

“I think only one of your rooms is engaged as yet, is it not? That fellowFerd-Ferd—”

“Ferdishenko.”

“Yes—I don’t like that Ferdishenko. I can’t understandwhy Nastasia Philipovna encourages him so. Is he really her cousin, as hesays?”

“Oh dear no, it’s all a joke. No more cousin than I am.”

“Well, what do you think of the arrangement, prince?”

“Thank you, general; you have behaved very kindly to me; all the more sosince I did not ask you to help me. I don’t say that out of pride. Icertainly did not know where to lay my head tonight. Rogojin asked me to cometo his house, of course, but—”

“Rogojin? No, no, my good fellow. I should strongly recommend you,paternally,—or, if you prefer it, as a friend,—to forget all aboutRogojin, and, in fact, to stick to the family into which you are about toenter.”

“Thank you,” began the prince; “and since you are so verykind there is just one matter which I—”

“You must really excuse me,” interrupted the general, “but Ipositively haven’t another moment now. I shall just tell ElizabethaProkofievna about you, and if she wishes to receive you at once—as Ishall advise her—I strongly recommend you to ingratiate yourself with herat the first opportunity, for my wife may be of the greatest service to you inmany ways. If she cannot receive you now, you must be content to wait tillanother time. Meanwhile you, Gania, just look over these accounts, will you? Wemustn’t forget to finish off that matter—”

The general left the room, and the prince never succeeded in broaching thebusiness which he had on hand, though he had endeavoured to do so four times.

Gania lit a cigarette and offered one to the prince. The latter accepted theoffer, but did not talk, being unwilling to disturb Gania’s work. Hecommenced to examine the study and its contents. But Gania hardly so much asglanced at the papers lying before him; he was absent and thoughtful, and hissmile and general appearance struck the prince still more disagreeably now thatthe two were left alone together.

Suddenly Gania approached our hero who was at the moment standing over NastasiaPhilipovna’s portrait, gazing at it.

“Do you admire that sort of woman, prince?” he asked, lookingintently at him. He seemed to have some special object in the question.

“It’s a wonderful face,” said the prince, “and I feelsure that her destiny is not by any means an ordinary, uneventful one. Her faceis smiling enough, but she must have suffered terribly—hasn’t she?Her eyes show it—those two bones there, the little points under her eyes,just where the cheek begins. It’s a proud face too, terribly proud! AndI—I can’t say whether she is good and kind, or not. Oh, if she bebut good! That would make all well!”

“And would you marry a woman like that, now?” continued Gania,never taking his excited eyes off the prince’s face.

“I cannot marry at all,” said the latter. “I am aninvalid.”

“Would Rogojin marry her, do you think?”

“Why not? Certainly he would, I should think. He would marry hertomorrow!—marry her tomorrow and murder her in a week!”

Hardly had the prince uttered the last word when Gania gave such a fearfulshudder that the prince almost cried out.

“What’s the matter?” said he, seizing Gania’s hand.

“Your highness! His excellency begs your presence in herexcellency’s apartments!” announced the footman, appearing at thedoor.

The prince immediately followed the man out of the room.

IV.

All three of the Miss Epanchins were fine, healthy girls, well-grown, with goodshoulders and busts, and strong—almost masculine—hands; and, ofcourse, with all the above attributes, they enjoyed capital appetites, of whichthey were not in the least ashamed.

Elizabetha Prokofievna sometimes informed the girls that they were a little toocandid in this matter, but in spite of their outward deference to their motherthese three young women, in solemn conclave, had long agreed to modify theunquestioning obedience which they had been in the habit of according to her;and Mrs. General Epanchin had judged it better to say nothing about it, though,of course, she was well aware of the fact.

It is true that her nature sometimes rebelled against these dictates of reason,and that she grew yearly more capricious and impatient; but having a respectfuland well-disciplined husband under her thumb at all times, she found itpossible, as a rule, to empty any little accumulations of spleen upon his head,and therefore the harmony of the family was kept duly balanced, and things wentas smoothly as family matters can.

Mrs. Epanchin had a fair appetite herself, and generally took her share of thecapital mid-day lunch which was always served for the girls, and which wasnearly as good as a dinner. The young ladies used to have a cup of coffee eachbefore this meal, at ten o’clock, while still in bed. This was afavourite and unalterable arrangement with them. At half-past twelve, the tablewas laid in the small dining-room, and occasionally the general himselfappeared at the family gathering, if he had time.

Besides tea and coffee, cheese, honey, butter, pan-cakes of various kinds (thelady of the house loved these best), cutlets, and so on, there was generallystrong beef soup, and other substantial delicacies.

On the particular morning on which our story has opened, the family hadassembled in the dining-room, and were waiting the general’s appearance,the latter having promised to come this day. If he had been one moment late, hewould have been sent for at once; but he turned up punctually.

As he came forward to wish his wife good-morning and kiss her hands, as hiscustom was, he observed something in her look which boded ill. He thought heknew the reason, and had expected it, but still, he was not altogethercomfortable. His daughters advanced to kiss him, too, and though they did notlook exactly angry, there was something strange in their expression as well.

The general was, owing to certain circumstances, a little inclined to be toosuspicious at home, and needlessly nervous; but, as an experienced father andhusband, he judged it better to take measures at once to protect himself fromany dangers there might be in the air.

However, I hope I shall not interfere with the proper sequence of my narrativetoo much, if I diverge for a moment at this point, in order to explain themutual relations between General Epanchin’s family and others acting apart in this history, at the time when we take up the thread of their destiny.I have already stated that the general, though he was a man of lowly origin,and of poor education, was, for all that, an experienced and talented husbandand father. Among other things, he considered it undesirable to hurry hisdaughters to the matrimonial altar and to worry them too much with assurancesof his paternal wishes for their happiness, as is the custom among parents ofmany grown-up daughters. He even succeeded in ranging his wife on his side onthis question, though he found the feat very difficult to accomplish, becauseunnatural; but the general’s arguments were conclusive, and founded uponobvious facts. The general considered that the girls’ taste and goodsense should be allowed to develop and mature deliberately, and that theparents’ duty should merely be to keep watch, in order that no strange orundesirable choice be made; but that the selection once effected, both fatherand mother were bound from that moment to enter heart and soul into the cause,and to see that the matter progressed without hindrance until the altar shouldbe happily reached.

Besides this, it was clear that the Epanchins’ position gained each year,with geometrical accuracy, both as to financial solidity and social weight;and, therefore, the longer the girls waited, the better was their chance ofmaking a brilliant match.

But again, amidst the incontrovertible facts just recorded, one more, equallysignificant, rose up to confront the family; and this was, that the eldestdaughter, Alexandra, had imperceptibly arrived at her twenty-fifth birthday.Almost at the same moment, Afanasy Ivanovitch Totski, a man of immense wealth,high connections, and good standing, announced his intention of marrying.Afanasy Ivanovitch was a gentleman of fifty-five years of age, artisticallygifted, and of most refined tastes. He wished to marry well, and, moreover, hewas a keen admirer and judge of beauty.

Now, since Totski had, of late, been upon terms of great cordiality withEpanchin, which excellent relations were intensified by the fact that theywere, so to speak, partners in several financial enterprises, it so happenedthat the former now put in a friendly request to the general for counsel withregard to the important step he meditated. Might he suggest, for instance, sucha thing as a marriage between himself and one of the general’s daughters?

Evidently the quiet, pleasant current of the family life of the Epanchins wasabout to undergo a change.

The undoubted beauty of the family, par excellence, was the youngest,Aglaya, as aforesaid. But Totski himself, though an egotist of the extremesttype, realized that he had no chance there; Aglaya was clearly not for such ashe.

Perhaps the sisterly love and friendship of the three girls had more or lessexaggerated Aglaya’s chances of happiness. In their opinion, thelatter’s destiny was not merely to be very happy; she was to live in aheaven on earth. Aglaya’s husband was to be a compendium of all thevirtues, and of all success, not to speak of fabulous wealth. The two eldersisters had agreed that all was to be sacrificed by them, if need be, forAglaya’s sake; her dowry was to be colossal and unprecedented.

The general and his wife were aware of this agreement, and, therefore, whenTotski suggested himself for one of the sisters, the parents made no doubt thatone of the two elder girls would probably accept the offer, since Totski wouldcertainly make no difficulty as to dowry. The general valued the proposal veryhighly. He knew life, and realized what such an offer was worth.

The answer of the sisters to the communication was, if not conclusive, at leastconsoling and hopeful. It made known that the eldest, Alexandra, would verylikely be disposed to listen to a proposal.

Alexandra was a good-natured girl, though she had a will of her own. She wasintelligent and kind-hearted, and, if she were to marry Totski, she would makehim a good wife. She did not care for a brilliant marriage; she was eminently awoman calculated to soothe and sweeten the life of any man; decidedly pretty,if not absolutely handsome. What better could Totski wish?

So the matter crept slowly forward. The general and Totski had agreed to avoidany hasty and irrevocable step. Alexandra’s parents had not even begun totalk to their daughters freely upon the subject, when suddenly, as it were, adissonant chord was struck amid the harmony of the proceedings. Mrs. Epanchinbegan to show signs of discontent, and that was a serious matter. A certaincircumstance had crept in, a disagreeable and troublesome factor, whichthreatened to overturn the whole business.

This circumstance had come into existence eighteen years before. Close to anestate of Totski’s, in one of the central provinces of Russia, therelived, at that time, a poor gentleman whose estate was of the wretchedestdescription. This gentleman was noted in the district for his persistentill-fortune; his name was Barashkoff, and, as regards family and descent, hewas vastly superior to Totski, but his estate was mortgaged to the last acre.One day, when he had ridden over to the town to see a creditor, the chiefpeasant of his village followed him shortly after, with the news that his househad been burnt down, and that his wife had perished with it, but his childrenwere safe.

Even Barashkoff, inured to the storms of evil fortune as he was, could notstand this last stroke. He went mad and died shortly after in the townhospital. His estate was sold for the creditors; and the little girls—twoof them, of seven and eight years of age respectively,—were adopted byTotski, who undertook their maintenance and education in the kindness of hisheart. They were brought up together with the children of his German bailiff.Very soon, however, there was only one of them left—NastasiaPhilipovna—for the other little one died of whooping-cough. Totski, whowas living abroad at this time, very soon forgot all about the child; but fiveyears after, returning to Russia, it struck him that he would like to look overhis estate and see how matters were going there, and, arrived at hisbailiff’s house, he was not long in discovering that among the childrenof the latter there now dwelt a most lovely little girl of twelve, sweet andintelligent, and bright, and promising to develop beauty of most unusualquality—as to which last Totski was an undoubted authority.

He only stayed at his country seat a few days on this occasion, but he had timeto make his arrangements. Great changes took place in the child’seducation; a good governess was engaged, a Swiss lady of experience andculture. For four years this lady resided in the house with little Nastia, andthen the education was considered complete. The governess took her departure,and another lady came down to fetch Nastia, by Totski’s instructions. Thechild was now transported to another of Totski’s estates in a distantpart of the country. Here she found a delightful little house, just built, andprepared for her reception with great care and taste; and here she took up herabode together with the lady who had accompanied her from her old home. In thehouse there were two experienced maids, musical instruments of all sorts, acharming “young lady’s library,” pictures, paint-boxes, alap-dog, and everything to make life agreeable. Within a fortnight Totskihimself arrived, and from that time he appeared to have taken a great fancy tothis part of the world and came down each summer, staying two and three monthsat a time. So passed four years peacefully and happily, in charmingsurroundings.

At the end of that time, and about four months after Totski’s last visit(he had stayed but a fortnight on this occasion), a report reached NastasiaPhilipovna that he was about to be married in St. Petersburg, to a rich,eminent, and lovely woman. The report was only partially true, the marriageproject being only in an embryo condition; but a great change now came overNastasia Philipovna. She suddenly displayed unusual decision of character; andwithout wasting time in thought, she left her country home and came up to St.Petersburg, straight to Totski’s house, all alone.

The latter, amazed at her conduct, began to express his displeasure; but hevery soon became aware that he must change his voice, style, and everythingelse, with this young lady; the good old times were gone. An entirely new anddifferent woman sat before him, between whom and the girl he had left in thecountry last July there seemed nothing in common.

In the first place, this new woman understood a good deal more than was usualfor young people of her age; so much indeed, that Totski could not helpwondering where she had picked up her knowledge. Surely not from her“young lady’s library”? It even embraced legal matters, andthe “world” in general, to a considerable extent.

Her character was absolutely changed. No more of the girlish alternations oftimidity and petulance, the adorable naivete, the reveries, the tears, theplayfulness... It was an entirely new and hitherto unknown being who now satand laughed at him, and informed him to his face that she had never had thefaintest feeling for him of any kind, except loathing andcontempt—contempt which had followed closely upon her sensations ofsurprise and bewilderment after her first acquaintance with him.

This new woman gave him further to understand that though it was absolutely thesame to her whom he married, yet she had decided to prevent thismarriage—for no particular reason, but that she chose to do so,and because she wished to amuse herself at his expense for that it was“quite her turn to laugh a little now!”

Such were her words—very likely she did not give her real reason for thiseccentric conduct; but, at all events, that was all the explanation she deignedto offer.

Meanwhile, Totski thought the matter over as well as his scattered ideas wouldpermit. His meditations lasted a fortnight, however, and at the end of thattime his resolution was taken. The fact was, Totski was at that time a man offifty years of age; his position was solid and respectable; his place insociety had long been firmly fixed upon safe foundations; he loved himself, hispersonal comforts, and his position better than all the world, as everyrespectable gentleman should!

At the same time his grasp of things in general soon showed Totski that he nowhad to deal with a being who was outside the pale of the ordinary rules oftraditional behaviour, and who would not only threaten mischief but wouldundoubtedly carry it out, and stop for no one.

There was evidently, he concluded, something at work here; some storm of themind, some paroxysm of romantic anger, goodness knows against whom or what,some insatiable contempt—in a word, something altogether absurd andimpossible, but at the same time most dangerous to be met with by anyrespectable person with a position in society to keep up.

For a man of Totski’s wealth and standing, it would, of course, have beenthe simplest possible matter to take steps which would rid him at once from allannoyance; while it was obviously impossible for Nastasia Philipovna to harmhim in any way, either legally or by stirring up a scandal, for, in case of thelatter danger, he could so easily remove her to a sphere of safety. However,these arguments would only hold good in case of Nastasia acting as others mightin such an emergency. She was much more likely to overstep the bounds ofreasonable conduct by some extraordinary eccentricity.

Here the sound judgment of Totski stood him in good stead. He realized thatNastasia Philipovna must be well aware that she could do nothing by legal meansto injure him, and that her flashing eyes betrayed some entirely differentintention.

Nastasia Philipovna was quite capable of ruining herself, and even ofperpetrating something which would send her to Siberia, for the mere pleasureof injuring a man for whom she had developed so inhuman a sense of loathing andcontempt. He had sufficient insight to understand that she valued nothing inthe world—herself least of all—and he made no attempt to concealthe fact that he was a coward in some respects. For instance, if he had beentold that he would be stabbed at the altar, or publicly insulted, he wouldundoubtedly have been frightened; but not so much at the idea of beingmurdered, or wounded, or insulted, as at the thought that if such things wereto happen he would be made to look ridiculous in the eyes of society.

He knew well that Nastasia thoroughly understood him and where to wound him andhow, and therefore, as the marriage was still only in embryo, Totski decided toconciliate her by giving it up. His decision was strengthened by the fact thatNastasia Philipovna had curiously altered of late. It would be difficult toconceive how different she was physically, at the present time, to the girl ofa few years ago. She was pretty then... but now!... Totski laughed angrily whenhe thought how short-sighted he had been. In days gone by he remembered how hehad looked at her beautiful eyes, how even then he had marvelled at their darkmysterious depths, and at their wondering gaze which seemed to seek an answerto some unknown riddle. Her complexion also had altered. She was nowexceedingly pale, but, curiously, this change only made her more beautiful.Like most men of the world, Totski had rather despised such a cheaply-boughtconquest, but of late years he had begun to think differently about it. It hadstruck him as long ago as last spring that he ought to be finding a good matchfor Nastasia; for instance, some respectable and reasonable young fellowserving in a government office in another part of the country. How maliciouslyNastasia laughed at the idea of such a thing, now!

However, it appeared to Totski that he might make use of her in another way;and he determined to establish her in St. Petersburg, surrounding her with allthe comforts and luxuries that his wealth could command. In this way he mightgain glory in certain circles.

Five years of this Petersburg life went by, and, of course, during that time agreat deal happened. Totski’s position was very uncomfortable; having“funked” once, he could not totally regain his ease. He was afraid,he did not know why, but he was simply afraid of Nastasia Philipovna.For the first two years or so he had suspected that she wished to marry himherself, and that only her vanity prevented her telling him so. He thought thatshe wanted him to approach her with a humble proposal from his own side. But tohis great, and not entirely pleasurable amazement, he discovered that this wasby no means the case, and that were he to offer himself he would be refused. Hecould not understand such a state of things, and was obliged to conclude thatit was pride, the pride of an injured and imaginative woman, which had gone tosuch lengths that it preferred to sit and nurse its contempt and hatred insolitude rather than mount to heights of hitherto unattainable splendour. Tomake matters worse, she was quite impervious to mercenary considerations, andcould not be bribed in any way.

Finally, Totski took cunning means to try to break his chains and be free. Hetried to tempt her in various ways to lose her heart; he invited princes,hussars, secretaries of embassies, poets, novelists, even Socialists, to seeher; but not one of them all made the faintest impression upon Nastasia. It wasas though she had a pebble in place of a heart, as though her feelings andaffections were dried up and withered for ever.

She lived almost entirely alone; she read, she studied, she loved music. Herprincipal acquaintances were poor women of various grades, a couple ofactresses, and the family of a poor schoolteacher. Among these people she wasmuch beloved.

She received four or five friends sometimes, of an evening. Totski often came.Lately, too, General Epanchin had been enabled with great difficulty tointroduce himself into her circle. Gania made her acquaintance also, and otherswere Ferdishenko, an ill-bred, and would-be witty, young clerk, and Ptitsin, amoney-lender of modest and polished manners, who had risen from poverty. Infact, Nastasia Philipovna’s beauty became a thing known to all the town;but not a single man could boast of anything more than his own admiration forher; and this reputation of hers, and her wit and culture and grace, allconfirmed Totski in the plan he had now prepared.

And it was at this moment that General Epanchin began to play so large andimportant a part in the story.

When Totski had approached the general with his request for friendly counsel asto a marriage with one of his daughters, he had made a full and candidconfession. He had said that he intended to stop at no means to obtain hisfreedom; even if Nastasia were to promise to leave him entirely alone infuture, he would not (he said) believe and trust her; words were not enough forhim; he must have solid guarantees of some sort. So he and the generaldetermined to try what an attempt to appeal to her heart would effect. Havingarrived at Nastasia’s house one day, with Epanchin, Totski immediatelybegan to speak of the intolerable torment of his position. He admitted that hewas to blame for all, but candidly confessed that he could not bring himself tofeel any remorse for his original guilt towards herself, because he was a manof sensual passions which were inborn and ineradicable, and that he had nopower over himself in this respect; but that he wished, seriously, to marry atlast, and that the whole fate of the most desirable social union which hecontemplated, was in her hands; in a word, he confided his all to hergenerosity of heart.

General Epanchin took up his part and spoke in the character of father of afamily; he spoke sensibly, and without wasting words over any attempt atsentimentality, he merely recorded his full admission of her right to be thearbiter of Totski’s destiny at this moment. He then pointed out that thefate of his daughter, and very likely of both his other daughters, now hungupon her reply.

To Nastasia’s question as to what they wished her to do, Totski confessedthat he had been so frightened by her, five years ago, that he could never nowbe entirely comfortable until she herself married. He immediately added thatsuch a suggestion from him would, of course, be absurd, unless accompanied byremarks of a more pointed nature. He very well knew, he said, that a certainyoung gentleman of good family, namely, Gavrila Ardalionovitch Ivolgin, withwhom she was acquainted, and whom she received at her house, had long loved herpassionately, and would give his life for some response from her. The youngfellow had confessed this love of his to him (Totski) and had also admitted itin the hearing of his benefactor, General Epanchin. Lastly, he could not helpbeing of opinion that Nastasia must be aware of Gania’s love for her, andif he (Totski) mistook not, she had looked with some favour upon it, beingoften lonely, and rather tired of her present life. Having remarked howdifficult it was for him, of all people, to speak to her of these matters,Totski concluded by saying that he trusted Nastasia Philipovna would not lookwith contempt upon him if he now expressed his sincere desire to guarantee herfuture by a gift of seventy-five thousand roubles. He added that the sum wouldhave been left her all the same in his will, and that therefore she must notconsider the gift as in any way an indemnification to her for anything, butthat there was no reason, after all, why a man should not be allowed toentertain a natural desire to lighten his conscience, etc., etc.; in fact, allthat would naturally be said under the circumstances. Totski was very eloquentall through, and, in conclusion, just touched on the fact that not a soul inthe world, not even General Epanchin, had ever heard a word about the aboveseventy-five thousand roubles, and that this was the first time he had evergiven expression to his intentions in respect to them.

Nastasia Philipovna’s reply to this long rigmarole astonished both thefriends considerably.

Not only was there no trace of her former irony, of her old hatred and enmity,and of that dreadful laughter, the very recollection of which sent a cold chilldown Totski’s back to this very day; but she seemed charmed and reallyglad to have the opportunity of talking seriously with him for once in a way.She confessed that she had long wished to have a frank and free conversationand to ask for friendly advice, but that pride had hitherto prevented her; now,however, that the ice was broken, nothing could be more welcome to her thanthis opportunity.

First, with a sad smile, and then with a twinkle of merriment in her eyes, sheadmitted that such a storm as that of five years ago was now quite out of thequestion. She said that she had long since changed her views of things, andrecognized that facts must be taken into consideration in spite of the feelingsof the heart. What was done was done and ended, and she could not understandwhy Totski should still feel alarmed.

She next turned to General Epanchin and observed, most courteously, that shehad long since known of his daughters, and that she had heard none but goodreport; that she had learned to think of them with deep and sincere respect.The idea alone that she could in any way serve them, would be to her both apride and a source of real happiness.

It was true that she was lonely in her present life; Totski had judged herthoughts aright. She longed to rise, if not to love, at least to family lifeand new hopes and objects, but as to Gavrila Ardalionovitch, she could not asyet say much. She thought it must be the case that he loved her; she felt thatshe too might learn to love him, if she could be sure of the firmness of hisattachment to herself; but he was very young, and it was a difficult questionto decide. What she specially liked about him was that he worked, and supportedhis family by his toil.

She had heard that he was proud and ambitious; she had heard much that wasinteresting of his mother and sister, she had heard of them from Mr. Ptitsin,and would much like to make their acquaintance, but—anotherquestion!—would they like to receive her into their house? At all events,though she did not reject the idea of this marriage, she desired not to behurried. As for the seventy-five thousand roubles, Mr. Totski need not havefound any difficulty or awkwardness about the matter; she quite understood thevalue of money, and would, of course, accept the gift. She thanked him for hisdelicacy, however, but saw no reason why Gavrila Ardalionovitch should not knowabout it.

She would not marry the latter, she said, until she felt persuaded that neitheron his part nor on the part of his family did there exist any sort of concealedsuspicions as to herself. She did not intend to ask forgiveness for anything inthe past, which fact she desired to be known. She did not consider herself toblame for anything that had happened in former years, and she thought thatGavrila Ardalionovitch should be informed as to the relations which had existedbetween herself and Totski during the last five years. If she accepted thismoney it was not to be considered as indemnification for her misfortune as ayoung girl, which had not been in any degree her own fault, but merely ascompensation for her ruined life.

She became so excited and agitated during all these explanations andconfessions that General Epanchin was highly gratified, and considered thematter satisfactorily arranged once for all. But the once bitten Totski wastwice shy, and looked for hidden snakes among the flowers. However, the specialpoint to which the two friends particularly trusted to bring about their object(namely, Gania’s attractiveness for Nastasia Philipovna), stood out moreand more prominently; the pourparlers had commenced, and gradually even Totskibegan to believe in the possibility of success.

Before long Nastasia and Gania had talked the matter over. Very little wassaid—her modesty seemed to suffer under the infliction of discussing sucha question. But she recognized his love, on the understanding that she boundherself to nothing whatever, and that she reserved the right to say“no” up to the very hour of the marriage ceremony. Gania was tohave the same right of refusal at the last moment.

It soon became clear to Gania, after scenes of wrath and quarrellings at thedomestic hearth, that his family were seriously opposed to the match, and thatNastasia was aware of this fact was equally evident. She said nothing about it,though he daily expected her to do so.

There were several rumours afloat, before long, which upset Totski’sequanimity a good deal, but we will not now stop to describe them; merelymentioning an instance or two. One was that Nastasia had entered into close andsecret relations with the Epanchin girls—a most unlikely rumour; anotherwas that Nastasia had long satisfied herself of the fact that Gania was merelymarrying her for money, and that his nature was gloomy and greedy, impatientand selfish, to an extraordinary degree; and that although he had been keenenough in his desire to achieve a conquest before, yet since the two friendshad agreed to exploit his passion for their own purposes, it was clear enoughthat he had begun to consider the whole thing a nuisance and a nightmare.

In his heart passion and hate seemed to hold divided sway, and although he hadat last given his consent to marry the woman (as he said), under the stress ofcircumstances, yet he promised himself that he would “take it out ofher,” after marriage.

Nastasia seemed to Totski to have divined all this, and to be preparingsomething on her own account, which frightened him to such an extent that hedid not dare communicate his views even to the general. But at times he wouldpluck up his courage and be full of hope and good spirits again, acting, infact, as weak men do act in such circumstances.

However, both the friends felt that the thing looked rosy indeed when one dayNastasia informed them that she would give her final answer on the evening ofher birthday, which anniversary was due in a very short time.

A strange rumour began to circulate, meanwhile; no less than that therespectable and highly respected General Epanchin was himself so fascinated byNastasia Philipovna that his feeling for her amounted almost to passion. Whathe thought to gain by Gania’s marriage to the girl it was difficult toimagine. Possibly he counted on Gania’s complaisance; for Totski had longsuspected that there existed some secret understanding between the general andhis secretary. At all events the fact was known that he had prepared amagnificent present of pearls for Nastasia’s birthday, and that he waslooking forward to the occasion when he should present his gift with thegreatest excitement and impatience. The day before her birthday he was in afever of agitation.

Mrs. Epanchin, long accustomed to her husband’s infidelities, had heardof the pearls, and the rumour excited her liveliest curiosity and interest. Thegeneral remarked her suspicions, and felt that a grand explanation must shortlytake place—which fact alarmed him much.

This is the reason why he was so unwilling to take lunch (on the morning uponwhich we took up this narrative) with the rest of his family. Before theprince’s arrival he had made up his mind to plead business, and“cut” the meal; which simply meant running away.

He was particularly anxious that this one day should be passed—especiallythe evening—without unpleasantness between himself and his family; andjust at the right moment the prince turned up—“as though Heaven hadsent him on purpose,” said the general to himself, as he left the studyto seek out the wife of his bosom.

V.

Mrs. General Epanchin was a proud woman by nature. What must her feelings havebeen when she heard that Prince Muishkin, the last of his and her line, hadarrived in beggar’s guise, a wretched idiot, a recipient ofcharity—all of which details the general gave out for greater effect! Hewas anxious to steal her interest at the first swoop, so as to distract herthoughts from other matters nearer home.

Mrs. Epanchin was in the habit of holding herself very straight, and staringbefore her, without speaking, in moments of excitement.

She was a fine woman of the same age as her husband, with a slightly hookednose, a high, narrow forehead, thick hair turning a little grey, and a sallowcomplexion. Her eyes were grey and wore a very curious expression at times. Shebelieved them to be most effective—a belief that nothing could alter.

“What, receive him! Now, at once?” asked Mrs. Epanchin, gazingvaguely at her husband as he stood fidgeting before her.

“Oh, dear me, I assure you there is no need to stand on ceremony withhim,” the general explained hastily. “He is quite a child, not tosay a pathetic-looking creature. He has fits of some sort, and has just arrivedfrom Switzerland, straight from the station, dressed like a German and withouta farthing in his pocket. I gave him twenty-five roubles to go on with, and amgoing to find him some easy place in one of the government offices. I shouldlike you to ply him well with the victuals, my dears, for I should think hemust be very hungry.”

“You astonish me,” said the lady, gazing as before. “Fits,and hungry too! What sort of fits?”

“Oh, they don’t come on frequently, besides, he’s a regularchild, though he seems to be fairly educated. I should like you, if possible,my dears,” the general added, making slowly for the door, “to puthim through his paces a bit, and see what he is good for. I think you should bekind to him; it is a good deed, you know—however, just as you like, ofcourse—but he is a sort of relation, remember, and I thought it mightinterest you to see the young fellow, seeing that this is so.”

“Oh, of course, mamma, if we needn’t stand on ceremony with him, wemust give the poor fellow something to eat after his journey; especially as hehas not the least idea where to go to,” said Alexandra, the eldest of thegirls.

“Besides, he’s quite a child; we can entertain him with a littlehide-and-seek, in case of need,” said Adelaida.

“Hide-and-seek? What do you mean?” inquired Mrs. Epanchin.

“Oh, do stop pretending, mamma,” cried Aglaya, in vexation.“Send him up, father; mother allows.”

The general rang the bell and gave orders that the prince should be shown in.

“Only on condition that he has a napkin under his chin at lunch,then,” said Mrs. Epanchin, “and let Fedor, or Mavra, stand behindhim while he eats. Is he quiet when he has these fits? He doesn’t showviolence, does he?”

“On the contrary, he seems to be very well brought up. His manners areexcellent—but here he is himself. Here you are, prince—let meintroduce you, the last of the Muishkins, a relative of your own, my dear, orat least of the same name. Receive him kindly, please. They’ll bring inlunch directly, prince; you must stop and have some, but you must excuse me.I’m in a hurry, I must be off—”

“We all know where you must be off to!” said Mrs. Epanchin,in a meaning voice.

“Yes, yes—I must hurry away, I’m late! Look here, dears, lethim write you something in your albums; you’ve no idea what a wonderfulcaligraphist he is, wonderful talent! He has just written out ‘AbbotPafnute signed this’ for me. Well, au revoir!”

“Stop a minute; where are you off to? Who is this abbot?” criedMrs. Epanchin to her retreating husband in a tone of excited annoyance.

“Yes, my dear, it was an old abbot of that name—I must be off tosee the count, he’s waiting for me, I’m late—Good-bye! Aurevoir, prince!”—and the general bolted at full speed.

“Oh, yes—I know what count you’re going to see!”remarked his wife in a cutting manner, as she turned her angry eyes on theprince. “Now then, what’s all this about?—Whatabbot—Who’s Pafnute?” she added, brusquely.

“Mamma!” said Alexandra, shocked at her rudeness.

Aglaya stamped her foot.

“Nonsense! Let me alone!” said the angry mother. “Now then,prince, sit down here, no, nearer, come nearer the light! I want to have a goodlook at you. So, now then, who is this abbot?”

“Abbot Pafnute,” said our friend, seriously and with deference.

“Pafnute, yes. And who was he?”

Mrs. Epanchin put these questions hastily and brusquely, and when the princeanswered she nodded her head sagely at each word he said.

“The Abbot Pafnute lived in the fourteenth century,” began theprince; “he was in charge of one of the monasteries on the Volga, aboutwhere our present Kostroma government lies. He went to Oreol and helped in thegreat matters then going on in the religious world; he signed an edict there,and I have seen a print of his signature; it struck me, so I copied it. Whenthe general asked me, in his study, to write something for him, to show myhandwriting, I wrote ‘The Abbot Pafnute signed this,’ in the exacthandwriting of the abbot. The general liked it very much, and that’s whyhe recalled it just now.”

“Aglaya, make a note of ‘Pafnute,’ or we shall forget him.H’m! and where is this signature?”

“I think it was left on the general’s table.”

“Let it be sent for at once!”

“Oh, I’ll write you a new one in half a minute,” said theprince, “if you like!”

“Of course, mamma!” said Alexandra. “But let’s havelunch now, we are all hungry!”

“Yes; come along, prince,” said the mother, “are you veryhungry?”

“Yes; I must say that I am pretty hungry, thanks very much.”

“H’m! I like to see that you know your manners; and you are by nomeans such a person as the general thought fit to describe you. Come along; yousit here, opposite to me,” she continued, “I wish to be able to seeyour face. Alexandra, Adelaida, look after the prince! He doesn’t seem sovery ill, does he? I don’t think he requires a napkin under his chin,after all; are you accustomed to having one on, prince?”

“Formerly, when I was seven years old or so. I believe I wore one; butnow I usually hold my napkin on my knee when I eat.”

“Of course, of course! And about your fits?”

“Fits?” asked the prince, slightly surprised. “I very seldomhave fits nowadays. I don’t know how it may be here, though; they say theclimate may be bad for me.”

“He talks very well, you know!” said Mrs. Epanchin, who stillcontinued to nod at each word the prince spoke. “I really did not expectit at all; in fact, I suppose it was all stuff and nonsense on thegeneral’s part, as usual. Eat away, prince, and tell me where you wereborn, and where you were brought up. I wish to know all about you, you interestme very much!”

The prince expressed his thanks once more, and eating heartily the while,recommenced the narrative of his life in Switzerland, all of which we haveheard before. Mrs. Epanchin became more and more pleased with her guest; thegirls, too, listened with considerable attention. In talking over the questionof relationship it turned out that the prince was very well up in the matterand knew his pedigree off by heart. It was found that scarcely any connectionexisted between himself and Mrs. Epanchin, but the talk, and the opportunity ofconversing about her family tree, gratified the latter exceedingly, and sherose from the table in great good humour.

“Let’s all go to my boudoir,” she said, “and they shallbring some coffee in there. That’s the room where we all assemble andbusy ourselves as we like best,” she explained. “Alexandra, myeldest, here, plays the piano, or reads or sews; Adelaida paints landscapes andportraits (but never finishes any); and Aglaya sits and does nothing. Idon’t work too much, either. Here we are, now; sit down, prince, near thefire and talk to us. I want to hear you relate something. I wish to make sureof you first and then tell my old friend, Princess Bielokonski, about you. Iwish you to know all the good people and to interest them. Now then,begin!”

“Mamma, it’s rather a strange order, that!” said Adelaida,who was fussing among her paints and paint-brushes at the easel. Aglaya andAlexandra had settled themselves with folded hands on a sofa, evidently meaningto be listeners. The prince felt that the general attention was concentratedupon himself.

“I should refuse to say a word if I were ordered to tell a storylike that!” observed Aglaya.

“Why? what’s there strange about it? He has a tongue. Whyshouldn’t he tell us something? I want to judge whether he is a goodstory-teller; anything you like, prince—how you liked Switzerland, whatwas your first impression, anything. You’ll see, he’ll begindirectly and tell us all about it beautifully.”

“The impression was forcible—” the prince began.

“There, you see, girls,” said the impatient lady, “hehas begun, you see.”

“Well, then, let him talk, mamma,” said Alexandra.“This prince is a great humbug and by no means an idiot,” shewhispered to Aglaya.

“Oh, I saw that at once,” replied the latter. “I don’tthink it at all nice of him to play a part. What does he wish to gain by it, Iwonder?”

“My first impression was a very strong one,” repeated the prince.“When they took me away from Russia, I remember I passed through manyGerman towns and looked out of the windows, but did not trouble so much as toask questions about them. This was after a long series of fits. I always usedto fall into a sort of torpid condition after such a series, and lost my memoryalmost entirely; and though I was not altogether without reason at such times,yet I had no logical power of thought. This would continue for three or fourdays, and then I would recover myself again. I remember my melancholy wasintolerable; I felt inclined to cry; I sat and wondered and wondereduncomfortably; the consciousness that everything was strange weighed terriblyupon me; I could understand that it was all foreign and strange. I recollect Iawoke from this state for the first time at Basle, one evening; the bray of adonkey aroused me, a donkey in the town market. I saw the donkey and wasextremely pleased with it, and from that moment my head seemed to clear.”

“A donkey? How strange! Yet it is not strange. Anyone of us might fall inlove with a donkey! It happened in mythological times,” said MadameEpanchin, looking wrathfully at her daughters, who had begun to laugh.“Go on, prince.”

“Since that evening I have been specially fond of donkeys. I began to askquestions about them, for I had never seen one before; and I at once came tothe conclusion that this must be one of the most useful ofanimals—strong, willing, patient, cheap; and, thanks to this donkey, Ibegan to like the whole country I was travelling through; and my melancholypassed away.”

“All this is very strange and interesting,” said Mrs. Epanchin.“Now let’s leave the donkey and go on to other matters. What areyou laughing at, Aglaya? and you too, Adelaida? The prince told us hisexperiences very cleverly; he saw the donkey himself, and what have you everseen? You have never been abroad.”

“I have seen a donkey though, mamma!” said Aglaya.

“And I’ve heard one!” said Adelaida. All three of the girlslaughed out loud, and the prince laughed with them.

“Well, it’s too bad of you,” said mamma. “You mustforgive them, prince; they are good girls. I am very fond of them, though Ioften have to be scolding them; they are all as silly and mad as marchhares.”

“Oh, why shouldn’t they laugh?” said the prince. “Ishouldn’t have let the chance go by in their place, I know. But I stickup for the donkey, all the same; he’s a patient, good-naturedfellow.”

“Are you a patient man, prince? I ask out of curiosity,” said Mrs.Epanchin.

All laughed again.

“Oh, that wretched donkey again, I see!” cried the lady. “Iassure you, prince, I was not guilty of the least—”

“Insinuation? Oh! I assure you, I take your word for it.” And theprince continued laughing merrily.

“I must say it’s very nice of you to laugh. I see you really are akind-hearted fellow,” said Mrs. Epanchin.

“I’m not always kind, though.”

“I am kind myself, and always kind too, if you please!” sheretorted, unexpectedly; “and that is my chief fault, for one ought not tobe always kind. I am often angry with these girls and their father; but theworst of it is, I am always kindest when I am cross. I was very angry justbefore you came, and Aglaya there read me a lesson—thanks, Aglaya,dear—come and kiss me—there—that’s enough” sheadded, as Aglaya came forward and kissed her lips and then her hand. “Nowthen, go on, prince. Perhaps you can think of something more exciting thanabout the donkey, eh?”

“I must say, again, I can’t understand how you can expectanyone to tell you stories straight away, so,” said Adelaida. “Iknow I never could!”

“Yes, but the prince can, because he is clever—cleverer than youare by ten or twenty times, if you like. There, that’s so, prince; andseriously, let’s drop the donkey now—what else did you see abroad,besides the donkey?”

“Yes, but the prince told us about the donkey very cleverly, all thesame,” said Alexandra. “I have always been most interested to hearhow people go mad and get well again, and that sort of thing. Especially whenit happens suddenly.”

“Quite so, quite so!” cried Mrs. Epanchin, delighted. “I seeyou can be sensible now and then, Alexandra. You were speaking ofSwitzerland, prince?”

“Yes. We came to Lucerne, and I was taken out in a boat. I felt howlovely it was, but the loveliness weighed upon me somehow or other, and made mefeel melancholy.”

“Why?” asked Alexandra.

“I don’t know; I always feel like that when I look at the beautiesof nature for the first time; but then, I was ill at that time, ofcourse!”

“Oh, but I should like to see it!” said Adelaida; “and Idon’t know when we shall ever go abroad. I’ve been two yearslooking out for a good subject for a picture. I’ve done all I know.‘The North and South I know by heart,’ as our poet observes. Dohelp me to a subject, prince.”

“Oh, but I know nothing about painting. It seems to me one only has tolook, and paint what one sees.”

“But I don’t know how to see!”

“Nonsense, what rubbish you talk!” the mother struck in. “Notknow how to see! Open your eyes and look! If you can’t see here, youwon’t see abroad either. Tell us what you saw yourself, prince!”

“Yes, that’s better,” said Adelaida; “the princelearned to see abroad.”

“Oh, I hardly know! You see, I only went to restore my health. Idon’t know whether I learned to see, exactly. I was very happy, however,nearly all the time.”

“Happy! you can be happy?” cried Aglaya. “Then how can yousay you did not learn to see? I should think you could teach us tosee!”

“Oh! do teach us,” laughed Adelaida.

“Oh! I can’t do that,” said the prince, laughing too.“I lived almost all the while in one little Swiss village; what can Iteach you? At first I was only just not absolutely dull; then my health beganto improve—then every day became dearer and more precious to me, and thelonger I stayed, the dearer became the time to me; so much so that I could nothelp observing it; but why this was so, it would be difficult to say.”

“So that you didn’t care to go away anywhere else?”

“Well, at first I did; I was restless; I didn’t know however Ishould manage to support life—you know there are such moments, especiallyin solitude. There was a waterfall near us, such a lovely thin streak of water,like a thread but white and moving. It fell from a great height, but it lookedquite low, and it was half a mile away, though it did not seem fifty paces. Iloved to listen to it at night, but it was then that I became so restless.Sometimes I went and climbed the mountain and stood there in the midst of thetall pines, all alone in the terrible silence, with our little village in thedistance, and the sky so blue, and the sun so bright, and an old ruined castleon the mountain-side, far away. I used to watch the line where earth and skymet, and longed to go and seek there the key of all mysteries, thinking that Imight find there a new life, perhaps some great city where life should begrander and richer—and then it struck me that life may be grand enougheven in a prison.”

“I read that last most praiseworthy thought in my manual, when I wastwelve years old,” said Aglaya.

“All this is pure philosophy,” said Adelaida. “You are aphilosopher, prince, and have come here to instruct us in your views.”

“Perhaps you are right,” said the prince, smiling. “I think Iam a philosopher, perhaps, and who knows, perhaps I do wish to teach my viewsof things to those I meet with?”

“Your philosophy is rather like that of an old woman we know, who is richand yet does nothing but try how little she can spend. She talks of nothing butmoney all day. Your great philosophical idea of a grand life in a prison andyour four happy years in that Swiss village are like this, rather,” saidAglaya.

“As to life in a prison, of course there may be two opinions,” saidthe prince. “I once heard the story of a man who lived twelve years in aprison—I heard it from the man himself. He was one of the persons undertreatment with my professor; he had fits, and attacks of melancholy, then hewould weep, and once he tried to commit suicide. His life in prison wassad enough; his only acquaintances were spiders and a tree that grew outsidehis grating—but I think I had better tell you of another man I met lastyear. There was a very strange feature in this case, strange because of itsextremely rare occurrence. This man had once been brought to the scaffold incompany with several others, and had had the sentence of death by shootingpassed upon him for some political crime. Twenty minutes later he had beenreprieved and some other punishment substituted; but the interval between thetwo sentences, twenty minutes, or at least a quarter of an hour, had beenpassed in the certainty that within a few minutes he must die. I was veryanxious to hear him speak of his impressions during that dreadful time, and Iseveral times inquired of him as to what he thought and felt. He rememberedeverything with the most accurate and extraordinary distinctness, and declaredthat he would never forget a single iota of the experience.

“About twenty paces from the scaffold, where he had stood to hear thesentence, were three posts, fixed in the ground, to which to fasten thecriminals (of whom there were several). The first three criminals were taken tothe posts, dressed in long white tunics, with white caps drawn over theirfaces, so that they could not see the rifles pointed at them. Then a group ofsoldiers took their stand opposite to each post. My friend was the eighth onthe list, and therefore he would have been among the third lot to go up. Apriest went about among them with a cross: and there was about five minutes oftime left for him to live.

“He said that those five minutes seemed to him to be a most interminableperiod, an enormous wealth of time; he seemed to be living, in these minutes,so many lives that there was no need as yet to think of that last moment, sothat he made several arrangements, dividing up the time into portions—onefor saying farewell to his companions, two minutes for that; then a couple morefor thinking over his own life and career and all about himself; and anotherminute for a last look around. He remembered having divided his time like thisquite well. While saying good-bye to his friends he recollected asking one ofthem some very usual everyday question, and being much interested in theanswer. Then having bade farewell, he embarked upon those two minutes which hehad allotted to looking into himself; he knew beforehand what he was going tothink about. He wished to put it to himself as quickly and clearly as possible,that here was he, a living, thinking man, and that in three minutes he would benobody; or if somebody or something, then what and where? He thought he woulddecide this question once for all in these last three minutes. A little way offthere stood a church, and its gilded spire glittered in the sun. He rememberedstaring stubbornly at this spire, and at the rays of light sparkling from it.He could not tear his eyes from these rays of light; he got the idea that theserays were his new nature, and that in three minutes he would become one ofthem, amalgamated somehow with them.

“The repugnance to what must ensue almost immediately, and theuncertainty, were dreadful, he said; but worst of all was the idea, ‘Whatshould I do if I were not to die now? What if I were to return to life again?What an eternity of days, and all mine! How I should grudge and count up everyminute of it, so as to waste not a single instant!’ He said that thisthought weighed so upon him and became such a terrible burden upon his brainthat he could not bear it, and wished they would shoot him quickly and havedone with it.”

The prince paused and all waited, expecting him to go on again and finish thestory.

“Is that all?” asked Aglaya.

“All? Yes,” said the prince, emerging from a momentary reverie.

“And why did you tell us this?”

“Oh, I happened to recall it, that’s all! It fitted into theconversation—”

“You probably wish to deduce, prince,” said Alexandra, “thatmoments of time cannot be reckoned by money value, and that sometimes fiveminutes are worth priceless treasures. All this is very praiseworthy; but may Iask about this friend of yours, who told you the terrible experience of hislife? He was reprieved, you say; in other words, they did restore to him that‘eternity of days.’ What did he do with these riches of time? Didhe keep careful account of his minutes?”

“Oh no, he didn’t! I asked him myself. He said that he had notlived a bit as he had intended, and had wasted many, and many a minute.”

“Very well, then there’s an experiment, and the thing is proved;one cannot live and count each moment; say what you like, but onecannot.”

“That is true,” said the prince, “I have thought so myself.And yet, why shouldn’t one do it?”

“You think, then, that you could live more wisely than otherpeople?” said Aglaya.

“I have had that idea.”

“And you have it still?”

“Yes—I have it still,” the prince replied.

He had contemplated Aglaya until now, with a pleasant though rather timidsmile, but as the last words fell from his lips he began to laugh, and lookedat her merrily.

“You are not very modest!” said she.

“But how brave you are!” said he. “You are laughing, andI—that man’s tale impressed me so much, that I dreamt of itafterwards; yes, I dreamt of those five minutes...”

He looked at his listeners again with that same serious, searching expression.

“You are not angry with me?” he asked suddenly, and with a kind ofnervous hurry, although he looked them straight in the face.

“Why should we be angry?” they cried.

“Only because I seem to be giving you a lecture, all the time!”

At this they laughed heartily.

“Please don’t be angry with me,” continued the prince.“I know very well that I have seen less of life than other people, andhave less knowledge of it. I must appear to speak strangely sometimes...”

He said the last words nervously.

“You say you have been happy, and that proves you have lived, not less,but more than other people. Why make all these excuses?” interruptedAglaya in a mocking tone of voice. “Besides, you need not mind aboutlecturing us; you have nothing to boast of. With your quietism, one could livehappily for a hundred years at least. One might show you the execution of afelon, or show you one’s little finger. You could draw a moral fromeither, and be quite satisfied. That sort of existence is easy enough.”

“I can’t understand why you always fly into a temper,” saidMrs. Epanchin, who had been listening to the conversation and examining thefaces of the speakers in turn. “I do not understand what you mean. Whathas your little finger to do with it? The prince talks well, though he is notamusing. He began all right, but now he seems sad.”

“Never mind, mamma! Prince, I wish you had seen an execution,” saidAglaya. “I should like to ask you a question about that, if youhad.”

“I have seen an execution,” said the prince.

“You have!” cried Aglaya. “I might have guessed it.That’s a fitting crown to the rest of the story. If you have seen anexecution, how can you say you lived happily all the while?”

“But is there capital punishment where you were?” asked Adelaida.

“I saw it at Lyons. Schneider took us there, and as soon as we arrived wecame in for that.”

“Well, and did you like it very much? Was it very edifying andinstructive?” asked Aglaya.

“No, I didn’t like it at all, and was ill after seeing it; but Iconfess I stared as though my eyes were fixed to the sight. I could not tearthem away.”

“I, too, should have been unable to tear my eyes away,” saidAglaya.

“They do not at all approve of women going to see an execution there. Thewomen who do go are condemned for it afterwards in the newspapers.”

“That is, by contending that it is not a sight for women they admit thatit is a sight for men. I congratulate them on the deduction. I suppose youquite agree with them, prince?”

“Tell us about the execution,” put in Adelaida.

“I would much rather not, just now,” said the prince, a littledisturbed and frowning slightly.

“You don’t seem to want to tell us,” said Aglaya, with amocking air.

“No,—the thing is, I was telling all about the execution a littlewhile ago, and—”

“Whom did you tell about it?”

“The man-servant, while I was waiting to see the general.”

“Our man-servant?” exclaimed several voices at once.

“Yes, the one who waits in the entrance hall, a greyish, red-facedman—”

“The prince is clearly a democrat,” remarked Aglaya.

“Well, if you could tell Aleksey about it, surely you can tell ustoo.”

“I do so want to hear about it,” repeated Adelaida.

“Just now, I confess,” began the prince, with more animation,“when you asked me for a subject for a picture, I confess I had seriousthoughts of giving you one. I thought of asking you to draw the face of acriminal, one minute before the fall of the guillotine, while the wretched manis still standing on the scaffold, preparatory to placing his neck on theblock.”

“What, his face? only his face?” asked Adelaida. “That wouldbe a strange subject indeed. And what sort of a picture would that make?”

“Oh, why not?” the prince insisted, with some warmth. “When Iwas in Basle I saw a picture very much in that style—I should like totell you about it; I will some time or other; it struck me veryforcibly.”

“Oh, you shall tell us about the Basle picture another time; now we musthave all about the execution,” said Adelaida. “Tell us about thatface as it appeared to your imagination—how should it bedrawn?—just the face alone, do you mean?”

“It was just a minute before the execution,” began the prince,readily, carried away by the recollection and evidently forgetting everythingelse in a moment; “just at the instant when he stepped off the ladder onto the scaffold. He happened to look in my direction: I saw his eyes andunderstood all, at once—but how am I to describe it? I do so wish you orsomebody else could draw it, you, if possible. I thought at the time what apicture it would make. You must imagine all that went before, of course,all—all. He had lived in the prison for some time and had not expectedthat the execution would take place for at least a week yet—he hadcounted on all the formalities and so on taking time; but it so happened thathis papers had been got ready quickly. At five o’clock in the morning hewas asleep—it was October, and at five in the morning it was cold anddark. The governor of the prison comes in on tip-toe and touches the sleepingman’s shoulder gently. He starts up. ‘What is it?’ he says.‘The execution is fixed for ten o’clock.’ He was only justawake, and would not believe at first, but began to argue that his papers wouldnot be out for a week, and so on. When he was wide awake and realized thetruth, he became very silent and argued no more—so they say; but after abit he said: ‘It comes very hard on one so suddenly’ and then hewas silent again and said nothing.

“The three or four hours went by, of course, in necessarypreparations—the priest, breakfast, (coffee, meat, and some wine theygave him; doesn’t it seem ridiculous?) And yet I believe these peoplegive them a good breakfast out of pure kindness of heart, and believe that theyare doing a good action. Then he is dressed, and then begins the processionthrough the town to the scaffold. I think he, too, must feel that he has an ageto live still while they cart him along. Probably he thought, on the way,‘Oh, I have a long, long time yet. Three streets of life yet! Whenwe’ve passed this street there’ll be that other one; and then thatone where the baker’s shop is on the right; and when shall we get there?It’s ages, ages!’ Around him are crowds shouting, yelling—tenthousand faces, twenty thousand eyes. All this has to be endured, andespecially the thought: ‘Here are ten thousand men, and not one of themis going to be executed, and yet I am to die.’ Well, all that ispreparatory.

“At the scaffold there is a ladder, and just there he burst intotears—and this was a strong man, and a terribly wicked one, they say!There was a priest with him the whole time, talking; even in the cart as theydrove along, he talked and talked. Probably the other heard nothing; he wouldbegin to listen now and then, and at the third word or so he had forgotten allabout it.

“At last he began to mount the steps; his legs were tied, so that he hadto take very small steps. The priest, who seemed to be a wise man, had stoppedtalking now, and only held the cross for the wretched fellow to kiss. At thefoot of the ladder he had been pale enough; but when he set foot on thescaffold at the top, his face suddenly became the colour of paper, positivelylike white notepaper. His legs must have become suddenly feeble and helpless,and he felt a choking in his throat—you know the sudden feeling one hasin moments of terrible fear, when one does not lose one’s wits, but isabsolutely powerless to move? If some dreadful thing were suddenly to happen;if a house were just about to fall on one;—don’t you know how onewould long to sit down and shut one’s eyes and wait, and wait? Well, whenthis terrible feeling came over him, the priest quickly pressed the cross tohis lips, without a word—a little silver cross it was—and he kepton pressing it to the man’s lips every second. And whenever the crosstouched his lips, the eyes would open for a moment, and the legs moved once,and he kissed the cross greedily, hurriedly—just as though he wereanxious to catch hold of something in case of its being useful to himafterwards, though he could hardly have had any connected religious thoughts atthe time. And so up to the very block.

“How strange that criminals seldom swoon at such a moment! On thecontrary, the brain is especially active, and works incessantly—probablyhard, hard, hard—like an engine at full pressure. I imagine that variousthoughts must beat loud and fast through his head—all unfinished ones,and strange, funny thoughts, very likely!—like this, for instance:‘That man is looking at me, and he has a wart on his forehead! and theexecutioner has burst one of his buttons, and the lowest one is allrusty!’ And meanwhile he notices and remembers everything. There is onepoint that cannot be forgotten, round which everything else dances and turnsabout; and because of this point he cannot faint, and this lasts until the veryfinal quarter of a second, when the wretched neck is on the block and thevictim listens and waits and knows—that’s the point, heknows that he is just now about to die, and listens for the raspof the iron over his head. If I lay there, I should certainly listen for thatgrating sound, and hear it, too! There would probably be but the tenth part ofan instant left to hear it in, but one would certainly hear it. And imagine,some people declare that when the head flies off it is conscious ofhaving flown off! Just imagine what a thing to realize! Fancy if consciousnesswere to last for even five seconds!

“Draw the scaffold so that only the top step of the ladder comes inclearly. The criminal must be just stepping on to it, his face as white asnote-paper. The priest is holding the cross to his blue lips, and the criminalkisses it, and knows and sees and understands everything. The cross and thehead—there’s your picture; the priest and the executioner, with histwo assistants, and a few heads and eyes below. Those might come in assubordinate accessories—a sort of mist. There’s a picture foryou.” The prince paused, and looked around.

“Certainly that isn’t much like quietism,” murmuredAlexandra, half to herself.

“Now tell us about your love affairs,” said Adelaida, after amoment’s pause.

The prince gazed at her in amazement.

“You know,” Adelaida continued, “you owe us a description ofthe Basle picture; but first I wish to hear how you fell in love. Don’tdeny the fact, for you did, of course. Besides, you stop philosophizing whenyou are telling about anything.”

“Why are you ashamed of your stories the moment after you have toldthem?” asked Aglaya, suddenly.

“How silly you are!” said Mrs. Epanchin, looking indignantlytowards the last speaker.

“Yes, that wasn’t a clever remark,” said Alexandra.

“Don’t listen to her, prince,” said Mrs. Epanchin; “shesays that sort of thing out of mischief. Don’t think anything of theirnonsense, it means nothing. They love to chaff, but they like you. I can see itin their faces—I know their faces.”

“I know their faces, too,” said the prince, with a peculiar stresson the words.

“How so?” asked Adelaida, with curiosity.

“What do you know about our faces?” exclaimed the other two,in chorus.

But the prince was silent and serious. All awaited his reply.

“I’ll tell you afterwards,” he said quietly.

“Ah, you want to arouse our curiosity!” said Aglaya. “And howterribly solemn you are about it!”

“Very well,” interrupted Adelaida, “then if you can readfaces so well, you must have been in love. Come now; I’veguessed—let’s have the secret!”

“I have not been in love,” said the prince, as quietly andseriously as before. “I have been happy in another way.”

“How, how?”

“Well, I’ll tell you,” said the prince, apparently in a deepreverie.

VI.

“Here you all are,” began the prince, “settling yourselvesdown to listen to me with so much curiosity, that if I do not satisfy you youwill probably be angry with me. No, no! I’m only joking!” he added,hastily, with a smile.

“Well, then—they were all children there, and I was always amongchildren and only with children. They were the children of the village in whichI lived, and they went to the school there—all of them. I did not teachthem, oh no; there was a master for that, one Jules Thibaut. I may have taughtthem some things, but I was among them just as an outsider, and I passed allfour years of my life there among them. I wished for nothing better; I used totell them everything and hid nothing from them. Their fathers and relationswere very angry with me, because the children could do nothing without me atlast, and used to throng after me at all times. The schoolmaster was mygreatest enemy in the end! I had many enemies, and all because of the children.Even Schneider reproached me. What were they afraid of? One can tell a childeverything, anything. I have often been struck by the fact that parents knowtheir children so little. They should not conceal so much from them. How welleven little children understand that their parents conceal things from them,because they consider them too young to understand! Children are capable ofgiving advice in the most important matters. How can one deceive these dearlittle birds, when they look at one so sweetly and confidingly? I call thembirds because there is nothing in the world better than birds!

“However, most of the people were angry with me about one and the samething; but Thibaut simply was jealous of me. At first he had wagged his headand wondered how it was that the children understood what I told them so well,and could not learn from him; and he laughed like anything when I replied thatneither he nor I could teach them very much, but that they might teachus a good deal.

“How he could hate me and tell scandalous stories about me, living amongchildren as he did, is what I cannot understand. Children soothe and heal thewounded heart. I remember there was one poor fellow at our professor’swho was being treated for madness, and you have no idea what those children didfor him, eventually. I don’t think he was mad, but only terribly unhappy.But I’ll tell you all about him another day. Now I must get on with thisstory.

“The children did not love me at first; I was such a sickly, awkward kindof a fellow then—and I know I am ugly. Besides, I was a foreigner. Thechildren used to laugh at me, at first; and they even went so far as to throwstones at me, when they saw me kiss Marie. I only kissed her once in mylife—no, no, don’t laugh!” The prince hastened to suppressthe smiles of his audience at this point. “It was not a matter oflove at all! If only you knew what a miserable creature she was, youwould have pitied her, just as I did. She belonged to our village. Her motherwas an old, old woman, and they used to sell string and thread, and soap andtobacco, out of the window of their little house, and lived on the pittancethey gained by this trade. The old woman was ill and very old, and could hardlymove. Marie was her daughter, a girl of twenty, weak and thin and consumptive;but still she did heavy work at the houses around, day by day. Well, one fineday a commercial traveller betrayed her and carried her off; and a week laterhe deserted her. She came home dirty, draggled, and shoeless; she had walkedfor a whole week without shoes; she had slept in the fields, and caught aterrible cold; her feet were swollen and sore, and her hands torn and scratchedall over. She never had been pretty even before; but her eyes were quiet,innocent, kind eyes.

“She was very quiet always—and I remember once, when she hadsuddenly begun singing at her work, everyone said, ‘Marie tried to singtoday!’ and she got so chaffed that she was silent for ever after. Shehad been treated kindly in the place before; but when she came backnow—ill and shunned and miserable—not one of them all had theslightest sympathy for her. Cruel people! Oh, what hazy understandings theyhave on such matters! Her mother was the first to show the way. She receivedher wrathfully, unkindly, and with contempt. ‘You have disgracedme,’ she said. She was the first to cast her into ignominy; but when theyall heard that Marie had returned to the village, they ran out to see her andcrowded into the little cottage—old men, children, women,girls—such a hurrying, stamping, greedy crowd. Marie was lying on thefloor at the old woman’s feet, hungry, torn, draggled, crying, miserable.

“When everyone crowded into the room she hid her face in her dishevelledhair and lay cowering on the floor. Everyone looked at her as though she were apiece of dirt off the road. The old men scolded and condemned, and the youngones laughed at her. The women condemned her too, and looked at hercontemptuously, just as though she were some loathsome insect.

“Her mother allowed all this to go on, and nodded her head and encouragedthem. The old woman was very ill at that time, and knew she was dying (shereally did die a couple of months later), and though she felt the endapproaching she never thought of forgiving her daughter, to the very day of herdeath. She would not even speak to her. She made her sleep on straw in a shed,and hardly gave her food enough to support life.

“Marie was very gentle to her mother, and nursed her, and did everythingfor her; but the old woman accepted all her services without a word and nevershowed her the slightest kindness. Marie bore all this; and I could see when Igot to know her that she thought it quite right and fitting, consideringherself the lowest and meanest of creatures.

“When the old woman took to her bed finally, the other old women in thevillage sat with her by turns, as the custom is there; and then Marie was quitedriven out of the house. They gave her no food at all, and she could not getany work in the village; none would employ her. The men seemed to consider herno longer a woman, they said such dreadful things to her. Sometimes on Sundays,if they were drunk enough, they used to throw her a penny or two, into the mud,and Marie would silently pick up the money. She had began to spit blood at thattime.

“At last her rags became so tattered and torn that she was ashamed ofappearing in the village any longer. The children used to pelt her with mud; soshe begged to be taken on as assistant cowherd, but the cowherd would not haveher. Then she took to helping him without leave; and he saw how valuable herassistance was to him, and did not drive her away again; on the contrary, heoccasionally gave her the remnants of his dinner, bread and cheese. Heconsidered that he was being very kind. When the mother died, the villageparson was not ashamed to hold Marie up to public derision and shame. Marie wasstanding at the coffin’s head, in all her rags, crying.

“A crowd of people had collected to see how she would cry. The parson, ayoung fellow ambitious of becoming a great preacher, began his sermon andpointed to Marie. ‘There,’ he said, ‘there is the cause ofthe death of this venerable woman’—(which was a lie, because shehad been ill for at least two years)—‘there she stands before you,and dares not lift her eyes from the ground, because she knows that the fingerof God is upon her. Look at her tatters and rags—the badge of those wholose their virtue. Who is she? her daughter!’ and so on to the end.

“And just fancy, this infamy pleased them, all of them, nearly. Only thechildren had altered—for then they were all on my side and had learned tolove Marie.

“This is how it was: I had wished to do something for Marie; I longed togive her some money, but I never had a farthing while I was there. But I had alittle diamond pin, and this I sold to a travelling pedlar; he gave me eightfrancs for it—it was worth at least forty.

“I long sought to meet Marie alone; and at last I did meet her, on thehillside beyond the village. I gave her the eight francs and asked her to takecare of the money because I could get no more; and then I kissed her and saidthat she was not to suppose I kissed her with any evil motives or because I wasin love with her, for that I did so solely out of pity for her, and becausefrom the first I had not accounted her as guilty so much as unfortunate. Ilonged to console and encourage her somehow, and to assure her that she was notthe low, base thing which she and others strove to make out; but I don’tthink she understood me. She stood before me, dreadfully ashamed of herself,and with downcast eyes; and when I had finished she kissed my hand. I wouldhave kissed hers, but she drew it away. Just at this moment the whole troop ofchildren saw us. (I found out afterwards that they had long kept a watch uponme.) They all began whistling and clapping their hands, and laughing at us.Marie ran away at once; and when I tried to talk to them, they threw stones atme. All the village heard of it the same day, and Marie’s position becameworse than ever. The children would not let her pass now in the streets, butannoyed her and threw dirt at her more than before. They used to run afterher—she racing away with her poor feeble lungs panting and gasping, andthey pelting her and shouting abuse at her.

“Once I had to interfere by force; and after that I took to speaking tothem every day and whenever I could. Occasionally they stopped and listened;but they teased Marie all the same.

“I told them how unhappy Marie was, and after a while they stopped theirabuse of her, and let her go by silently. Little by little we got into the wayof conversing together, the children and I. I concealed nothing from them, Itold them all. They listened very attentively and soon began to be sorry forMarie. At last some of them took to saying ‘Good-morning’ to her,kindly, when they met her. It is the custom there to salute anyone you meetwith ‘Good-morning’ whether acquainted or not. I can imagine howastonished Marie was at these first greetings from the children.

“Once two little girls got hold of some food and took it to her, and cameback and told me. They said she had burst into tears, and that they loved hervery much now. Very soon after that they all became fond of Marie, and at thesame time they began to develop the greatest affection for myself. They oftencame to me and begged me to tell them stories. I think I must have told storieswell, for they did so love to hear them. At last I took to reading upinteresting things on purpose to pass them on to the little ones, and this wenton for all the rest of my time there, three years. Later, wheneveryone—even Schneider—was angry with me for hiding nothing fromthe children, I pointed out how foolish it was, for they always knew things,only they learnt them in a way that soiled their minds but not so from me. Onehas only to remember one’s own childhood to admit the truth of this. Butnobody was convinced... It was two weeks before her mother died that I hadkissed Marie; and when the clergyman preached that sermon the children were allon my side.

“When I told them what a shame it was of the parson to talk as he haddone, and explained my reason, they were so angry that some of them went andbroke his windows with stones. Of course I stopped them, for that was notright, but all the village heard of it, and how I caught it for spoiling thechildren! Everyone discovered now that the little ones had taken to being fondof Marie, and their parents were terribly alarmed; but Marie was so happy. Thechildren were forbidden to meet her; but they used to run out of the village tothe herd and take her food and things; and sometimes just ran off there andkissed her, and said, ‘Je vous aime, Marie!’ and thentrotted back again. They imagined that I was in love with Marie, and this wasthe only point on which I did not undeceive them, for they got such enjoymentout of it. And what delicacy and tenderness they showed!

“In the evening I used to walk to the waterfall. There was a spot therewhich was quite closed in and hidden from view by large trees; and to this spotthe children used to come to me. They could not bear that their dear Leonshould love a poor girl without shoes to her feet and dressed all in rags andtatters. So, would you believe it, they actually clubbed together, somehow, andbought her shoes and stockings, and some linen, and even a dress! I can’tunderstand how they managed it, but they did it, all together. When I askedthem about it they only laughed and shouted, and the little girls clapped theirhands and kissed me. I sometimes went to see Marie secretly, too. She hadbecome very ill, and could hardly walk. She still went with the herd, but couldnot help the herdsman any longer. She used to sit on a stone near, and waitthere almost motionless all day, till the herd went home. Her consumption wasso advanced, and she was so weak, that she used to sit with closed eyes,breathing heavily. Her face was as thin as a skeleton’s, and sweat usedto stand on her white brow in large drops. I always found her sitting just likethat. I used to come up quietly to look at her; but Marie would hear me, openher eyes, and tremble violently as she kissed my hands. I did not take my handaway because it made her happy to have it, and so she would sit and cryquietly. Sometimes she tried to speak; but it was very difficult to understandher. She was almost like a madwoman, with excitement and ecstasy, whenever Icame. Occasionally the children came with me; when they did so, they wouldstand some way off and keep guard over us, so as to tell me if anybody camenear. This was a great pleasure to them.

“When we left her, Marie used to relapse at once into her old condition,and sit with closed eyes and motionless limbs. One day she could not go out atall, and remained at home all alone in the empty hut; but the children verysoon became aware of the fact, and nearly all of them visited her that day asshe lay alone and helpless in her miserable bed.

“For two days the children looked after her, and then, when the villagepeople got to know that Marie was really dying, some of the old women came andtook it in turns to sit by her and look after her a bit. I think they began tobe a little sorry for her in the village at last; at all events they did notinterfere with the children any more, on her account.

“Marie lay in a state of uncomfortable delirium the whole while; shecoughed dreadfully. The old women would not let the children stay in the room;but they all collected outside the window each morning, if only for a moment,and shouted ‘Bon jour, notre bonne Marie!’ and Marie nosooner caught sight of, or heard them, and she became quite animated at once,and, in spite of the old women, would try to sit up and nod her head and smileat them, and thank them. The little ones used to bring her nice things andsweets to eat, but she could hardly touch anything. Thanks to them, I assureyou, the girl died almost perfectly happy. She almost forgot her misery, andseemed to accept their love as a sort of symbol of pardon for her offence,though she never ceased to consider herself a dreadful sinner. They used toflutter at her window just like little birds, calling out: ‘Noust’aimons, Marie!’

“She died very soon; I had thought she would live much longer. The daybefore her death I went to see her for the last time, just before sunset. Ithink she recognized me, for she pressed my hand.

“Next morning they came and told me that Marie was dead. The childrencould not be restrained now; they went and covered her coffin with flowers, andput a wreath of lovely blossoms on her head. The pastor did not throw any moreshameful words at the poor dead woman; but there were very few people at thefuneral. However, when it came to carrying the coffin, all the children rushedup, to carry it themselves. Of course they could not do it alone, but theyinsisted on helping, and walked alongside and behind, crying.

“They have planted roses all round her grave, and every year they lookafter the flowers and make Marie’s resting-place as beautiful as theycan. I was in ill odour after all this with the parents of the children, andespecially with the parson and schoolmaster. Schneider was obliged to promisethat I should not meet them and talk to them; but we conversed from a distanceby signs, and they used to write me sweet little notes. Afterwards I camecloser than ever to those little souls, but even then it was very dear to me,to have them so fond of me.

“Schneider said that I did the children great harm by my pernicious‘system’; what nonsense that was! And what did he mean by mysystem? He said afterwards that he believed I was a child myself—justbefore I came away. ‘You have the form and face of an adult’ hesaid, ‘but as regards soul, and character, and perhaps even intelligence,you are a child in the completest sense of the word, and always will be, if youlive to be sixty.’ I laughed very much, for of course that is nonsense.But it is a fact that I do not care to be among grown-up people and much preferthe society of children. However kind people may be to me, I never feel quiteat home with them, and am always glad to get back to my little companions. Nowmy companions have always been children, not because I was a child myself once,but because young things attract me. On one of the first days of my stay inSwitzerland, I was strolling about alone and miserable, when I came upon thechildren rushing noisily out of school, with their slates and bags, and books,their games, their laughter and shouts—and my soul went out to them. Istopped and laughed happily as I watched their little feet moving so quickly.Girls and boys, laughing and crying; for as they went home many of them foundtime to fight and make peace, to weep and play. I forgot my troubles in lookingat them. And then, all those three years, I tried to understand why men shouldbe for ever tormenting themselves. I lived the life of a child there, andthought I should never leave the little village; indeed, I was far fromthinking that I should ever return to Russia. But at last I recognized the factthat Schneider could not keep me any longer. And then something so importanthappened, that Schneider himself urged me to depart. I am going to see now ifcan get good advice about it. Perhaps my lot in life will be changed; but thatis not the principal thing. The principal thing is the entire change that hasalready come over me. I left many things behind me—too many. They havegone. On the journey I said to myself, ‘I am going into the world of men.I don’t know much, perhaps, but a new life has begun for me.’ Imade up my mind to be honest, and steadfast in accomplishing my task. Perhaps Ishall meet with troubles and many disappointments, but I have made up my mindto be polite and sincere to everyone; more cannot be asked of me. People mayconsider me a child if they like. I am often called an idiot, and at one time Icertainly was so ill that I was nearly as bad as an idiot; but I am not anidiot now. How can I possibly be so when I know myself that I am consideredone?

“When I received a letter from those dear little souls, while passingthrough Berlin, I only then realized how much I loved them. It was very, verypainful, getting that first little letter. How melancholy they had been whenthey saw me off! For a month before, they had been talking of my departure andsorrowing over it; and at the waterfall, of an evening, when we parted for thenight, they would hug me so tight and kiss me so warmly, far more so thanbefore. And every now and then they would turn up one by one when I was alone,just to give me a kiss and a hug, to show their love for me. The whole flockwent with me to the station, which was about a mile from the village, and everynow and then one of them would stop to throw his arms round me, and all thelittle girls had tears in their voices, though they tried hard not to cry. Asthe train steamed out of the station, I saw them all standing on the platformwaving to me and crying ‘Hurrah!’ till they were lost in thedistance.

“I assure you, when I came in here just now and saw your kind faces (Ican read faces well) my heart felt light for the first time since that momentof parting. I think I must be one of those who are born to be in luck, for onedoes not often meet with people whom one feels he can love from the first sightof their faces; and yet, no sooner do I step out of the railway carriage than Ihappen upon you!

“I know it is more or less a shamefaced thing to speak of one’sfeelings before others; and yet here am I talking like this to you, and am nota bit ashamed or shy. I am an unsociable sort of fellow and shall very likelynot come to see you again for some time; but don’t think the worse of mefor that. It is not that I do not value your society; and you must neversuppose that I have taken offence at anything.

“You asked me about your faces, and what I could read in them; I willtell you with the greatest pleasure. You, Adelaida Ivanovna, have a very happyface; it is the most sympathetic of the three. Not to speak of your naturalbeauty, one can look at your face and say to one’s self, ‘She hasthe face of a kind sister.’ You are simple and merry, but you can seeinto another’s heart very quickly. That’s what I read in your face.

“You too, Alexandra Ivanovna, have a very lovely face; but I think youmay have some secret sorrow. Your heart is undoubtedly a kind, good one, butyou are not merry. There is a certain suspicion of ‘shadow’ in yourface, like in that of Holbein’s Madonna in Dresden. So much for yourface. Have I guessed right?

“As for your face, Lizabetha Prokofievna, I not only think, but amperfectly sure, that you are an absolute child—in all, in all,mind, both good and bad—and in spite of your years. Don’t be angrywith me for saying so; you know what my feelings for children are. And do notsuppose that I am so candid out of pure simplicity of soul. Oh dear no, it isby no means the case! Perhaps I have my own very profound object inview.”

VII.

When the prince ceased speaking all were gazing merrily at him—evenAglaya; but Lizabetha Prokofievna looked the jolliest of all.

“Well!” she cried, “we have ‘put him through hispaces,’ with a vengeance! My dears, you imagined, I believe, that youwere about to patronize this young gentleman, like some poor protégépicked up somewhere, and taken under your magnificent protection. What fools wewere, and what a specially big fool is your father! Well done, prince! I assureyou the general actually asked me to put you through your paces, and examineyou. As to what you said about my face, you are absolutely correct in yourjudgment. I am a child, and know it. I knew it long before you said so; youhave expressed my own thoughts. I think your nature and mine must be extremelyalike, and I am very glad of it. We are like two drops of water, only you are aman and I a woman, and I’ve not been to Switzerland, and that is all thedifference between us.”

“Don’t be in a hurry, mother; the prince says that he has somemotive behind his simplicity,” cried Aglaya.

“Yes, yes, so he does,” laughed the others.

“Oh, don’t you begin bantering him,” said mamma. “He isprobably a good deal cleverer than all three of you girls put together. Weshall see. Only you haven’t told us anything about Aglaya yet, prince;and Aglaya and I are both waiting to hear.”

“I cannot say anything at present. I’ll tell you afterwards.”

“Why? Her face is clear enough, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes, of course. You are very beautiful, Aglaya Ivanovna, so beautifulthat one is afraid to look at you.”

“Is that all? What about her character?” persisted Mrs. Epanchin.

“It is difficult to judge when such beauty is concerned. I have notprepared my judgment. Beauty is a riddle.”

“That means that you have set Aglaya a riddle!” said Adelaida.“Guess it, Aglaya! But she’s pretty, prince, isn’tshe?”

“Most wonderfully so,” said the latter, warmly, gazing at Aglayawith admiration. “Almost as lovely as Nastasia Philipovna, but quite adifferent type.”

All present exchanged looks of surprise.

“As lovely as who?” said Mrs. Epanchin. “AsNastasia Philipovna? Where have you seen Nastasia Philipovna? WhatNastasia Philipovna?”

“Gavrila Ardalionovitch showed the general her portrait just now.”

“How so? Did he bring the portrait for my husband?”

“Only to show it. Nastasia Philipovna gave it to Gavrila Ardalionovitchtoday, and the latter brought it here to show to the general.”

“I must see it!” cried Mrs. Epanchin. “Where is the portrait?If she gave it to him, he must have it; and he is still in the study. He neverleaves before four o’clock on Wednesdays. Send for Gavrila Ardalionovitchat once. No, I don’t long to see him so much. Look here, dearprince, be so kind, will you? Just step to the study and fetch thisportrait! Say we want to look at it. Please do this for me, will you?”

“He is a nice fellow, but a little too simple,” said Adelaida, asthe prince left the room.

“He is, indeed,” said Alexandra; “almost laughably so attimes.”

Neither one nor the other seemed to give expression to her full thoughts.

“He got out of it very neatly about our faces, though,” saidAglaya. “He flattered us all round, even mamma.”

“Nonsense!” cried the latter. “He did not flatter me. It wasI who found his appreciation flattering. I think you are a great deal morefoolish than he is. He is simple, of course, but also very knowing. Just likemyself.”

“How stupid of me to speak of the portrait,” thought the prince ashe entered the study, with a feeling of guilt at his heart, “and yet,perhaps I was right after all.” He had an idea, unformed as yet, but astrange idea.

Gavrila Ardalionovitch was still sitting in the study, buried in a mass ofpapers. He looked as though he did not take his salary from the public company,whose servant he was, for a sinecure.

He grew very wroth and confused when the prince asked for the portrait, andexplained how it came about that he had spoken of it.

“Oh, curse it all,” he said; “what on earth must you goblabbing for? You know nothing about the thing, and yet—idiot!” headded, muttering the last word to himself in irrepressible rage.

“I am very sorry; I was not thinking at the time. I merely said thatAglaya was almost as beautiful as Nastasia Philipovna.”

Gania asked for further details; and the prince once more repeated theconversation. Gania looked at him with ironical contempt the while.

“Nastasia Philipovna,” he began, and there paused; he was clearlymuch agitated and annoyed. The prince reminded him of the portrait.

“Listen, prince,” said Gania, as though an idea had just struckhim, “I wish to ask you a great favour, and yet I really don’tknow—”

He paused again, he was trying to make up his mind to something, and wasturning the matter over. The prince waited quietly. Once more Gania fixed himwith intent and questioning eyes.

“Prince,” he began again, “they are rather angry with me, inthere, owing to a circumstance which I need not explain, so that I do not careto go in at present without an invitation. I particularly wish to speak toAglaya, but I have written a few words in case I shall not have the chance ofseeing her” (here the prince observed a small note in his hand),“and I do not know how to get my communication to her. Don’t youthink you could undertake to give it to her at once, but only to her, mind, andso that no one else should see you give it? It isn’t much of a secret,but still—Well, will you do it?”

“I don’t quite like it,” replied the prince.

“Oh, but it is absolutely necessary for me,” Gania entreated.“Believe me, if it were not so, I would not ask you; how else am I to getit to her? It is most important, dreadfully important!”

Gania was evidently much alarmed at the idea that the prince would not consentto take his note, and he looked at him now with an expression of absoluteentreaty.

“Well, I will take it then.”

“But mind, nobody is to see!” cried the delighted Gania “Andof course I may rely on your word of honour, eh?”

“I won’t show it to anyone,” said the prince.

“The letter is not sealed—” continued Gania, and paused inconfusion.

“Oh, I won’t read it,” said the prince, quite simply.

He took up the portrait, and went out of the room.

Gania, left alone, clutched his head with his hands.

“One word from her,” he said, “one word from her, and I mayyet be free.”

He could not settle himself to his papers again, for agitation and excitement,but began walking up and down the room from corner to corner.

The prince walked along, musing. He did not like his commission, and dislikedthe idea of Gania sending a note to Aglaya at all; but when he was two roomsdistant from the drawing-room, where they all were, he stopped as thoughrecalling something; went to the window, nearer the light, and began to examinethe portrait in his hand.

He longed to solve the mystery of something in the face of Nastasia Philipovna,something which had struck him as he looked at the portrait for the first time;the impression had not left him. It was partly the fact of her marvellousbeauty that struck him, and partly something else. There was a suggestion ofimmense pride and disdain in the face almost of hatred, and at the same timesomething confiding and very full of simplicity. The contrast aroused a deepsympathy in his heart as he looked at the lovely face. The blinding lovelinessof it was almost intolerable, this pale thin face with its flaming eyes; it wasa strange beauty.

The prince gazed at it for a minute or two, then glanced around him, andhurriedly raised the portrait to his lips. When, a minute after, he reached thedrawing-room door, his face was quite composed. But just as he reached the doorhe met Aglaya coming out alone.

“Gavrila Ardalionovitch begged me to give you this,” he said,handing her the note.

Aglaya stopped, took the letter, and gazed strangely into the prince’seyes. There was no confusion in her face; a little surprise, perhaps, but thatwas all. By her look she seemed merely to challenge the prince to anexplanation as to how he and Gania happened to be connected in this matter. Buther expression was perfectly cool and quiet, and even condescending.

So they stood for a moment or two, confronting one another. At length a faintsmile passed over her face, and she passed by him without a word.

Mrs. Epanchin examined the portrait of Nastasia Philipovna for some littlewhile, holding it critically at arm’s length.

“Yes, she is pretty,” she said at last, “even very pretty. Ihave seen her twice, but only at a distance. So you admire this kind of beauty,do you?” she asked the prince, suddenly.

“Yes, I do—this kind.”

“Do you mean especially this kind?”

“Yes, especially this kind.”

“Why?”

“There is much suffering in this face,” murmured the prince, moreas though talking to himself than answering the question.

“I think you are wandering a little, prince,” Mrs. Epanchindecided, after a lengthened survey of his face; and she tossed the portrait onto the table, haughtily.

Alexandra took it, and Adelaida came up, and both the girls examined thephotograph. Just then Aglaya entered the room.

“What a power!” cried Adelaida suddenly, as she earnestly examinedthe portrait over her sister’s shoulder.

“Whom? What power?” asked her mother, crossly.

“Such beauty is real power,” said Adelaida. “With such beautyas that one might overthrow the world.” She returned to her easelthoughtfully.

Aglaya merely glanced at the portrait—frowned, and put out her underlip;then went and sat down on the sofa with folded hands. Mrs. Epanchin rang thebell.

“Ask Gavrila Ardalionovitch to step this way,” said she to the manwho answered.

“Mamma!” cried Alexandra, significantly.

“I shall just say two words to him, that’s all,” said hermother, silencing all objection by her manner; she was evidently seriously putout. “You see, prince, it is all secrets with us, just now—allsecrets. It seems to be the etiquette of the house, for some reason or other.Stupid nonsense, and in a matter which ought to be approached with all candourand open-heartedness. There is a marriage being talked of, and I don’tlike this marriage—”

“Mamma, what are you saying?” said Alexandra again, hurriedly.

“Well, what, my dear girl? As if you can possibly like it yourself? Theheart is the great thing, and the rest is all rubbish—though one musthave sense as well. Perhaps sense is really the great thing. Don’t smilelike that, Aglaya. I don’t contradict myself. A fool with a heart and nobrains is just as unhappy as a fool with brains and no heart. I am one and youare the other, and therefore both of us suffer, both of us are unhappy.”

“Why are you so unhappy, mother?” asked Adelaida, who alone of allthe company seemed to have preserved her good temper and spirits up to now.

“In the first place, because of my carefully brought-up daughters,”said Mrs. Epanchin, cuttingly; “and as that is the best reason I can giveyou we need not bother about any other at present. Enough of words, now! Weshall see how both of you (I don’t count Aglaya) will manage yourbusiness, and whether you, most revered Alexandra Ivanovna, will be happy withyour fine mate.”

“Ah!” she added, as Gania suddenly entered the room,“here’s another marrying subject. How do you do?” shecontinued, in response to Gania’s bow; but she did not invite him to sitdown. “You are going to be married?”

“Married? how—what marriage?” murmured Gania, overwhelmedwith confusion.

“Are you about to take a wife? I ask,—if you prefer thatexpression.”

“No, no I—I—no!” said Gania, bringing out his lie witha tell-tale blush of shame. He glanced keenly at Aglaya, who was sitting someway off, and dropped his eyes immediately.

Aglaya gazed coldly, intently, and composedly at him, without taking her eyesoff his face, and watched his confusion.

“No? You say no, do you?” continued the pitiless Mrs. General.“Very well, I shall remember that you told me this Wednesday morning, inanswer to my question, that you are not going to be married. What day is it,Wednesday, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I think so!” said Adelaida.

“You never know the day of the week; what’s the day of themonth?”

“Twenty-seventh!” said Gania.

“Twenty-seventh; very well. Good-bye now; you have a good deal to do,I’m sure, and I must dress and go out. Take your portrait. Give myrespects to your unfortunate mother, Nina Alexandrovna. Au revoir, dearprince, come in and see us often, do; and I shall tell old Princess Bielokonskiabout you. I shall go and see her on purpose. And listen, my dear boy, I feelsure that God has sent you to Petersburg from Switzerland on purpose for me.Maybe you will have other things to do, besides, but you are sent chiefly formy sake, I feel sure of it. God sent you to me! Au revoir! Alexandra,come with me, my dear.”

Mrs. Epanchin left the room.

Gania—confused, annoyed, furious—took up his portrait, and turnedto the prince with a nasty smile on his face.

“Prince,” he said, “I am just going home. If you have notchanged your mind as to living with us, perhaps you would like to come with me.You don’t know the address, I believe?”

“Wait a minute, prince,” said Aglaya, suddenly rising from herseat, “do write something in my album first, will you? Father says youare a most talented caligraphist; I’ll bring you my book in aminute.” She left the room.

“Well, au revoir, prince,” said Adelaida, “I must begoing too.” She pressed the prince’s hand warmly, and gave him afriendly smile as she left the room. She did not so much as look at Gania.

“This is your doing, prince,” said Gania, turning on the latter sosoon as the others were all out of the room. “This is your doing, sir!You have been telling them that I am going to be married!” He saidthis in a hurried whisper, his eyes flashing with rage and his face ablaze.“You shameless tattler!”

“I assure you, you are under a delusion,” said the prince, calmlyand politely. “I did not even know that you were to be married.”

“You heard me talking about it, the general and me. You heard me say thateverything was to be settled today at Nastasia Philipovna’s, and you wentand blurted it out here. You lie if you deny it. Who else could have told them?Devil take it, sir, who could have told them except yourself? Didn’t theold woman as good as hint as much to me?”

“If she hinted to you who told her you must know best, of course; but Inever said a word about it.”

“Did you give my note? Is there an answer?” interrupted Gania,impatiently.

But at this moment Aglaya came back, and the prince had no time to reply.

“There, prince,” said she, “there’s my album. Nowchoose a page and write me something, will you? There’s a pen, a new one;do you mind a steel one? I have heard that you caligraphists don’t likesteel pens.”

Conversing with the prince, Aglaya did not even seem to notice that Gania wasin the room. But while the prince was getting his pen ready, finding a page,and making his preparations to write, Gania came up to the fireplace whereAglaya was standing, to the right of the prince, and in trembling, brokenaccents said, almost in her ear:

“One word, just one word from you, and I’m saved.”

The prince turned sharply round and looked at both of them. Gania’s facewas full of real despair; he seemed to have said the words almost unconsciouslyand on the impulse of the moment.

Aglaya gazed at him for some seconds with precisely the same composure and calmastonishment as she had shown a little while before, when the prince handed herthe note, and it appeared that this calm surprise and seemingly absoluteincomprehension of what was said to her, were more terribly overwhelming toGania than even the most plainly expressed disdain would have been.

“What shall I write?” asked the prince.

“I’ll dictate to you,” said Aglaya, coming up to the table.“Now then, are you ready? Write, ‘I never condescend tobargain!’ Now put your name and the date. Let me see it.”

The prince handed her the album.

“Capital! How beautifully you have written it! Thanks so much. Aurevoir, prince. Wait a minute,” she added, “I want to give yousomething for a keepsake. Come with me this way, will you?”

The prince followed her. Arrived at the dining-room, she stopped.

“Read this,” she said, handing him Gania’s note.

The prince took it from her hand, but gazed at her in bewilderment.

“Oh! I know you haven’t read it, and that you could never bethat man’s accomplice. Read it, I wish you to read it.”

The letter had evidently been written in a hurry:

“My fate is to be decided today” (it ran), “you know how.This day I must give my word irrevocably. I have no right to ask your help, andI dare not allow myself to indulge in any hopes; but once you said just oneword, and that word lighted up the night of my life, and became the beacon ofmy days. Say one more such word, and save me from utter ruin. Only tell me,‘break off the whole thing!’ and I will do so this very day. Oh!what can it cost you to say just this one word? In doing so you will but begiving me a sign of your sympathy for me, and of your pity; only this, onlythis; nothing more, nothing. I dare not indulge in any hope, because Iam unworthy of it. But if you say but this word, I will take up my cross againwith joy, and return once more to my battle with poverty. I shall meet thestorm and be glad of it; I shall rise up with renewed strength.
“Send me back then this one word of sympathy, only sympathy, I swearto you; and oh! do not be angry with the audacity of despair, with the drowningman who has dared to make this last effort to save himself from perishingbeneath the waters.

“G.L.”

“This man assures me,” said Aglaya, scornfully, when the prince hadfinished reading the letter, “that the words ‘break offeverything’ do not commit me to anything whatever; and himself gives me awritten guarantee to that effect, in this letter. Observe how ingenuously heunderlines certain words, and how crudely he glosses over his hidden thoughts.He must know that if he ‘broke off everything,’ first, byhimself, and without telling me a word about it or having the slightest hope onmy account, that in that case I should perhaps be able to change my opinion ofhim, and even accept his—friendship. He must know that, but his soul issuch a wretched thing. He knows it and cannot make up his mind; he knows it andyet asks for guarantees. He cannot bring himself to trust, he wants meto give him hopes of myself before he lets go of his hundred thousand roubles.As to the ‘former word’ which he declares ‘lighted up thenight of his life,’ he is simply an impudent liar; I merely pitied himonce. But he is audacious and shameless. He immediately began to hope, at thatvery moment. I saw it. He has tried to catch me ever since; he is still fishingfor me. Well, enough of this. Take the letter and give it back to him, as soonas you have left our house; not before, of course.”

“And what shall I tell him by way of answer?”

“Nothing—of course! That’s the best answer. Is it the casethat you are going to live in his house?”

“Yes, your father kindly recommended me to him.”

“Then look out for him, I warn you! He won’t forgive you easily,for taking back the letter.”

Aglaya pressed the prince’s hand and left the room. Her face was seriousand frowning; she did not even smile as she nodded good-bye to him at the door.

“I’ll just get my parcel and we’ll go,” said the princeto Gania, as he re-entered the drawing-room. Gania stamped his foot withimpatience. His face looked dark and gloomy with rage.

At last they left the house behind them, the prince carrying his bundle.

“The answer—quick—the answer!” said Gania, the instantthey were outside. “What did she say? Did you give the letter?” Theprince silently held out the note. Gania was struck motionless with amazement.

“How, what? my letter?” he cried. “He never delivered it! Imight have guessed it, oh! curse him! Of course she did not understand what Imeant, naturally! Why—why—why didn’t you give her thenote, you—”

“Excuse me; I was able to deliver it almost immediately after receivingyour commission, and I gave it, too, just as you asked me to. It has come intomy hands now because Aglaya Ivanovna has just returned it to me.”

“How? When?”

“As soon as I finished writing in her album for her, and when she askedme to come out of the room with her (you heard?), we went into the dining-room,and she gave me your letter to read, and then told me to return it.”

“To read?” cried Gania, almost at the top of his voice;“to read, and you read it?”

And again he stood like a log in the middle of the pavement; so amazed that hismouth remained open after the last word had left it.

“Yes, I have just read it.”

“And she gave it you to read herself—herself?”

“Yes, herself; and you may believe me when I tell you that I would nothave read it for anything without her permission.”

Gania was silent for a minute or two, as though thinking out some problem.Suddenly he cried:

“It’s impossible, she cannot have given it to you to read! You arelying. You read it yourself!”

“I am telling you the truth,” said the prince in his formercomposed tone of voice; “and believe me, I am extremely sorry that thecircumstance should have made such an unpleasant impression upon you!”

“But, you wretched man, at least she must have said something? There mustbe some answer from her!”

“Yes, of course, she did say something!”

“Out with it then, damn it! Out with it at once!” and Gania stampedhis foot twice on the pavement.

“As soon as I had finished reading it, she told me that you were fishingfor her; that you wished to compromise her so far as to receive some hopes fromher, trusting to which hopes you might break with the prospect of receiving ahundred thousand roubles. She said that if you had done this without bargainingwith her, if you had broken with the money prospects without trying to force aguarantee out of her first, she might have been your friend. That’s all,I think. Oh no, when I asked her what I was to say, as I took the letter, shereplied that ‘no answer is the best answer.’ I think that was it.Forgive me if I do not use her exact expressions. I tell you the sense as Iunderstood it myself.”

Ungovernable rage and madness took entire possession of Gania, and his furyburst out without the least attempt at restraint.

“Oh! that’s it, is it!” he yelled. “She throws myletters out of the window, does she! Oh! and she does not condescend tobargain, while I do, eh? We shall see, we shall see! I shall pay her outfor this.”

He twisted himself about with rage, and grew paler and paler; he shook hisfist. So the pair walked along a few steps. Gania did not stand on ceremonywith the prince; he behaved just as though he were alone in his room. Heclearly counted the latter as a nonentity. But suddenly he seemed to have anidea, and recollected himself.

“But how was it?” he asked, “how was it that you (idiot thatyou are),” he added to himself, “were so very confidential a coupleof hours after your first meeting with these people? How was that, eh?”

Up to this moment jealousy had not been one of his torments; now it suddenlygnawed at his heart.

“That is a thing I cannot undertake to explain,” replied theprince. Gania looked at him with angry contempt.

“Oh! I suppose the present she wished to make to you, when she took youinto the dining-room, was her confidence, eh?”

“I suppose that was it; I cannot explain it otherwise.”

“But why, why? Devil take it, what did you do in there? Why didthey fancy you? Look here, can’t you remember exactly what you said tothem, from the very beginning? Can’t you remember?”

“Oh, we talked of a great many things. When first I went in we began tospeak of Switzerland.”

“Oh, the devil take Switzerland!”

“Then about executions.”

“Executions?”

“Yes—at least about one. Then I told the whole three years’story of my life, and the history of a poor peasant girl—”

“Oh, damn the peasant girl! go on, go on!” said Gania, impatiently.

“Then how Schneider told me about my childish nature, and—”

“Oh, curse Schneider and his dirty opinions! Go on.”

“Then I began to talk about faces, at least about the expressionsof faces, and said that Aglaya Ivanovna was nearly as lovely as NastasiaPhilipovna. It was then I blurted out about the portrait—”

“But you didn’t repeat what you heard in the study? Youdidn’t repeat that—eh?”

“No, I tell you I did not.”

“Then how did they—look here! Did Aglaya show my letter to the oldlady?”

“Oh, there I can give you my fullest assurance that she did not. Iwas there all the while—she had no time to do it!”

“But perhaps you may not have observed it, oh, you damned idiot,you!” he shouted, quite beside himself with fury. “You can’teven describe what went on.”

Gania having once descended to abuse, and receiving no check, very soon knew nobounds or limit to his licence, as is often the way in such cases. His rage soblinded him that he had not even been able to detect that this“idiot,” whom he was abusing to such an extent, was very far frombeing slow of comprehension, and had a way of taking in an impression, andafterwards giving it out again, which was very un-idiotic indeed. But somethinga little unforeseen now occurred.

“I think I ought to tell you, Gavrila Ardalionovitch,” said theprince, suddenly, “that though I once was so ill that I really was littlebetter than an idiot, yet now I am almost recovered, and that, therefore, it isnot altogether pleasant to be called an idiot to my face. Of course your angeris excusable, considering the treatment you have just experienced; but I mustremind you that you have twice abused me rather rudely. I do not like this sortof thing, and especially so at the first time of meeting a man, and, therefore,as we happen to be at this moment standing at a crossroad, don’t youthink we had better part, you to the left, homewards, and I to the right, here?I have twenty-five roubles, and I shall easily find a lodging.”

Gania was much confused, and blushed for shame “Do forgive me,prince!” he cried, suddenly changing his abusive tone for one of greatcourtesy. “For Heaven’s sake, forgive me! You see what a miserableplight I am in, but you hardly know anything of the facts of the case as yet.If you did, I am sure you would forgive me, at least partially. Of course itwas inexcusable of me, I know, but—”

“Oh, dear me, I really do not require such profuse apologies,”replied the prince, hastily. “I quite understand how unpleasant yourposition is, and that is what made you abuse me. So come along to your house,after all. I shall be delighted—”

“I am not going to let him go like this,” thought Gania, glancingangrily at the prince as they walked along. “The fellow has suckedeverything out of me, and now he takes off his mask—there’ssomething more than appears, here we shall see. It shall all be as clear aswater by tonight, everything!”

But by this time they had reached Gania’s house.

VIII.

The flat occupied by Gania and his family was on the third floor of the house.It was reached by a clean light staircase, and consisted of seven rooms, a niceenough lodging, and one would have thought a little too good for a clerk on twothousand roubles a year. But it was designed to accommodate a few lodgers onboard terms, and had been taken a few months since, much to the disgust ofGania, at the urgent request of his mother and his sister, VarvaraArdalionovna, who longed to do something to increase the family income alittle, and fixed their hopes upon letting lodgings. Gania frowned upon theidea. He thought it infra dig, and did not quite like appearing insociety afterwards—that society in which he had been accustomed to poseup to now as a young man of rather brilliant prospects. All these concessionsand rebuffs of fortune, of late, had wounded his spirit severely, and histemper had become extremely irritable, his wrath being generally quite out ofproportion to the cause. But if he had made up his mind to put up with thissort of life for a while, it was only on the plain understanding with his innerself that he would very soon change it all, and have things as he chose again.Yet the very means by which he hoped to make this change threatened to involvehim in even greater difficulties than he had had before.

The flat was divided by a passage which led straight out of the entrance-hall.Along one side of this corridor lay the three rooms which were designed for theaccommodation of the “highly recommended” lodgers. Besides thesethree rooms there was another small one at the end of the passage, close to thekitchen, which was allotted to General Ivolgin, the nominal master of thehouse, who slept on a wide sofa, and was obliged to pass into and out of hisroom through the kitchen, and up or down the back stairs. Colia, Gania’syoung brother, a school-boy of thirteen, shared this room with his father. He,too, had to sleep on an old sofa, a narrow, uncomfortable thing with a torn rugover it; his chief duty being to look after his father, who needed to bewatched more and more every day.

The prince was given the middle room of the three, the first being occupied byone Ferdishenko, while the third was empty.

But Gania first conducted the prince to the family apartments. These consistedof a “salon,” which became the dining-room when required; adrawing-room, which was only a drawing-room in the morning, and becameGania’s study in the evening, and his bedroom at night; and lastly NinaAlexandrovna’s and Varvara’s bedroom, a small, close chamber whichthey shared together.

In a word, the whole place was confined, and a “tight fit” for theparty. Gania used to grind his teeth with rage over the state of affairs;though he was anxious to be dutiful and polite to his mother. However, it wasvery soon apparent to anyone coming into the house, that Gania was the tyrantof the family.

Nina Alexandrovna and her daughter were both seated in the drawing-room,engaged in knitting, and talking to a visitor, Ivan Petrovitch Ptitsin.

The lady of the house appeared to be a woman of about fifty years of age,thin-faced, and with black lines under the eyes. She looked ill and rather sad;but her face was a pleasant one for all that; and from the first word that fellfrom her lips, any stranger would at once conclude that she was of a seriousand particularly sincere nature. In spite of her sorrowful expression, she gavethe idea of possessing considerable firmness and decision.

Her dress was modest and simple to a degree, dark and elderly in style; butboth her face and appearance gave evidence that she had seen better days.

Varvara was a girl of some twenty-three summers, of middle height, thin, butpossessing a face which, without being actually beautiful, had the rare qualityof charm, and might fascinate even to the extent of passionate regard.

She was very like her mother: she even dressed like her, which proved that shehad no taste for smart clothes. The expression of her grey eyes was merry andgentle, when it was not, as lately, too full of thought and anxiety. The samedecision and firmness was to be observed in her face as in her mother’s,but her strength seemed to be more vigorous than that of Nina Alexandrovna. Shewas subject to outbursts of temper, of which even her brother was a littleafraid.

The present visitor, Ptitsin, was also afraid of her. This was a young fellowof something under thirty, dressed plainly, but neatly. His manners were good,but rather ponderously so. His dark beard bore evidence to the fact that he wasnot in any government employ. He could speak well, but preferred silence. Onthe whole he made a decidedly agreeable impression. He was clearly attracted byVarvara, and made no secret of his feelings. She trusted him in a friendly way,but had not shown him any decided encouragement as yet, which fact did notquell his ardour in the least.

Nina Alexandrovna was very fond of him, and had grown quite confidential withhim of late. Ptitsin, as was well known, was engaged in the business of lendingout money on good security, and at a good rate of interest. He was a greatfriend of Gania’s.

After a formal introduction by Gania (who greeted his mother very shortly, tookno notice of his sister, and immediately marched Ptitsin out of the room), NinaAlexandrovna addressed a few kind words to the prince and forthwith requestedColia, who had just appeared at the door, to show him to the “middleroom.”

Colia was a nice-looking boy. His expression was simple and confiding, and hismanners were very polite and engaging.

“Where’s your luggage?” he asked, as he led the prince awayto his room.

“I had a bundle; it’s in the entrance hall.”

“I’ll bring it you directly. We only have a cook and one maid, so Ihave to help as much as I can. Varia looks after things, generally, and losesher temper over it. Gania says you have only just arrived fromSwitzerland?”

“Yes.”

“Is it jolly there?”

“Very.”

“Mountains?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll go and get your bundle.”

Here Varvara joined them.

“The maid shall bring your bed-linen directly. Have you aportmanteau?”

“No; a bundle—your brother has just gone to the hall for it.”

“There’s nothing there except this,” said Colia, returning atthis moment. “Where did you put it?”

“Oh! but that’s all I have,” said the prince, taking it.

“Ah! I thought perhaps Ferdishenko had taken it.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” said Varia, severely. She seemed putout, and was only just polite with the prince.

“Oho!” laughed the boy, “you can be nicer than that tome, you know—I’m not Ptitsin!”

“You ought to be whipped, Colia, you silly boy. If you wantanything” (to the prince) “please apply to the servant. We dine athalf-past four. You can take your dinner with us, or have it in your room, justas you please. Come along, Colia, don’t disturb the prince.”

At the door they met Gania coming in.

“Is father in?” he asked. Colia whispered something in his ear andwent out.

“Just a couple of words, prince, if you’ll excuse me. Don’tblab over there about what you may see here, or in this house as to allthat about Aglaya and me, you know. Things are not altogether pleasant in thisestablishment—devil take it all! You’ll see. At all events keepyour tongue to yourself for today.”

“I assure you I ‘blabbed’ a great deal less than you seem tosuppose,” said the prince, with some annoyance. Clearly the relationsbetween Gania and himself were by no means improving.

“Oh well; I caught it quite hot enough today, thanks to you. However, Iforgive you.”

“I think you might fairly remember that I was not in any way bound, I hadno reason to be silent about that portrait. You never asked me not to mentionit.”

“Pfu! what a wretched room this is—dark, and the window lookinginto the yard. Your coming to our house is, in no respect, opportune. However,it’s not my affair. I don’t keep the lodgings.”

Ptitsin here looked in and beckoned to Gania, who hastily left the room, inspite of the fact that he had evidently wished to say something more and hadonly made the remark about the room to gain time. The prince had hardly hadtime to wash and tidy himself a little when the door opened once more, andanother figure appeared.

This was a gentleman of about thirty, tall, broad-shouldered, and red-haired;his face was red, too, and he possessed a pair of thick lips, a wide nose,small eyes, rather bloodshot, and with an ironical expression in them; asthough he were perpetually winking at someone. His whole appearance gave onethe idea of impudence; his dress was shabby.

He opened the door just enough to let his head in. His head remained so placedfor a few seconds while he quietly scrutinized the room; the door then openedenough to admit his body; but still he did not enter. He stood on the thresholdand examined the prince carefully. At last he gave the door a final shove,entered, approached the prince, took his hand and seated himself and the ownerof the room on two chairs side by side.

“Ferdishenko,” he said, gazing intently and inquiringly into theprince’s eyes.

“Very well, what next?” said the latter, almost laughing in hisface.

“A lodger here,” continued the other, staring as before.

“Do you wish to make acquaintance?” asked the prince.

“Ah!” said the visitor, passing his fingers through his hair andsighing. He then looked over to the other side of the room and around it.“Got any money?” he asked, suddenly.

“Not much.”

“How much?”

“Twenty-five roubles.”

“Let’s see it.”

The prince took his banknote out and showed it to Ferdishenko. The latterunfolded it and looked at it; then he turned it round and examined the otherside; then he held it up to the light.

“How strange that it should have browned so,” he said,reflectively. “These twenty-five rouble notes brown in a mostextraordinary way, while other notes often grow paler. Take it.”

The prince took his note. Ferdishenko rose.

“I came here to warn you,” he said. “In the first place,don’t lend me any money, for I shall certainly ask you to.”

“Very well.”

“Shall you pay here?”

“Yes, I intend to.”

“Oh! I don’t intend to. Thanks. I live here, next door toyou; you noticed a room, did you? Don’t come to me very often; I shallsee you here quite often enough. Have you seen the general?”

“No.”

“Nor heard him?”

“No; of course not.”

“Well, you’ll both hear and see him soon; he even tries to borrowmoney from me. Avis au lecteur. Good-bye; do you think a man canpossibly live with a name like Ferdishenko?”

“Why not?”

“Good-bye.”

And so he departed. The prince found out afterwards that this gentleman made ithis business to amaze people with his originality and wit, but that it did notas a rule “come off.” He even produced a bad impression on somepeople, which grieved him sorely; but he did not change his ways for all that.

As he went out of the prince’s room, he collided with yet another visitorcoming in. Ferdishenko took the opportunity of making several warning gesturesto the prince from behind the new arrival’s back, and left the room inconscious pride.

This next arrival was a tall red-faced man of about fifty-five, with greyishhair and whiskers, and large eyes which stood out of their sockets. Hisappearance would have been distinguished had it not been that he gave the ideaof being rather dirty. He was dressed in an old coat, and he smelled of vodkawhen he came near. His walk was effective, and he clearly did his best toappear dignified, and to impress people by his manner.

This gentleman now approached the prince slowly, and with a most courteoussmile; silently took his hand and held it in his own, as he examined theprince’s features as though searching for familiar traits therein.

“‘Tis he, ‘tis he!” he said at last, quietly, but withmuch solemnity. “As though he were alive once more. I heard the familiarname—the dear familiar name—and, oh! how it reminded me of theirrevocable past—Prince Muishkin, I believe?”

“Exactly so.”

“General Ivolgin—retired and unfortunate. May I ask your Christianand generic names?”

“Lef Nicolaievitch.”

“So, so—the son of my old, I may say my childhood’s friend,Nicolai Petrovitch.”

“My father’s name was Nicolai Lvovitch.”

“Lvovitch,” repeated the general without the slightest haste, andwith perfect confidence, just as though he had not committed himself the leastin the world, but merely made a little slip of the tongue. He sat down, andtaking the prince’s hand, drew him to a seat next to himself.

“I carried you in my arms as a baby,” he observed.

“Really?” asked the prince. “Why, it’s twenty yearssince my father died.”

“Yes, yes—twenty years and three months. We were educated together;I went straight into the army, and he—”

“My father went into the army, too. He was a sub-lieutenant in theVasiliefsky regiment.”

“No, sir—in the Bielomirsky; he changed into the latter shortlybefore his death. I was at his bedside when he died, and gave him my blessingfor eternity. Your mother—” The general paused, as though overcomewith emotion.

“She died a few months later, from a cold,” said the prince.

“Oh, not cold—believe an old man—not from a cold, but fromgrief for her prince. Oh—your mother, your mother! heigh-ho!Youth—youth! Your father and I—old friends as we were—nearlymurdered each other for her sake.”

The prince began to be a little incredulous.

“I was passionately in love with her when she was engaged—engagedto my friend. The prince noticed the fact and was furious. He came and woke meat seven o’clock one morning. I rise and dress in amazement; silence onboth sides. I understand it all. He takes a couple of pistols out of hispocket—across a handkerchief—without witnesses. Why invitewitnesses when both of us would be walking in eternity in a couple of minutes?The pistols are loaded; we stretch the handkerchief and stand opposite oneanother. We aim the pistols at each other’s hearts. Suddenly tears startto our eyes, our hands shake; we weep, we embrace—the battle is one ofself-sacrifice now! The prince shouts, ‘She is yours;’ I cry,‘She is yours—’ in a word, in a word—You’ve cometo live with us, hey?”

“Yes—yes—for a while, I think,” stammered the prince.

“Prince, mother begs you to come to her,” said Colia, appearing atthe door.

The prince rose to go, but the general once more laid his hand in a friendlymanner on his shoulder, and dragged him down on to the sofa.

“As the true friend of your father, I wish to say a few words toyou,” he began. “I have suffered—there was a catastrophe. Isuffered without a trial; I had no trial. Nina Alexandrovna my wife, is anexcellent woman, so is my daughter Varvara. We have to let lodgings because weare poor—a dreadful, unheard-of come-down for us—for me, who shouldhave been a governor-general; but we are very glad to have you, at allevents. Meanwhile there is a tragedy in the house.”

The prince looked inquiringly at the other.

“Yes, a marriage is being arranged—a marriage between aquestionable woman and a young fellow who might be a flunkey. They wish tobring this woman into the house where my wife and daughter reside, but while Ilive and breathe she shall never enter my doors. I shall lie at the threshold,and she shall trample me underfoot if she does. I hardly talk to Gania now, andavoid him as much as I can. I warn you of this beforehand, but you cannot failto observe it. But you are the son of my old friend, and I hope—”

“Prince, be so kind as to come to me for a moment in thedrawing-room,” said Nina Alexandrovna herself, appearing at the door.

“Imagine, my dear,” cried the general, “it turns out that Ihave nursed the prince on my knee in the old days.” His wife lookedsearchingly at him, and glanced at the prince, but said nothing. The princerose and followed her; but hardly had they reached the drawing-room, and NinaAlexandrovna had begun to talk hurriedly, when in came the general. Sheimmediately relapsed into silence. The master of the house may have observedthis, but at all events he did not take any notice of it; he was in high goodhumour.

“A son of my old friend, dear,” he cried; “surely you mustremember Prince Nicolai Lvovitch? You saw him at—at Tver.”

“I don’t remember any Nicolai Lvovitch. Was that yourfather?” she inquired of the prince.

“Yes, but he died at Elizabethgrad, not at Tver,” said the prince,rather timidly. “So Pavlicheff told me.”

“No, Tver,” insisted the general; “he removed just before hisdeath. You were very small and cannot remember; and Pavlicheff, though anexcellent fellow, may have made a mistake.”

“You knew Pavlicheff then?”

“Oh, yes—a wonderful fellow; but I was present myself. I gave himmy blessing.”

“My father was just about to be tried when he died,” said theprince, “although I never knew of what he was accused. He died inhospital.”

“Oh! it was the Kolpakoff business, and of course he would have beenacquitted.”

“Yes? Do you know that for a fact?” asked the prince, whosecuriosity was aroused by the general’s words.

“I should think so indeed!” cried the latter. “Thecourt-martial came to no decision. It was a mysterious, an impossible business,one might say! Captain Larionoff, commander of the company, had died; hiscommand was handed over to the prince for the moment. Very well. This soldier,Kolpakoff, stole some leather from one of his comrades, intending to sell it,and spent the money on drink. Well! The prince—you understand that whatfollows took place in the presence of the sergeant-major, and acorporal—the prince rated Kolpakoff soundly, and threatened to have himflogged. Well, Kolpakoff went back to the barracks, lay down on a campbedstead, and in a quarter of an hour was dead: you quite understand? It was,as I said, a strange, almost impossible, affair. In due course Kolpakoff wasburied; the prince wrote his report, the deceased’s name was removed fromthe roll. All as it should be, is it not? But exactly three months later at theinspection of the brigade, the man Kolpakoff was found in the third company ofthe second battalion of infantry, Novozemlianski division, just as if nothinghad happened!”

“What?” said the prince, much astonished.

“It did not occur—it’s a mistake!” said NinaAlexandrovna quickly, looking, at the prince rather anxiously. “Monmari se trompe,” she added, speaking in French.

“My dear, ‘se trompe’ is easily said. Do you rememberany case at all like it? Everybody was at their wits’ end. I should bethe first to say ‘qu’on se trompe,’ but unfortunatelyI was an eye-witness, and was also on the commission of inquiry. Everythingproved that it was really he, the very same soldier Kolpakoff who had beengiven the usual military funeral to the sound of the drum. It is of course amost curious case—nearly an impossible one. I recognize that...but—”

“Father, your dinner is ready,” said Varvara at this point, puttingher head in at the door.

“Very glad, I’m particularly hungry. Yes, yes, a strangecoincidence—almost a psychological—”

“Your soup’ll be cold; do come.”

“Coming, coming,” said the general. “Son of my oldfriend—” he was heard muttering as he went down the passage.

“You will have to excuse very much in my husband, if you stay withus,” said Nina Alexandrovna; “but he will not disturb you often. Hedines alone. Everyone has his little peculiarities, you know, and some peopleperhaps have more than those who are most pointed at and laughed at. One thingI must beg of you—if my husband applies to you for payment for board andlodging, tell him that you have already paid me. Of course anything paid by youto the general would be as fully settled as if paid to me, so far as you areconcerned; but I wish it to be so, if you please, for convenience’ sake.What is it, Varia?”

Varia had quietly entered the room, and was holding out the portrait ofNastasia Philipovna to her mother.

Nina Alexandrovna started, and examined the photograph intently, gazing at itlong and sadly. At last she looked up inquiringly at Varia.

“It’s a present from herself to him,” said Varia; “thequestion is to be finally decided this evening.”

“This evening!” repeated her mother in a tone of despair, butsoftly, as though to herself. “Then it’s all settled, of course,and there’s no hope left to us. She has anticipated her answer by thepresent of her portrait. Did he show it you himself?” she added, in somesurprise.

“You know we have hardly spoken to each other for a whole month. Ptitsintold me all about it; and the photo was lying under the table, and I picked itup.”

“Prince,” asked Nina Alexandrovna, “I wanted to inquirewhether you have known my son long? I think he said that you had only arrivedtoday from somewhere.”

The prince gave a short narrative of what we have heard before, leaving out thegreater part. The two ladies listened intently.

“I did not ask about Gania out of curiosity,” said the elder, atlast. “I wish to know how much you know about him, because he said justnow that we need not stand on ceremony with you. What, exactly, does thatmean?”

At this moment Gania and Ptitsin entered the room together, and NinaAlexandrovna immediately became silent again. The prince remained seated nextto her, but Varia moved to the other end of the room; the portrait of NastasiaPhilipovna remained lying as before on the work-table. Gania observed it there,and with a frown of annoyance snatched it up and threw it across to hiswriting-table, which stood at the other end of the room.

“Is it today, Gania?” asked Nina Alexandrovna, at last.

“Is what today?” cried the former. Then suddenly recollectinghimself, he turned sharply on the prince. “Oh,” he growled,“I see, you are here, that explains it! Is it a disease, or what, thatyou can’t hold your tongue? Look here, understand once for all,prince—”

“I am to blame in this, Gania—no one else,” said Ptitsin.

Gania glanced inquiringly at the speaker.

“It’s better so, you know, Gania—especially as, from onepoint of view, the matter may be considered as settled,” said Ptitsin;and sitting down a little way from the table he began to study a paper coveredwith pencil writing.

Gania stood and frowned, he expected a family scene. He never thought ofapologizing to the prince, however.

“If it’s all settled, Gania, then of course Mr. Ptitsin isright,” said Nina Alexandrovna. “Don’t frown. You need notworry yourself, Gania; I shall ask you no questions. You need not tell meanything you don’t like. I assure you I have quite submitted to yourwill.” She said all this, knitting away the while as though perfectlycalm and composed.

Gania was surprised, but cautiously kept silence and looked at his mother,hoping that she would express herself more clearly. Nina Alexandrovna observedhis cautiousness and added, with a bitter smile:

“You are still suspicious, I see, and do not believe me; but you may bequite at your ease. There shall be no more tears, nor questions—not frommy side, at all events. All I wish is that you may be happy, you know that. Ihave submitted to my fate; but my heart will always be with you, whether weremain united, or whether we part. Of course I only answer for myself—youcan hardly expect your sister—”

“My sister again,” cried Gania, looking at her with contempt andalmost hate. “Look here, mother, I have already given you my word that Ishall always respect you fully and absolutely, and so shall everyone else inthis house, be it who it may, who shall cross this threshold.”

Gania was so much relieved that he gazed at his mother almost affectionately.

“I was not at all afraid for myself, Gania, as you know well. It was notfor my own sake that I have been so anxious and worried all this time! They sayit is all to be settled to-day. What is to be settled?”

“She has promised to tell me tonight at her own house whether sheconsents or not,” replied Gania.

“We have been silent on this subject for three weeks,” said hismother, “and it was better so; and now I will only ask you one question.How can she give her consent and make you a present of her portrait when you donot love her? How can such a—such a—”

“Practised hand—eh?”

“I was not going to express myself so. But how could you so blindher?”

Nina Alexandrovna’s question betrayed intense annoyance. Gania waited amoment and then said, without taking the trouble to conceal the irony of histone:

“There you are, mother, you are always like that. You begin by promisingthat there are to be no reproaches or insinuations or questions, and here youare beginning them at once. We had better drop the subject—we had,really. I shall never leave you, mother; any other man would cut and run fromsuch a sister as this. See how she is looking at me at this moment! Besides,how do you know that I am blinding Nastasia Philipovna? As for Varia, Idon’t care—she can do just as she pleases. There, that’squite enough!”

Gania’s irritation increased with every word he uttered, as he walked upand down the room. These conversations always touched the family sores beforelong.

“I have said already that the moment she comes in I go out, and I shallkeep my word,” remarked Varia.

“Out of obstinacy” shouted Gania. “You haven’t married,either, thanks to your obstinacy. Oh, you needn’t frown at me, Varvara!You can go at once for all I care; I am sick enough of your company. What, youare going to leave us are you, too?” he cried, turning to the prince, whowas rising from his chair.

Gania’s voice was full of the most uncontrolled and uncontrollableirritation.

The prince turned at the door to say something, but perceiving in Gania’sexpression that there was but that one drop wanting to make the cup overflow,he changed his mind and left the room without a word. A few minutes later hewas aware from the noisy voices in the drawing room, that the conversation hadbecome more quarrelsome than ever after his departure.

He crossed the salon and the entrance-hall, so as to pass down the corridorinto his own room. As he came near the front door he heard someone outsidevainly endeavouring to ring the bell, which was evidently broken, and onlyshook a little, without emitting any sound.

The prince took down the chain and opened the door. He started back inamazement—for there stood Nastasia Philipovna. He knew her at once fromher photograph. Her eyes blazed with anger as she looked at him. She quicklypushed by him into the hall, shouldering him out of her way, and said,furiously, as she threw off her fur cloak:

“If you are too lazy to mend your bell, you should at least wait in thehall to let people in when they rattle the bell handle. There, now,you’ve dropped my fur cloak—dummy!”

Sure enough the cloak was lying on the ground. Nastasia had thrown it off hertowards the prince, expecting him to catch it, but the prince had missed it.

“Now then—announce me, quick!”

The prince wanted to say something, but was so confused and astonished that hecould not. However, he moved off towards the drawing-room with the cloak overhis arm.

“Now then, where are you taking my cloak to? Ha, ha, ha! Are youmad?”

The prince turned and came back, more confused than ever. When she burst outlaughing, he smiled, but his tongue could not form a word as yet. At first,when he had opened the door and saw her standing before him, he had become aspale as death; but now the red blood had rushed back to his cheeks in atorrent.

“Why, what an idiot it is!” cried Nastasia, stamping her foot withirritation. “Go on, do! Whom are you going to announce?”

“Nastasia Philipovna,” murmured the prince.

“And how do you know that?” she asked him, sharply.

“I have never seen you before!”

“Go on, announce me—what’s that noise?”

“They are quarrelling,” said the prince, and entered thedrawing-room, just as matters in there had almost reached a crisis. NinaAlexandrovna had forgotten that she had “submitted to everything!”She was defending Varia. Ptitsin was taking her part, too. Not that Varia wasafraid of standing up for herself. She was by no means that sort of a girl; buther brother was becoming ruder and more intolerable every moment. Her usualpractice in such cases as the present was to say nothing, but stare at him,without taking her eyes off his face for an instant. This manoeuvre, as shewell knew, could drive Gania distracted.

Just at this moment the door opened and the prince entered, announcing:

“Nastasia Philipovna!”

IX.

Silence immediately fell on the room; all looked at the prince as though theyneither understood, nor hoped to understand. Gania was motionless with horror.

Nastasia’s arrival was a most unexpected and overwhelming event to allparties. In the first place, she had never been before. Up to now she had beenso haughty that she had never even asked Gania to introduce her to his parents.Of late she had not so much as mentioned them. Gania was partly glad of this;but still he had put it to her debit in the account to be settled aftermarriage.

He would have borne anything from her rather than this visit. But one thingseemed to him quite clear—her visit now, and the present of her portraiton this particular day, pointed out plainly enough which way she intended tomake her decision!

The incredulous amazement with which all regarded the prince did not last long,for Nastasia herself appeared at the door and passed in, pushing by the princeagain.

“At last I’ve stormed the citadel! Why do you tie up yourbell?” she said, merrily, as she pressed Gania’s hand, the latterhaving rushed up to her as soon as she made her appearance. “What are youlooking so upset about? Introduce me, please!”

The bewildered Gania introduced her first to Varia, and both women, beforeshaking hands, exchanged looks of strange import. Nastasia, however, smiledamiably; but Varia did not try to look amiable, and kept her gloomy expression.She did not even vouchsafe the usual courteous smile of etiquette. Gania darteda terrible glance of wrath at her for this, but Nina Alexandrovna mendedmatters a little when Gania introduced her at last. Hardly, however, had theold lady begun about her “highly gratified feelings,” and so on,when Nastasia left her, and flounced into a chair by Gania’s side in thecorner by the window, and cried: “Where’s your study? and where arethe—the lodgers? You do take in lodgers, don’t you?”

Gania looked dreadfully put out, and tried to say something in reply, butNastasia interrupted him:

“Why, where are you going to squeeze lodgers in here? Don’t you usea study? Does this sort of thing pay?” she added, turning to NinaAlexandrovna.

“Well, it is troublesome, rather,” said the latter; “but Isuppose it will ‘pay’ pretty well. We have only just begun,however—”

Again Nastasia Philipovna did not hear the sentence out. She glanced at Gania,and cried, laughing, “What a face! My goodness, what a face you have onat this moment!”

Indeed, Gania did not look in the least like himself. His bewilderment and hisalarmed perplexity passed off, however, and his lips now twitched with rage ashe continued to stare evilly at his laughing guest, while his countenancebecame absolutely livid.

There was another witness, who, though standing at the door motionless andbewildered himself, still managed to remark Gania’s death-like pallor,and the dreadful change that had come over his face. This witness was theprince, who now advanced in alarm and muttered to Gania:

“Drink some water, and don’t look like that!”

It was clear that he came out with these words quite spontaneously, on the spurof the moment. But his speech was productive of much—for it appeared thatall Gania’s rage now overflowed upon the prince. He seized him by theshoulder and gazed with an intensity of loathing and revenge at him, but saidnothing—as though his feelings were too strong to permit of words.

General agitation prevailed. Nina Alexandrovna gave a little cry of anxiety;Ptitsin took a step forward in alarm; Colia and Ferdishenko stood stock stillat the door in amazement;—only Varia remained coolly watching the scenefrom under her eyelashes. She did not sit down, but stood by her mother withfolded hands. However, Gania recollected himself almost immediately. He let goof the prince and burst out laughing.

“Why, are you a doctor, prince, or what?” he asked, as naturally aspossible. “I declare you quite frightened me! Nastasia Philipovna, let meintroduce this interesting character to you—though I have only known himmyself since the morning.”

Nastasia gazed at the prince in bewilderment. “Prince? He a Prince? Why,I took him for the footman, just now, and sent him in to announce me! Ha, ha,ha, isn’t that good!”

“Not bad that, not bad at all!” put in Ferdishenko, “senon è vero—”

“I rather think I pitched into you, too, didn’t I? Forgiveme—do! Who is he, did you say? What prince? Muishkin?” she added,addressing Gania.

“He is a lodger of ours,” explained the latter.

“An idiot!”—the prince distinctly heard the word halfwhispered from behind him. This was Ferdishenko’s voluntary informationfor Nastasia’s benefit.

“Tell me, why didn’t you put me right when I made such a dreadfulmistake just now?” continued the latter, examining the prince from headto foot without the slightest ceremony. She awaited the answer as thoughconvinced that it would be so foolish that she must inevitably fail to restrainher laughter over it.

“I was astonished, seeing you so suddenly—” murmured theprince.

“How did you know who I was? Where had you seen me before? And why wereyou so struck dumb at the sight of me? What was there so overwhelming aboutme?”

“Oho! ho, ho, ho!” cried Ferdishenko. “Now then,prince! My word, what things I would say if I had such a chance as that! Mygoodness, prince—go on!”

“So should I, in your place, I’ve no doubt!” laughed theprince to Ferdishenko; then continued, addressing Nastasia: “Yourportrait struck me very forcibly this morning; then I was talking about you tothe Epanchins; and then, in the train, before I reached Petersburg, ParfenRogojin told me a good deal about you; and at the very moment that I opened thedoor to you I happened to be thinking of you, when—there you stood beforeme!”

“And how did you recognize me?”

“From the portrait!”

“What else?”

“I seemed to imagine you exactly as you are—I seemed to have seenyou somewhere.”

“Where—where?”

“I seem to have seen your eyes somewhere; but it cannot be! I have notseen you—I never was here before. I may have dreamed of you, Idon’t know.”

The prince said all this with manifest effort—in broken sentences, andwith many drawings of breath. He was evidently much agitated. NastasiaPhilipovna looked at him inquisitively, but did not laugh.

“Bravo, prince!” cried Ferdishenko, delighted.

At this moment a loud voice from behind the group which hedged in the princeand Nastasia Philipovna, divided the crowd, as it were, and before them stoodthe head of the family, General Ivolgin. He was dressed in evening clothes; hismoustache was dyed.

This apparition was too much for Gania. Vain and ambitious almost tomorbidness, he had had much to put up with in the last two months, and wasseeking feverishly for some means of enabling himself to lead a morepresentable kind of existence. At home, he now adopted an attitude of absolutecynicism, but he could not keep this up before Nastasia Philipovna, although hehad sworn to make her pay after marriage for all he suffered now. He wasexperiencing a last humiliation, the bitterest of all, at this moment—thehumiliation of blushing for his own kindred in his own house. A questionflashed through his mind as to whether the game was really worth the candle.

For that had happened at this moment, which for two months had been hisnightmare; which had filled his soul with dread and shame—the meetingbetween his father and Nastasia Philipovna. He had often tried to imagine suchan event, but had found the picture too mortifying and exasperating, and hadquietly dropped it. Very likely he anticipated far worse things than was at allnecessary; it is often so with vain persons. He had long since determined,therefore, to get his father out of the way, anywhere, before his marriage, inorder to avoid such a meeting; but when Nastasia entered the room just now, hehad been so overwhelmed with astonishment, that he had not thought of hisfather, and had made no arrangements to keep him out of the way. And now it wastoo late—there he was, and got up, too, in a dress coat and white tie,and Nastasia in the very humour to heap ridicule on him and his family circle;of this last fact, he felt quite persuaded. What else had she come for? Therewere his mother and his sister sitting before her, and she seemed to haveforgotten their very existence already; and if she behaved like that, hethought, she must have some object in view.

Ferdishenko led the general up to Nastasia Philipovna.

“Ardalion Alexandrovitch Ivolgin,” said the smiling general, with alow bow of great dignity, “an old soldier, unfortunate, and the father ofthis family; but happy in the hope of including in that family soexquisite—”

He did not finish his sentence, for at this moment Ferdishenko pushed a chairup from behind, and the general, not very firm on his legs, at thispost-prandial hour, flopped into it backwards. It was always a difficult thingto put this warrior to confusion, and his sudden descent left him as composedas before. He had sat down just opposite to Nastasia, whose fingers he nowtook, and raised to his lips with great elegance, and much courtesy. Thegeneral had once belonged to a very select circle of society, but he had beenturned out of it two or three years since on account of certain weaknesses, inwhich he now indulged with all the less restraint; but his good mannersremained with him to this day, in spite of all.

Nastasia Philipovna seemed delighted at the appearance of this latest arrival,of whom she had of course heard a good deal by report.

“I have heard that my son—” began Ardalion Alexandrovitch.

“Your son, indeed! A nice papa you are! You might have come to seeme anyhow, without compromising anyone. Do you hide yourself, or does your sonhide you?”

“The children of the nineteenth century, and their parents—”began the general, again.

“Nastasia Philipovna, will you excuse the general for a moment? Someoneis inquiring for him,” said Nina Alexandrovna in a loud voice,interrupting the conversation.

“Excuse him? Oh no, I have wished to see him too long for that. Why, whatbusiness can he have? He has retired, hasn’t he? You won’t leaveme, general, will you?”

“I give you my word that he shall come and see you—but he—heneeds rest just now.”

“General, they say you require rest,” said Nastasia Philipovna,with the melancholy face of a child whose toy is taken away.

Ardalion Alexandrovitch immediately did his best to make his foolish position agreat deal worse.

“My dear, my dear!” he said, solemnly and reproachfully, looking athis wife, with one hand on his heart.

“Won’t you leave the room, mamma?” asked Varia, aloud.

“No, Varia, I shall sit it out to the end.”

Nastasia must have overheard both question and reply, but her vivacity was notin the least damped. On the contrary, it seemed to increase. She immediatelyoverwhelmed the general once more with questions, and within five minutes thatgentleman was as happy as a king, and holding forth at the top of his voice,amid the laughter of almost all who heard him.

Colia jogged the prince’s arm.

“Can’t you get him out of the room, somehow? Do,please,” and tears of annoyance stood in the boy’s eyes.“Curse that Gania!” he muttered, between his teeth.

“Oh yes, I knew General Epanchin well,” General Ivolgin was sayingat this moment; “he and Prince Nicolai Ivanovitch Muishkin—whoseson I have this day embraced after an absence of twenty years—and I, werethree inseparables. Alas one is in the grave, torn to pieces by calumnies andbullets; another is now before you, still battling with calumnies andbullets—”

“Bullets?” cried Nastasia.

“Yes, here in my chest. I received them at the siege of Kars, and I feelthem in bad weather now. And as to the third of our trio, Epanchin, of courseafter that little affair with the poodle in the railway carriage, it was allup between us.”

“Poodle? What was that? And in a railway carriage? Dear me,” saidNastasia, thoughtfully, as though trying to recall something to mind.

“Oh, just a silly, little occurrence, really not worth telling, aboutPrincess Bielokonski’s governess, Miss Smith, and—oh, it is reallynot worth telling!”

“No, no, we must have it!” cried Nastasia merrily.

“Yes, of course,” said Ferdishenko. “C’est dunouveau.”

“Ardalion,” said Nina Alexandrovitch, entreatingly.

“Papa, you are wanted!” cried Colia.

“Well, it is a silly little story, in a few words,” began thedelighted general. “A couple of years ago, soon after the new railway wasopened, I had to go somewhere or other on business. Well, I took a first-classticket, sat down, and began to smoke, or rather continued to smoke, forI had lighted up before. I was alone in the carriage. Smoking is not allowed,but is not prohibited either; it is half allowed—so to speak, winked at.I had the window open.”

“Suddenly, just before the whistle, in came two ladies with a littlepoodle, and sat down opposite to me; not bad-looking women; one was in lightblue, the other in black silk. The poodle, a beauty with a silver collar, layon light blue’s knee. They looked haughtily about, and talked Englishtogether. I took no notice, just went on smoking. I observed that the ladieswere getting angry—over my cigar, doubtless. One looked at me through hertortoise-shell eyeglass.

“I took no notice, because they never said a word. If they didn’tlike the cigar, why couldn’t they say so? Not a word, not a hint!Suddenly, and without the very slightest suspicion of warning, ‘lightblue’ seizes my cigar from between my fingers, and, wheugh! out of thewindow with it! Well, on flew the train, and I sat bewildered, and the youngwoman, tall and fair, and rather red in the face, too red, glared at me withflashing eyes.

“I didn’t say a word, but with extreme courtesy, I may say withmost refined courtesy, I reached my finger and thumb over towards the poodle,took it up delicately by the nape of the neck, and chucked it out of thewindow, after the cigar. The train went flying on, and the poodle’s yellswere lost in the distance.”

“Oh, you naughty man!” cried Nastasia, laughing and clapping herhands like a child.

“Bravo!” said Ferdishenko. Ptitsin laughed too, though he had beenvery sorry to see the general appear. Even Colia laughed and said,“Bravo!”

“And I was right, truly right,” cried the general, with warmth andsolemnity, “for if cigars are forbidden in railway carriages, poodles aremuch more so.”

“Well, and what did the lady do?” asked Nastasia, impatiently.

“She—ah, that’s where all the mischief of it lies!”replied Ivolgin, frowning. “Without a word, as it were, of warning, sheslapped me on the cheek! An extraordinary woman!”

“And you?”

The general dropped his eyes, and elevated his brows; shrugged his shoulders,tightened his lips, spread his hands, and remained silent. At last he blurtedout:

“I lost my head!”

“Did you hit her?”

“No, oh no!—there was a great flare-up, but I didn’t hit her!I had to struggle a little, purely to defend myself; but the very devil was inthe business. It turned out that ‘light blue’ was an Englishwoman,governess or something, at Princess Bielokonski’s, and the other womanwas one of the old-maid princesses Bielokonski. Well, everybody knows whatgreat friends the princess and Mrs. Epanchin are, so there was a pretty kettleof fish. All the Bielokonskis went into mourning for the poodle. Six princessesin tears, and the Englishwoman shrieking!

“Of course I wrote an apology, and called, but they would not receiveeither me or my apology, and the Epanchins cut me, too!”

“But wait,” said Nastasia. “How is it that, five or six dayssince, I read exactly the same story in the paper, as happening between aFrenchman and an English girl? The cigar was snatched away exactly as youdescribe, and the poodle was chucked out of the window after it. The slappingcame off, too, as in your case; and the girl’s dress was lightblue!”

The general blushed dreadfully; Colia blushed too; and Ptitsin turned hastilyaway. Ferdishenko was the only one who laughed as gaily as before. As to Gania,I need not say that he was miserable; he stood dumb and wretched and took nonotice of anybody.

“I assure you,” said the general, “that exactly the samething happened to myself!”

“I remembered there was some quarrel between father and Miss Smith, theBielokonski’s governess,” said Colia.

“How very curious, point for point the same anecdote, and happening atdifferent ends of Europe! Even the light blue dress the same,” continuedthe pitiless Nastasia. “I must really send you the paper.”

“You must observe,” insisted the general, “that my experiencewas two years earlier.”

“Ah! that’s it, no doubt!”

Nastasia Philipovna laughed hysterically.

“Father, will you hear a word from me outside!” said Gania, hisvoice shaking with agitation, as he seized his father by the shoulder. His eyesshone with a blaze of hatred.

At this moment there was a terrific bang at the front door, almost enough tobreak it down. Some most unusual visitor must have arrived. Colia ran to open.

X.

The entrance-hall suddenly became full of noise and people. To judge from thesounds which penetrated to the drawing-room, a number of people had alreadycome in, and the stampede continued. Several voices were talking and shoutingat once; others were talking and shouting on the stairs outside; it wasevidently a most extraordinary visit that was about to take place.

Everyone exchanged startled glances. Gania rushed out towards the dining-room,but a number of men had already made their way in, and met him.

“Ah! here he is, the Judas!” cried a voice which the princerecognized at once. “How d’ye do, Gania, you old blackguard?”

“Yes, that’s the man!” said another voice.

There was no room for doubt in the prince’s mind: one of the voices wasRogojin’s, and the other Lebedeff’s.

Gania stood at the door like a block and looked on in silence, putting noobstacle in the way of their entrance, and ten or a dozen men marched in behindParfen Rogojin. They were a decidedly mixed-looking collection, and some ofthem came in in their furs and caps. None of them were quite drunk, but allappeared to be considerably excited.

They seemed to need each other’s support, morally, before they dared comein; not one of them would have entered alone but with the rest each one wasbrave enough. Even Rogojin entered rather cautiously at the head of his troop;but he was evidently preoccupied. He appeared to be gloomy and morose, and hadclearly come with some end in view. All the rest were merely chorus, brought into support the chief character. Besides Lebedeff there was the dandy Zalesheff,who came in without his coat and hat, two or three others followed his example;the rest were more uncouth. They included a couple of young merchants, a man ina great-coat, a medical student, a little Pole, a small fat man who laughedcontinuously, and an enormously tall stout one who apparently put great faithin the strength of his fists. A couple of “ladies” of some sort puttheir heads in at the front door, but did not dare come any farther. Coliapromptly banged the door in their faces and locked it.

“Hallo, Gania, you blackguard! You didn’t expect Rogojin,eh?” said the latter, entering the drawing-room, and stopping beforeGania.

But at this moment he saw, seated before him, Nastasia Philipovna. He had notdreamed of meeting her here, evidently, for her appearance produced amarvellous effect upon him. He grew pale, and his lips became actually blue.

“I suppose it is true, then!” he muttered to himself, and his facetook on an expression of despair. “So that’s the end of it! Nowyou, sir, will you answer me or not?” he went on suddenly, gazing atGania with ineffable malice. “Now then, you—”

He panted, and could hardly speak for agitation. He advanced into the roommechanically; but perceiving Nina Alexandrovna and Varia he became more or lessembarrassed, in spite of his excitement. His followers entered after him, andall paused a moment at sight of the ladies. Of course their modesty was notfated to be long-lived, but for a moment they were abashed. Once let them beginto shout, however, and nothing on earth should disconcert them.

“What, you here too, prince?” said Rogojin, absently, but a littlesurprised all the same “Still in your gaiters, eh?” He sighed, andforgot the prince next moment, and his wild eyes wandered over to Nastasiaagain, as though attracted in that direction by some magnetic force.

Nastasia looked at the new arrivals with great curiosity. Gania recollectedhimself at last.

“Excuse me, sirs,” he said, loudly, “but what does all thismean?” He glared at the advancing crowd generally, but addressed hisremarks especially to their captain, Rogojin. “You are not in a stable,gentlemen, though you may think it—my mother and sister arepresent.”

“Yes, I see your mother and sister,” muttered Rogojin, through histeeth; and Lebedeff seemed to feel himself called upon to second the statement.

“At all events, I must request you to step into the salon,” saidGania, his rage rising quite out of proportion to his words, “and then Ishall inquire—”

“What, he doesn’t know me!” said Rogojin, showing his teethdisagreeably. “He doesn’t recognize Rogojin!” He did not movean inch, however.

“I have met you somewhere, I believe, but—”

“Met me somewhere, pfu! Why, it’s only three months since I losttwo hundred roubles of my father’s money to you, at cards. The old fellowdied before he found out. Ptitsin knows all about it. Why, I’ve only topull out a three-rouble note and show it to you, and you’d crawl on yourhands and knees to the other end of the town for it; that’s the sort ofman you are. Why, I’ve come now, at this moment, to buy you up! Oh, youneedn’t think that because I wear these boots I have no money. I havelots of money, my beauty,—enough to buy up you and all yours together. SoI shall, if I like to! I’ll buy you up! I will!” he yelled,apparently growing more and more intoxicated and excited. “Oh, NastasiaPhilipovna! don’t turn me out! Say one word, do! Are you going to marrythis man, or not?”

Rogojin asked his question like a lost soul appealing to some divinity, withthe reckless daring of one appointed to die, who has nothing to lose.

He awaited the reply in deadly anxiety.

Nastasia Philipovna gazed at him with a haughty, ironical expression of face;but when she glanced at Nina Alexandrovna and Varia, and from them to Gania,she changed her tone, all of a sudden.

“Certainly not; what are you thinking of? What could have induced you toask such a question?” she replied, quietly and seriously, and even,apparently, with some astonishment.

“No? No?” shouted Rogojin, almost out of his mind with joy.“You are not going to, after all? And they told me—oh, NastasiaPhilipovna—they said you had promised to marry him, him! As if youcould do it!—him—pooh! I don’t mind saying it toeveryone—I’d buy him off for a hundred roubles, any day pfu! Givehim a thousand, or three if he likes, poor devil, and he’d cut and runthe day before his wedding, and leave his bride to me! Wouldn’t you,Gania, you blackguard? You’d take three thousand, wouldn’t you?Here’s the money! Look, I’ve come on purpose to pay you off and getyour receipt, formally. I said I’d buy you up, and so I will.”

“Get out of this, you drunken beast!” cried Gania, who was red andwhite by turns.

Rogojin’s troop, who were only waiting for an excuse, set up a howl atthis. Lebedeff stepped forward and whispered something in Parfen’s ear.

“You’re right, clerk,” said the latter, “you’reright, tipsy spirit—you’re right!—Nastasia Philipovna,”he added, looking at her like some lunatic, harmless generally, but suddenlywound up to a pitch of audacity, “here are eighteen thousand roubles,and—and you shall have more—.” Here he threw a packet ofbank-notes tied up in white paper, on the table before her, not daring to sayall he wished to say.

“No—no—no!” muttered Lebedeff, clutching at his arm. Hewas clearly aghast at the largeness of the sum, and thought a far smalleramount should have been tried first.

“No, you fool—you don’t know whom you are dealingwith—and it appears I am a fool, too!” said Parfen, tremblingbeneath the flashing glance of Nastasia. “Oh, curse it all! What a fool Iwas to listen to you!” he added, with profound melancholy.

Nastasia Philipovna, observing his woe-begone expression, suddenly burst outlaughing.

“Eighteen thousand roubles, for me? Why, you declare yourself a fool atonce,” she said, with impudent familiarity, as she rose from the sofa andprepared to go. Gania watched the whole scene with a sinking of the heart.

“Forty thousand, then—forty thousand roubles instead of eighteen!Ptitsin and another have promised to find me forty thousand roubles by seveno’clock tonight. Forty thousand roubles—paid down on thenail!”

The scene was growing more and more disgraceful; but Nastasia Philipovnacontinued to laugh and did not go away. Nina Alexandrovna and Varia had bothrisen from their places and were waiting, in silent horror, to see what wouldhappen. Varia’s eyes were all ablaze with anger; but the scene had adifferent effect on Nina Alexandrovna. She paled and trembled, and looked moreand more like fainting every moment.

“Very well then, a hundred thousand! a hundred thousand! paid thisvery day. Ptitsin! find it for me. A good share shall stick to yourfingers—come!”

“You are mad!” said Ptitsin, coming up quickly and seizing him bythe hand. “You’re drunk—the police will be sent for if youdon’t look out. Think where you are.”

“Yes, he’s boasting like a drunkard,” added Nastasia, asthough with the sole intention of goading him.

“I do not boast! You shall have a hundred thousand, this very day.Ptitsin, get the money, you gay usurer! Take what you like for it, but get itby the evening! I’ll show that I’m in earnest!” criedRogojin, working himself up into a frenzy of excitement.

“Come, come; what’s all this?” cried General Ivolgin,suddenly and angrily, coming close up to Rogojin. The unexpectedness of thissally on the part of the hitherto silent old man caused some laughter among theintruders.

“Halloa! what’s this now?” laughed Rogojin. “You comealong with me, old fellow! You shall have as much to drink as you like.”

“Oh, it’s too horrible!” cried poor Colia, sobbing with shameand annoyance.

“Surely there must be someone among all of you here who will turn thisshameless creature out of the room?” cried Varia, suddenly. She wasshaking and trembling with rage.

“That’s me, I suppose. I’m the shameless creature!”cried Nastasia Philipovna, with amused indifference. “Dear me, and Icame—like a fool, as I am—to invite them over to my house for theevening! Look how your sister treats me, Gavrila Ardalionovitch.”

For some moments Gania stood as if stunned or struck by lightning, after hissister’s speech. But seeing that Nastasia Philipovna was really about toleave the room this time, he sprang at Varia and seized her by the arm like amadman.

“What have you done?” he hissed, glaring at her as though he wouldlike to annihilate her on the spot. He was quite beside himself, and couldhardly articulate his words for rage.

“What have I done? Where are you dragging me to?”

“Do you wish me to beg pardon of this creature because she has come hereto insult our mother and disgrace the whole household, you low, basewretch?” cried Varia, looking back at her brother with proud defiance.

A few moments passed as they stood there face to face, Gania still holding herwrist tightly. Varia struggled once—twice—to get free; then couldrestrain herself no longer, and spat in his face.

“There’s a girl for you!” cried Nastasia Philipovna.“Mr. Ptitsin, I congratulate you on your choice.”

Gania lost his head. Forgetful of everything he aimed a blow at Varia, whichwould inevitably have laid her low, but suddenly another hand caught his.Between him and Varia stood the prince.

“Enough—enough!” said the latter, with insistence, but all ofa tremble with excitement.

“Are you going to cross my path for ever, damn you!” cried Gania;and, loosening his hold on Varia, he slapped the prince’s face with allhis force.

Exclamations of horror arose on all sides. The prince grew pale as death; hegazed into Gania’s eyes with a strange, wild, reproachful look; his lipstrembled and vainly endeavoured to form some words; then his mouth twisted intoan incongruous smile.

“Very well—never mind about me; but I shall not allow you to strikeher!” he said, at last, quietly. Then, suddenly, he could bear it nolonger, and covering his face with his hands, turned to the wall, and murmuredin broken accents:

“Oh! how ashamed you will be of this afterwards!”

Gania certainly did look dreadfully abashed. Colia rushed up to comfort theprince, and after him crowded Varia, Rogojin and all, even the general.

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing!” said the prince, andagain he wore the smile which was so inconsistent with the circumstances.

“Yes, he will be ashamed!” cried Rogojin. “You will beproperly ashamed of yourself for having injured such a—such asheep” (he could not find a better word). “Prince, my dear fellow,leave this and come away with me. I’ll show you how Rogojin shows hisaffection for his friends.”

Nastasia Philipovna was also much impressed, both with Gania’s action andwith the prince’s reply.

Her usually thoughtful, pale face, which all this while had been so little inharmony with the jests and laughter which she had seemed to put on for theoccasion, was now evidently agitated by new feelings, though she tried toconceal the fact and to look as though she were as ready as ever for jestingand irony.

“I really think I must have seen him somewhere!” she murmuredseriously enough.

“Oh, aren’t you ashamed of yourself—aren’t you ashamed?Are you really the sort of woman you are trying to represent yourself to be? Isit possible?” The prince was now addressing Nastasia, in a tone ofreproach, which evidently came from his very heart.

Nastasia Philipovna looked surprised, and smiled, but evidently concealedsomething beneath her smile and with some confusion and a glance at Gania sheleft the room.

However, she had not reached the outer hall when she turned round, walkedquickly up to Nina Alexandrovna, seized her hand and lifted it to her lips.

“He guessed quite right. I am not that sort of woman,” shewhispered hurriedly, flushing red all over. Then she turned again and left theroom so quickly that no one could imagine what she had come back for. All theysaw was that she said something to Nina Alexandrovna in a hurried whisper, andseemed to kiss her hand. Varia, however, both saw and heard all, and watchedNastasia out of the room with an expression of wonder.

Gania recollected himself in time to rush after her in order to show her out,but she had gone. He followed her to the stairs.

“Don’t come with me,” she cried, “Au revoir,till the evening—do you hear? Au revoir!”

He returned thoughtful and confused; the riddle lay heavier than ever on hissoul. He was troubled about the prince, too, and so bewildered that he did noteven observe Rogojin’s rowdy band crowd past him and step on his toes, atthe door as they went out. They were all talking at once. Rogojin went ahead ofthe others, talking to Ptitsin, and apparently insisting vehemently uponsomething very important.

“You’ve lost the game, Gania” he cried, as he passed thelatter.

Gania gazed after him uneasily, but said nothing.

XI.

The prince now left the room and shut himself up in his own chamber. Coliafollowed him almost at once, anxious to do what he could to console him. Thepoor boy seemed to be already so attached to him that he could hardly leavehim.

“You were quite right to go away!” he said. “The row willrage there worse than ever now; and it’s like this every day withus—and all through that Nastasia Philipovna.”

“You have so many sources of trouble here, Colia,” said the prince.

“Yes, indeed, and it is all our own fault. But I have a great friend whois much worse off even than we are. Would you like to know him?”

“Yes, very much. Is he one of your school-fellows?”

“Well, not exactly. I will tell you all about him some day.... What doyou think of Nastasia Philipovna? She is beautiful, isn’t she? I hadnever seen her before, though I had a great wish to do so. She fascinated me. Icould forgive Gania if he were to marry her for love, but for money! Oh dear!that is horrible!”

“Yes, your brother does not attract me much.”

“I am not surprised at that. After what you... But I do hate that way oflooking at things! Because some fool, or a rogue pretending to be a fool,strikes a man, that man is to be dishonoured for his whole life, unless hewipes out the disgrace with blood, or makes his assailant beg forgiveness onhis knees! I think that so very absurd and tyrannical. Lermontoff’s BalMasque is based on that idea—a stupid and unnatural one, in my opinion;but he was hardly more than a child when he wrote it.”

“I like your sister very much.”

“Did you see how she spat in Gania’s face! Varia is afraid of noone. But you did not follow her example, and yet I am sure it was not throughcowardice. Here she comes! Speak of a wolf and you see his tail! I felt surethat she would come. She is very generous, though of course she has herfaults.”

Varia pounced upon her brother.

“This is not the place for you,” said she. “Go to father. Ishe plaguing you, prince?”

“Not in the least; on the contrary, he interests me.”

“Scolding as usual, Varia! It is the worst thing about her. After all, Ibelieve father may have started off with Rogojin. No doubt he is sorry now.Perhaps I had better go and see what he is doing,” added Colia, runningoff.

“Thank God, I have got mother away, and put her to bed without anotherscene! Gania is worried—and ashamed—not without reason! What aspectacle! I have come to thank you once more, prince, and to ask you if youknew Nastasia Philipovna before?”

“No, I have never known her.”

“Then what did you mean, when you said straight out to her that she wasnot really ‘like that’? You guessed right, I fancy. It is quitepossible she was not herself at the moment, though I cannot fathom her meaning.Evidently she meant to hurt and insult us. I have heard curious tales about herbefore now, but if she came to invite us to her house, why did she behave so tomy mother? Ptitsin knows her very well; he says he could not understand hertoday. With Rogojin, too! No one with a spark of self-respect could have talkedlike that in the house of her... Mother is extremely vexed on your account,too...

“That is nothing!” said the prince, waving his hand.

“But how meek she was when you spoke to her!”

“Meek! What do you mean?”

“You told her it was a shame for her to behave so, and her manner changedat once; she was like another person. You have some influence over her,prince,” added Varia, smiling a little.

The door opened at this point, and in came Gania most unexpectedly.

He was not in the least disconcerted to see Varia there, but he stood a momentat the door, and then approached the prince quietly.

“Prince,” he said, with feeling, “I was a blackguard. Forgiveme!” His face gave evidence of suffering. The prince was considerablyamazed, and did not reply at once. “Oh, come, forgive me, forgiveme!” Gania insisted, rather impatiently. “If you like, I’llkiss your hand. There!”

The prince was touched; he took Gania’s hands, and embraced him heartily,while each kissed the other.

“I never, never thought you were like that,” said Muishkin, drawinga deep breath. “I thought you—you weren’t capableof—”

“Of what? Apologizing, eh? And where on earth did I get the idea that youwere an idiot? You always observe what other people pass by unnoticed; onecould talk sense to you, but—”

“Here is another to whom you should apologize,” said the prince,pointing to Varia.

“No, no! they are all enemies! I’ve tried them often enough,believe me,” and Gania turned his back on Varia with these words.

“But if I beg you to make it up?” said Varia.

“And you’ll go to Nastasia Philipovna’s thisevening—”

“If you insist: but, judge for yourself, can I go, ought I to go?”

“But she is not that sort of woman, I tell you!” said Gania,angrily. “She was only acting.”

“I know that—I know that; but what a part to play! And think whatshe must take you for, Gania! I know she kissed mother’s hand, andall that, but she laughed at you, all the same. All this is not good enough forseventy-five thousand roubles, my dear boy. You are capable of honourablefeelings still, and that’s why I am talking to you so. Oh! do takecare what you are doing! Don’t you know yourself that it will end badly,Gania?”

So saying, and in a state of violent agitation, Varia left the room.

“There, they are all like that,” said Gania, laughing, “justas if I do not know all about it much better than they do.”

He sat down with these words, evidently intending to prolong his visit.

“If you know it so well,” said the prince a little timidly,“why do you choose all this worry for the sake of the seventy-fivethousand, which, you confess, does not cover it?”

“I didn’t mean that,” said Gania; “but while we areupon the subject, let me hear your opinion. Is all this worry worthseventy-five thousand or not?”

“Certainly not.”

“Of course! And it would be a disgrace to marry so, eh?”

“A great disgrace.”

“Oh, well, then you may know that I shall certainly do it, now. I shallcertainly marry her. I was not quite sure of myself before, but now I am.Don’t say a word: I know what you want to tell me—”

“No. I was only going to say that what surprises me most of all is yourextraordinary confidence.”

“How so? What in?”

“That Nastasia Philipovna will accept you, and that the question is asgood as settled; and secondly, that even if she did, you would be able topocket the money. Of course, I know very little about it, but that’s myview. When a man marries for money it often happens that the wife keeps themoney in her own hands.”

“Of course, you don’t know all; but, I assure you, youneedn’t be afraid, it won’t be like that in our case. There arecircumstances,” said Gania, rather excitedly. “And as to her answerto me, there’s no doubt about that. Why should you suppose she willrefuse me?”

“Oh, I only judge by what I see. Varvara Ardalionovna said justnow—”

“Oh she—they don’t know anything about it! Nastasia was onlychaffing Rogojin. I was alarmed at first, but I have thought better of it now;she was simply laughing at him. She looks on me as a fool because I show that Imeant her money, and doesn’t realize that there are other men who woulddeceive her in far worse fashion. I’m not going to pretend anything, andyou’ll see she’ll marry me, all right. If she likes to livequietly, so she shall; but if she gives me any of her nonsense, I shall leaveher at once, but I shall keep the money. I’m not going to look a fool;that’s the first thing, not to look a fool.”

“But Nastasia Philipovna seems to me to be such a sensible woman,and, as such, why should she run blindly into this business? That’s whatpuzzles me so,” said the prince.

“You don’t know all, you see; I tell you there are things—andbesides, I’m sure that she is persuaded that I love her to distraction,and I give you my word I have a strong suspicion that she loves me,too—in her own way, of course. She thinks she will be able to make a sortof slave of me all my life; but I shall prepare a little surprise for her. Idon’t know whether I ought to be confidential with you, prince; but, Iassure you, you are the only decent fellow I have come across. I have notspoken so sincerely as I am doing at this moment for years. There areuncommonly few honest people about, prince; there isn’t one honester thanPtitsin, he’s the best of the lot. Are you laughing? You don’tknow, perhaps, that blackguards like honest people, and being one myself I likeyou. Why am I a blackguard? Tell me honestly, now. They all call me ablackguard because of her, and I have got into the way of thinking myself one.That’s what is so bad about the business.”

“I for one shall never think you a blackguard again,” saidthe prince. “I confess I had a poor opinion of you at first, but I havebeen so joyfully surprised about you just now; it’s a good lesson for me.I shall never judge again without a thorough trial. I see now that you are notonly not a blackguard, but are not even quite spoiled. I see that you are quitean ordinary man, not original in the least degree, but rather weak.”

Gania laughed sarcastically, but said nothing. The prince, seeing that he didnot quite like the last remark, blushed, and was silent too.

“Has my father asked you for money?” asked Gania, suddenly.

“No.”

“Don’t give it to him if he does. Fancy, he was a decent,respectable man once! He was received in the best society; he was not alwaysthe liar he is now. Of course, wine is at the bottom of it all; but he is agood deal worse than an innocent liar now. Do you know that he keeps amistress? I can’t understand how mother is so long-suffering. Did he tellyou the story of the siege of Kars? Or perhaps the one about his grey horsethat talked? He loves to enlarge on these absurd histories.” And Ganiaburst into a fit of laughter. Suddenly he turned to the prince and asked:“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I am surprised to see you laugh in that way, like a child. You came tomake friends with me again just now, and you said, ‘I will kiss yourhand, if you like,’ just as a child would have said it. And then, all atonce you are talking of this mad project—of these seventy-five thousandroubles! It all seems so absurd and impossible.”

“Well, what conclusion have you reached?”

“That you are rushing madly into the undertaking, and that you would dowell to think it over again. It is more than possible that Varvara Ardalionovnais right.”

“Ah! now you begin to moralize! I know that I am only a child, verywell,” replied Gania impatiently. “That is proved by my having thisconversation with you. It is not for money only, prince, that I am rushing intothis affair,” he continued, hardly master of his words, so closely hadhis vanity been touched. “If I reckoned on that I should certainly bedeceived, for I am still too weak in mind and character. I am obeying apassion, an impulse perhaps, because I have but one aim, one that overmastersall else. You imagine that once I am in possession of these seventy-fivethousand roubles, I shall rush to buy a carriage... No, I shall go on wearingthe old overcoat I have worn for three years, and I shall give up my club. Ishall follow the example of men who have made their fortunes. When Ptitsin wasseventeen he slept in the street, he sold pen-knives, and began with a copeck;now he has sixty thousand roubles, but to get them, what has he not done? Well,I shall be spared such a hard beginning, and shall start with a little capital.In fifteen years people will say, ‘Look, that’s Ivolgin, the kingof the Jews!’ You say that I have no originality. Now mark this,prince—there is nothing so offensive to a man of our time and race thanto be told that he is wanting in originality, that he is weak in character, hasno particular talent, and is, in short, an ordinary person. You have not evendone me the honour of looking upon me as a rogue. Do you know, I could haveknocked you down for that just now! You wounded me more cruelly than Epanchin,who thinks me capable of selling him my wife! Observe, it was a perfectlygratuitous idea on his part, seeing there has never been any discussion of itbetween us! This has exasperated me, and I am determined to make a fortune! Iwill do it! Once I am rich, I shall be a genius, an extremely original man. Oneof the vilest and most hateful things connected with money is that it can buyeven talent; and will do so as long as the world lasts. You will say that thisis childish—or romantic. Well, that will be all the better for me, butthe thing shall be done. I will carry it through. He laughs most, who laughslast. Why does Epanchin insult me? Simply because, socially, I am a nobody.However, enough for the present. Colia has put his nose in to tell us dinner isready, twice. I’m dining out. I shall come and talk to you now and then;you shall be comfortable enough with us. They are sure to make you one of thefamily. I think you and I will either be great friends or enemies. Look herenow, supposing I had kissed your hand just now, as I offered to do in allsincerity, should I have hated you for it afterwards?”

“Certainly, but not always. You would not have been able to keep it up,and would have ended by forgiving me,” said the prince, after a pause forreflection, and with a pleasant smile.

“Oho, how careful one has to be with you, prince! Haven’t you put adrop of poison in that remark now, eh? By the way—ha, ha, ha!—Iforgot to ask, was I right in believing that you were a good deal struckyourself with Nastasia Philipovna.”

“Ye-yes.”

“Are you in love with her?”

“N-no.”

“And yet you flush up as red as a rosebud! Come—it’s allright. I’m not going to laugh at you. Do you know she is a very virtuouswoman? Believe it or not, as you like. You think she and Totski—not a bitof it, not a bit of it! Not for ever so long! Au revoir!”

Gania left the room in great good humour. The prince stayed behind, andmeditated alone for a few minutes. At length, Colia popped his head in oncemore.

“I don’t want any dinner, thanks, Colia. I had too good a lunch atGeneral Epanchin’s.”

Colia came into the room and gave the prince a note; it was from the generaland was carefully sealed up. It was clear from Colia’s face how painfulit was to him to deliver the missive. The prince read it, rose, and took hishat.

“It’s only a couple of yards,” said Colia, blushing.

“He’s sitting there over his bottle—and how they can give himcredit, I cannot understand. Don’t tell mother I brought you the note,prince; I have sworn not to do it a thousand times, but I’m always sosorry for him. Don’t stand on ceremony, give him some trifle, and letthat end it.”

“Come along, Colia, I want to see your father. I have an idea,”said the prince.

XII.

Colia took the prince to a public-house in the Litaynaya, not far off. In oneof the side rooms there sat at a table—looking like one of the regularguests of the establishment—Ardalion Alexandrovitch, with a bottle beforehim, and a newspaper on his knee. He was waiting for the prince, and no soonerdid the latter appear than he began a long harangue about something or other;but so far gone was he that the prince could hardly understand a word.

“I have not got a ten-rouble note,” said the prince; “buthere is a twenty-five. Change it and give me back the fifteen, or I shall beleft without a farthing myself.”

“Oh, of course, of course; and you quite understand that I—”

“Yes; and I have another request to make, general. Have you ever been atNastasia Philipovna’s?”

“I? I? Do you mean me? Often, my friend, often! I only pretended I hadnot in order to avoid a painful subject. You saw today, you were a witness,that I did all that a kind, an indulgent father could do. Now a father ofaltogether another type shall step into the scene. You shall see; the oldsoldier shall lay bare this intrigue, or a shameless woman will force her wayinto a respectable and noble family.”

“Yes, quite so. I wished to ask you whether you could show me the way toNastasia Philipovna’s tonight. I must go; I have business with her; I wasnot invited but I was introduced. Anyhow I am ready to trespass the laws ofpropriety if only I can get in somehow or other.”

“My dear young friend, you have hit on my very idea. It was not for thisrubbish I asked you to come over here” (he pocketed the money, however,at this point), “it was to invite your alliance in the campaign againstNastasia Philipovna tonight. How well it sounds, ‘General Ivolgin andPrince Muishkin.’ That’ll fetch her, I think, eh? Capital!We’ll go at nine; there’s time yet.”

“Where does she live?”

“Oh, a long way off, near the Great Theatre, just in the squarethere—It won’t be a large party.”

The general sat on and on. He had ordered a fresh bottle when the princearrived; this took him an hour to drink, and then he had another, and another,during the consumption of which he told pretty nearly the whole story of hislife. The prince was in despair. He felt that though he had but applied to thismiserable old drunkard because he saw no other way of getting to NastasiaPhilipovna’s, yet he had been very wrong to put the slightest confidencein such a man.

At last he rose and declared that he would wait no longer. The general rosetoo, drank the last drops that he could squeeze out of the bottle, andstaggered into the street.

Muishkin began to despair. He could not imagine how he had been so foolish asto trust this man. He only wanted one thing, and that was to get to NastasiaPhilipovna’s, even at the cost of a certain amount of impropriety. Butnow the scandal threatened to be more than he had bargained for. By this timeArdalion Alexandrovitch was quite intoxicated, and he kept his companionlistening while he discoursed eloquently and pathetically on subjects of allkinds, interspersed with torrents of recrimination against the members of hisfamily. He insisted that all his troubles were caused by their bad conduct, andtime alone would put an end to them.

At last they reached the Litaynaya. The thaw increased steadily, a warm,unhealthy wind blew through the streets, vehicles splashed through the mud, andthe iron shoes of horses and mules rang on the paving stones. Crowds ofmelancholy people plodded wearily along the footpaths, with here and there adrunken man among them.

“Do you see those brightly-lighted windows?” said the general.“Many of my old comrades-in-arms live about here, and I, who servedlonger, and suffered more than any of them, am walking on foot to the house ofa woman of rather questionable reputation! A man, look you, who has thirteenbullets on his breast!... You don’t believe it? Well, I can assure you itwas entirely on my account that Pirogoff telegraphed to Paris, and leftSebastopol at the greatest risk during the siege. Nelaton, the Tuileriessurgeon, demanded a safe conduct, in the name of science, into the besiegedcity in order to attend my wounds. The government knows all about it.‘That’s the Ivolgin with thirteen bullets in him!’That’s how they speak of me.... Do you see that house, prince? One of myold friends lives on the first floor, with his large family. In this and fiveother houses, three overlooking Nevsky, two in the Morskaya, are all thatremain of my personal friends. Nina Alexandrovna gave them up long ago, but Ikeep in touch with them still... I may say I find refreshment in this littlecoterie, in thus meeting my old acquaintances and subordinates, who worship mestill, in spite of all. General Sokolovitch (by the way, I have not called onhim lately, or seen Anna Fedorovna)... You know, my dear prince, when a persondoes not receive company himself, he gives up going to other people’shouses involuntarily. And yet... well... you look as if you didn’tbelieve me.... Well now, why should I not present the son of my old friend andcompanion to this delightful family—General Ivolgin and Prince Muishkin?You will see a lovely girl—what am I saying—a lovely girl? No,indeed, two, three! Ornaments of this city and of society: beauty, education,culture—the woman question—poetry—everything! Added to whichis the fact that each one will have a dot of at least eighty thousand roubles.No bad thing, eh?... In a word I absolutely must introduce you to them: it is aduty, an obligation. General Ivolgin and Prince Muishkin. Tableau!”

“At once? Now? You must have forgotten...” began the prince.

“No, I have forgotten nothing. Come! This is the house—up thismagnificent staircase. I am surprised not to see the porter, but .... it is aholiday... and the man has gone off... Drunken fool! Why have they not got ridof him? Sokolovitch owes all the happiness he has had in the service and in hisprivate life to me, and me alone, but... here we are.”

The prince followed quietly, making no further objection for fear of irritatingthe old man. At the same time he fervently hoped that General Sokolovitch andhis family would fade away like a mirage in the desert, so that the visitorscould escape, by merely returning downstairs. But to his horror he saw thatGeneral Ivolgin was quite familiar with the house, and really seemed to havefriends there. At every step he named some topographical or biographical detailthat left nothing to be desired on the score of accuracy. When they arrived atlast, on the first floor, and the general turned to ring the bell to the right,the prince decided to run away, but a curious incident stopped him momentarily.

“You have made a mistake, general,” said he. “The name on thedoor is Koulakoff, and you were going to see General Sokolovitch.”

“Koulakoff... Koulakoff means nothing. This is Sokolovitch’s flat,and I am ringing at his door.... What do I care for Koulakoff?... Here comessomeone to open.”

In fact, the door opened directly, and the footman informed the visitors thatthe family were all away.

“What a pity! What a pity! It’s just my luck!” repeatedArdalion Alexandrovitch over and over again, in regretful tones. “Whenyour master and mistress return, my man, tell them that General Ivolgin andPrince Muishkin desired to present themselves, and that they were extremelysorry, excessively grieved...”

Just then another person belonging to the household was seen at the back of thehall. It was a woman of some forty years, dressed in sombre colours, probably ahousekeeper or a governess. Hearing the names she came forward with a look ofsuspicion on her face.

“Marie Alexandrovna is not at home,” said she, staring hard at thegeneral. “She has gone to her mother’s, with AlexandraMichailovna.”

“Alexandra Michailovna out, too! How disappointing! Would you believe it,I am always so unfortunate! May I most respectfully ask you to present mycompliments to Alexandra Michailovna, and remind her... tell her, that with mywhole heart I wish for her what she wished for herself on Thursday evening,while she was listening to Chopin’s Ballade. She will remember. I wish itwith all sincerity. General Ivolgin and Prince Muishkin!”

The woman’s face changed; she lost her suspicious expression.

“I will not fail to deliver your message,” she replied, and bowedthem out.

As they went downstairs the general regretted repeatedly that he had failed tointroduce the prince to his friends.

“You know I am a bit of a poet,” said he. “Have you noticedit? The poetic soul, you know.” Then he added suddenly—“Butafter all... after all I believe we made a mistake this time! I remember thatthe Sokolovitch’s live in another house, and what is more, they are justnow in Moscow. Yes, I certainly was at fault. However, it is of noconsequence.”

“Just tell me,” said the prince in reply, “may I count stillon your assistance? Or shall I go on alone to see Nastasia Philipovna?”

“Count on my assistance? Go alone? How can you ask me that question, whenit is a matter on which the fate of my family so largely depends? Youdon’t know Ivolgin, my friend. To trust Ivolgin is to trust a rock;that’s how the first squadron I commanded spoke of me. ‘Depend uponIvolgin,’ said they all, ‘he is as steady as a rock.’ But,excuse me, I must just call at a house on our way, a house where I have foundconsolation and help in all my trials for years.”

“You are going home?”

“No... I wish... to visit Madame Terentieff, the widow of CaptainTerentieff, my old subordinate and friend. She helps me to keep up my courage,and to bear the trials of my domestic life, and as I have an extra burden on mymind today...”

“It seems to me,” interrupted the prince, “that I was foolishto trouble you just now. However, at present you... Good-bye!”

“Indeed, you must not go away like that, young man, you must not!”cried the general. “My friend here is a widow, the mother of a family;her words come straight from her heart, and find an echo in mine. A visit toher is merely an affair of a few minutes; I am quite at home in her house. Iwill have a wash, and dress, and then we can drive to the Grand Theatre. Makeup your mind to spend the evening with me.... We are justthere—that’s the house... Why, Colia! you here! Well, is MarfaBorisovna at home or have you only just come?”

“Oh no! I have been here a long while,” replied Colia, who was atthe front door when the general met him. “I am keeping Hippolyte company.He is worse, and has been in bed all day. I came down to buy some cards. MarfaBorisovna expects you. But what a state you are in, father!” added theboy, noticing his father’s unsteady gait. “Well, let us goin.”

On meeting Colia the prince determined to accompany the general, though he madeup his mind to stay as short a time as possible. He wanted Colia, but firmlyresolved to leave the general behind. He could not forgive himself for being sosimple as to imagine that Ivolgin would be of any use. The three climbed up thelong staircase until they reached the fourth floor where Madame Terentiefflived.

“You intend to introduce the prince?” asked Colia, as they went up.

“Yes, my boy. I wish to present him: General Ivolgin and Prince Muishkin!But what’s the matter?... what?... How is Marfa Borisovna?”

“You know, father, you would have done much better not to come at all!She is ready to eat you up! You have not shown yourself since the day beforeyesterday and she is expecting the money. Why did you promise her any? You arealways the same! Well, now you will have to get out of it as best youcan.”

They stopped before a somewhat low doorway on the fourth floor. ArdalionAlexandrovitch, evidently much out of countenance, pushed Muishkin in front.

“I will wait here,” he stammered. “I should like to surpriseher. ....”

Colia entered first, and as the door stood open, the mistress of the housepeeped out. The surprise of the general’s imagination fell very flat, forshe at once began to address him in terms of reproach.

Marfa Borisovna was about forty years of age. She wore a dressing-jacket, herfeet were in slippers, her face painted, and her hair was in dozens of smallplaits. No sooner did she catch sight of Ardalion Alexandrovitch than shescreamed:

“There he is, that wicked, mean wretch! I knew it was he! My heartmisgave me!”

The old man tried to put a good face on the affair.

“Come, let us go in—it’s all right,” he whispered inthe prince’s ear.

But it was more serious than he wished to think. As soon as the visitors hadcrossed the low dark hall, and entered the narrow reception-room, furnishedwith half a dozen cane chairs, and two small card-tables, Madame Terentieff, inthe shrill tones habitual to her, continued her stream of invectives.

“Are you not ashamed? Are you not ashamed? You barbarian! You tyrant! Youhave robbed me of all I possessed—you have sucked my bones to the marrow.How long shall I be your victim? Shameless, dishonourable man!”

“Marfa Borisovna! Marfa Borisovna! Here is... the Prince Muishkin!General Ivolgin and Prince Muishkin,” stammered the disconcerted old man.

“Would you believe,” said the mistress of the house, suddenlyaddressing the prince, “would you believe that that man has not evenspared my orphan children? He has stolen everything I possessed, soldeverything, pawned everything; he has left me nothing—nothing! What am Ito do with your IOU’s, you cunning, unscrupulous rogue? Answer, devourer!answer, heart of stone! How shall I feed my orphans? with what shall I nourishthem? And now he has come, he is drunk! He can scarcely stand. How, oh how,have I offended the Almighty, that He should bring this curse upon me! Answer,you worthless villain, answer!”

But this was too much for the general.

“Here are twenty-five roubles, Marfa Borisovna... it is all that I cangive... and I owe even these to the prince’s generosity—my noblefriend. I have been cruelly deceived. Such is... life... Now... Excuse me, I amvery weak,” he continued, standing in the centre of the room, and bowingto all sides. “I am faint; excuse me! Lenotchka... a cushion... mydear!”

Lenotchka, a little girl of eight, ran to fetch the cushion at once, and placedit on the rickety old sofa. The general meant to have said much more, but assoon as he had stretched himself out, he turned his face to the wall, and sleptthe sleep of the just.

With a grave and ceremonious air, Marfa Borisovna motioned the prince to achair at one of the card-tables. She seated herself opposite, leaned her rightcheek on her hand, and sat in silence, her eyes fixed on Muishkin, now andagain sighing deeply. The three children, two little girls and a boy, Lenotchkabeing the eldest, came and leant on the table and also stared steadily at him.Presently Colia appeared from the adjoining room.

“I am very glad indeed to have met you here, Colia,” said theprince. “Can you do something for me? I must see Nastasia Philipovna, andI asked Ardalion Alexandrovitch just now to take me to her house, but he hasgone to sleep, as you see. Will you show me the way, for I do not know thestreet? I have the address, though; it is close to the Grand Theatre.”

“Nastasia Philipovna? She does not live there, and to tell you the truthmy father has never been to her house! It is strange that you should havedepended on him! She lives near Wladimir Street, at the Five Corners, and it isquite close by. Will you go directly? It is just half-past nine. I will showyou the way with pleasure.”

Colia and the prince went off together. Alas! the latter had no money to payfor a cab, so they were obliged to walk.

“I should have liked to have taken you to see Hippolyte,” saidColia. “He is the eldest son of the lady you met just now, and was in thenext room. He is ill, and has been in bed all day. But he is rather strange,and extremely sensitive, and I thought he might be upset considering thecircumstances in which you came... Somehow it touches me less, as it concernsmy father, while it is his mother. That, of course, makes a greatdifference. What is a terrible disgrace to a woman, does not disgrace a man, atleast not in the same way. Perhaps public opinion is wrong in condemning onesex, and excusing the other. Hippolyte is an extremely clever boy, but soprejudiced. He is really a slave to his opinions.”

“Do you say he is consumptive?”

“Yes. It really would be happier for him to die young. If I were in hisplace I should certainly long for death. He is unhappy about his brother andsisters, the children you saw. If it were possible, if we only had a littlemoney, we should leave our respective families, and live together in a littleapartment of our own. It is our dream. But, do you know, when I was talkingover your affair with him, he was angry, and said that anyone who did not callout a man who had given him a blow was a coward. He is very irritable to-day,and I left off arguing the matter with him. So Nastasia Philipovna has invitedyou to go and see her?”

“To tell the truth, she has not.”

“Then how do you come to be going there?” cried Colia, so muchastonished that he stopped short in the middle of the pavement. “And...and are you going to her ‘At Home’ in that costume?”

“I don’t know, really, whether I shall be allowed in at all. If shewill receive me, so much the better. If not, the matter is ended. As to myclothes—what can I do?”

“Are you going there for some particular reason, or only as a way ofgetting into her society, and that of her friends?”

“No, I have really an object in going... That is, I am going on businessit is difficult to explain, but...”

“Well, whether you go on business or not is your affair, I do not want toknow. The only important thing, in my eyes, is that you should not be goingthere simply for the pleasure of spending your evening in suchcompany—cocottes, generals, usurers! If that were the case I shoulddespise and laugh at you. There are terribly few honest people here, and hardlyany whom one can respect, although people put on airs—Varia especially!Have you noticed, prince, how many adventurers there are nowadays? Especiallyhere, in our dear Russia. How it has happened I never can understand. Thereused to be a certain amount of solidity in all things, but now what happens?Everything is exposed to the public gaze, veils are thrown back, every wound isprobed by careless fingers. We are for ever present at an orgy of scandalousrevelations. Parents blush when they remember their old-fashioned morality. AtMoscow lately a father was heard urging his son to stop at nothing—atnothing, mind you!—to get money! The press seized upon the story, ofcourse, and now it is public property. Look at my father, the general! See whathe is, and yet, I assure you, he is an honest man! Only... he drinks too much,and his morals are not all we could desire. Yes, that’s true! I pity him,to tell the truth, but I dare not say so, because everybody would laugh atme—but I do pity him! And who are the really clever men, after all?Money-grubbers, every one of them, from the first to the last. Hippolyte findsexcuses for money-lending, and says it is a necessity. He talks about theeconomic movement, and the ebb and flow of capital; the devil knows what hemeans. It makes me angry to hear him talk so, but he is soured by his troubles.Just imagine—the general keeps his mother—but she lends him money!She lends it for a week or ten days at very high interest! Isn’t itdisgusting? And then, you would hardly believe it, but my mother—NinaAlexandrovna—helps Hippolyte in all sorts of ways, sends him money andclothes. She even goes as far as helping the children, through Hippolyte,because their mother cares nothing about them, and Varia does the same.”

“Well, just now you said there were no honest nor good people about, thatthere were only money-grubbers—and here they are quite close at hand,these honest and good people, your mother and Varia! I think there is a gooddeal of moral strength in helping people in such circumstances.”

“Varia does it from pride, and likes showing off, and giving herselfairs. As to my mother, I really do admire her—yes, and honour her.Hippolyte, hardened as he is, feels it. He laughed at first, and thought itvulgar of her—but now, he is sometimes quite touched and overcome by herkindness. H’m! You call that being strong and good? I will remember that!Gania knows nothing about it. He would say that it was encouraging vice.”

“Ah, Gania knows nothing about it? It seems there are many things thatGania does not know,” exclaimed the prince, as he consideredColia’s last words.

“Do you know, I like you very much indeed, prince? I shall never forgetabout this afternoon.”

“I like you too, Colia.”

“Listen to me! You are going to live here, are you not?” saidColia. “I mean to get something to do directly, and earn money. Thenshall we three live together? You, and I, and Hippolyte? We will hire a flat,and let the general come and visit us. What do you say?”

“It would be very pleasant,” returned the prince. “But wemust see. I am really rather worried just now. What! are we there already? Isthat the house? What a long flight of steps! And there’s a porter! Well,Colia I don’t know what will come of it all.”

The prince seemed quite distracted for the moment.

“You must tell me all about it tomorrow! Don’t be afraid. I wishyou success; we agree so entirely that I can do so, although I do notunderstand why you are here. Good-bye!” cried Colia excitedly. “NowI will rush back and tell Hippolyte all about our plans and proposals! But asto your getting in—don’t be in the least afraid. You will see her.She is so original about everything. It’s the first floor. The porterwill show you.”

XIII.

The prince was very nervous as he reached the outer door; but he did his bestto encourage himself with the reflection that the worst thing that could happento him would be that he would not be received, or, perhaps, received, thenlaughed at for coming.

But there was another question, which terrified him considerably, and that was:what was he going to do when he did get in? And to this question hecould fashion no satisfactory reply.

If only he could find an opportunity of coming close up to Nastasia Philipovnaand saying to her: “Don’t ruin yourself by marrying this man. Hedoes not love you, he only loves your money. He told me so himself, and so didAglaya Ivanovna, and I have come on purpose to warn you”—but eventhat did not seem quite a legitimate or practicable thing to do. Then, again,there was another delicate question, to which he could not find an answer;dared not, in fact, think of it; but at the very idea of which he trembled andblushed. However, in spite of all his fears and heart-quakings he went in, andasked for Nastasia Philipovna.

Nastasia occupied a medium-sized, but distinctly tasteful, flat, beautifullyfurnished and arranged. At one period of these five years of Petersburg life,Totski had certainly not spared his expenditure upon her. He had calculatedupon her eventual love, and tried to tempt her with a lavish outlay uponcomforts and luxuries, knowing too well how easily the heart accustoms itselfto comforts, and how difficult it is to tear one’s self away fromluxuries which have become habitual and, little by little, indispensable.

Nastasia did not reject all this, she even loved her comforts and luxuries,but, strangely enough, never became, in the least degree, dependent upon them,and always gave the impression that she could do just as well without them. Infact, she went so far as to inform Totski on several occasions that such wasthe case, which the latter gentleman considered a very unpleasant communicationindeed.

But, of late, Totski had observed many strange and original features andcharacteristics in Nastasia, which he had neither known nor reckoned upon informer times, and some of these fascinated him, even now, in spite of the factthat all his old calculations with regard to her were long ago cast to thewinds.

A maid opened the door for the prince (Nastasia’s servants were allfemales) and, to his surprise, received his request to announce him to hermistress without any astonishment. Neither his dirty boots, nor hiswide-brimmed hat, nor his sleeveless cloak, nor his evident confusion ofmanner, produced the least impression upon her. She helped him off with hiscloak, and begged him to wait a moment in the ante-room while she announcedhim.

The company assembled at Nastasia Philipovna’s consisted of none but hermost intimate friends, and formed a very small party in comparison with herusual gatherings on this anniversary.

In the first place there were present Totski, and General Epanchin. They wereboth highly amiable, but both appeared to be labouring under a half-hiddenfeeling of anxiety as to the result of Nastasia’s deliberations withregard to Gania, which result was to be made public this evening.

Then, of course, there was Gania who was by no means so amiable as his elders,but stood apart, gloomy, and miserable, and silent. He had determined not tobring Varia with him; but Nastasia had not even asked after her, though nosooner had he arrived than she had reminded him of the episode between himselfand the prince. The general, who had heard nothing of it before, began tolisten with some interest, while Gania, drily, but with perfect candour, wentthrough the whole history, including the fact of his apology to the prince. Hefinished by declaring that the prince was a most extraordinary man, andgoodness knows why he had been considered an idiot hitherto, for he was veryfar from being one.

Nastasia listened to all this with great interest; but the conversation soonturned to Rogojin and his visit, and this theme proved of the greatestattraction to both Totski and the general.

Ptitsin was able to afford some particulars as to Rogojin’s conduct sincethe afternoon. He declared that he had been busy finding money for the latterever since, and up to nine o’clock, Rogojin having declared that he mustabsolutely have a hundred thousand roubles by the evening. He added thatRogojin was drunk, of course; but that he thought the money would beforthcoming, for the excited and intoxicated rapture of the fellow impelled himto give any interest or premium that was asked of him, and there were severalothers engaged in beating up the money, also.

All this news was received by the company with somewhat gloomy interest.Nastasia was silent, and would not say what she thought about it. Gania wasequally uncommunicative. The general seemed the most anxious of all, anddecidedly uneasy. The present of pearls which he had prepared with so much joyin the morning had been accepted but coldly, and Nastasia had smiled ratherdisagreeably as she took it from him. Ferdishenko was the only person presentin good spirits.

Totski himself, who had the reputation of being a capital talker, and wasusually the life and soul of these entertainments, was as silent as any on thisoccasion, and sat in a state of, for him, most uncommon perturbation.

The rest of the guests (an old tutor or schoolmaster, goodness knows whyinvited; a young man, very timid, and shy and silent; a rather loud woman ofabout forty, apparently an actress; and a very pretty, well-dressed German ladywho hardly said a word all the evening) not only had no gift for enlivening theproceedings, but hardly knew what to say for themselves when addressed. Underthese circumstances the arrival of the prince came almost as a godsend.

The announcement of his name gave rise to some surprise and to some smiles,especially when it became evident, from Nastasia’s astonished look, thatshe had not thought of inviting him. But her astonishment once over, Nastasiashowed such satisfaction that all prepared to greet the prince with cordialsmiles of welcome.

“Of course,” remarked General Epanchin, “he does this out ofpure innocence. It’s a little dangerous, perhaps, to encourage this sortof freedom; but it is rather a good thing that he has arrived just at thismoment. He may enliven us a little with his originalities.”

“Especially as he asked himself,” said Ferdishenko.

“What’s that got to do with it?” asked the general, wholoathed Ferdishenko.

“Why, he must pay toll for his entrance,” explained the latter.

“H’m! Prince Muishkin is not Ferdishenko,” said the general,impatiently. This worthy gentleman could never quite reconcile himself to theidea of meeting Ferdishenko in society, and on an equal footing.

“Oh general, spare Ferdishenko!” replied the other, smiling.“I have special privileges.”

“What do you mean by special privileges?”

“Once before I had the honour of stating them to the company. I willrepeat the explanation to-day for your excellency’s benefit. You see,excellency, all the world is witty and clever except myself. I am neither. As akind of compensation I am allowed to tell the truth, for it is a well-knownfact that only stupid people tell ‘the truth.’ Added to this, I ama spiteful man, just because I am not clever. If I am offended or injured Ibear it quite patiently until the man injuring me meets with some misfortune.Then I remember, and take my revenge. I return the injury sevenfold, as IvanPetrovitch Ptitsin says. (Of course he never does so himself.) Excellency, nodoubt you recollect Kryloff’s fable, ‘The Lion and the Ass’?Well now, that’s you and I. That fable was written precisely forus.”

“You seem to be talking nonsense again, Ferdishenko,” growled thegeneral.

“What is the matter, excellency? I know how to keep my place. When I saidjust now that we, you and I, were the lion and the ass of Kryloff’sfable, of course it is understood that I take the role of the ass. Yourexcellency is the lion of which the fable remarks:

‘A mighty lion, terror of the woods,
Was shorn of his great prowess by old age.’

And I, your excellency, am the ass.”

“I am of your opinion on that last point,” said Ivan Fedorovitch,with ill-concealed irritation.

All this was no doubt extremely coarse, and moreover it was premeditated, butafter all Ferdishenko had persuaded everyone to accept him as a buffoon.

“If I am admitted and tolerated here,” he had said one day,“it is simply because I talk in this way. How can anyone possibly receivesuch a man as I am? I quite understand. Now, could I, a Ferdishenko, be allowedto sit shoulder to shoulder with a clever man like Afanasy Ivanovitch? There isone explanation, only one. I am given the position because it is so entirelyinconceivable!”

But these vulgarities seemed to please Nastasia Philipovna, although too oftenthey were both rude and offensive. Those who wished to go to her house wereforced to put up with Ferdishenko. Possibly the latter was not mistaken inimagining that he was received simply in order to annoy Totski, who dislikedhim extremely. Gania also was often made the butt of the jester’ssarcasms, who used this method of keeping in Nastasia Philipovna’s goodgraces.

“The prince will begin by singing us a fashionable ditty,” remarkedFerdishenko, and looked at the mistress of the house, to see what she wouldsay.

“I don’t think so, Ferdishenko; please be quiet,” answeredNastasia Philipovna dryly.

“A-ah! if he is to be under special patronage, I withdraw myclaws.”

But Nastasia Philipovna had now risen and advanced to meet the prince.

“I was so sorry to have forgotten to ask you to come, when I sawyou,” she said, “and I am delighted to be able to thank youpersonally now, and to express my pleasure at your resolution.”

So saying she gazed into his eyes, longing to see whether she could make anyguess as to the explanation of his motive in coming to her house. The princewould very likely have made some reply to her kind words, but he was so dazzledby her appearance that he could not speak.

Nastasia noticed this with satisfaction. She was in full dress this evening;and her appearance was certainly calculated to impress all beholders. She tookhis hand and led him towards her other guests. But just before they reached thedrawing-room door, the prince stopped her, and hurriedly and in great agitationwhispered to her:

“You are altogether perfection; even your pallor and thinness areperfect; one could not wish you otherwise. I did so wish to come and see you.I—forgive me, please—”

“Don’t apologize,” said Nastasia, laughing; “you spoilthe whole originality of the thing. I think what they say about you must betrue, that you are so original.—So you think me perfection, doyou?”

“Yes.”

“H’m! Well, you may be a good reader of riddles but you are wrongthere, at all events. I’ll remind you of this, tonight.”

Nastasia introduced the prince to her guests, to most of whom he was alreadyknown.

Totski immediately made some amiable remark. All seemed to brighten up at once,and the conversation became general. Nastasia made the prince sit down next toherself.

“Dear me, there’s nothing so very curious about the prince droppingin, after all,” remarked Ferdishenko.

“It’s quite a clear case,” said the hitherto silent Gania.“I have watched the prince almost all day, ever since the moment when hefirst saw Nastasia Philipovna’s portrait, at General Epanchin’s. Iremember thinking at the time what I am now pretty sure of; and what, I may sayin passing, the prince confessed to myself.”

Gania said all this perfectly seriously, and without the slightest appearanceof joking; indeed, he seemed strangely gloomy.

“I did not confess anything to you,” said the prince, blushing.“I only answered your question.”

“Bravo! That’s frank, at any rate!” shouted Ferdishenko, andthere was general laughter.

“Oh prince, prince! I never should have thought it of you;” saidGeneral Epanchin. “And I imagined you a philosopher! Oh, you silentfellows!”

“Judging from the fact that the prince blushed at this innocent joke,like a young girl, I should think that he must, as an honourable man, harbourthe noblest intentions,” said the old toothless schoolmaster, mostunexpectedly; he had not so much as opened his mouth before. This remarkprovoked general mirth, and the old fellow himself laughed loudest of the lot,but ended with a stupendous fit of coughing.

Nastasia Philipovna, who loved originality and drollery of all kinds, wasapparently very fond of this old man, and rang the bell for more tea to stophis coughing. It was now half-past ten o’clock.

“Gentlemen, wouldn’t you like a little champagne now?” sheasked. “I have it all ready; it will cheer us up—do now—noceremony!”

This invitation to drink, couched, as it was, in such informal terms, came verystrangely from Nastasia Philipovna. Her usual entertainments were not quitelike this; there was more style about them. However, the wine was not refused;each guest took a glass excepting Gania, who drank nothing.

It was extremely difficult to account for Nastasia’s strange condition ofmind, which became more evident each moment, and which none could avoidnoticing.

She took her glass, and vowed she would empty it three times that evening. Shewas hysterical, and laughed aloud every other minute with no apparentreason—the next moment relapsing into gloom and thoughtfulness.

Some of her guests suspected that she must be ill; but concluded at last thatshe was expecting something, for she continued to look at her watch impatientlyand unceasingly; she was most absent and strange.

“You seem to be a little feverish tonight,” said the actress.

“Yes; I feel quite ill. I have been obliged to put on this shawl—Ifeel so cold,” replied Nastasia. She certainly had grown very pale, andevery now and then she tried to suppress a trembling in her limbs.

“Had we not better allow our hostess to retire?” asked Totski ofthe general.

“Not at all, gentlemen, not at all! Your presence is absolutely necessaryto me tonight,” said Nastasia, significantly.

As most of those present were aware that this evening a certain very importantdecision was to be taken, these words of Nastasia Philipovna’s appearedto be fraught with much hidden interest. The general and Totski exchangedlooks; Gania fidgeted convulsively in his chair.

“Let’s play at some game!” suggested the actress.

“I know a new and most delightful game, added Ferdishenko.

“What is it?” asked the actress.

“Well, when we tried it we were a party of people, like this, forinstance; and somebody proposed that each of us, without leaving his place atthe table, should relate something about himself. It had to be something thathe really and honestly considered the very worst action he had ever committedin his life. But he was to be honest—that was the chief point! Hewasn’t to be allowed to lie.”

“What an extraordinary idea!” said the general.

“That’s the beauty of it, general!”

“It’s a funny notion,” said Totski, “and yet quitenatural—it’s only a new way of boasting.”

“Perhaps that is just what was so fascinating about it.”

“Why, it would be a game to cry over—not to laugh at!” saidthe actress.

“Did it succeed?” asked Nastasia Philipovna. “Come,let’s try it, let’s try it; we really are not quite so jolly as wemight be—let’s try it! We may like it; it’s original, at allevents!”

“Yes,” said Ferdishenko; “it’s a good idea—comealong—the men begin. Of course no one need tell a story if he prefers tobe disobliging. We must draw lots! Throw your slips of paper, gentlemen, intothis hat, and the prince shall draw for turns. It’s a very simple game;all you have to do is to tell the story of the worst action of your life.It’s as simple as anything. I’ll prompt anyone who forgets therules!”

No one liked the idea much. Some smiled, some frowned; some objected, butfaintly, not wishing to oppose Nastasia’s wishes; for this new ideaseemed to be rather well received by her. She was still in an excited,hysterical state, laughing convulsively at nothing and everything. Her eyeswere blazing, and her cheeks showed two bright red spots against the white. Themelancholy appearance of some of her guests seemed to add to her sarcastichumour, and perhaps the very cynicism and cruelty of the game proposed byFerdishenko pleased her. At all events she was attracted by the idea, andgradually her guests came round to her side; the thing was original, at least,and might turn out to be amusing. “And supposing it’s somethingthat one—one can’t speak about before ladies?” asked thetimid and silent young man.

“Why, then of course, you won’t say anything about it. As if thereare not plenty of sins to your score without the need of those!” saidFerdishenko.

“But I really don’t know which of my actions is the worst,”said the lively actress.

“Ladies are exempted if they like.”

“And how are you to know that one isn’t lying? And if one lies thewhole point of the game is lost,” said Gania.

“Oh, but think how delightful to hear how one’s friends lie!Besides you needn’t be afraid, Gania; everybody knows what your worstaction is without the need of any lying on your part. Only think,gentlemen,”—and Ferdishenko here grew quite enthusiastic,“only think with what eyes we shall observe one another tomorrow, afterour tales have been told!”

“But surely this is a joke, Nastasia Philipovna?” asked Totski.“You don’t really mean us to play this game.”

“Whoever is afraid of wolves had better not go into the wood,” saidNastasia, smiling.

“But, pardon me, Mr. Ferdishenko, is it possible to make a game out ofthis kind of thing?” persisted Totski, growing more and more uneasy.“I assure you it can’t be a success.”

“And why not? Why, the last time I simply told straight off about how Istole three roubles.”

“Perhaps so; but it is hardly possible that you told it so that it seemedlike truth, or so that you were believed. And, as Gavrila Ardalionovitch hassaid, the least suggestion of a falsehood takes all point out of the game. Itseems to me that sincerity, on the other hand, is only possible if combinedwith a kind of bad taste that would be utterly out of place here.”

“How subtle you are, Afanasy Ivanovitch! You astonish me,” criedFerdishenko. “You will remark, gentlemen, that in saying that I could notrecount the story of my theft so as to be believed, Afanasy Ivanovitch has veryingeniously implied that I am not capable of thieving—(it would have beenbad taste to say so openly); and all the time he is probably firmly convinced,in his own mind, that I am very well capable of it! But now, gentlemen, tobusiness! Put in your slips, ladies and gentlemen—is yours in, Mr.Totski? So—then we are all ready; now prince, draw, please.” Theprince silently put his hand into the hat, and drew the names. Ferdishenko wasfirst, then Ptitsin, then the general, Totski next, his own fifth, then Gania,and so on; the ladies did not draw.

“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” cried Ferdishenko. “I did so hope theprince would come out first, and then the general. Well, gentlemen, I suppose Imust set a good example! What vexes me much is that I am such an insignificantcreature that it matters nothing to anybody whether I have done bad actions ornot! Besides, which am I to choose? It’s an embarras de richesse.Shall I tell how I became a thief on one occasion only, to convince AfanasyIvanovitch that it is possible to steal without being a thief?”

“Do go on, Ferdishenko, and don’t make unnecessary preface, oryou’ll never finish,” said Nastasia Philipovna. All observed howirritable and cross she had become since her last burst of laughter; but nonethe less obstinately did she stick to her absurd whim about this new game.Totski sat looking miserable enough. The general lingered over his champagne,and seemed to be thinking of some story for the time when his turn should come.

XIV.

“I have no wit, Nastasia Philipovna,” began Ferdishenko, “andtherefore I talk too much, perhaps. Were I as witty, now, as Mr. Totski or thegeneral, I should probably have sat silent all the evening, as they have. Now,prince, what do you think?—are there not far more thieves than honest menin this world? Don’t you think we may say there does not exist a singleperson so honest that he has never stolen anything whatever in his life?”

“What a silly idea,” said the actress. “Of course it is notthe case. I have never stolen anything, for one.”

“H’m! very well, Daria Alexeyevna; you have not stolenanything—agreed. But how about the prince, now—look how he isblushing!”

“I think you are partially right, but you exaggerate,” said theprince, who had certainly blushed up, of a sudden, for some reason or other.

“Ferdishenko—either tell us your story, or be quiet, and mind yourown business. You exhaust all patience,” cuttingly and irritably remarkedNastasia Philipovna.

“Immediately, immediately! As for my story, gentlemen, it is too stupidand absurd to tell you.

“I assure you I am not a thief, and yet I have stolen; I cannot explainwhy. It was at Semeon Ivanovitch Ishenka’s country house, one Sunday. Hehad a dinner party. After dinner the men stayed at the table over their wine.It struck me to ask the daughter of the house to play something on the piano;so I passed through the corner room to join the ladies. In that room, on MariaIvanovna’s writing-table, I observed a three-rouble note. She must havetaken it out for some purpose, and left it lying there. There was no one about.I took up the note and put it in my pocket; why, I can’t say. Idon’t know what possessed me to do it, but it was done, and I wentquickly back to the dining-room and reseated myself at the dinner-table. I satand waited there in a great state of excitement. I talked hard, and told lotsof stories, and laughed like mad; then I joined the ladies.

“In half an hour or so the loss was discovered, and the servants werebeing put under examination. Daria, the housemaid was suspected. I exhibitedthe greatest interest and sympathy, and I remember that poor Daria quite losther head, and that I began assuring her, before everyone, that I wouldguarantee her forgiveness on the part of her mistress, if she would confess herguilt. They all stared at the girl, and I remember a wonderful attraction inthe reflection that here was I sermonizing away, with the money in my ownpocket all the while. I went and spent the three roubles that very evening at arestaurant. I went in and asked for a bottle of Lafite, and drank it up; Iwanted to be rid of the money.

“I did not feel much remorse either then or afterwards; but I would notrepeat the performance—believe it or not as you please.There—that’s all.”

“Only, of course that’s not nearly your worst action,” saidthe actress, with evident dislike in her face.

“That was a psychological phenomenon, not an action,” remarkedTotski.

“And what about the maid?” asked Nastasia Philipovna, withundisguised contempt.

“Oh, she was turned out next day, of course. It’s a very stricthousehold, there!”

“And you allowed it?”

“I should think so, rather! I was not going to return and confess nextday,” laughed Ferdishenko, who seemed a little surprised at thedisagreeable impression which his story had made on all parties.

“How mean you were!” said Nastasia.

“Bah! you wish to hear a man tell of his worst actions, and you expectthe story to come out goody-goody! One’s worst actions always are mean.We shall see what the general has to say for himself now. All is not gold thatglitters, you know; and because a man keeps his carriage he need not bespecially virtuous, I assure you, all sorts of people keep carriages. And bywhat means?”

In a word, Ferdishenko was very angry and rapidly forgetting himself; his wholeface was drawn with passion. Strange as it may appear, he had expected muchbetter success for his story. These little errors of taste onFerdishenko’s part occurred very frequently. Nastasia trembled with rage,and looked fixedly at him, whereupon he relapsed into alarmed silence. Herealized that he had gone a little too far.

“Had we not better end this game?” asked Totski.

“It’s my turn, but I plead exemption,” said Ptitsin.

“You don’t care to oblige us?” asked Nastasia.

“I cannot, I assure you. I confess I do not understand how anyone canplay this game.”

“Then, general, it’s your turn,” continued NastasiaPhilipovna, “and if you refuse, the whole game will fall through, whichwill disappoint me very much, for I was looking forward to relating a certain‘page of my own life.’ I am only waiting for you and AfanasyIvanovitch to have your turns, for I require the support of yourexample,” she added, smiling.

“Oh, if you put it in that way,” cried the general, excitedly,“I’m ready to tell the whole story of my life, but I must confessthat I prepared a little story in anticipation of my turn.”

Nastasia smiled amiably at him; but evidently her depression and irritabilitywere increasing with every moment. Totski was dreadfully alarmed to hear herpromise a revelation out of her own life.

“I, like everyone else,” began the general, “have committedcertain not altogether graceful actions, so to speak, during the course of mylife. But the strangest thing of all in my case is, that I should consider thelittle anecdote which I am now about to give you as a confession of the worstof my ‘bad actions.’ It is thirty-five years since it all happened,and yet I cannot to this very day recall the circumstances without, as it were,a sudden pang at the heart.

“It was a silly affair—I was an ensign at the time. You knowensigns—their blood is boiling water, their circumstances generallypenurious. Well, I had a servant Nikifor who used to do everything for me in myquarters, economized and managed for me, and even laid hands on anything hecould find (belonging to other people), in order to augment our householdgoods; but a faithful, honest fellow all the same.

“I was strict, but just by nature. At that time we were stationed in asmall town. I was quartered at an old widow’s house, a lieutenant’swidow of eighty years of age. She lived in a wretched little wooden house, andhad not even a servant, so poor was she.

“Her relations had all died off—her husband was dead and buriedforty years since; and a niece, who had lived with her and bullied her up tothree years ago, was dead too; so that she was quite alone.

“Well, I was precious dull with her, especially as she was so childishthat there was nothing to be got out of her. Eventually, she stole a fowl ofmine; the business is a mystery to this day; but it could have been no one butherself. I requested to be quartered somewhere else, and was shifted to theother end of the town, to the house of a merchant with a large family, and along beard, as I remember him. Nikifor and I were delighted to go; but the oldlady was not pleased at our departure.

“Well, a day or two afterwards, when I returned from drill, Nikifor saysto me: ‘We oughtn’t to have left our tureen with the old lady,I’ve nothing to serve the soup in.’

“I asked how it came about that the tureen had been left. Nikiforexplained that the old lady refused to give it up, because, she said, we hadbroken her bowl, and she must have our tureen in place of it; she had declaredthat I had so arranged the matter with herself.

“This baseness on her part of course aroused my young blood to feverheat; I jumped up, and away I flew.

“I arrived at the old woman’s house beside myself. She was sittingin a corner all alone, leaning her face on her hand. I fell on her like a clapof thunder. ‘You old wretch!’ I yelled and all that sort of thing,in real Russian style. Well, when I began cursing at her, a strange thinghappened. I looked at her, and she stared back with her eyes starting out ofher head, but she did not say a word. She seemed to sway about as she sat, andlooked and looked at me in the strangest way. Well, I soon stopped swearing andlooked closer at her, asked her questions, but not a word could I get out ofher. The flies were buzzing about the room and only this sound broke thesilence; the sun was setting outside; I didn’t know what to make of it,so I went away.

“Before I reached home I was met and summoned to the major’s, sothat it was some while before I actually got there. When I came in, Nikifor metme. ‘Have you heard, sir, that our old lady is dead?’‘dead, when?’ ‘Oh, an hour and a half ago.’ Thatmeant nothing more nor less than that she was dying at the moment when Ipounced on her and began abusing her.

“This produced a great effect upon me. I used to dream of the poor oldwoman at nights. I really am not superstitious, but two days after, I went toher funeral, and as time went on I thought more and more about her. I said tomyself, ‘This woman, this human being, lived to a great age. She hadchildren, a husband and family, friends and relations; her household was busyand cheerful; she was surrounded by smiling faces; and then suddenly they aregone, and she is left alone like a solitary fly... like a fly, cursed with theburden of her age. At last, God calls her to Himself. At sunset, on a lovelysummer’s evening, my little old woman passes away—a thought, youwill notice, which offers much food for reflection—and behold! instead oftears and prayers to start her on her last journey, she has insults and jeersfrom a young ensign, who stands before her with his hands in his pockets,making a terrible row about a soup tureen!’ Of course I was to blame, andeven now that I have time to look back at it calmly, I pity the poor old thingno less. I repeat that I wonder at myself, for after all I was not reallyresponsible. Why did she take it into her head to die at that moment? But themore I thought of it, the more I felt the weight of it upon my mind; and Inever got quite rid of the impression until I put a couple of old women into analmshouse and kept them there at my own expense. There, that’s all. Irepeat I dare say I have committed many a grievous sin in my day; but I cannothelp always looking back upon this as the worst action I have everperpetrated.”

“H’m! and instead of a bad action, your excellency has detailed oneof your noblest deeds,” said Ferdishenko. “Ferdishenko is‘done.’”

“Dear me, general,” said Nastasia Philipovna, absently, “Ireally never imagined you had such a good heart.”

The general laughed with great satisfaction, and applied himself once more tothe champagne.

It was now Totski’s turn, and his story was awaited with greatcuriosity—while all eyes turned on Nastasia Philipovna, as thoughanticipating that his revelation must be connected somehow with her. Nastasia,during the whole of his story, pulled at the lace trimming of her sleeve, andnever once glanced at the speaker. Totski was a handsome man, rather stout,with a very polite and dignified manner. He was always well dressed, and hislinen was exquisite. He had plump white hands, and wore a magnificent diamondring on one finger.

“What simplifies the duty before me considerably, in my opinion,”he began, “is that I am bound to recall and relate the very worst actionof my life. In such circumstances there can, of course, be no doubt.One’s conscience very soon informs one what is the proper narrative totell. I admit, that among the many silly and thoughtless actions of my life,the memory of one comes prominently forward and reminds me that it lay longlike a stone on my heart. Some twenty years since, I paid a visit to PlatonOrdintzeff at his country-house. He had just been elected marshal of thenobility, and had come there with his young wife for the winter holidays.Anfisa Alexeyevna’s birthday came off just then, too, and there were twoballs arranged. At that time Dumas-fils’ beautiful work, La Dame auxCamélias—a novel which I consider imperishable—had just comeinto fashion. In the provinces all the ladies were in raptures over it, thosewho had read it, at least. Camellias were all the fashion. Everyone inquiredfor them, everybody wanted them; and a grand lot of camellias are to be got ina country town—as you all know—and two balls to provide for!

“Poor Peter Volhofskoi was desperately in love with Anfisa Alexeyevna. Idon’t know whether there was anything—I mean I don’t knowwhether he could possibly have indulged in any hope. The poor fellow was besidehimself to get her a bouquet of camellias. Countess Sotski and SophiaBespalova, as everyone knew, were coming with white camellia bouquets. Anfisawished for red ones, for effect. Well, her husband Platon was driven desperateto find some. And the day before the ball, Anfisa’s rival snapped up theonly red camellias to be had in the place, from under Platon’s nose, andPlaton—wretched man—was done for. Now if Peter had only been ableto step in at this moment with a red bouquet, his little hopes might have madegigantic strides. A woman’s gratitude under such circumstances would havebeen boundless—but it was practically an impossibility.

“The night before the ball I met Peter, looking radiant. ‘What isit?’ I ask. ‘I’ve found them, Eureka!’ ‘No!where, where?’ ‘At Ekshaisk (a little town fifteen miles off)there’s a rich old merchant, who keeps a lot of canaries, has nochildren, and he and his wife are devoted to flowers. He’s got somecamellias.’ ‘And what if he won’t let you have them?’‘I’ll go on my knees and implore till I get them. I won’t goaway.’ ‘When shall you start?’ ‘Tomorrow morning atfive o’clock.’ ‘Go on,’ I said, ‘and good luck toyou.’

“I was glad for the poor fellow, and went home. But an idea got hold ofme somehow. I don’t know how. It was nearly two in the morning. I rangthe bell and ordered the coachman to be waked up and sent to me. He came. Igave him a tip of fifteen roubles, and told him to get the carriage ready atonce. In half an hour it was at the door. I got in and off we went.

“By five I drew up at the Ekshaisky inn. I waited there till dawn, andsoon after six I was off, and at the old merchant Trepalaf’s.

“‘Camellias!’ I said, ‘father, save me, save me, let mehave some camellias!’ He was a tall, grey old man—aterrible-looking old gentleman. ‘Not a bit of it,’ he says.‘I won’t.’ Down I went on my knees. ‘Don’t sayso, don’t—think what you’re doing!’ I cried;‘it’s a matter of life and death!’ ‘If that’s thecase, take them,’ says he. So up I get, and cut such a bouquet of redcamellias! He had a whole greenhouse full of them—lovely ones. The oldfellow sighs. I pull out a hundred roubles. ‘No, no!’ says he,‘don’t insult me that way.’ ‘Oh, if that’s thecase, give it to the village hospital,’ I say. ‘Ah,’ he says,‘that’s quite a different matter; that’s good of you andgenerous. I’ll pay it in there for you with pleasure.’ I liked thatold fellow, Russian to the core, de la vraie souche. I went home inraptures, but took another road in order to avoid Peter. Immediately onarriving I sent up the bouquet for Anfisa to see when she awoke.

“You may imagine her ecstasy, her gratitude. The wretched Platon, who hadalmost died since yesterday of the reproaches showered upon him, wept on myshoulder. Of course poor Peter had no chance after this.

“I thought he would cut my throat at first, and went about armed ready tomeet him. But he took it differently; he fainted, and had brain fever andconvulsions. A month after, when he had hardly recovered, he went off to theCrimea, and there he was shot.

“I assure you this business left me no peace for many a long year. Whydid I do it? I was not in love with her myself; I’m afraid it was simplymischief—pure ‘cussedness’ on my part.

“If I hadn’t seized that bouquet from under his nose he might havebeen alive now, and a happy man. He might have been successful in life, andnever have gone to fight the Turks.”

Totski ended his tale with the same dignity that had characterized itscommencement.

Nastasia Philipovna’s eyes were flashing in a most unmistakable way, now;and her lips were all a-quiver by the time Totski finished his story.

All present watched both of them with curiosity.

“You were right, Totski,” said Nastasia, “it is a dull gameand a stupid one. I’ll just tell my story, as I promised, and thenwe’ll play cards.”

“Yes, but let’s have the story first!” cried the general.

“Prince,” said Nastasia Philipovna, unexpectedly turning toMuishkin, “here are my old friends, Totski and General Epanchin, who wishto marry me off. Tell me what you think. Shall I marry or not? As you decide,so shall it be.”

Totski grew white as a sheet. The general was struck dumb. All present startedand listened intently. Gania sat rooted to his chair.

“Marry whom?” asked the prince, faintly.

“Gavrila Ardalionovitch Ivolgin,” said Nastasia, firmly and evenly.

There were a few seconds of dead silence.

The prince tried to speak, but could not form his words; a great weight seemedto lie upon his breast and suffocate him.

“N-no! don’t marry him!” he whispered at last, drawing hisbreath with an effort.

“So be it, then. Gavrila Ardalionovitch,” she spoke solemnly andforcibly, “you hear the prince’s decision? Take it as my decision;and let that be the end of the matter for good and all.”

“Nastasia Philipovna!” cried Totski, in a quaking voice.

“Nastasia Philipovna!” said the general, in persuasive but agitatedtones.

Everyone in the room fidgeted in their places, and waited to see what wascoming next.

“Well, gentlemen!” she continued, gazing around in apparentastonishment; “what do you all look so alarmed about? Why are you soupset?”

“But—recollect, Nastasia Philipovna,” stammered Totski,“you gave a promise, quite a free one, and—and you might havespared us this. I am confused and bewildered, I know; but, in a word, at such amoment, and before company, and all so-so-irregular, finishing off a game witha serious matter like this, a matter of honour, and of heart, and—”

“I don’t follow you, Afanasy Ivanovitch; you are losing your head.In the first place, what do you mean by ‘before company’?Isn’t the company good enough for you? And what’s all that about‘a game’? I wished to tell my little story, and I told it!Don’t you like it? You heard what I said to the prince? ‘As youdecide, so it shall be!’ If he had said ‘yes,’ I should havegiven my consent! But he said ‘no,’ so I refused. Here was my wholelife hanging on his one word! Surely I was serious enough?”

“The prince! What on earth has the prince got to do with it? Who thedeuce is the prince?” cried the general, who could conceal his wrath nolonger.

“The prince has this to do with it—that I see in him for the firsttime in all my life, a man endowed with real truthfulness of spirit, and Itrust him. He trusted me at first sight, and I trust him!”

“It only remains for me, then, to thank Nastasia Philipovna for the greatdelicacy with which she has treated me,” said Gania, as pale as death,and with quivering lips. “That is my plain duty, of course; but theprince—what has he to do in the matter?”

“I see what you are driving at,” said Nastasia Philipovna.“You imply that the prince is after the seventy-five thousandroubles—I quite understand you. Mr. Totski, I forgot to say, ‘Takeyour seventy-five thousand roubles’—I don’t want them. I letyou go free for nothing—take your freedom! You must need it. Nine yearsand three months’ captivity is enough for anybody. Tomorrow I shall startafresh—today I am a free agent for the first time in my life.

“General, you must take your pearls back, too—give them to yourwife—here they are! Tomorrow I shall leave this flat altogether, and thenthere’ll be no more of these pleasant little social gatherings, ladiesand gentlemen.”

So saying, she scornfully rose from her seat as though to depart.

“Nastasia Philipovna! Nastasia Philipovna!”

The words burst involuntarily from every mouth. All present started up inbewildered excitement; all surrounded her; all had listened uneasily to herwild, disconnected sentences. All felt that something had happened, somethinghad gone very far wrong indeed, but no one could make head or tail of thematter.

At this moment there was a furious ring at the bell, and a great knock at thedoor—exactly similar to the one which had startled the company atGania’s house in the afternoon.

“Ah, ah! here’s the climax at last, at half-past twelve!”cried Nastasia Philipovna. “Sit down, gentlemen, I beg you. Something isabout to happen.”

So saying, she reseated herself; a strange smile played on her lips. She satquite still, but watched the door in a fever of impatience.

“Rogojin and his hundred thousand roubles, no doubt of it,”muttered Ptitsin to himself.

XV.

Katia, the maid-servant, made her appearance, terribly frightened.

“Goodness knows what it means, ma’am,” she said. “Thereis a whole collection of men come—all tipsy—and want to see you.They say that ‘it’s Rogojin, and she knows all aboutit.’”

“It’s all right, Katia, let them all in at once.”

“Surely not all, ma’am? They seem sodisorderly—it’s dreadful to see them.”

“Yes all, Katia, all—every one of them. Let them in, orthey’ll come in whether you like or no. Listen! what a noise they aremaking! Perhaps you are offended, gentlemen, that I should receive such guestsin your presence? I am very sorry, and ask your forgiveness, but it cannot behelped—and I should be very grateful if you could all stay and witnessthis climax. However, just as you please, of course.”

The guests exchanged glances; they were annoyed and bewildered by the episode;but it was clear enough that all this had been pre-arranged and expected byNastasia Philipovna, and that there was no use in trying to stop hernow—for she was little short of insane.

Besides, they were naturally inquisitive to see what was to happen. There wasnobody who would be likely to feel much alarm. There were but two ladiespresent; one of whom was the lively actress, who was not easily frightened, andthe other the silent German beauty who, it turned out, did not understand aword of Russian, and seemed to be as stupid as she was lovely.

Her acquaintances invited her to their “At Homes” because she wasso decorative. She was exhibited to their guests like a valuable picture, orvase, or statue, or firescreen. As for the men, Ptitsin was one ofRogojin’s friends; Ferdishenko was as much at home as a fish in the sea,Gania, not yet recovered from his amazement, appeared to be chained to apillory. The old professor did not in the least understand what was happening;but when he noticed how extremely agitated the mistress of the house, and herfriends, seemed, he nearly wept, and trembled with fright: but he would ratherhave died than leave Nastasia Philipovna at such a crisis, for he loved her asif she were his own granddaughter. Afanasy Ivanovitch greatly disliked havinganything to do with the affair, but he was too much interested to leave, inspite of the mad turn things had taken; and a few words that had dropped fromthe lips of Nastasia puzzled him so much, that he felt he could not go withoutan explanation. He resolved therefore, to see it out, and to adopt the attitudeof silent spectator, as most suited to his dignity. General Epanchin alonedetermined to depart. He was annoyed at the manner in which his gift had beenreturned, as though he had condescended, under the influence of passion, toplace himself on a level with Ptitsin and Ferdishenko, his self-respect andsense of duty now returned together with a consciousness of what was due to hissocial rank and official importance. In short, he plainly showed his convictionthat a man in his position could have nothing to do with Rogojin and hiscompanions. But Nastasia interrupted him at his first words.

“Ah, general!” she cried, “I was forgetting! If I had onlyforeseen this unpleasantness! I won’t insist on keeping you against yourwill, although I should have liked you to be beside me now. In any case, I ammost grateful to you for your visit, and flattering attention... but if you areafraid...”

“Excuse me, Nastasia Philipovna,” interrupted the general, withchivalric generosity. “To whom are you speaking? I have remained untilnow simply because of my devotion to you, and as for danger, I am only afraidthat the carpets may be ruined, and the furniture smashed!... You should shutthe door on the lot, in my opinion. But I confess that I am extremely curiousto see how it ends.”

“Rogojin!” announced Ferdishenko.

“What do you think about it?” said the general in a low voice toTotski. “Is she mad? I mean mad in the medical sense of the word ....eh?”

“I’ve always said she was predisposed to it,” whisperedAfanasy Ivanovitch slyly. “Perhaps it is a fever!”

Since their visit to Gania’s home, Rogojin’s followers had beenincreased by two new recruits—a dissolute old man, the hero of someancient scandal, and a retired sub-lieutenant. A laughable story was told ofthe former. He possessed, it was said, a set of false teeth, and one day whenhe wanted money for a drinking orgy, he pawned them, and was never able toreclaim them! The officer appeared to be a rival of the gentleman who was soproud of his fists. He was known to none of Rogojin’s followers, but asthey passed by the Nevsky, where he stood begging, he had joined their ranks.His claim for the charity he desired seemed based on the fact that in the daysof his prosperity he had given away as much as fifteen roubles at a time. Therivals seemed more than a little jealous of one another. The athlete appearedinjured at the admission of the “beggar” into the company. Bynature taciturn, he now merely growled occasionally like a bear, and glaredcontemptuously upon the “beggar,” who, being somewhat of a man ofthe world, and a diplomatist, tried to insinuate himself into the bear’sgood graces. He was a much smaller man than the athlete, and doubtless wasconscious that he must tread warily. Gently and without argument he alluded tothe advantages of the English style in boxing, and showed himself a firmbeliever in Western institutions. The athlete’s lips curled disdainfully,and without honouring his adversary with a formal denial, he exhibited, as ifby accident, that peculiarly Russian object—an enormous fist, clenched,muscular, and covered with red hairs! The sight of this pre-eminently nationalattribute was enough to convince anybody, without words, that it was a seriousmatter for those who should happen to come into contact with it.

None of the band were very drunk, for the leader had kept his intended visit toNastasia in view all day, and had done his best to prevent his followers fromdrinking too much. He was sober himself, but the excitement of this chaoticday—the strangest day of his life—had affected him so that he wasin a dazed, wild condition, which almost resembled drunkenness.

He had kept but one idea before him all day, and for that he had worked in anagony of anxiety and a fever of suspense. His lieutenants had worked so hardfrom five o’clock until eleven, that they actually had collected ahundred thousand roubles for him, but at such terrific expense, that the rateof interest was only mentioned among them in whispers and with bated breath.

As before, Rogojin walked in advance of his troop, who followed him withmingled self-assertion and timidity. They were specially frightened of NastasiaPhilipovna herself, for some reason.

Many of them expected to be thrown downstairs at once, without furtherceremony, the elegant and irresistible Zaleshoff among them. But the party ledby the athlete, without openly showing their hostile intentions, silentlynursed contempt and even hatred for Nastasia Philipovna, and marched into herhouse as they would have marched into an enemy’s fortress. Arrived there,the luxury of the rooms seemed to inspire them with a kind of respect, notunmixed with alarm. So many things were entirely new to theirexperience—the choice furniture, the pictures, the great statue of Venus.They followed their chief into the salon, however, with a kind of impudentcuriosity. There, the sight of General Epanchin among the guests, caused manyof them to beat a hasty retreat into the adjoining room, the“boxer” and “beggar” being among the first to go. A fewonly, of whom Lebedeff made one, stood their ground; he had contrived to walkside by side with Rogojin, for he quite understood the importance of a man whohad a fortune of a million odd roubles, and who at this moment carried ahundred thousand in his hand. It may be added that the whole company, notexcepting Lebedeff, had the vaguest idea of the extent of their powers, and ofhow far they could safely go. At some moments Lebedeff was sure that right wason their side; at others he tried uneasily to remember various cheering andreassuring articles of the Civil Code.

Rogojin, when he stepped into the room, and his eyes fell upon Nastasia,stopped short, grew white as a sheet, and stood staring; it was clear that hisheart was beating painfully. So he stood, gazing intently, but timidly, for afew seconds. Suddenly, as though bereft of his senses, he moved forward,staggering helplessly, towards the table. On his way he collided againstPtitsin’s chair, and put his dirty foot on the lace skirt of the silentlady’s dress; but he neither apologized for this, nor even noticed it.

On reaching the table, he placed upon it a strange-looking object, which he hadcarried with him into the drawing-room. This was a paper packet, some six orseven inches thick, and eight or nine in length, wrapped in an old newspaper,and tied round three or four times with string.

Having placed this before her, he stood with drooped arms and head, as thoughawaiting his sentence.

His costume was the same as it had been in the morning, except for a new silkhandkerchief round his neck, bright green and red, fastened with a huge diamondpin, and an enormous diamond ring on his dirty forefinger.

Lebedeff stood two or three paces behind his chief; and the rest of the bandwaited about near the door.

The two maid-servants were both peeping in, frightened and amazed at thisunusual and disorderly scene.

“What is that?” asked Nastasia Philipovna, gazing intently atRogojin, and indicating the paper packet.

“A hundred thousand,” replied the latter, almost in a whisper.

“Oh! so he kept his word—there’s a man for you! Well, sitdown, please—take that chair. I shall have something to say to youpresently. Who are all these with you? The same party? Let them come in and sitdown. There’s room on that sofa, there are some chairs and there’sanother sofa! Well, why don’t they sit down?”

Sure enough, some of the brave fellows entirely lost their heads at this point,and retreated into the next room. Others, however, took the hint and sat down,as far as they could from the table, however; feeling braver in proportion totheir distance from Nastasia.

Rogojin took the chair offered him, but he did not sit long; he soon stood upagain, and did not reseat himself. Little by little he began to look around himand discern the other guests. Seeing Gania, he smiled venomously and mutteredto himself, “Look at that!”

He gazed at Totski and the general with no apparent confusion, and with verylittle curiosity. But when he observed that the prince was seated besideNastasia Philipovna, he could not take his eyes off him for a long while, andwas clearly amazed. He could not account for the prince’s presence there.It was not in the least surprising that Rogojin should be, at this time, in amore or less delirious condition; for not to speak of the excitements of theday, he had spent the night before in the train, and had not slept more than awink for forty-eight hours.

“This, gentlemen, is a hundred thousand roubles,” said NastasiaPhilipovna, addressing the company in general, “here, in this dirtyparcel. This afternoon Rogojin yelled, like a madman, that he would bring me ahundred thousand in the evening, and I have been waiting for him all the while.He was bargaining for me, you know; first he offered me eighteen thousand; thenhe rose to forty, and then to a hundred thousand. And he has kept his word,see! My goodness, how white he is! All this happened this afternoon, atGania’s. I had gone to pay his mother a visit—my future family, youknow! And his sister said to my very face, surely somebody will turn thisshameless creature out. After which she spat in her brother Gania’sface—a girl of character, that!”

“Nastasia Philipovna!” began the general, reproachfully. He wasbeginning to put his own interpretation on the affair.

“Well, what, general? Not quite good form, eh? Oh, nonsense! Here have Ibeen sitting in my box at the French theatre for the last five years like astatue of inaccessible virtue, and kept out of the way of all admirers, like asilly little idiot! Now, there’s this man, who comes and pays down hishundred thousand on the table, before you all, in spite of my five years ofinnocence and proud virtue, and I dare be sworn he has his sledge outsidewaiting to carry me off. He values me at a hundred thousand! I see you arestill angry with me, Gania! Why, surely you never really wished to takeme into your family? me, Rogojin’s mistress! What did theprince say just now?”

“I never said you were Rogojin’s mistress—you arenot!” said the prince, in trembling accents.

“Nastasia Philipovna, dear soul!” cried the actress, impatiently,“do be calm, dear! If it annoys you so—all this—do go awayand rest! Of course you would never go with this wretched fellow, in spite ofhis hundred thousand roubles! Take his money and kick him out of the house;that’s the way to treat him and the likes of him! Upon my word, if itwere my business, I’d soon clear them all out!”

The actress was a kind-hearted woman, and highly impressionable. She was veryangry now.

“Don’t be cross, Daria Alexeyevna!” laughed Nastasia.“I was not angry when I spoke; I wasn’t reproaching Gania. Idon’t know how it was that I ever could have indulged the whim ofentering an honest family like his. I saw his mother—and kissed her hand,too. I came and stirred up all that fuss, Gania, this afternoon, on purpose tosee how much you could swallow—you surprised me, my friend—you did,indeed. Surely you could not marry a woman who accepts pearls like those youknew the general was going to give me, on the very eve of her marriage? AndRogojin! Why, in your own house and before your own brother and sister, hebargained with me! Yet you could come here and expect to be betrothed to mebefore you left the house! You almost brought your sister, too. Surely whatRogojin said about you is not really true: that you would crawl all the way tothe other end of the town, on hands and knees, for three roubles?”

“Yes, he would!” said Rogojin, quietly, but with an air of absoluteconviction.

“H’m! and he receives a good salary, I’m told. Well, whatshould you get but disgrace and misery if you took a wife you hated into yourfamily (for I know very well that you do hate me)? No, no! I believe now that aman like you would murder anyone for money—sharpen a razor and come upbehind his best friend and cut his throat like a sheep—I’ve read ofsuch people. Everyone seems money-mad nowadays. No, no! I may be shameless, butyou are far worse. I don’t say a word about that other—”

“Nastasia Philipovna, is this really you? You, once so refined anddelicate of speech. Oh, what a tongue! What dreadful things you aresaying,” cried the general, wringing his hands in real grief.

“I am intoxicated, general. I am having a day out, youknow—it’s my birthday! I have long looked forward to this happyoccasion. Daria Alexeyevna, you see that nosegay-man, that Monsieur auxCamelias, sitting there laughing at us?”

“I am not laughing, Nastasia Philipovna; I am only listening with all myattention,” said Totski, with dignity.

“Well, why have I worried him, for five years, and never let him go free?Is he worth it? He is only just what he ought to be—nothing particular.He thinks I am to blame, too. He gave me my education, kept me like a countess.Money—my word! What a lot of money he spent over me! And he tried to findme an honest husband first, and then this Gania, here. And what do you think?All these five years I did not live with him, and yet I took his money, andconsidered I was quite justified.

“You say, take the hundred thousand and kick that man out. It is true, itis an abominable business, as you say. I might have married long ago, notGania—Oh, no!—but that would have been abominable too.

“Would you believe it, I had some thoughts of marrying Totski, four yearsago! I meant mischief, I confess—but I could have had him, I give you myword; he asked me himself. But I thought, no! it’s not worthwhile to takesuch advantage of him. No! I had better go on to the streets, or acceptRogojin, or become a washerwoman or something—for I have nothing of myown, you know. I shall go away and leave everything behind, to the lastrag—he shall have it all back. And who would take me without anything?Ask Gania, there, whether he would. Why, even Ferdishenko wouldn’t haveme!”

“No, Ferdishenko would not; he is a candid fellow, NastasiaPhilipovna,” said that worthy. “But the prince would. You sit heremaking complaints, but just look at the prince. I’ve been observing himfor a long while.”

Nastasia Philipovna looked keenly round at the prince.

“Is that true?” she asked.

“Quite true,” whispered the prince.

“You’ll take me as I am, with nothing?”

“I will, Nastasia Philipovna.”

“Here’s a pretty business!” cried the general.“However, it might have been expected of him.”

The prince continued to regard Nastasia with a sorrowful, but intent andpiercing, gaze.

“Here’s another alternative for me,” said Nastasia, turningonce more to the actress; “and he does it out of pure kindness of heart.I know him. I’ve found a benefactor. Perhaps, though, what they say abouthim may be true—that he’s an—we know what. And what shall youlive on, if you are really so madly in love with Rogojin’s mistress, thatyou are ready to marry her—eh?”

“I take you as a good, honest woman, Nastasia Philipovna—not asRogojin’s mistress.”

“Who? I?—good and honest?”

“Yes, you.”

“Oh, you get those ideas out of novels, you know. Times are changed now,dear prince; the world sees things as they really are. That’s allnonsense. Besides, how can you marry? You need a nurse, not a wife.”

The prince rose and began to speak in a trembling, timid tone, but with the airof a man absolutely sure of the truth of his words.

“I know nothing, Nastasia Philipovna. I have seen nothing. You are rightso far; but I consider that you would be honouring me, and not I you. I am anobody. You have suffered, you have passed through hell and emerged pure, andthat is very much. Why do you shame yourself by desiring to go with Rogojin?You are delirious. You have returned to Mr. Totski his seventy-five thousandroubles, and declared that you will leave this house and all that is in it,which is a line of conduct that not one person here would imitate. NastasiaPhilipovna, I love you! I would die for you. I shall never let any man say oneword against you, Nastasia Philipovna! and if we are poor, I can work forboth.”

As the prince spoke these last words a titter was heard from Ferdishenko;Lebedeff laughed too. The general grunted with irritation; Ptitsin and Totskibarely restrained their smiles. The rest all sat listening, open-mouthed withwonder.

“But perhaps we shall not be poor; we may be very rich, NastasiaPhilipovna,” continued the prince, in the same timid, quivering tones.“I don’t know for certain, and I’m sorry to say Ihaven’t had an opportunity of finding out all day; but I received aletter from Moscow, while I was in Switzerland, from a Mr. Salaskin, and heacquaints me with the fact that I am entitled to a very large inheritance. Thisletter—”

The prince pulled a letter out of his pocket.

“Is he raving?” said the general. “Are we really in amad-house?”

There was silence for a moment. Then Ptitsin spoke.

“I think you said, prince, that your letter was from Salaskin? Salaskinis a very eminent man, indeed, in his own world; he is a wonderfully cleversolicitor, and if he really tells you this, I think you may be pretty sure thathe is right. It so happens, luckily, that I know his handwriting, for I havelately had business with him. If you would allow me to see it, I should perhapsbe able to tell you.”

The prince held out the letter silently, but with a shaking hand.

“What, what?” said the general, much agitated.

“What’s all this? Is he really heir to anything?”

All present concentrated their attention upon Ptitsin, reading theprince’s letter. The general curiosity had received a new fillip.Ferdishenko could not sit still. Rogojin fixed his eyes first on the prince,and then on Ptitsin, and then back again; he was extremely agitated. Lebedeffcould not stand it. He crept up and read over Ptitsin’s shoulder, withthe air of a naughty boy who expects a box on the ear every moment for hisindiscretion.

XVI.

“It’s good business,” said Ptitsin, at last, folding theletter and handing it back to the prince. “You will receive, without theslightest trouble, by the last will and testament of your aunt, a very largesum of money indeed.”

“Impossible!” cried the general, starting up as if he had beenshot.

Ptitsin explained, for the benefit of the company, that the prince’s aunthad died five months since. He had never known her, but she was hismother’s own sister, the daughter of a Moscow merchant, one Paparchin,who had died a bankrupt. But the elder brother of this same Paparchin, had beenan eminent and very rich merchant. A year since it had so happened that hisonly two sons had both died within the same month. This sad event had soaffected the old man that he, too, had died very shortly after. He was awidower, and had no relations left, excepting the prince’s aunt, a poorwoman living on charity, who was herself at the point of death from dropsy; butwho had time, before she died, to set Salaskin to work to find her nephew, andto make her will bequeathing her newly-acquired fortune to him.

It appeared that neither the prince, nor the doctor with whom he lived inSwitzerland, had thought of waiting for further communications; but the princehad started straight away with Salaskin’s letter in his pocket.

“One thing I may tell you, for certain,” concluded Ptitsin,addressing the prince, “that there is no question about the authenticityof this matter. Anything that Salaskin writes you as regards yourunquestionable right to this inheritance, you may look upon as so much money inyour pocket. I congratulate you, prince; you may receive a million and a halfof roubles, perhaps more; I don’t know. All I do know is thatPaparchin was a very rich merchant indeed.”

“Hurrah!” cried Lebedeff, in a drunken voice. “Hurrah for thelast of the Muishkins!”

“My goodness me! and I gave him twenty-five roubles this morning asthough he were a beggar,” blurted out the general, half senseless withamazement. “Well, I congratulate you, I congratulate you!” And thegeneral rose from his seat and solemnly embraced the prince. All came forwardwith congratulations; even those of Rogojin’s party who had retreatedinto the next room, now crept softly back to look on. For the moment evenNastasia Philipovna was forgotten.

But gradually the consciousness crept back into the minds of each one presentthat the prince had just made her an offer of marriage. The situation had,therefore, become three times as fantastic as before.

Totski sat and shrugged his shoulders, bewildered. He was the only guest leftsitting at this time; the others had thronged round the table in disorder, andwere all talking at once.

It was generally agreed, afterwards, in recalling that evening, that from thismoment Nastasia Philipovna seemed entirely to lose her senses. She continued tosit still in her place, looking around at her guests with a strange, bewilderedexpression, as though she were trying to collect her thoughts, and could not.Then she suddenly turned to the prince, and glared at him with frowning brows;but this only lasted one moment. Perhaps it suddenly struck her that all thiswas a jest, but his face seemed to reassure her. She reflected, and smiledagain, vaguely.

“So I am really a princess,” she whispered to herself, ironically,and glancing accidentally at Daria Alexeyevna’s face, she burst outlaughing.

“Ha, ha, ha!” she cried, “this is an unexpected climax, afterall. I didn’t expect this. What are you all standing up for, gentlemen?Sit down; congratulate me and the prince! Ferdishenko, just step out and ordersome more champagne, will you? Katia, Pasha,” she added suddenly, seeingthe servants at the door, “come here! I’m going to be married, didyou hear? To the prince. He has a million and a half of roubles; he is PrinceMuishkin, and has asked me to marry him. Here, prince, come and sit by me; andhere comes the wine. Now then, ladies and gentlemen, where are yourcongratulations?”

“Hurrah!” cried a number of voices. A rush was made for the wine byRogojin’s followers, though, even among them, there seemed some sort ofrealization that the situation had changed. Rogojin stood and looked on, withan incredulous smile, screwing up one side of his mouth.

“Prince, my dear fellow, do remember what you are about,” said thegeneral, approaching Muishkin, and pulling him by the coat sleeve.

Nastasia Philipovna overheard the remark, and burst out laughing.

“No, no, general!” she cried. “You had better look out! I amthe princess now, you know. The prince won’t let you insult me. AfanasyIvanovitch, why don’t you congratulate me? I shall be able to sit attable with your new wife, now. Aha! you see what I gain by marrying a prince! Amillion and a half, and a prince, and an idiot into the bargain, they say. Whatbetter could I wish for? Life is only just about to commence for me in earnest.Rogojin, you are a little too late. Away with your paper parcel! I’mgoing to marry the prince; I’m richer than you are now.”

But Rogojin understood how things were tending, at last. An inexpressiblypainful expression came over his face. He wrung his hands; a groan made its wayup from the depths of his soul.

“Surrender her, for God’s sake!” he said to the prince.

All around burst out laughing.

“What? Surrender her to you?” cried Daria Alexeyevna.“To a fellow who comes and bargains for a wife like a moujik! The princewishes to marry her, and you—”

“So do I, so do I! This moment, if I could! I’d give every farthingI have to do it.”

“You drunken moujik,” said Daria Alexeyevna, once more. “Youought to be kicked out of the place.”

The laughter became louder than ever.

“Do you hear, prince?” said Nastasia Philipovna. “Do you hearhow this moujik of a fellow goes on bargaining for your bride?”

“He is drunk,” said the prince, quietly, “and he loves youvery much.”

“Won’t you be ashamed, afterwards, to reflect that your wife verynearly ran away with Rogojin?”

“Oh, you were raving, you were in a fever; you are still halfdelirious.”

“And won’t you be ashamed when they tell you, afterwards, that yourwife lived at Totski’s expense so many years?”

“No; I shall not be ashamed of that. You did not so live by your ownwill.”

“And you’ll never reproach me with it?”

“Never.”

“Take care, don’t commit yourself for a whole lifetime.”

“Nastasia Philipovna.” said the prince, quietly, and with deepemotion, “I said before that I shall esteem your consent to be my wife asa great honour to myself, and shall consider that it is you who will honour me,not I you, by our marriage. You laughed at these words, and others around uslaughed as well; I heard them. Very likely I expressed myself funnily, and Imay have looked funny, but, for all that, I believe I understand where honourlies, and what I said was but the literal truth. You were about to ruinyourself just now, irrevocably; you would never have forgiven yourself for sodoing afterwards; and yet, you are absolutely blameless. It is impossible thatyour life should be altogether ruined at your age. What matter that Rogojincame bargaining here, and that Gavrila Ardalionovitch would have deceived youif he could? Why do you continually remind us of these facts? I assure you oncemore that very few could find it in them to act as you have acted this day. Asfor your wish to go with Rogojin, that was simply the idea of a delirious andsuffering brain. You are still quite feverish; you ought to be in bed, nothere. You know quite well that if you had gone with Rogojin, you would havebecome a washer-woman next day, rather than stay with him. You are proud,Nastasia Philipovna, and perhaps you have really suffered so much that youimagine yourself to be a desperately guilty woman. You require a great deal ofpetting and looking after, Nastasia Philipovna, and I will do this. I saw yourportrait this morning, and it seemed quite a familiar face to me; it seemed tome that the portrait-face was calling to me for help. I—I shall respectyou all my life, Nastasia Philipovna,” concluded the prince, as thoughsuddenly recollecting himself, and blushing to think of the sort of companybefore whom he had said all this.

Ptitsin bowed his head and looked at the ground, overcome by a mixture offeelings. Totski muttered to himself: “He may be an idiot, but he knowsthat flattery is the best road to success here.”

The prince observed Gania’s eyes flashing at him, as though they wouldgladly annihilate him then and there.

“That’s a kind-hearted man, if you like,” said DariaAlexeyevna, whose wrath was quickly evaporating.

“A refined man, but—lost,” murmured the general.

Totski took his hat and rose to go. He and the general exchanged glances,making a private arrangement, thereby, to leave the house together.

“Thank you, prince; no one has ever spoken to me like that before,”began Nastasia Philipovna. “Men have always bargained for me, beforethis; and not a single respectable man has ever proposed to marry me. Do youhear, Afanasy Ivanovitch? What do you think of what the prince has justbeen saying? It was almost immodest, wasn’t it? You, Rogojin, wait amoment, don’t go yet! I see you don’t intend to move however.Perhaps I may go with you yet. Where did you mean to take me to?”

“To Ekaterinhof,” replied Lebedeff. Rogojin simply stood staring,with trembling lips, not daring to believe his ears. He was stunned, as thoughfrom a blow on the head.

“What are you thinking of, my dear Nastasia?” said Daria Alexeyevnain alarm. “What are you saying?” “You are not going mad, areyou?”

Nastasia Philipovna burst out laughing and jumped up from the sofa.

“You thought I should accept this good child’s invitation to ruinhim, did you?” she cried. “That’s Totski’s way, notmine. He’s fond of children. Come along, Rogojin, get your money ready!We won’t talk about marrying just at this moment, but let’s see themoney at all events. Come! I may not marry you, either. I don’t know. Isuppose you thought you’d keep the money, if I did! Ha, ha, ha! nonsense!I have no sense of shame left. I tell you I have been Totski’s concubine.Prince, you must marry Aglaya Ivanovna, not Nastasia Philipovna, or this fellowFerdishenko will always be pointing the finger of scorn at you. Youaren’t afraid, I know; but I should always be afraid that I had ruinedyou, and that you would reproach me for it. As for what you say about my doingyou honour by marrying you—well, Totski can tell you all about that. Youhad your eye on Aglaya, Gania, you know you had; and you might have married herif you had not come bargaining. You are all like this. You should choose, oncefor all, between disreputable women, and respectable ones, or you are sure toget mixed. Look at the general, how he’s staring at me!”

“This is too horrible,” said the general, starting to his feet. Allwere standing up now. Nastasia was absolutely beside herself.

“I am very proud, in spite of what I am,” she continued. “Youcalled me ‘perfection’ just now, prince. A nice sort of perfectionto throw up a prince and a million and a half of roubles in order to be able toboast of the fact afterwards! What sort of a wife should I make for you, afterall I have said? Afanasy Ivanovitch, do you observe I have really and trulythrown away a million of roubles? And you thought that I should consider yourwretched seventy-five thousand, with Gania thrown in for a husband, a paradiseof bliss! Take your seventy-five thousand back, sir; you did not reach thehundred thousand. Rogojin cut a better dash than you did. I’ll consoleGania myself; I have an idea about that. But now I must be off! I’ve beenin prison for ten years. I’m free at last! Well, Rogojin, what are youwaiting for? Let’s get ready and go.”

“Come along!” shouted Rogojin, beside himself with joy. “Hey!all of you fellows! Wine! Round with it! Fill the glasses!”

“Get away!” he shouted frantically, observing that Daria Alexeyevnawas approaching to protest against Nastasia’s conduct. “Get away,she’s mine, everything’s mine! She’s a queen, getaway!”

He was panting with ecstasy. He walked round and round Nastasia Philipovna andtold everybody to “keep their distance.”

All the Rogojin company were now collected in the drawing-room; some weredrinking, some laughed and talked: all were in the highest and wildest spirits.Ferdishenko was doing his best to unite himself to them; the general and Totskiagain made an attempt to go. Gania, too stood hat in hand ready to go; butseemed to be unable to tear his eyes away from the scene before him.

“Get out, keep your distance!” shouted Rogojin.

“What are you shouting about there!” cried Nastasia“I’m not yours yet. I may kick you out for all you know Ihaven’t taken your money yet; there it all is on the table. Here, give meover that packet! Is there a hundred thousand roubles in that one packet? Pfu!what abominable stuff it looks! Oh! nonsense, Daria Alexeyevna; you surely didnot expect me to ruin him?” (indicating the prince). “Fancyhim nursing me! Why, he needs a nurse himself! The general, there, will be hisnurse now, you’ll see. Here, prince, look here! Your bride is acceptingmoney. What a disreputable woman she must be! And you wished to marry her! Whatare you crying about? Is it a bitter dose? Never mind, you shall laugh yet.Trust to time.” (In spite of these words there were two large tearsrolling down Nastasia’s own cheeks.) “It’s far better tothink twice of it now than afterwards. Oh! you mustn’t cry like that!There’s Katia crying, too. What is it, Katia, dear? I shall leave you andPasha a lot of things, I’ve laid them out for you already; but good-bye,now. I made an honest girl like you serve a low woman like myself. It’sbetter so, prince, it is indeed. You’d begin to despise meafterwards—we should never be happy. Oh! you needn’t swear, prince,I shan’t believe you, you know. How foolish it would be, too! No, no;we’d better say good-bye and part friends. I am a bit of a dreamermyself, and I used to dream of you once. Very often during those five yearsdown at his estate I used to dream and think, and I always imagined just such agood, honest, foolish fellow as you, one who should come and say to me:‘You are an innocent woman, Nastasia Philipovna, and I adore you.’I dreamt of you often. I used to think so much down there that I nearly wentmad; and then this fellow here would come down. He would stay a couple ofmonths out of the twelve, and disgrace and insult and deprave me, and then go;so that I longed to drown myself in the pond a thousand times over; but I didnot dare do it. I hadn’t the heart, and now—well, are you ready,Rogojin?”

“Ready—keep your distance, all of you!”

“We’re all ready,” said several of his friends. “Thetroikas [Sledges drawn by three horses abreast.] are at the door, bells andall.”

Nastasia Philipovna seized the packet of bank-notes.

“Gania, I have an idea. I wish to recompense you—why should youlose all? Rogojin, would he crawl for three roubles as far as theVassiliostrof?”

“Oh, wouldn’t he just!”

“Well, look here, Gania. I wish to look into your heart once more, forthe last time. You’ve worried me for the last three months—nowit’s my turn. Do you see this packet? It contains a hundred thousandroubles. Now, I’m going to throw it into the fire, here—before allthese witnesses. As soon as the fire catches hold of it, you put your handsinto the fire and pick it out—without gloves, you know. You must havebare hands, and you must turn your sleeves up. Pull it out, I say, andit’s all yours. You may burn your fingers a little, of course; but thenit’s a hundred thousand roubles, remember—it won’t take youlong to lay hold of it and snatch it out. I shall so much admire you if you putyour hands into the fire for my money. All here present may be witnesses thatthe whole packet of money is yours if you get it out. If you don’t get itout, it shall burn. I will let no one else come; away—get away, all ofyou—it’s my money! Rogojin has bought me with it. Is it my money,Rogojin?”

“Yes, my queen; it’s your own money, my joy.”

“Get away then, all of you. I shall do as I like with myown—don’t meddle! Ferdishenko, make up the fire, quick!”

“Nastasia Philipovna, I can’t; my hands won’t obey me,”said Ferdishenko, astounded and helpless with bewilderment.

“Nonsense,” cried Nastasia Philipovna, seizing the poker and rakinga couple of logs together. No sooner did a tongue of flame burst out than shethrew the packet of notes upon it.

Everyone gasped; some even crossed themselves.

“She’s mad—she’s mad!” was the cry.

“Oughtn’t-oughtn’t we to secure her?” asked the generalof Ptitsin, in a whisper; “or shall we send for the authorities? Why,she’s mad, isn’t she—isn’t she, eh?”

“N-no, I hardly think she is actually mad,” whispered Ptitsin, whowas as white as his handkerchief, and trembling like a leaf. He could not takehis eyes off the smouldering packet.

“She’s mad surely, isn’t she?” the general appealed toTotski.

“I told you she wasn’t an ordinary woman,” replied thelatter, who was as pale as anyone.

“Oh, but, positively, you know—a hundred thousand roubles!”

“Goodness gracious! good heavens!” came from all quarters of theroom.

All now crowded round the fire and thronged to see what was going on; everyonelamented and gave vent to exclamations of horror and woe. Some jumped up onchairs in order to get a better view. Daria Alexeyevna ran into the next roomand whispered excitedly to Katia and Pasha. The beautiful German disappearedaltogether.

“My lady! my sovereign!” lamented Lebedeff, falling on his kneesbefore Nastasia Philipovna, and stretching out his hands towards the fire;“it’s a hundred thousand roubles, it is indeed, I packed it upmyself, I saw the money! My queen, let me get into the fire after it—saythe word—I’ll put my whole grey head into the fire for it! I have apoor lame wife and thirteen children. My father died of starvation last week.Nastasia Philipovna, Nastasia Philipovna!” The wretched little man wept,and groaned, and crawled towards the fire.

“Away, out of the way!” cried Nastasia. “Make room, all ofyou! Gania, what are you standing there for? Don’t stand on ceremony. Putin your hand! There’s your whole happiness smouldering away, look!Quick!”

But Gania had borne too much that day, and especially this evening, and he wasnot prepared for this last, quite unexpected trial.

The crowd parted on each side of him and he was left face to face with NastasiaPhilipovna, three paces from her. She stood by the fire and waited, with herintent gaze fixed upon him.

Gania stood before her, in his evening clothes, holding his white gloves andhat in his hand, speechless and motionless, with arms folded and eyes fixed onthe fire.

A silly, meaningless smile played on his white, death-like lips. He could nottake his eyes off the smouldering packet; but it appeared that something newhad come to birth in his soul—as though he were vowing to himself that hewould bear this trial. He did not move from his place. In a few seconds itbecame evident to all that he did not intend to rescue the money.

“Hey! look at it, it’ll burn in another minute or two!” criedNastasia Philipovna. “You’ll hang yourself afterwards, you know, ifit does! I’m not joking.”

The fire, choked between a couple of smouldering pieces of wood, had died downfor the first few moments after the packet was thrown upon it. But a littletongue of fire now began to lick the paper from below, and soon, gatheringcourage, mounted the sides of the parcel, and crept around it. In anothermoment, the whole of it burst into flames, and the exclamations of woe andhorror were redoubled.

“Nastasia Philipovna!” lamented Lebedeff again, straining towardsthe fireplace; but Rogojin dragged him away, and pushed him to the rear oncemore.

The whole of Rogojin’s being was concentrated in one rapturous gaze ofecstasy. He could not take his eyes off Nastasia. He stood drinking her in, asit were. He was in the seventh heaven of delight.

“Oh, what a queen she is!” he ejaculated, every other minute,throwing out the remark for anyone who liked to catch it. “That’sthe sort of woman for me! Which of you would think of doing a thing like that,you blackguards, eh?” he yelled. He was hopelessly and wildly besidehimself with ecstasy.

The prince watched the whole scene, silent and dejected.

“I’ll pull it out with my teeth for one thousand,” saidFerdishenko.

“So would I,” said another, from behind, “with pleasure.Devil take the thing!” he added, in a tempest of despair, “it willall be burnt up in a minute—It’s burning, it’sburning!”

“It’s burning, it’s burning!” cried all, throngingnearer and nearer to the fire in their excitement.

“Gania, don’t be a fool! I tell you for the last time.”

“Get on, quick!” shrieked Ferdishenko, rushing wildly up to Gania,and trying to drag him to the fire by the sleeve of his coat. “Get it,you dummy, it’s burning away fast! Oh—damn the thing!”

Gania hurled Ferdishenko from him; then he turned sharp round and made for thedoor. But he had not gone a couple of steps when he tottered and fell to theground.

“He’s fainted!” the cry went round.

“And the money’s burning still,” Lebedeff lamented.

“Burning for nothing,” shouted others.

“Katia-Pasha! Bring him some water!” cried Nastasia Philipovna.Then she took the tongs and fished out the packet.

Nearly the whole of the outer covering was burned away, but it was soon evidentthat the contents were hardly touched. The packet had been wrapped in athreefold covering of newspaper, and the notes were safe. All breathed morefreely.

“Some dirty little thousand or so may be touched,” said Lebedeff,immensely relieved, “but there’s very little harm done, afterall.”

“It’s all his—the whole packet is for him, do youhear—all of you?” cried Nastasia Philipovna, placing the packet bythe side of Gania. “He restrained himself, and didn’t go after it;so his self-respect is greater than his thirst for money. Allright—he’ll come to directly—he must have the packet orhe’ll cut his throat afterwards. There! He’s coming to himself.General, Totski, all of you, did you hear me? The money is all Gania’s. Igive it to him, fully conscious of my action, as recompense for—well, foranything he thinks best. Tell him so. Let it lie here beside him. Off we go,Rogojin! Goodbye, prince. I have seen a man for the first time in my life.Goodbye, Afanasy Ivanovitch—and thanks!”

The Rogojin gang followed their leader and Nastasia Philipovna to theentrance-hall, laughing and shouting and whistling.

In the hall the servants were waiting, and handed her her fur cloak. Martha,the cook, ran in from the kitchen. Nastasia kissed them all round.

“Are you really throwing us all over, little mother? Where, where are yougoing to? And on your birthday, too!” cried the four girls, crying overher and kissing her hands.

“I am going out into the world, Katia; perhaps I shall be a laundress. Idon’t know. No more of Afanasy Ivanovitch, anyhow. Give him my respects.Don’t think badly of me, girls.”

The prince hurried down to the front gate where the party were settling intothe troikas, all the bells tinkling a merry accompaniment the while. Thegeneral caught him up on the stairs:

“Prince, prince!” he cried, seizing hold of his arm,“recollect yourself! Drop her, prince! You see what sort of a woman sheis. I am speaking to you like a father.”

The prince glanced at him, but said nothing. He shook himself free, and rushedon downstairs.

The general was just in time to see the prince take the first sledge he couldget, and, giving the order to Ekaterinhof, start off in pursuit of the troikas.Then the general’s fine grey horse dragged that worthy home, with somenew thoughts, and some new hopes and calculations developing in his brain, andwith the pearls in his pocket, for he had not forgotten to bring them alongwith him, being a man of business. Amid his new thoughts and ideas there came,once or twice, the image of Nastasia Philipovna. The general sighed.

“I’m sorry, really sorry,” he muttered. “She’s aruined woman. Mad! mad! However, the prince is not for Nastasia Philipovnanow,—perhaps it’s as well.”

Two more of Nastasia’s guests, who walked a short distance together,indulged in high moral sentiments of a similar nature.

“Do you know, Totski, this is all very like what they say goes on amongthe Japanese?” said Ptitsin. “The offended party there, they say,marches off to his insulter and says to him, ‘You insulted me, so I havecome to rip myself open before your eyes;’ and with these words he doesactually rip his stomach open before his enemy, and considers, doubtless, thathe is having all possible and necessary satisfaction and revenge. There arestrange characters in the world, sir!”

“H’m! and you think there was something of this sort here, do you?Dear me—a very remarkable comparison, you know! But you must haveobserved, my dear Ptitsin, that I did all I possibly could. I could do no morethan I did. And you must admit that there are some rare qualities in thiswoman. I felt I could not speak in that Bedlam, or I should have been temptedto cry out, when she reproached me, that she herself was my best justification.Such a woman could make anyone forget all reason—everything! Even thatmoujik, Rogojin, you saw, brought her a hundred thousand roubles! Of course,all that happened tonight was ephemeral, fantastic, unseemly—yet itlacked neither colour nor originality. My God! What might not have been made ofsuch a character combined with such beauty! Yet in spite of allefforts—in spite of all education, even—all those gifts are wasted!She is an uncut diamond.... I have often said so.”

And Afanasy Ivanovitch heaved a deep sigh.

PART II

I.

Two days after the strange conclusion to Nastasia Philipovna’s birthdayparty, with the record of which we concluded the first part of this story,Prince Muishkin hurriedly left St. Petersburg for Moscow, in order to see aftersome business connected with the receipt of his unexpected fortune.

It was said that there were other reasons for his hurried departure; but as tothis, and as to his movements in Moscow, and as to his prolonged absence fromSt. Petersburg, we are able to give very little information.

The prince was away for six months, and even those who were most interested inhis destiny were able to pick up very little news about him all that while.True, certain rumours did reach his friends, but these were both strange andrare, and each one contradicted the last.

Of course the Epanchin family was much interested in his movements, though hehad not had time to bid them farewell before his departure. The general,however, had had an opportunity of seeing him once or twice since the eventfulevening, and had spoken very seriously with him; but though he had seen theprince, as I say, he told his family nothing about the circumstance. In fact,for a month or so after his departure it was considered not the thing tomention the prince’s name in the Epanchin household. Only Mrs. Epanchin,at the commencement of this period, had announced that she had been“cruelly mistaken in the prince!” and a day or two after, she hadadded, evidently alluding to him, but not mentioning his name, that it was anunalterable characteristic of hers to be mistaken in people. Then once more,ten days later, after some passage of arms with one of her daughters, she hadremarked sententiously. “We have had enough of mistakes. I shall be morecareful in future!” However, it was impossible to avoid remarking thatthere was some sense of oppression in the household—something unspoken,but felt; something strained. All the members of the family wore frowninglooks. The general was unusually busy; his family hardly ever saw him.

As to the girls, nothing was said openly, at all events; and probably verylittle in private. They were proud damsels, and were not always perfectlyconfidential even among themselves. But they understood each other thoroughlyat the first word on all occasions; very often at the first glance, so thatthere was no need of much talking as a rule.

One fact, at least, would have been perfectly plain to an outsider, had anysuch person been on the spot; and that was, that the prince had made a veryconsiderable impression upon the family, in spite of the fact that he had butonce been inside the house, and then only for a short time. Of course, ifanalyzed, this impression might have proved to be nothing more than a feelingof curiosity; but be it what it might, there it undoubtedly was.

Little by little, the rumours spread about town became lost in a maze ofuncertainty. It was said that some foolish young prince, name unknown, hadsuddenly come into possession of a gigantic fortune, and had married a Frenchballet dancer. This was contradicted, and the rumour circulated that it was ayoung merchant who had come into the enormous fortune and married the greatballet dancer, and that at the wedding the drunken young fool had burnedseventy thousand roubles at a candle out of pure bravado.

However, all these rumours soon died down, to which circumstance certain factslargely contributed. For instance, the whole of the Rogojin troop had departed,with him at their head, for Moscow. This was exactly a week after a dreadfulorgy at the Ekaterinhof gardens, where Nastasia Philipovna had been present. Itbecame known that after this orgy Nastasia Philipovna had entirely disappeared,and that she had since been traced to Moscow; so that the exodus of the Rogojinband was found consistent with this report.

There were rumours current as to Gania, too; but circumstances sooncontradicted these. He had fallen seriously ill, and his illness precluded hisappearance in society, and even at business, for over a month. As soon as hehad recovered, however, he threw up his situation in the public company underGeneral Epanchin’s direction, for some unknown reason, and the post wasgiven to another. He never went near the Epanchins’ house at all, and wasexceedingly irritable and depressed.

Varvara Ardalionovna married Ptitsin this winter, and it was said that the factof Gania’s retirement from business was the ultimate cause of themarriage, since Gania was now not only unable to support his family, but evenrequired help himself.

We may mention that Gania was no longer mentioned in the Epanchin household anymore than the prince was; but that a certain circumstance in connection withthe fatal evening at Nastasia’s house became known to the general, and,in fact, to all the family the very next day. This fact was that Gania had comehome that night, but had refused to go to bed. He had awaited theprince’s return from Ekaterinhof with feverish impatience.

On the latter’s arrival, at six in the morning, Gania had gone to him inhis room, bringing with him the singed packet of money, which he had insistedthat the prince should return to Nastasia Philipovna without delay. It was saidthat when Gania entered the prince’s room, he came with anything butfriendly feelings, and in a condition of despair and misery; but that after ashort conversation, he had stayed on for a couple of hours with him, sobbingcontinuously and bitterly the whole time. They had parted upon terms of cordialfriendship.

The Epanchins heard about this, as well as about the episode at NastasiaPhilipovna’s. It was strange, perhaps, that the facts should become soquickly, and fairly accurately, known. As far as Gania was concerned, it mighthave been supposed that the news had come through Varvara Ardalionovna, who hadsuddenly become a frequent visitor of the Epanchin girls, greatly to theirmother’s surprise. But though Varvara had seen fit, for some reason, tomake friends with them, it was not likely that she would have talked to themabout her brother. She had plenty of pride, in spite of the fact that in thusacting she was seeking intimacy with people who had practically shown herbrother the door. She and the Epanchin girls had been acquainted in childhood,although of late they had met but rarely. Even now Varvara hardly ever appearedin the drawing-room, but would slip in by a back way. Lizabetha Prokofievna,who disliked Varvara, although she had a great respect for her mother, was muchannoyed by this sudden intimacy, and put it down to the general“contrariness” of her daughters, who were “always on thelookout for some new way of opposing her.” Nevertheless, Varvaracontinued her visits.

A month after Muishkin’s departure, Mrs. Epanchin received a letter fromher old friend Princess Bielokonski (who had lately left for Moscow), whichletter put her into the greatest good humour. She did not divulge its contentseither to her daughters or the general, but her conduct towards the formerbecame affectionate in the extreme. She even made some sort of confession tothem, but they were unable to understand what it was about. She actuallyrelaxed towards the general a little—he had been long disgraced—andthough she managed to quarrel with them all the next day, yet she soon cameround, and from her general behaviour it was to be concluded that she had hadgood news of some sort, which she would like, but could not make up her mind,to disclose.

However, a week later she received another letter from the same source, and atlast resolved to speak.

She solemnly announced that she had heard from old Princess Bielokonski, whohad given her most comforting news about “that queer young prince.”Her friend had hunted him up, and found that all was going well with him. Hehad since called in person upon her, making an extremely favourable impression,for the princess had received him each day since, and had introduced him intoseveral good houses.

The girls could see that their mother concealed a great deal from them, andleft out large pieces of the letter in reading it to them.

However, the ice was broken, and it suddenly became possible to mention theprince’s name again. And again it became evident how very strong was theimpression the young man had made in the household by his one visit there. Mrs.Epanchin was surprised at the effect which the news from Moscow had upon thegirls, and they were no less surprised that after solemnly remarking that hermost striking characteristic was “being mistaken in people” sheshould have troubled to obtain for the prince the favour and protection of sopowerful an old lady as the Princess Bielokonski. As soon as the ice was thusbroken, the general lost no time in showing that he, too, took the greatestinterest in the subject. He admitted that he was interested, but said that itwas merely in the business side of the question. It appeared that, in theinterests of the prince, he had made arrangements in Moscow for a careful watchto be kept upon the prince’s business affairs, and especially uponSalaskin. All that had been said as to the prince being an undoubted heir to afortune turned out to be perfectly true; but the fortune proved to be muchsmaller than was at first reported. The estate was considerably encumbered withdebts; creditors turned up on all sides, and the prince, in spite of all adviceand entreaty, insisted upon managing all matters of claim himself—which,of course, meant satisfying everybody all round, although half the claims wereabsolutely fraudulent.

Mrs. Epanchin confirmed all this. She said the princess had written to much thesame effect, and added that there was no curing a fool. But it was plain, fromher expression of face, how strongly she approved of this particular youngfool’s doings. In conclusion, the general observed that his wife took asgreat an interest in the prince as though he were her own son; and that she hadcommenced to be especially affectionate towards Aglaya was a self-evident fact.

All this caused the general to look grave and important. But, alas! thisagreeable state of affairs very soon changed once more.

A couple of weeks went by, and suddenly the general and his wife were once moregloomy and silent, and the ice was as firm as ever. The fact was, the general,who had heard first, how Nastasia Philipovna had fled to Moscow and had beendiscovered there by Rogojin; that she had then disappeared once more, and beenfound again by Rogojin, and how after that she had almost promised to marryhim, now received news that she had once more disappeared, almost on the veryday fixed for her wedding, flying somewhere into the interior of Russia thistime, and that Prince Muishkin had left all his affairs in the hands ofSalaskin and disappeared also—but whether he was with Nastasia, or hadonly set off in search of her, was unknown.

Lizabetha Prokofievna received confirmatory news from the princess—andalas, two months after the prince’s first departure from St. Petersburg,darkness and mystery once more enveloped his whereabouts and actions, and inthe Epanchin family the ice of silence once more formed over the subject.Varia, however, informed the girls of what had happened, she having receivedthe news from Ptitsin, who generally knew more than most people.

To make an end, we may say that there were many changes in the Epanchinhousehold in the spring, so that it was not difficult to forget the prince, whosent no news of himself.

The Epanchin family had at last made up their minds to spend the summer abroad,all except the general, who could not waste time in “travelling forenjoyment,” of course. This arrangement was brought about by thepersistence of the girls, who insisted that they were never allowed to goabroad because their parents were too anxious to marry them off. Perhaps theirparents had at last come to the conclusion that husbands might be found abroad,and that a summer’s travel might bear fruit. The marriage betweenAlexandra and Totski had been broken off. Since the prince’s departurefrom St. Petersburg no more had been said about it; the subject had beendropped without ceremony, much to the joy of Mrs. General, who, announced thatshe was “ready to cross herself with both hands” in gratitude forthe escape. The general, however, regretted Totski for a long while.“Such a fortune!” he sighed, “and such a good, easy-goingfellow!”

After a time it became known that Totski had married a French marquise, and wasto be carried off by her to Paris, and then to Brittany.

“Oh, well,” thought the general, “he’s lost to us forgood, now.”

So the Epanchins prepared to depart for the summer.

But now another circumstance occurred, which changed all the plans once more,and again the intended journey was put off, much to the delight of the generaland his spouse.

A certain Prince S—— arrived in St. Petersburg from Moscow, aneminent and honourable young man. He was one of those active persons who alwaysfind some good work with which to employ themselves. Without forcing himselfupon the public notice, modest and unobtrusive, this young prince was concernedwith much that happened in the world in general.

He had served, at first, in one of the civil departments, had then attended tomatters connected with the local government of provincial towns, and had oflate been a corresponding member of several important scientific societies. Hewas a man of excellent family and solid means, about thirty-five years of age.

Prince S—— made the acquaintance of the general’s family, andAdelaida, the second girl, made a great impression upon him. Towards the springhe proposed to her, and she accepted him. The general and his wife weredelighted. The journey abroad was put off, and the wedding was fixed for a daynot very distant.

The trip abroad might have been enjoyed later on by Mrs. Epanchin and her tworemaining daughters, but for another circumstance.

It so happened that Prince S—— introduced a distant relation of hisown into the Epanchin family—one Evgenie Pavlovitch, a young officer ofabout twenty-eight years of age, whose conquests among the ladies in Moscow hadbeen proverbial. This young gentleman no sooner set eyes on Aglaya than hebecame a frequent visitor at the house. He was witty, well-educated, andextremely wealthy, as the general very soon discovered. His past reputation wasthe only thing against him.

Nothing was said; there were not even any hints dropped; but still, it seemedbetter to the parents to say nothing more about going abroad this season, atall events. Aglaya herself perhaps was of a different opinion.

All this happened just before the second appearance of our hero upon the scene.

By this time, to judge from appearances, poor Prince Muishkin had been quiteforgotten in St. Petersburg. If he had appeared suddenly among hisacquaintances, he would have been received as one from the skies; but we mustjust glance at one more fact before we conclude this preface.

Colia Ivolgin, for some time after the prince’s departure, continued hisold life. That is, he went to school, looked after his father, helped Varia inthe house, and ran her errands, and went frequently to see his friend,Hippolyte.

The lodgers had disappeared very quickly—Ferdishenko soon after theevents at Nastasia Philipovna’s, while the prince went to Moscow, as weknow. Gania and his mother went to live with Varia and Ptitsin immediatelyafter the latter’s wedding, while the general was housed in adebtor’s prison by reason of certain IOU’s given to thecaptain’s widow under the impression that they would never be formallyused against him. This unkind action much surprised poor ArdalionAlexandrovitch, the victim, as he called himself, of an “unbounded trustin the nobility of the human heart.”

When he signed those notes of hand he never dreamt that they would be a sourceof future trouble. The event showed that he was mistaken. “Trust inanyone after this! Have the least confidence in man or woman!” he criedin bitter tones, as he sat with his new friends in prison, and recounted tothem his favourite stories of the siege of Kars, and the resuscitated soldier.On the whole, he accommodated himself very well to his new position. Ptitsinand Varia declared that he was in the right place, and Gania was of the sameopinion. The only person who deplored his fate was poor Nina Alexandrovna, whowept bitter tears over him, to the great surprise of her household, and, thoughalways in feeble health, made a point of going to see him as often as possible.

Since the general’s “mishap,” as Colia called it, and themarriage of his sister, the boy had quietly possessed himself of far morefreedom. His relations saw little of him, for he rarely slept at home. He mademany new friends; and was moreover, a frequent visitor at the debtor’sprison, to which he invariably accompanied his mother. Varia, who used to bealways correcting him, never spoke to him now on the subject of his frequentabsences, and the whole household was surprised to see Gania, in spite of hisdepression, on quite friendly terms with his brother. This was something new,for Gania had been wont to look upon Colia as a kind of errand-boy, treatinghim with contempt, threatening to “pull his ears,” and in generaldriving him almost wild with irritation. It seemed now that Gania really neededhis brother, and the latter, for his part, felt as if he could forgive Ganiamuch since he had returned the hundred thousand roubles offered to him byNastasia Philipovna. Three months after the departure of the prince, theIvolgin family discovered that Colia had made acquaintance with the Epanchins,and was on very friendly terms with the daughters. Varia heard of it first,though Colia had not asked her to introduce him. Little by little the familygrew quite fond of him. Madame Epanchin at first looked on him with disdain,and received him coldly, but in a short time he grew to please her, because, asshe said, he “was candid and no flatterer”—a very truedescription. From the first he put himself on an equality with his new friends,and though he sometimes read newspapers and books to the mistress of the house,it was simply because he liked to be useful.

One day, however, he and Lizabetha Prokofievna quarrelled seriously about the“woman question,” in the course of a lively discussion on thatburning subject. He told her that she was a tyrant, and that he would never setfoot in her house again. It may seem incredible, but a day or two after, MadameEpanchin sent a servant with a note begging him to return, and Colia, withoutstanding on his dignity, did so at once.

Aglaya was the only one of the family whose good graces he could not gain, andwho always spoke to him haughtily, but it so happened that the boy one daysucceeded in giving the proud maiden a surprise.

It was about Easter, when, taking advantage of a momentary tête-à-tête Coliahanded Aglaya a letter, remarking that he “had orders to deliver it toher privately.” She stared at him in amazement, but he did not wait tohear what she had to say, and went out. Aglaya broke the seal, and read asfollows:

“Once you did me the honour of giving me your confidence. Perhaps youhave quite forgotten me now! How is it that I am writing to you? I do not know;but I am conscious of an irresistible desire to remind you of my existence,especially you. How many times I have needed all three of you; but only youhave dwelt always in my mind’s eye. I need you—I need you verymuch. I will not write about myself. I have nothing to tell you. But I long foryou to be happy. Are you happy? That is all I wished to say toyou—Your brother,

“Pr. L. Muishkin.”

On reading this short and disconnected note, Aglaya suddenly blushed all over,and became very thoughtful.

It would be difficult to describe her thoughts at that moment. One of them was,“Shall I show it to anyone?” But she was ashamed to show it. So sheended by hiding it in her table drawer, with a very strange, ironical smileupon her lips.

Next day, she took it out, and put it into a large book, as she usually didwith papers which she wanted to be able to find easily. She laughed when, abouta week later, she happened to notice the name of the book, and saw that it wasDon Quixote, but it would be difficult to say exactly why.

I cannot say, either, whether she showed the letter to her sisters.

But when she had read it herself once more, it suddenly struck her that surelythat conceited boy, Colia, had not been the one chosen correspondent of theprince all this while. She determined to ask him, and did so with anexaggerated show of carelessness. He informed her haughtily that though he hadgiven the prince his permanent address when the latter left town, and hadoffered his services, the prince had never before given him any commission toperform, nor had he written until the following lines arrived, withAglaya’s letter. Aglaya took the note, and read it.

“DEAR COLIA,—Please be so kind as togive the enclosed sealed letter to Aglaya Ivanovna. Keep well—Ever yourloving,

“Pr. L. Muishkin.”

“It seems absurd to trust a little pepper-box like you,” saidAglaya, as she returned the note, and walked past the “pepper-box”with an expression of great contempt.

This was more than Colia could bear. He had actually borrowed Gania’s newgreen tie for the occasion, without saying why he wanted it, in order toimpress her. He was very deeply mortified.

II.

It was the beginning of June, and for a whole week the weather in St.Petersburg had been magnificent. The Epanchins had a luxurious country-house atPavlofsk, [One of the fashionable summer resorts near St. Petersburg.] and tothis spot Mrs. Epanchin determined to proceed without further delay. In acouple of days all was ready, and the family had left town. A day or two afterthis removal to Pavlofsk, Prince Muishkin arrived in St. Petersburg by themorning train from Moscow. No one met him; but, as he stepped out of thecarriage, he suddenly became aware of two strangely glowing eyes fixed upon himfrom among the crowd that met the train. On endeavouring to re-discover theeyes, and see to whom they belonged, he could find nothing to guide him. Itmust have been a hallucination. But the disagreeable impression remained, andwithout this, the prince was sad and thoughtful already, and seemed to be muchpreoccupied.

His cab took him to a small and bad hotel near the Litaynaya. Here he engaged acouple of rooms, dark and badly furnished. He washed and changed, and hurriedlyleft the hotel again, as though anxious to waste no time. Anyone who now sawhim for the first time since he left Petersburg would judge that he hadimproved vastly so far as his exterior was concerned. His clothes certainlywere very different; they were more fashionable, perhaps even too much so, andanyone inclined to mockery might have found something to smile at in hisappearance. But what is there that people will not smile at?

The prince took a cab and drove to a street near the Nativity, where he soondiscovered the house he was seeking. It was a small wooden villa, and he wasstruck by its attractive and clean appearance; it stood in a pleasant littlegarden, full of flowers. The windows looking on the street were open, and thesound of a voice, reading aloud or making a speech, came through them. It roseat times to a shout, and was interrupted occasionally by bursts of laughter.

Prince Muishkin entered the court-yard, and ascended the steps. A cook with hersleeves turned up to the elbows opened the door. The visitor asked if Mr.Lebedeff were at home.

“He is in there,” said she, pointing to the salon.

The room had a blue wall-paper, and was well, almost pretentiously, furnished,with its round table, its divan, and its bronze clock under a glass shade.There was a narrow pier-glass against the wall, and a chandelier adorned withlustres hung by a bronze chain from the ceiling.

When the prince entered, Lebedeff was standing in the middle of the room, hisback to the door. He was in his shirt-sleeves, on account of the extreme heat,and he seemed to have just reached the peroration of his speech, and wasimpressively beating his breast.

His audience consisted of a youth of about fifteen years of age with a cleverface, who had a book in his hand, though he was not reading; a young lady oftwenty, in deep mourning, stood near him with an infant in her arms; anothergirl of thirteen, also in black, was laughing loudly, her mouth wide open; andon the sofa lay a handsome young man, with black hair and eyes, and a suspicionof beard and whiskers. He frequently interrupted the speaker and argued withhim, to the great delight of the others.

“Lukian Timofeyovitch! Lukian Timofeyovitch! Here’s someone to seeyou! Look here!... a gentleman to speak to you!... Well, it’s not myfault!” and the cook turned and went away red with anger.

Lebedeff started, and at sight of the prince stood like a statue for a moment.Then he moved up to him with an ingratiating smile, but stopped short again.

“Prince! ex-ex-excellency!” he stammered. Then suddenly he rantowards the girl with the infant, a movement so unexpected by her that shestaggered and fell back, but next moment he was threatening the other child,who was standing, still laughing, in the doorway. She screamed, and ran towardsthe kitchen. Lebedeff stamped his foot angrily; then, seeing the princeregarding him with amazement, he murmured apologetically—“Pardon toshow respect!... he-he!”

“You are quite wrong...” began the prince.

“At once... at once... in one moment!”

He rushed like a whirlwind from the room, and Muishkin looked inquiringly atthe others.

They were all laughing, and the guest joined in the chorus.

“He has gone to get his coat,” said the boy.

“How annoying!” exclaimed the prince. “I thought... Tell me,is he...”

“You think he is drunk?” cried the young man on the sofa.“Not in the least. He’s only had three or four small glasses,perhaps five; but what is that? The usual thing!”

As the prince opened his mouth to answer, he was interrupted by the girl, whosesweet face wore an expression of absolute frankness.

“He never drinks much in the morning; if you have come to talk businesswith him, do it now. It is the best time. He sometimes comes back drunk in theevening; but just now he passes the greater part of the evening in tears, andreads passages of Holy Scripture aloud, because our mother died five weeksago.”

“No doubt he ran off because he did not know what to say to you,”said the youth on the divan. “I bet he is trying to cheat you, and isthinking how best to do it.”

Just then Lebedeff returned, having put on his coat.

“Five weeks!” said he, wiping his eyes. “Only five weeks!Poor orphans!”

“But why wear a coat in holes,” asked the girl, “when yournew one is hanging behind the door? Did you not see it?”

“Hold your tongue, dragon-fly!” he scolded. “What a plagueyou are!” He stamped his foot irritably, but she only laughed, andanswered:

“Are you trying to frighten me? I am not Tania, you know, and Idon’t intend to run away. Look, you are waking Lubotchka, and she willhave convulsions again. Why do you shout like that?”

“Well, well! I won’t again,” said the master of the house,his anxiety getting the better of his temper. He went up to his daughter, andlooked at the child in her arms, anxiously making the sign of the cross overher three times. “God bless her! God bless her!” he cried withemotion. “This little creature is my daughter Luboff,” addressingthe prince. “My wife, Helena, died—at her birth; and this is my bigdaughter Vera, in mourning, as you see; and this, this, oh, this,”pointing to the young man on the divan...

“Well, go on! never mind me!” mocked the other. “Don’tbe afraid!”

“Excellency! Have you read that account of the murder of the Zemarinfamily, in the newspaper?” cried Lebedeff, all of a sudden.

“Yes,” said Muishkin, with some surprise.

“Well, that is the murderer! It is he—in fact—”

“What do you mean?” asked the visitor.

“I am speaking allegorically, of course; but he will be the murderer of aZemarin family in the future. He is getting ready. ...”

They all laughed, and the thought crossed the prince’s mind that perhapsLebedeff was really trifling in this way because he foresaw inconvenientquestions, and wanted to gain time.

“He is a traitor! a conspirator!” shouted Lebedeff, who seemed tohave lost all control over himself. “A monster! a slanderer! Ought I totreat him as a nephew, the son of my sister Anisia?”

“Oh! do be quiet! You must be drunk! He has taken it into his head toplay the lawyer, prince, and he practices speechifying, and is always repeatinghis eloquent pleadings to his children. And who do you think was his lastclient? An old woman who had been robbed of five hundred roubles, her all, bysome rogue of a usurer, besought him to take up her case, instead of which hedefended the usurer himself, a Jew named Zeidler, because this Jew promised togive him fifty roubles....”

“It was to be fifty if I won the case, only five if I lost,”interrupted Lebedeff, speaking in a low tone, a great contrast to his earliermanner.

“Well! naturally he came to grief: the law is not administered as it usedto be, and he only got laughed at for his pains. But he was much pleased withhimself in spite of that. ‘Most learned judge!’ said he,‘picture this unhappy man, crippled by age and infirmities, who gains hisliving by honourable toil—picture him, I repeat, robbed of his all, ofhis last mouthful; remember, I entreat you, the words of that learnedlegislator, “Let mercy and justice alike rule the courts oflaw.”’ Now, would you believe it, excellency, every morning herecites this speech to us from beginning to end, exactly as he spoke it beforethe magistrate. To-day we have heard it for the fifth time. He was juststarting again when you arrived, so much does he admire it. He is now preparingto undertake another case. I think, by the way, that you are Prince Muishkin?Colia tells me you are the cleverest man he has ever known....”

“The cleverest in the world,” interrupted his uncle hastily.

“I do not pay much attention to that opinion,” continued the youngman calmly. “Colia is very fond of you, but he,” pointing toLebedeff, “is flattering you. I can assure you I have no intention offlattering you, or anyone else, but at least you have some common-sense. Well,will you judge between us? Shall we ask the prince to act as arbitrator?”he went on, addressing his uncle.

“I am so glad you chanced to come here, prince.”

“I agree,” said Lebedeff, firmly, looking round involuntarily athis daughter, who had come nearer, and was listening attentively to theconversation.

“What is it all about?” asked the prince, frowning. His head ached,and he felt sure that Lebedeff was trying to cheat him in some way, and onlytalking to put off the explanation that he had come for.

“I will tell you all the story. I am his nephew; he did speak the truththere, although he is generally telling lies. I am at the University, and havenot yet finished my course. I mean to do so, and I shall, for I have adetermined character. I must, however, find something to do for the present,and therefore I have got employment on the railway at twenty-four roubles amonth. I admit that my uncle has helped me once or twice before. Well, I hadtwenty roubles in my pocket, and I gambled them away. Can you believe that Ishould be so low, so base, as to lose money in that way?”

“And the man who won it is a rogue, a rogue whom you ought not to havepaid!” cried Lebedeff.

“Yes, he is a rogue, but I was obliged to pay him,” said the youngman. “As to his being a rogue, he is assuredly that, and I am not sayingit because he beat you. He is an ex-lieutenant, prince, dismissed from theservice, a teacher of boxing, and one of Rogojin’s followers. They areall lounging about the pavements now that Rogojin has turned them off. Ofcourse, the worst of it is that, knowing he was a rascal, and a card-sharper, Inone the less played palki with him, and risked my last rouble. To tell thetruth, I thought to myself, ‘If I lose, I will go to my uncle, and I amsure he will not refuse to help me.’ Now that was base—cowardly andbase!”

“That is so,” observed Lebedeff quietly; “cowardly andbase.”

“Well, wait a bit, before you begin to triumph,” said the nephewviciously; for the words seemed to irritate him. “He is delighted! I cameto him here and told him everything: I acted honourably, for I did not excusemyself. I spoke most severely of my conduct, as everyone here can witness. ButI must smarten myself up before I take up my new post, for I am really like atramp. Just look at my boots! I cannot possibly appear like this, and if I amnot at the bureau at the time appointed, the job will be given to someone else;and I shall have to try for another. Now I only beg for fifteen roubles, and Igive my word that I will never ask him for anything again. I am also ready topromise to repay my debt in three months’ time, and I will keep my word,even if I have to live on bread and water. My salary will amount toseventy-five roubles in three months. The sum I now ask, added to what I haveborrowed already, will make a total of about thirty-five roubles, so you see Ishall have enough to pay him and confound him! if he wants interest, he shallhave that, too! Haven’t I always paid back the money he lent me before?Why should he be so mean now? He grudges my having paid that lieutenant; therecan be no other reason! That’s the kind he is—a dog in themanger!”

“And he won’t go away!” cried Lebedeff. “He hasinstalled himself here, and here he remains!”

“I have told you already, that I will not go away until I have got what Iask. Why are you smiling, prince? You look as if you disapproved of me.”

“I am not smiling, but I really think you are in the wrong,somewhat,” replied Muishkin, reluctantly.

“Don’t shuffle! Say plainly that you think that I am quite wrong,without any ‘somewhat’! Why ‘somewhat’?”

“I will say you are quite wrong, if you wish.”

“If I wish! That’s good, I must say! Do you think I am deceived asto the flagrant impropriety of my conduct? I am quite aware that his money ishis own, and that my action—is much like an attempt at extortion. Butyou-you don’t know what life is! If people don’t learn byexperience, they never understand. They must be taught. My intentions areperfectly honest; on my conscience he will lose nothing, and I will pay backthe money with interest. Added to which he has had the moral satisfaction ofseeing me disgraced. What does he want more? and what is he good for if henever helps anyone? Look what he does himself! just ask him about his dealingswith others, how he deceives people! How did he manage to buy this house? Youmay cut off my head if he has not let you in for something—and if he isnot trying to cheat you again. You are smiling. You don’t believeme?”

“It seems to me that all this has nothing to do with your affairs,”remarked the prince.

“I have lain here now for three days,” cried the young man withoutnoticing, “and I have seen a lot! Fancy! he suspects his daughter, thatangel, that orphan, my cousin—he suspects her, and every evening hesearches her room, to see if she has a lover hidden in it! He comes here too ontiptoe, creeping softly—oh, so softly—and looks under thesofa—my bed, you know. He is mad with suspicion, and sees a thief inevery corner. He runs about all night long; he was up at least seven times lastnight, to satisfy himself that the windows and doors were barred, and to peepinto the oven. That man who appears in court for scoundrels, rushes in here inthe night and prays, lying prostrate, banging his head on the ground by thehalf-hour—and for whom do you think he prays? Who are the sinnersfiguring in his drunken petitions? I have heard him with my own ears prayingfor the repose of the soul of the Countess du Barry! Colia heard it too. He isas mad as a March hare!”

“You hear how he slanders me, prince,” said Lebedeff, almost besidehimself with rage. “I may be a drunkard, an evil-doer, a thief, but atleast I can say one thing for myself. He does not know—how should he,mocker that he is?—that when he came into the world it was I who washedhim, and dressed him in his swathing-bands, for my sister Anisia had lost herhusband, and was in great poverty. I was very little better off than she, but Isat up night after night with her, and nursed both mother and child; I used togo downstairs and steal wood for them from the house-porter. How often did Ising him to sleep when I was half dead with hunger! In short, I was more than afather to him, and now—now he jeers at me! Even if I did cross myself,and pray for the repose of the soul of the Comtesse du Barry, what does itmatter? Three days ago, for the first time in my life, I read her biography inan historical dictionary. Do you know who she was? You there!” addressinghis nephew. “Speak! do you know?”

“Of course no one knows anything about her but you,” muttered theyoung man in a would-be jeering tone.

“She was a Countess who rose from shame to reign like a Queen. An Empresswrote to her, with her own hand, as ‘Ma chère cousine.’ At alever-du-roi one morning (do you know what a lever-du-roiwas?)—a Cardinal, a Papal legate, offered to put on her stockings; a highand holy person like that looked on it as an honour! Did you know this? I seeby your expression that you did not! Well, how did she die? Answer!”

“Oh! do stop—you are too absurd!”

“This is how she died. After all this honour and glory, after having beenalmost a Queen, she was guillotined by that butcher, Samson. She was quiteinnocent, but it had to be done, for the satisfaction of the fishwives ofParis. She was so terrified, that she did not understand what was happening.But when Samson seized her head, and pushed her under the knife with his foot,she cried out: ‘Wait a moment! wait a moment, monsieur!’ Well,because of that moment of bitter suffering, perhaps the Saviour will pardon herother faults, for one cannot imagine a greater agony. As I read the story myheart bled for her. And what does it matter to you, little worm, if I imploredthe Divine mercy for her, great sinner as she was, as I said my evening prayer?I might have done it because I doubted if anyone had ever crossed himself forher sake before. It may be that in the other world she will rejoice to thinkthat a sinner like herself has cried to heaven for the salvation of her soul.Why are you laughing? You believe nothing, atheist! And your story was not evencorrect! If you had listened to what I was saying, you would have heard that Idid not only pray for the Comtesse du Barry. I said, ‘Oh Lord! give restto the soul of that great sinner, the Comtesse du Barry, and to all unhappyones like her.’ You see that is quite a different thing, for how manysinners there are, how many women, who have passed through the trials of thislife, are now suffering and groaning in purgatory! I prayed for you, too, inspite of your insolence and impudence, also for your fellows, as it seems thatyou claim to know how I pray...”

“Oh! that’s enough in all conscience! Pray for whom you choose, andthe devil take them and you! We have a scholar here; you did not know that,prince?” he continued, with a sneer. “He reads all sorts of booksand memoirs now.”

“At any rate, your uncle has a kind heart,” remarked the prince,who really had to force himself to speak to the nephew, so much did he dislikehim.

“Oh, now you are going to praise him! He will be set up! He puts his handon his heart, and he is delighted! I never said he was a man without heart, buthe is a rascal—that’s the pity of it. And then, he is addicted todrink, and his mind is unhinged, like that of most people who have taken morethan is good for them for years. He loves his children—oh, I know thatwell enough! He respected my aunt, his late wife... and he even has a sort ofaffection for me. He has remembered me in his will.”

“I shall leave you nothing!” exclaimed his uncle angrily.

“Listen to me, Lebedeff,” said the prince in a decided voice,turning his back on the young man. “I know by experience that when youchoose, you can be business-like... I have very little time to spare, and ifyou... By the way—excuse me—what is your Christian name? I haveforgotten it.”

“Ti-Ti-Timofey.”

“And?”

“Lukianovitch.”

Everyone in the room began to laugh.

“He is telling lies!” cried the nephew. “Even now he cannotspeak the truth. He is not called Timofey Lukianovitch, prince, but LukianTimofeyovitch. Now do tell us why you must needs lie about it? Lukian orTimofey, it is all the same to you, and what difference can it make to theprince? He tells lies without the least necessity, simply by force of habit, Iassure you.”

“Is that true?” said the prince impatiently.

“My name really is Lukian Timofeyovitch,” acknowledged Lebedeff,lowering his eyes, and putting his hand on his heart.

“Well, for God’s sake, what made you say the other?”

“To humble myself,” murmured Lebedeff.

“What on earth do you mean? Oh I if only I knew where Colia was at thismoment!” cried the prince, standing up, as if to go.

“I can tell you all about Colia,” said the young man

“Oh! no, no!” said Lebedeff, hurriedly.

“Colia spent the night here, and this morning went after his father, whomyou let out of prison by paying his debts—Heaven only knows why!Yesterday the general promised to come and lodge here, but he did not appear.Most probably he slept at the hotel close by. No doubt Colia is there, unlesshe has gone to Pavlofsk to see the Epanchins. He had a little money, and wasintending to go there yesterday. He must be either at the hotel or atPavlofsk.”

“At Pavlofsk! He is at Pavlofsk, undoubtedly!” interruptedLebedeff.... “But come—let us go into the garden—we will havecoffee there....” And Lebedeff seized the prince’s arm, and led himfrom the room. They went across the yard, and found themselves in a delightfullittle garden with the trees already in their summer dress of green, thanks tothe unusually fine weather. Lebedeff invited his guest to sit down on a greenseat before a table of the same colour fixed in the earth, and took a seatfacing him. In a few minutes the coffee appeared, and the prince did not refuseit. The host kept his eyes fixed on Muishkin, with an expression of passionateservility.

“I knew nothing about your home before,” said the prince absently,as if he were thinking of something else.

“Poor orphans,” began Lebedeff, his face assuming a mournful air,but he stopped short, for the other looked at him inattentively, as if he hadalready forgotten his own remark. They waited a few minutes in silence, whileLebedeff sat with his eyes fixed mournfully on the young man’s face.

“Well!” said the latter, at last rousing himself. “Ah! yes!You know why I came, Lebedeff. Your letter brought me. Speak! Tell me all aboutit.”

The clerk, rather confused, tried to say something, hesitated, began to speak,and again stopped. The prince looked at him gravely.

“I think I understand, Lukian Timofeyovitch: you were not sure that Ishould come. You did not think I should start at the first word from you, andyou merely wrote to relieve your conscience. However, you see now that I havecome, and I have had enough of trickery. Give up serving, or trying to serve,two masters. Rogojin has been here these three weeks. Have you managed to sellher to him as you did before? Tell me the truth.”

“He discovered everything, the monster... himself......”

“Don’t abuse him; though I dare say you have something to complainof....”

“He beat me, he thrashed me unmercifully!” replied Lebedeffvehemently. “He set a dog on me in Moscow, a bloodhound, a terrible beastthat chased me all down the street.”

“You seem to take me for a child, Lebedeff. Tell me, is it a fact thatshe left him while they were in Moscow?”

“Yes, it is a fact, and this time, let me tell you, on the very eve oftheir marriage! It was a question of minutes when she slipped off toPetersburg. She came to me directly she arrived—‘Save me, Lukian!find me some refuge, and say nothing to the prince!’ She is afraid ofyou, even more than she is of him, and in that she shows her wisdom!” AndLebedeff slily put his finger to his brow as he said the last words.

“And now it is you who have brought them together again?”

“Excellency, how could I, how could I prevent it?”

“That will do. I can find out for myself. Only tell me, where is she now?At his house? With him?”

“Oh no! Certainly not! ‘I am free,’ she says; you know howshe insists on that point. ‘I am entirely free.’ She repeats itover and over again. She is living in Petersburgskaia, with my sister-in-law,as I told you in my letter.”

“She is there at this moment?”

“Yes, unless she has gone to Pavlofsk: the fine weather may have temptedher, perhaps, into the country, with Daria Alexeyevna. ‘I am quitefree,’ she says. Only yesterday she boasted of her freedom to NicolaiArdalionovitch—a bad sign,” added Lebedeff, smiling.

“Colia goes to see her often, does he not?”

“He is a strange boy, thoughtless, and inclined to be indiscreet.”

“Is it long since you saw her?”

“I go to see her every day, every day.”

“Then you were there yesterday?”

“N-no: I have not been these three last days.”

“It is a pity you have taken too much wine, Lebedeff I want to ask yousomething... but...”

“All right! all right! I am not drunk,” replied the clerk,preparing to listen.

“Tell me, how was she when you left her?”

“She is a woman who is seeking...”

“Seeking?”

“She seems always to be searching about, as if she had lost something.The mere idea of her coming marriage disgusts her; she looks on it as aninsult. She cares as much for him as for a piece oforange-peel—not more. Yet I am much mistaken if she does not look on himwith fear and trembling. She forbids his name to be mentioned before her, andthey only meet when unavoidable. He understands, well enough! But it must begone through. She is restless, mocking, deceitful, violent....”

“Deceitful and violent?”

“Yes, violent. I can give you a proof of it. A few days ago she tried topull my hair because I said something that annoyed her. I tried to soothe herby reading the Apocalypse aloud.”

“What?” exclaimed the prince, thinking he had not heard aright.

“By reading the Apocalypse. The lady has a restless imagination, he-he!She has a liking for conversation on serious subjects, of any kind; in factthey please her so much, that it flatters her to discuss them. Now for fifteenyears at least I have studied the Apocalypse, and she agrees with me inthinking that the present is the epoch represented by the third horse, theblack one whose rider holds a measure in his hand. It seems to me thateverything is ruled by measure in our century; all men are clamouring for theirrights; ‘a measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley fora penny.’ But, added to this, men desire freedom of mind and body, a pureheart, a healthy life, and all God’s good gifts. Now by pleading theirrights alone, they will never attain all this, so the white horse, with hisrider Death, comes next, and is followed by Hell. We talked about this matterwhen we met, and it impressed her very much.”

“Do you believe all this?” asked Muishkin, looking curiously at hiscompanion.

“I both believe it and explain it. I am but a poor creature, a beggar, anatom in the scale of humanity. Who has the least respect for Lebedeff? He is atarget for all the world, the butt of any fool who chooses to kick him. But ininterpreting revelation I am the equal of anyone, great as he may be! Such isthe power of the mind and the spirit. I have made a lordly personage tremble,as he sat in his armchair... only by talking to him of things concerning thespirit. Two years ago, on Easter Eve, His Excellency Nil Alexeyovitch, whosesubordinate I was then, wished to hear what I had to say, and sent a message byPeter Zakkaritch to ask me to go to his private room. ‘They tell me youexpound the prophecies relating to Antichrist,’ said he, when we werealone. ‘Is that so?’ ‘Yes,’ I answered unhesitatingly,and I began to give some comments on the Apostle’s allegorical vision. Atfirst he smiled, but when we reached the numerical computations andcorrespondences, he trembled, and turned pale. Then he begged me to close thebook, and sent me away, promising to put my name on the reward list. That tookplace as I said on the eve of Easter, and eight days later his soul returned toGod.”

“What?”

“It is the truth. One evening after dinner he stumbled as he stepped outof his carriage. He fell, and struck his head on the curb, and diedimmediately. He was seventy-three years of age, and had a red face, and whitehair; he deluged himself with scent, and was always smiling like a child. PeterZakkaritch recalled my interview with him, and said, ‘you foretold hisdeath.’”

The prince rose from his seat, and Lebedeff, surprised to see his guestpreparing to go so soon, remarked: “You are not interested?” in arespectful tone.

“I am not very well, and my head aches. Doubtless the effect of thejourney,” replied the prince, frowning.

“You should go into the country,” said Lebedeff timidly.

The prince seemed to be considering the suggestion.

“You see, I am going into the country myself in three days, with mychildren and belongings. The little one is delicate; she needs change of air;and during our absence this house will be done up. I am going toPavlofsk.”

“You are going to Pavlofsk too?” asked the prince sharply.“Everybody seems to be going there. Have you a house in thatneighbourhood?”

“I don’t know of many people going to Pavlofsk, and as for thehouse, Ivan Ptitsin has let me one of his villas rather cheaply. It is apleasant place, lying on a hill surrounded by trees, and one can live there fora mere song. There is good music to be heard, so no wonder it is popular. Ishall stay in the lodge. As to the villa itself...”

“Have you let it?”

“N-no—not exactly.”

“Let it to me,” said the prince.

Now this was precisely what Lebedeff had made up his mind to do in the lastthree minutes. Not that he had any difficulty in finding a tenant; in fact thehouse was occupied at present by a chance visitor, who had told Lebedeff thathe would perhaps take it for the summer months. The clerk knew very well thatthis “perhaps” meant “certainly,” but ashe thought he could make more out of a tenant like the prince, he feltjustified in speaking vaguely about the present inhabitant’s intentions.“This is quite a coincidence,” thought he, and when the subject ofprice was mentioned, he made a gesture with his hand, as if to waive away aquestion of so little importance.

“Oh well, as you like!” said Muishkin. “I will think it over.You shall lose nothing!”

They were walking slowly across the garden.

“But if you... I could...” stammered Lebedeff, “if... if youplease, prince, tell you something on the subject which would interest you, Iam sure.” He spoke in wheedling tones, and wriggled as he walked along.

Muishkin stopped short.

“Daria Alexeyevna also has a villa at Pavlofsk.”

“Well?”

“A certain person is very friendly with her, and intends to visit herpretty often.”

“Well?”

“Aglaya Ivanovna...”

“Oh stop, Lebedeff!” interposed Muishkin, feeling as if he had beentouched on an open wound. “That... that has nothing to do with me. Ishould like to know when you are going to start. The sooner the better as faras I am concerned, for I am at an hotel.”

They had left the garden now, and were crossing the yard on their way to thegate.

“Well, leave your hotel at once and come here; then we can all gotogether to Pavlofsk the day after tomorrow.”

“I will think about it,” said the prince dreamily, and went off.

The clerk stood looking after his guest, struck by his suddenabsent-mindedness. He had not even remembered to say goodbye, and Lebedeff wasthe more surprised at the omission, as he knew by experience how courteous theprince usually was.

III.

It was now close on twelve o’clock.

The prince knew that if he called at the Epanchins’ now he would onlyfind the general, and that the latter might probably carry him straight off toPavlofsk with him; whereas there was one visit he was most anxious to makewithout delay.

So at the risk of missing General Epanchin altogether, and thus postponing hisvisit to Pavlofsk for a day, at least, the prince decided to go and look forthe house he desired to find.

The visit he was about to pay was, in some respects, a risky one. He was in twominds about it, but knowing that the house was in the Gorohovaya, not far fromthe Sadovaya, he determined to go in that direction, and to try to make up hismind on the way.

Arrived at the point where the Gorohovaya crosses the Sadovaya, he wassurprised to find how excessively agitated he was. He had no idea that hisheart could beat so painfully.

One house in the Gorohovaya began to attract his attention long before hereached it, and the prince remembered afterwards that he had said to himself:“That is the house, I’m sure of it.” He came up to it quitecurious to discover whether he had guessed right, and felt that he would bedisagreeably impressed to find that he had actually done so. The house was alarge gloomy-looking structure, without the slightest claim to architecturalbeauty, in colour a dirty green. There are a few of these old houses, builttowards the end of the last century, still standing in that part of St.Petersburg, and showing little change from their original form and colour. Theyare solidly built, and are remarkable for the thickness of their walls, and forthe fewness of their windows, many of which are covered by gratings. On theground-floor there is usually a money-changer’s shop, and the owner livesover it. Without as well as within, the houses seem inhospitable andmysterious—an impression which is difficult to explain, unless it hassomething to do with the actual architectural style. These houses are almostexclusively inhabited by the merchant class.

Arrived at the gate, the prince looked up at the legend over it, which ran:

“House of Rogojin, hereditary and honourable citizen.”

He hesitated no longer; but opened the glazed door at the bottom of the outerstairs and made his way up to the second storey. The place was dark andgloomy-looking; the walls of the stone staircase were painted a dull red.Rogojin and his mother and brother occupied the whole of the second floor. Theservant who opened the door to Muishkin led him, without taking his name,through several rooms and up and down many steps until they arrived at a door,where he knocked.

Parfen Rogojin opened the door himself.

On seeing the prince he became deadly white, and apparently fixed to theground, so that he was more like a marble statue than a human being. The princehad expected some surprise, but Rogojin evidently considered his visit animpossible and miraculous event. He stared with an expression almost of terror,and his lips twisted into a bewildered smile.

“Parfen! perhaps my visit is ill-timed. I—I can go away again ifyou like,” said Muishkin at last, rather embarrassed.

“No, no; it’s all right, come in,” said Parfen, recollectinghimself.

They were evidently on quite familiar terms. In Moscow they had had manyoccasions of meeting; indeed, some few of those meetings were but too vividlyimpressed upon their memories. They had not met now, however, for three months.

The deathlike pallor, and a sort of slight convulsion about the lips, had notleft Rogojin’s face. Though he welcomed his guest, he was still obviouslymuch disturbed. As he invited the prince to sit down near the table, the latterhappened to turn towards him, and was startled by the strange expression on hisface. A painful recollection flashed into his mind. He stood for a time,looking straight at Rogojin, whose eyes seemed to blaze like fire. At lastRogojin smiled, though he still looked agitated and shaken.

“What are you staring at me like that for?” he muttered. “Sitdown.”

The prince took a chair.

“Parfen,” he said, “tell me honestly, did you know that I wascoming to Petersburg or no?”

“Oh, I supposed you were coming,” the other replied, smilingsarcastically, “and I was right in my supposition, you see; but how was Ito know that you would come today?”

A certain strangeness and impatience in his manner impressed the prince veryforcibly.

“And if you had known that I was coming today, why be so irritated aboutit?” he asked, in quiet surprise.

“Why did you ask me?”

“Because when I jumped out of the train this morning, two eyes glared atme just as yours did a moment since.”

“Ha! and whose eyes may they have been?” said Rogojin,suspiciously. It seemed to the prince that he was trembling.

“I don’t know; I thought it was a hallucination. I often havehallucinations nowadays. I feel just as I did five years ago when my fits wereabout to come on.”

“Well, perhaps it was a hallucination, I don’t know,” saidParfen.

He tried to give the prince an affectionate smile, and it seemed to the latteras though in this smile of his something had broken, and that he could not mendit, try as he would.

“Shall you go abroad again then?” he asked, and suddenly added,“Do you remember how we came up in the train from Pskoff together? Youand your cloak and leggings, eh?”

And Rogojin burst out laughing, this time with unconcealed malice, as though hewere glad that he had been able to find an opportunity for giving vent to it.

“Have you quite taken up your quarters here?” asked the prince

“Yes, I’m at home. Where else should I go to?”

“We haven’t met for some time. Meanwhile I have heard things aboutyou which I should not have believed to be possible.”

“What of that? People will say anything,” said Rogojin drily.

“At all events, you’ve disbanded your troop—and you areliving in your own house instead of being fast and loose about the place;that’s all very good. Is this house all yours, or joint property?”

“It is my mother’s. You get to her apartments by thatpassage.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“In the other wing.”

“Is he married?”

“Widower. Why do you want to know all this?”

The prince looked at him, but said nothing. He had suddenly relapsed intomusing, and had probably not heard the question at all. Rogojin did not insistupon an answer, and there was silence for a few moments.

“I guessed which was your house from a hundred yards off,” said theprince at last.

“Why so?”

“I don’t quite know. Your house has the aspect of yourself and allyour family; it bears the stamp of the Rogojin life; but ask me why I think so,and I can tell you nothing. It is nonsense, of course. I am nervous about thiskind of thing troubling me so much. I had never before imagined what sort of ahouse you would live in, and yet no sooner did I set eyes on this one than Isaid to myself that it must be yours.”

“Really!” said Rogojin vaguely, not taking in what the prince meantby his rather obscure remarks.

The room they were now sitting in was a large one, lofty but dark, wellfurnished, principally with writing-tables and desks covered with papers andbooks. A wide sofa covered with red morocco evidently served Rogojin for a bed.On the table beside which the prince had been invited to seat himself lay somebooks; one containing a marker where the reader had left off, was a volume ofSolovieff’s History. Some oil-paintings in worn gilded frames hung on thewalls, but it was impossible to make out what subjects they represented, soblackened were they by smoke and age. One, a life-sized portrait, attracted theprince’s attention. It showed a man of about fifty, wearing a longriding-coat of German cut. He had two medals on his breast; his beard waswhite, short and thin; his face yellow and wrinkled, with a sly, suspiciousexpression in the eyes.

“That is your father, is it not?” asked the prince.

“Yes, it is,” replied Rogojin with an unpleasant smile, as if hehad expected his guest to ask the question, and then to make some disagreeableremark.

“Was he one of the Old Believers?”

“No, he went to church, but to tell the truth he really preferred the oldreligion. This was his study and is now mine. Why did you ask if he were an OldBeliever?”

“Are you going to be married here?”

“Ye-yes!” replied Rogojin, starting at the unexpected question.

“Soon?”

“You know yourself it does not depend on me.”

“Parfen, I am not your enemy, and I do not intend to oppose yourintentions in any way. I repeat this to you now just as I said it to you oncebefore on a very similar occasion. When you were arranging for your projectedmarriage in Moscow, I did not interfere with you—you know I did not. Thatfirst time she fled to me from you, from the very altar almost, and begged meto ‘save her from you.’ Afterwards she ran away from me again, andyou found her and arranged your marriage with her once more; and now, I hear,she has run away from you and come to Petersburg. Is it true? Lebedeff wrote meto this effect, and that’s why I came here. That you had once morearranged matters with Nastasia Philipovna I only learned last night in thetrain from a friend of yours, Zaleshoff—if you wish to know.

“I confess I came here with an object. I wished to persuade Nastasia togo abroad for her health; she requires it. Both mind and body need a changebadly. I did not intend to take her abroad myself. I was going to arrange forher to go without me. Now I tell you honestly, Parfen, if it is true that allis made up between you, I will not so much as set eyes upon her, and I willnever even come to see you again.

“You know quite well that I am telling the truth, because I have alwaysbeen frank with you. I have never concealed my own opinion from you. I havealways told you that I consider a marriage between you and her would be ruin toher. You would also be ruined, and perhaps even more hopelessly. If thismarriage were to be broken off again, I admit I should be greatly pleased; butat the same time I have not the slightest intention of trying to part you. Youmay be quite easy in your mind, and you need not suspect me. You know yourselfwhether I was ever really your rival or not, even when she ran away and came tome.

“There, you are laughing at me—I know why you laugh. It isperfectly true that we lived apart from one another all the time, in differenttowns. I told you before that I did not love her with love, but with pity! Yousaid then that you understood me; did you really understand me or not? Whathatred there is in your eyes at this moment! I came to relieve your mind,because you are dear to me also. I love you very much, Parfen; and now I shallgo away and never come back again. Goodbye.”

The prince rose.

“Stay a little,” said Parfen, not leaving his chair and resting hishead on his right hand. “I haven’t seen you for a long time.”

The prince sat down again. Both were silent for a few moments.

“When you are not with me I hate you, Lef Nicolaievitch. I have loathedyou every day of these three months since I last saw you. By heaven Ihave!” said Rogojin. “I could have poisoned you at any minute. Now,you have been with me but a quarter of an hour, and all my malice seems to havemelted away, and you are as dear to me as ever. Stay here a littlelonger.”

“When I am with you you trust me; but as soon as my back is turned yoususpect me,” said the prince, smiling, and trying to hide his emotion.

“I trust your voice, when I hear you speak. I quite understand that youand I cannot be put on a level, of course.”

“Why did you add that?—There! Now you are cross again,” saidthe prince, wondering.

“We were not asked, you see. We were made different, with differenttastes and feelings, without being consulted. You say you love her with pity. Ihave no pity for her. She hates me—that’s the plain truth of thematter. I dream of her every night, and always that she is laughing at me withanother man. And so she does laugh at me. She thinks no more of marrying methan if she were changing her shoe. Would you believe it, I haven’t seenher for five days, and I daren’t go near her. She asks me what I comefor, as if she were not content with having disgraced me—”

“Disgraced you! How?”

“Just as though you didn’t know! Why, she ran away from me, andwent to you. You admitted it yourself, just now.”

“But surely you do not believe that she...”

“That she did not disgrace me at Moscow with that officer, Zemtuznikoff?I know for certain she did, after having fixed our marriage-day herself!”

“Impossible!” cried the prince.

“I know it for a fact,” replied Rogojin, with conviction.

“It is not like her, you say? My friend, that’s absurd. Perhapssuch an act would horrify her, if she were with you, but it is quite differentwhere I am concerned. She looks on me as vermin. Her affair with Keller wassimply to make a laughing-stock of me. You don’t know what a fool shemade of me in Moscow; and the money I spent over her! The money! themoney!”

“And you can marry her now, Parfen! What will come of it all?” saidthe prince, with dread in his voice.

Rogojin gazed back gloomily, and with a terrible expression in his eyes, butsaid nothing.

“I haven’t been to see her for five days,” he repeated, aftera slight pause. “I’m afraid of being turned out. She saysshe’s still her own mistress, and may turn me off altogether, and goabroad. She told me this herself,” he said, with a peculiar glance atMuishkin. “I think she often does it merely to frighten me. She is alwayslaughing at me, for some reason or other; but at other times she’s angry,and won’t say a word, and that’s what I’m afraid of. I tookher a shawl one day, the like of which she might never have seen, although shedid live in luxury and she gave it away to her maid, Katia. Sometimes when Ican keep away no longer, I steal past the house on the sly, and once I watchedat the gate till dawn—I thought something was going on—and she sawme from the window. She asked me what I should do if I found she had deceivedme. I said, ‘You know well enough.’”

“What did she know?” cried the prince.

“How was I to tell?” replied Rogojin, with an angry laugh. “Idid my best to catch her tripping in Moscow, but did not succeed. However, Icaught hold of her one day, and said: ‘You are engaged to be married intoa respectable family, and do you know what sort of a woman you are?That’s the sort of woman you are,’ I said.”

“You told her that?”

“Yes.”

“Well, go on.”

“She said, ‘I wouldn’t even have you for a footman now, muchless for a husband.’ ‘I shan’t leave the house,’ Isaid, ‘so it doesn’t matter.’ ‘Then I shall callsomebody and have you kicked out,’ she cried. So then I rushed at her,and beat her till she was bruised all over.”

“Impossible!” cried the prince, aghast.

“I tell you it’s true,” said Rogojin quietly, but with eyesablaze with passion.

“Then for a day and a half I neither slept, nor ate, nor drank, and wouldnot leave her. I knelt at her feet: ‘I shall die here,’ I said,‘if you don’t forgive me; and if you have me turned out, I shalldrown myself; because, what should I be without you now?’ She was like amadwoman all that day; now she would cry; now she would threaten me with aknife; now she would abuse me. She called in Zaleshoff and Keller, and showedme to them, shamed me in their presence. ‘Let’s all go to thetheatre,’ she says, ‘and leave him here if he won’tgo—it’s not my business. They’ll give you some tea, ParfenSemeonovitch, while I am away, for you must be hungry.’ She came backfrom the theatre alone. ‘Those cowards wouldn’t come,’ shesaid. ‘They are afraid of you, and tried to frighten me, too. “Hewon’t go away as he came,” they said, “he’ll cut yourthroat—see if he doesn’t.” Now, I shall go to my bedroom, andI shall not even lock my door, just to show you how much I am afraid of you.You must be shown that once for all. Did you have tea?’ ‘No,’I said, ‘and I don’t intend to.’ ‘Ha, ha! you areplaying off your pride against your stomach! That sort of heroism doesn’tsit well on you,’ she said.

“With that she did as she had said she would; she went to bed, and didnot lock her door. In the morning she came out. ‘Are you quitemad?’ she said, sharply. ‘Why, you’ll die of hunger likethis.’ ‘Forgive me,’ I said. ‘No, I won’t, and Iwon’t marry you. I’ve said it. Surely you haven’t sat in thischair all night without sleeping?’ ‘I didn’t sleep,’ Isaid. ‘H’m! how sensible of you. And are you going to have nobreakfast or dinner today?’ ‘I told you I wouldn’t. Forgiveme!’ ‘You’ve no idea how unbecoming this sort of thing is toyou,’ she said, ‘it’s like putting a saddle on a cow’sback. Do you think you are frightening me? My word, what a dreadful thing thatyou should sit here and eat no food! How terribly frightened I am!’ Shewasn’t angry long, and didn’t seem to remember my offence at all. Iwas surprised, for she is a vindictive, resentful woman—but then Ithought that perhaps she despised me too much to feel any resentment againstme. And that’s the truth.

“She came up to me and said, ‘Do you know who the Pope of Romeis?’ ‘I’ve heard of him,’ I said. ‘I supposeyou’ve read the Universal History, Parfen Semeonovitch, haven’tyou?’ she asked. ‘I’ve learned nothing at all,’ I said.‘Then I’ll lend it to you to read. You must know there was a RomanPope once, and he was very angry with a certain Emperor; so the Emperor cameand neither ate nor drank, but knelt before the Pope’s palace till heshould be forgiven. And what sort of vows do you think that Emperor was makingduring all those days on his knees? Stop, I’ll read it to you!’Then she read me a lot of verses, where it said that the Emperor spent all thetime vowing vengeance against the Pope. ‘You don’t mean to say youdon’t approve of the poem, Parfen Semeonovitch,’ she says.‘All you have read out is perfectly true,’ say I.‘Aha!’ says she, ‘you admit it’s true, do you? And youare making vows to yourself that if I marry you, you will remind me of allthis, and take it out of me.’ ‘I don’t know,’ I say,‘perhaps I was thinking like that, and perhaps I was not. I’m notthinking of anything just now.’ ‘What are your thoughts,then?’ ‘I’m thinking that when you rise from your chair andgo past me, I watch you, and follow you with my eyes; if your dress does butrustle, my heart sinks; if you leave the room, I remember every little word andaction, and what your voice sounded like, and what you said. I thought ofnothing all last night, but sat here listening to your sleeping breath, andheard you move a little, twice.’ ‘And as for your attack uponme,’ she says, ‘I suppose you never once thought ofthat?’ ‘Perhaps I did think of it, and perhaps not,’ Isay. ‘And what if I don’t either forgive you or marry, you?’‘I tell you I shall go and drown myself.’ ‘H’m!’she said, and then relapsed into silence. Then she got angry, and went out.‘I suppose you’d murder me before you drowned yourself,though!’ she cried as she left the room.

“An hour later, she came to me again, looking melancholy. ‘I willmarry you, Parfen Semeonovitch,’ she says, not because I’mfrightened of you, but because it’s all the same to me how I ruin myself.And how can I do it better? Sit down; they’ll bring you some dinnerdirectly. And if I do marry you, I’ll be a faithful wife to you—youneed not doubt that.’ Then she thought a bit, and said, ‘At allevents, you are not a flunkey; at first, I thought you were no better than aflunkey.’ And she arranged the wedding and fixed the day straight away onthe spot.

“Then, in another week, she had run away again, and came here toLebedeff’s; and when I found her here, she said to me, ‘I’mnot going to renounce you altogether, but I wish to put off the wedding a bitlonger yet—just as long as I like—for I am still my own mistress;so you may wait, if you like.’ That’s how the matter stands betweenus now. What do you think of all this, Lef Nicolaievitch?”

“‘What do you think of it yourself?” replied the prince,looking sadly at Rogojin.

“As if I can think anything about it! I—” He was about to saymore, but stopped in despair.

The prince rose again, as if he would leave.

“At all events, I shall not interfere with you!” he murmured, asthough making answer to some secret thought of his own.

“I’ll tell you what!” cried Rogojin, and his eyes flashedfire. “I can’t understand your yielding her to me like this; Idon’t understand it. Have you given up loving her altogether? At firstyou suffered badly—I know it—I saw it. Besides, why did you comepost-haste after us? Out of pity, eh? He, he, he!” His mouth curved in amocking smile.

“Do you think I am deceiving you?” asked the prince.

“No! I trust you—but I can’t understand. It seems to me thatyour pity is greater than my love.” A hungry longing to speak his mindout seemed to flash in the man’s eyes, combined with an intense anger.

“Your love is mingled with hatred, and therefore, when your love passes,there will be the greater misery,” said the prince. “I tell youthis, Parfen—”

“What! that I’ll cut her throat, you mean?”

The prince shuddered.

“You’ll hate her afterwards for all your present love, and for allthe torment you are suffering on her account now. What seems to me the mostextraordinary thing is, that she can again consent to marry you, after all thathas passed between you. When I heard the news yesterday, I could hardly bringmyself to believe it. Why, she has run twice from you, from the very altarrails, as it were. She must have some presentiment of evil. What can she wantwith you now? Your money? Nonsense! Besides, I should think you must have madea fairly large hole in your fortune already. Surely it is not because she is sovery anxious to find a husband? She could find many a one besides yourself.Anyone would be better than you, because you will murder her, and I feel sureshe must know that but too well by now. Is it because you love her sopassionately? Indeed, that may be it. I have heard that there are women whowant just that kind of love... but still...” The prince paused,reflectively.

“What are you grinning at my father’s portrait again for?”asked Rogojin, suddenly. He was carefully observing every change in theexpression of the prince’s face.

“I smiled because the idea came into my head that if it were not for thisunhappy passion of yours you might have, and would have, become just such a manas your father, and that very quickly, too. You’d have settled down inthis house of yours with some silent and obedient wife. You would have spokenrarely, trusted no one, heeded no one, and thought of nothing but makingmoney.”

“Laugh away! She said exactly the same, almost word for word, when shesaw my father’s portrait. It’s remarkable how entirely you and sheare at one now-a-days.”

“What, has she been here?” asked the prince with curiosity.

“Yes! She looked long at the portrait and asked all about my father.‘You’d be just such another,’ she said at last, and laughed.‘You have such strong passions, Parfen,’ she said, ‘thatthey’d have taken you to Siberia in no time if you had not, luckily,intelligence as well. For you have a good deal of intelligence.’ (Shesaid this—believe it or not. The first time I ever heard anything of thatsort from her.) ‘You’d soon have thrown up all this rowdyism thatyou indulge in now, and you’d have settled down to quiet, steadymoney-making, because you have little education; and here you’d havestayed just like your father before you. And you’d have loved your moneyso that you’d amass not two million, like him, but ten million; andyou’d have died of hunger on your money bags to finish up with, for youcarry everything to extremes.’ There, that’s exactly word for wordas she said it to me. She never talked to me like that before. She always talksnonsense and laughs when she’s with me. We went all over this old housetogether. ‘I shall change all this,’ I said, ‘or elseI’ll buy a new house for the wedding.’ ‘No, no!’ shesaid, ‘don’t touch anything; leave it all as it is; I shall livewith your mother when I marry you.’

“I took her to see my mother, and she was as respectful and kind asthough she were her own daughter. Mother has been almost demented ever sincefather died—she’s an old woman. She sits and bows from her chair toeveryone she sees. If you left her alone and didn’t feed her for threedays, I don’t believe she would notice it. Well, I took her hand, and Isaid, ‘Give your blessing to this lady, mother, she’s going to bemy wife.’ So Nastasia kissed mother’s hand with great feeling.‘She must have suffered terribly, hasn’t she?’ she said. Shesaw this book here lying before me. ‘What! have you begun to read Russianhistory?’ she asked. She told me once in Moscow, you know, that I hadbetter get Solovieff’s Russian History and read it, because I knewnothing. ‘That’s good,’ she said, ‘you go on like that,reading books. I’ll make you a list myself of the books you ought to readfirst—shall I?’ She had never once spoken to me like this before;it was the first time I felt I could breathe before her like a livingcreature.”

“I’m very, very glad to hear of this, Parfen,” said theprince, with real feeling. “Who knows? Maybe God will yet bring you nearto one another.”

“Never, never!” cried Rogojin, excitedly.

“Look here, Parfen; if you love her so much, surely you must be anxiousto earn her respect? And if you do so wish, surely you may hope to? I said justnow that I considered it extraordinary that she could still be ready to marryyou. Well, though I cannot yet understand it, I feel sure she must have somegood reason, or she wouldn’t do it. She is sure of your love; but besidesthat, she must attribute something else to you—some goodqualities, otherwise the thing would not be. What you have just said confirmsmy words. You say yourself that she found it possible to speak to you quitedifferently from her usual manner. You are suspicious, you know, and jealous,therefore when anything annoying happens to you, you exaggerate itssignificance. Of course, of course, she does not think so ill of you as yousay. Why, if she did, she would simply be walking to death by drowning or bythe knife, with her eyes wide open, when she married you. It is impossible! Asif anybody would go to their death deliberately!”

Rogojin listened to the prince’s excited words with a bitter smile. Hisconviction was, apparently, unalterable.

“How dreadfully you look at me, Parfen!” said the prince, with afeeling of dread.

“Water or the knife?” said the latter, at last. “Ha,ha—that’s exactly why she is going to marry me, because she knowsfor certain that the knife awaits her. Prince, can it be that you don’teven yet see what’s at the root of it all?”

“I don’t understand you.”

“Perhaps he really doesn’t understand me! They do say that you area—you know what! She loves another—there, you can understand thatmuch! Just as I love her, exactly so she loves another man. And that other manis—do you know who? It’s you. There—you didn’t knowthat, eh?”

“I?”

“You, you! She has loved you ever since that day, her birthday! Only shethinks she cannot marry you, because it would be the ruin of you.‘Everybody knows what sort of a woman I am,’ she says. She told meall this herself, to my very face! She’s afraid of disgracing and ruiningyou, she says, but it doesn’t matter about me. She can marry me allright! Notice how much consideration she shows for me!”

“But why did she run away to me, and then again from me to—”

“From you to me? Ha, ha! that’s nothing! Why, she always acts asthough she were in a delirium now-a-days! Either she says, ‘Come on,I’ll marry you! Let’s have the wedding quickly!’ and fixesthe day, and seems in a hurry for it, and when it begins to come near she feelsfrightened; or else some other idea gets into her head—goodness knows!you’ve seen her—you know how she goes on—laughing and cryingand raving! There’s nothing extraordinary about her having run away fromyou! She ran away because she found out how dearly she loved you. She could notbear to be near you. You said just now that I had found her at Moscow, when sheran away from you. I didn’t do anything of the sort; she came to meherself, straight from you. ‘Name the day—I’m ready!’she said. ‘Let’s have some champagne, and go and hear the gipsiessing!’ I tell you she’d have thrown herself into the water long agoif it were not for me! She doesn’t do it because I am, perhaps, even moredreadful to her than the water! She’s marrying me out of spite; if shemarries me, I tell you, it will be for spite!”

“But how do you, how can you—” began the prince, gazing withdread and horror at Rogojin.

“Why don’t you finish your sentence? Shall I tell you what you werethinking to yourself just then? You were thinking, ‘How can she marry himafter this? How can it possibly be permitted?’ Oh, I know what you werethinking about!”

“I didn’t come here for that purpose, Parfen. That was not in mymind—”

“That may be! Perhaps you didn’t come with the idea, but theidea is certainly there now! Ha, ha! well, that’s enough! What areyou upset about? Didn’t you really know it all before? You astonishme!”

“All this is mere jealousy—it is some malady of yours, Parfen! Youexaggerate everything,” said the prince, excessively agitated.“What are you doing?”

“Let go of it!” said Parfen, seizing from the prince’s hand aknife which the latter had at that moment taken up from the table, where it laybeside the history. Parfen replaced it where it had been.

“I seemed to know it—I felt it, when I was coming back toPetersburg,” continued the prince, “I did not want to come, Iwished to forget all this, to uproot it from my memory altogether! Well,good-bye—what is the matter?”

He had absently taken up the knife a second time, and again Rogojin snatched itfrom his hand, and threw it down on the table. It was a plain looking knife,with a bone handle, a blade about eight inches long, and broad in proportion,it did not clasp.

Seeing that the prince was considerably struck by the fact that he had twiceseized this knife out of his hand, Rogojin caught it up with some irritation,put it inside the book, and threw the latter across to another table.

“Do you cut your pages with it, or what?” asked Muishkin, stillrather absently, as though unable to throw off a deep preoccupation into whichthe conversation had thrown him.

“Yes.”

“It’s a garden knife, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Can’t one cut pages with a garden knife?”

“It’s quite new.”

“Well, what of that? Can’t I buy a new knife if I like?”shouted Rogojin furiously, his irritation growing with every word.

The prince shuddered, and gazed fixedly at Parfen. Suddenly he burst outlaughing.

“Why, what an idea!” he said. “I didn’t mean to ask youany of these questions; I was thinking of something quite different! But myhead is heavy, and I seem so absent-minded nowadays! Well, good-bye—Ican’t remember what I wanted to say—good-bye!”

“Not that way,” said Rogojin.

“There, I’ve forgotten that too!”

“This way—come along—I’ll show you.”

IV.

They passed through the same rooms which the prince had traversed on hisarrival. In the largest there were pictures on the walls, portraits andlandscapes of little interest. Over the door, however, there was one of strangeand rather striking shape; it was six or seven feet in length, and not morethan a foot in height. It represented the Saviour just taken from the cross.

The prince glanced at it, but took no further notice. He moved on hastily, asthough anxious to get out of the house. But Rogojin suddenly stopped underneaththe picture.

“My father picked up all these pictures very cheap at auctions, and soon,” he said; “they are all rubbish, except the one over the door,and that is valuable. A man offered five hundred roubles for it lastweek.”

“Yes—that’s a copy of a Holbein,” said the prince,looking at it again, “and a good copy, too, so far as I am able to judge.I saw the picture abroad, and could not forget it—what’s thematter?”

Rogojin had dropped the subject of the picture and walked on. Of course hisstrange frame of mind was sufficient to account for his conduct; but, still, itseemed queer to the prince that he should so abruptly drop a conversationcommenced by himself. Rogojin did not take any notice of his question.

“Lef Nicolaievitch,” said Rogojin, after a pause, during which thetwo walked along a little further, “I have long wished to ask you, do youbelieve in God?”

“How strangely you speak, and how odd you look!” said the other,involuntarily.

“I like looking at that picture,” muttered Rogojin, not noticing,apparently, that the prince had not answered his question.

“That picture! That picture!” cried Muishkin, struck by a suddenidea. “Why, a man’s faith might be ruined by looking at thatpicture!”

“So it is!” said Rogojin, unexpectedly. They had now reached thefront door.

The prince stopped.

“How?” he said. “What do you mean? I was half joking, and youtook me up quite seriously! Why do you ask me whether I believe in God?”

“Oh, no particular reason. I meant to ask you before—many peopleare unbelievers nowadays, especially Russians, I have been told. You ought toknow—you’ve lived abroad.”

Rogojin laughed bitterly as he said these words, and opening the door, held itfor the prince to pass out. Muishkin looked surprised, but went out. The otherfollowed him as far as the landing of the outer stairs, and shut the doorbehind him. They both now stood facing one another, as though oblivious ofwhere they were, or what they had to do next.

“Well, good-bye!” said the prince, holding out his hand.

“Good-bye,” said Rogojin, pressing it hard, but quite mechanically.

The prince made one step forward, and then turned round.

“As to faith,” he said, smiling, and evidently unwilling to leaveRogojin in this state—“as to faith, I had four curiousconversations in two days, a week or so ago. One morning I met a man in thetrain, and made acquaintance with him at once. I had often heard of him as avery learned man, but an atheist; and I was very glad of the opportunity ofconversing with so eminent and clever a person. He doesn’t believe inGod, and he talked a good deal about it, but all the while it appeared to methat he was speaking outside the subject. And it has always struck me,both in speaking to such men and in reading their books, that they do not seemreally to be touching on that at all, though on the surface they may appear todo so. I told him this, but I dare say I did not clearly express what I meant,for he could not understand me.

“That same evening I stopped at a small provincial hotel, and it sohappened that a dreadful murder had been committed there the night before, andeverybody was talking about it. Two peasants—elderly men and oldfriends—had had tea together there the night before, and were to occupythe same bedroom. They were not drunk but one of them had noticed for the firsttime that his friend possessed a silver watch which he was wearing on a chain.He was by no means a thief, and was, as peasants go, a rich man; but this watchso fascinated him that he could not restrain himself. He took a knife, and whenhis friend turned his back, he came up softly behind, raised his eyes toheaven, crossed himself, and saying earnestly—‘God forgive me, forChrist’s sake!’ he cut his friend’s throat like a sheep, andtook the watch.”

Rogojin roared with laughter. He laughed as though he were in a sort of fit. Itwas strange to see him laughing so after the sombre mood he had been in justbefore.

“Oh, I like that! That beats anything!” he cried convulsively,panting for breath. “One is an absolute unbeliever; the other is such athorough-going believer that he murders his friend to the tune of a prayer! Oh,prince, prince, that’s too good for anything! You can’t haveinvented it. It’s the best thing I’ve heard!”

“Next morning I went out for a stroll through the town,” continuedthe prince, so soon as Rogojin was a little quieter, though his laughter stillburst out at intervals, “and soon observed a drunken-looking soldierstaggering about the pavement. He came up to me and said, ‘Buy my silvercross, sir! You shall have it for fourpence—it’s realsilver.’ I looked, and there he held a cross, just taken off his ownneck, evidently, a large tin one, made after the Byzantine pattern. I fishedout fourpence, and put his cross on my own neck, and I could see by his facethat he was as pleased as he could be at the thought that he had succeeded incheating a foolish gentleman, and away he went to drink the value of his cross.At that time everything that I saw made a tremendous impression upon me. I hadunderstood nothing about Russia before, and had only vague and fantasticmemories of it. So I thought, ‘I will wait awhile before I condemn thisJudas. Only God knows what may be hidden in the hearts of drunkards.’

“Well, I went homewards, and near the hotel I came across a poor woman,carrying a child—a baby of some six weeks old. The mother was quite agirl herself. The baby was smiling up at her, for the first time in its life,just at that moment; and while I watched the woman she suddenly crossedherself, oh, so devoutly! ‘What is it, my good woman?’ I asked her.(I was never but asking questions then!) ‘Exactly as is a mother’sjoy when her baby smiles for the first time into her eyes, so is God’sjoy when one of His children turns and prays to Him for the first time, withall his heart!’ This is what that poor woman said to me, almost word forword; and such a deep, refined, truly religious thought it was—a thoughtin which the whole essence of Christianity was expressed in oneflash—that is, the recognition of God as our Father, and of God’sjoy in men as His own children, which is the chief idea of Christ. She was asimple country-woman—a mother, it’s true—and perhaps, whoknows, she may have been the wife of the drunken soldier!

“Listen, Parfen; you put a question to me just now. This is my reply. Theessence of religious feeling has nothing to do with reason, or atheism, orcrime, or acts of any kind—it has nothing to do with thesethings—and never had. There is something besides all this, somethingwhich the arguments of the atheists can never touch. But the principal thing,and the conclusion of my argument, is that this is most clearly seen in theheart of a Russian. This is a conviction which I have gained while I have beenin this Russia of ours. Yes, Parfen! there is work to be done; there is work tobe done in this Russian world! Remember what talks we used to have in Moscow!And I never wished to come here at all; and I never thought to meet you likethis, Parfen! Well, well—good-bye—good-bye! God be with you!”

He turned and went downstairs.

“Lef Nicolaievitch!” cried Parfen, before he had reached the nextlanding. “Have you got that cross you bought from the soldier withyou?”

“Yes, I have,” and the prince stopped again.

“Show it me, will you?”

A new fancy! The prince reflected, and then mounted the stairs once more. Hepulled out the cross without taking it off his neck.

“Give it to me,” said Parfen.

“Why? do you—”

The prince would rather have kept this particular cross.

“I’ll wear it; and you shall have mine. I’ll take it off atonce.”

“You wish to exchange crosses? Very well, Parfen, if that’s thecase, I’m glad enough—that makes us brothers, you know.”

The prince took off his tin cross, Parfen his gold one, and the exchange wasmade.

Parfen was silent. With sad surprise the prince observed that the look ofdistrust, the bitter, ironical smile, had still not altogether left hisnewly-adopted brother’s face. At moments, at all events, it showed itselfbut too plainly,

At last Rogojin took the prince’s hand, and stood so for some moments, asthough he could not make up his mind. Then he drew him along, murmuring almostinaudibly,

“Come!”

They stopped on the landing, and rang the bell at a door opposite toParfen’s own lodging.

An old woman opened to them and bowed low to Parfen, who asked her somequestions hurriedly, but did not wait to hear her answer. He led the prince onthrough several dark, cold-looking rooms, spotlessly clean, with white coversover all the furniture.

Without the ceremony of knocking, Parfen entered a small apartment, furnishedlike a drawing-room, but with a polished mahogany partition dividing one halfof it from what was probably a bedroom. In one corner of this room sat an oldwoman in an arm-chair, close to the stove. She did not look very old, and herface was a pleasant, round one; but she was white-haired and, as one coulddetect at the first glance, quite in her second childhood. She wore a blackwoollen dress, with a black handkerchief round her neck and shoulders, and awhite cap with black ribbons. Her feet were raised on a footstool. Beside hersat another old woman, also dressed in mourning, and silently knitting astocking; this was evidently a companion. They both looked as though they neverbroke the silence. The first old woman, so soon as she saw Rogojin and theprince, smiled and bowed courteously several times, in token of hergratification at their visit.

“Mother,” said Rogojin, kissing her hand, “here is my greatfriend, Prince Muishkin; we have exchanged crosses; he was like a real brotherto me at Moscow at one time, and did a great deal for me. Bless him, mother, asyou would bless your own son. Wait a moment, let me arrange your hands foryou.”

But the old lady, before Parfen had time to touch her, raised her right hand,and, with three fingers held up, devoutly made the sign of the cross threetimes over the prince. She then nodded her head kindly at him once more.

“There, come along, Lef Nicolaievitch; that’s all I brought youhere for,” said Rogojin.

When they reached the stairs again he added:

“She understood nothing of what I said to her, and did not know what Iwanted her to do, and yet she blessed you; that shows she wished to do soherself. Well, goodbye; it’s time you went, and I must go too.”

He opened his own door.

“Well, let me at least embrace you and say goodbye, you strangefellow!” cried the prince, looking with gentle reproach at Rogojin, andadvancing towards him. But the latter had hardly raised his arms when hedropped them again. He could not make up his mind to it; he turned away fromthe prince in order to avoid looking at him. He could not embrace him.

“Don’t be afraid,” he muttered, indistinctly, “though Ihave taken your cross, I shall not murder you for your watch.” So saying,he laughed suddenly, and strangely. Then in a moment his face becametransfigured; he grew deadly white, his lips trembled, his eyes burned likefire. He stretched out his arms and held the prince tightly to him, and said ina strangled voice:

“Well, take her! It’s Fate! She’s yours. I surrender her....Remember Rogojin!” And pushing the prince from him, without looking backat him, he hurriedly entered his own flat, and banged the door.

V.

It was late now, nearly half-past two, and the prince did not find GeneralEpanchin at home. He left a card, and determined to look up Colia, who had aroom at a small hotel near. Colia was not in, but he was informed that he mightbe back shortly, and had left word that if he were not in by half-past three itwas to be understood that he had gone to Pavlofsk to General Epanchin’s,and would dine there. The prince decided to wait till half-past three, andordered some dinner. At half-past three there was no sign of Colia. The princewaited until four o’clock, and then strolled off mechanically whereverhis feet should carry him.

In early summer there are often magnificent days in St.Petersburg—bright, hot and still. This happened to be such a day.

For some time the prince wandered about without aim or object. He did not knowthe town well. He stopped to look about him on bridges, at street corners. Heentered a confectioner’s shop to rest, once. He was in a state of nervousexcitement and perturbation; he noticed nothing and no one; and he felt acraving for solitude, to be alone with his thoughts and his emotions, and togive himself up to them passively. He loathed the idea of trying to answer thequestions that would rise up in his heart and mind. “I am not to blamefor all this,” he thought to himself, half unconsciously.

Towards six o’clock he found himself at the station of the Tsarsko-Selskirailway.

He was tired of solitude now; a new rush of feeling took hold of him, and aflood of light chased away the gloom, for a moment, from his soul. He took aticket to Pavlofsk, and determined to get there as fast as he could, butsomething stopped him; a reality, and not a fantasy, as he was inclined tothink it. He was about to take his place in a carriage, when he suddenly threwaway his ticket and came out again, disturbed and thoughtful. A few momentslater, in the street, he recalled something that had bothered him all theafternoon. He caught himself engaged in a strange occupation which he nowrecollected he had taken up at odd moments for the last few hours—it waslooking about all around him for something, he did not know what. He hadforgotten it for a while, half an hour or so, and now, suddenly, the uneasysearch had recommenced.

But he had hardly become conscious of this curious phenomenon, when anotherrecollection suddenly swam through his brain, interesting him for the moment,exceedingly. He remembered that the last time he had been engaged in lookingaround him for the unknown something, he was standing before a cutler’sshop, in the window of which were exposed certain goods for sale. He wasextremely anxious now to discover whether this shop and these goods reallyexisted, or whether the whole thing had been a hallucination.

He felt in a very curious condition today, a condition similar to that whichhad preceded his fits in bygone years.

He remembered that at such times he had been particularly absentminded, andcould not discriminate between objects and persons unless he concentratedspecial attention upon them.

He remembered seeing something in the window marked at sixty copecks.Therefore, if the shop existed and if this object were really in the window, itwould prove that he had been able to concentrate his attention on this articleat a moment when, as a general rule, his absence of mind would have been toogreat to admit of any such concentration; in fact, very shortly after he hadleft the railway station in such a state of agitation.

So he walked back looking about him for the shop, and his heart beat withintolerable impatience. Ah! here was the very shop, and there was the articlemarked “60 cop.” Of course, it’s sixty copecks, he thought,and certainly worth no more. This idea amused him and he laughed.

But it was a hysterical laugh; he was feeling terribly oppressed. He rememberedclearly that just here, standing before this window, he had suddenly turnedround, just as earlier in the day he had turned and found the dreadful eyes ofRogojin fixed upon him. Convinced, therefore, that in this respect at allevents he had been under no delusion, he left the shop and went on.

This must be thought out; it was clear that there had been no hallucination atthe station then, either; something had actually happened to him, on bothoccasions; there was no doubt of it. But again a loathing for all mentalexertion overmastered him; he would not think it out now, he would put it offand think of something else. He remembered that during his epileptic fits, orrather immediately preceding them, he had always experienced a moment or twowhen his whole heart, and mind, and body seemed to wake up to vigour and light;when he became filled with joy and hope, and all his anxieties seemed to beswept away for ever; these moments were but presentiments, as it were, of theone final second (it was never more than a second) in which the fit came uponhim. That second, of course, was inexpressible. When his attack was over, andthe prince reflected on his symptoms, he used to say to himself: “Thesemoments, short as they are, when I feel such extreme consciousness of myself,and consequently more of life than at other times, are due only to thedisease—to the sudden rupture of normal conditions. Therefore they arenot really a higher kind of life, but a lower.” This reasoning, however,seemed to end in a paradox, and lead to the furtherconsideration:—“What matter though it be only disease, an abnormaltension of the brain, if when I recall and analyze the moment, it seems to havebeen one of harmony and beauty in the highest degree—an instant ofdeepest sensation, overflowing with unbounded joy and rapture, ecstaticdevotion, and completest life?” Vague though this sounds, it wasperfectly comprehensible to Muishkin, though he knew that it was but a feebleexpression of his sensations.

That there was, indeed, beauty and harmony in those abnormal moments, that theyreally contained the highest synthesis of life, he could not doubt, nor evenadmit the possibility of doubt. He felt that they were not analogous to thefantastic and unreal dreams due to intoxication by hashish, opium or wine. Ofthat he could judge, when the attack was over. These instants werecharacterized—to define it in a word—by an intense quickening ofthe sense of personality. Since, in the last conscious moment preceding theattack, he could say to himself, with full understanding of his words: “Iwould give my whole life for this one instant,” then doubtless to him itreally was worth a lifetime. For the rest, he thought the dialectical part ofhis argument of little worth; he saw only too clearly that the result of theseecstatic moments was stupefaction, mental darkness, idiocy. No argument waspossible on that point. His conclusion, his estimate of the“moment,” doubtless contained some error, yet the reality of thesensation troubled him. What’s more unanswerable than a fact? And thisfact had occurred. The prince had confessed unreservedly to himself that thefeeling of intense beatitude in that crowded moment made the moment worth alifetime. “I feel then,” he said one day to Rogojin in Moscow,“I feel then as if I understood those amazing words—‘Thereshall be no more time.’” And he added with a smile: “No doubtthe epileptic Mahomet refers to that same moment when he says that he visitedall the dwellings of Allah, in less time than was needed to empty his pitcherof water.” Yes, he had often met Rogojin in Moscow, and many were thesubjects they discussed. “He told me I had been a brother to him,”thought the prince. “He said so today, for the first time.”

He was sitting in the Summer Garden on a seat under a tree, and his mind dwelton the matter. It was about seven o’clock, and the place was empty. Thestifling atmosphere foretold a storm, and the prince felt a certain charm inthe contemplative mood which possessed him. He found pleasure, too, in gazingat the exterior objects around him. All the time he was trying to forget something, to escape from some idea that haunted him; but melancholy thoughts cameback, though he would so willingly have escaped from them. He rememberedsuddenly how he had been talking to the waiter, while he dined, about arecently committed murder which the whole town was discussing, and as hethought of it something strange came over him. He was seized all at once by aviolent desire, almost a temptation, against which he strove in vain.

He jumped up and walked off as fast as he could towards the “PetersburgSide.” [One of the quarters of St. Petersburg.] He had asked someone, alittle while before, to show him which was the Petersburg Side, on the banks ofthe Neva. He had not gone there, however; and he knew very well that it was ofno use to go now, for he would certainly not find Lebedeff’s relation athome. He had the address, but she must certainly have gone to Pavlofsk, orColia would have let him know. If he were to go now, it would merely be out ofcuriosity, but a sudden, new idea had come into his head.

However, it was something to move on and know where he was going. A minutelater he was still moving on, but without knowing anything. He could no longerthink out his new idea. He tried to take an interest in all he saw; in the sky,in the Neva. He spoke to some children he met. He felt his epileptic conditionbecoming more and more developed. The evening was very close; thunder was heardsome way off.

The prince was haunted all that day by the face of Lebedeff’s nephew whomhe had seen for the first time that morning, just as one is haunted at times bysome persistent musical refrain. By a curious association of ideas, the youngman always appeared as the murderer of whom Lebedeff had spoken whenintroducing him to Muishkin. Yes, he had read something about the murder, andthat quite recently. Since he came to Russia, he had heard many stories of thiskind, and was interested in them. His conversation with the waiter, an hourago, chanced to be on the subject of this murder of the Zemarins, and thelatter had agreed with him about it. He thought of the waiter again, anddecided that he was no fool, but a steady, intelligent man: though, said he tohimself, “God knows what he may really be; in a country with which one isunfamiliar it is difficult to understand the people one meets.” He wasbeginning to have a passionate faith in the Russian soul, however, and whatdiscoveries he had made in the last six months, what unexpected discoveries!But every soul is a mystery, and depths of mystery lie in the soul of aRussian. He had been intimate with Rogojin, for example, and a brotherlyfriendship had sprung up between them—yet did he really know him? Whatchaos and ugliness fills the world at times! What a self-satisfied rascal isthat nephew of Lebedeff’s! “But what am I thinking,”continued the prince to himself. “Can he really have committed thatcrime? Did he kill those six persons? I seem to be confusing things... howstrange it all is.... My head goes round... And Lebedeff’sdaughter—how sympathetic and charming her face was as she held the childin her arms! What an innocent look and child-like laugh she had! It is curiousthat I had forgotten her until now. I expect Lebedeff adores her—and Ireally believe, when I think of it, that as sure as two and two make four, heis fond of that nephew, too!”

Well, why should he judge them so hastily! Could he really say what they were,after one short visit? Even Lebedeff seemed an enigma today. Did he expect tofind him so? He had never seen him like that before. Lebedeff and the Comtessedu Barry! Good Heavens! If Rogojin should really kill someone, it would not, atany rate, be such a senseless, chaotic affair. A knife made to a specialpattern, and six people killed in a kind of delirium. But Rogojin also had aknife made to a special pattern. Can it be that Rogojin wishes to murderanyone? The prince began to tremble violently. “It is a crime on my partto imagine anything so base, with such cynical frankness.” His facereddened with shame at the thought; and then there came across him as in aflash the memory of the incidents at the Pavlofsk station, and at the otherstation in the morning; and the question asked him by Rogojin about theeyes and Rogojin’s cross, that he was even now wearing; and thebenediction of Rogojin’s mother; and his embrace on the darkenedstaircase—that last supreme renunciation—and now, to find himselffull of this new “idea,” staring into shop-windows, and lookinground for things—how base he was!

Despair overmastered his soul; he would not go on, he would go back to hishotel; he even turned and went the other way; but a moment after he changed hismind again and went on in the old direction.

Why, here he was on the Petersburg Side already, quite close to the house!Where was his “idea”? He was marching along without it now. Yes,his malady was coming back, it was clear enough; all this gloom and heaviness,all these “ideas,” were nothing more nor less than a fit coming on;perhaps he would have a fit this very day.

But just now all the gloom and darkness had fled, his heart felt full of joyand hope, there was no such thing as doubt. And yes, he hadn’t seen herfor so long; he really must see her. He wished he could meet Rogojin; he wouldtake his hand, and they would go to her together. His heart was pure, he was norival of Parfen’s. Tomorrow, he would go and tell him that he had seenher. Why, he had only come for the sole purpose of seeing her, all the way fromMoscow! Perhaps she might be here still, who knows? She might not have goneaway to Pavlofsk yet.

Yes, all this must be put straight and above-board, there must be no morepassionate renouncements, such as Rogojin’s. It must all be clear as day.Cannot Rogojin’s soul bear the light? He said he did not love her withsympathy and pity; true, he added that “your pity is greater than mylove,” but he was not quite fair on himself there. Kin! Rogojin reading abook—wasn’t that sympathy beginning? Did it not show that hecomprehended his relations with her? And his story of waiting day and night forher forgiveness? That didn’t look quite like passion alone.

And as to her face, could it inspire nothing but passion? Could her faceinspire passion at all now? Oh, it inspired suffering, grief, overwhelminggrief of the soul! A poignant, agonizing memory swept over the prince’sheart.

Yes, agonizing. He remembered how he had suffered that first day when hethought he observed in her the symptoms of madness. He had almost fallen intodespair. How could he have lost his hold upon her when she ran away from him toRogojin? He ought to have run after her himself, rather than wait for news ashe had done. Can Rogojin have failed to observe, up to now, that she is mad?Rogojin attributes her strangeness to other causes, to passion! What insanejealousy! What was it he had hinted at in that suggestion of his? The princesuddenly blushed, and shuddered to his very heart.

But why recall all this? There was insanity on both sides. For him, the prince,to love this woman with passion, was unthinkable. It would be cruel andinhuman. Yes. Rogojin is not fair to himself; he has a large heart; he hasaptitude for sympathy. When he learns the truth, and finds what a pitiablebeing is this injured, broken, half-insane creature, he will forgive her allthe torment she has caused him. He will become her slave, her brother, herfriend. Compassion will teach even Rogojin, it will show him how to reason.Compassion is the chief law of human existence. Oh, how guilty he felt towardsRogojin! And, for a few warm, hasty words spoken in Moscow, Parfen had calledhim “brother,” while he—but no, this was delirium! It wouldall come right! That gloomy Parfen had implied that his faith was waning; hemust suffer dreadfully. He said he liked to look at that picture; it was notthat he liked it, but he felt the need of looking at it. Rogojin was not merelya passionate soul; he was a fighter. He was fighting for the restoration of hisdying faith. He must have something to hold on to and believe, and someone tobelieve in. What a strange picture that of Holbein’s is! Why, this is thestreet, and here’s the house, No. 16.

The prince rang the bell, and asked for Nastasia Philipovna. The lady of thehouse came out, and stated that Nastasia had gone to stay with Daria Alexeyevnaat Pavlofsk, and might be there some days.

Madame Filisoff was a little woman of forty, with a cunning face, and crafty,piercing eyes. When, with an air of mystery, she asked her visitor’sname, he refused at first to answer, but in a moment he changed his mind, andleft strict instructions that it should be given to Nastasia Philipovna. Theurgency of his request seemed to impress Madame Filisoff, and she put on aknowing expression, as if to say, “You need not be afraid, I quiteunderstand.” The prince’s name evidently was a great surprise toher. He stood and looked absently at her for a moment, then turned, and tookthe road back to his hotel. But he went away not as he came. A great change hadsuddenly come over him. He went blindly forward; his knees shook under him; hewas tormented by “ideas”; his lips were blue, and trembled with afeeble, meaningless smile. His demon was upon him once more.

What had happened to him? Why was his brow clammy with drops of moisture, hisknees shaking beneath him, and his soul oppressed with a cold gloom? Was itbecause he had just seen these dreadful eyes again? Why, he had left the SummerGarden on purpose to see them; that had been his “idea.” He hadwished to assure himself that he would see them once more at that house. Thenwhy was he so overwhelmed now, having seen them as he expected? just as thoughhe had not expected to see them! Yes, they were the very same eyes; and nodoubt about it. The same that he had seen in the crowd that morning at thestation, the same that he had surprised in Rogojin’s rooms some hourslater, when the latter had replied to his inquiry with a sneering laugh,“Well, whose eyes were they?” Then for the third time they hadappeared just as he was getting into the train on his way to see Aglaya. He hadhad a strong impulse to rush up to Rogojin, and repeat his words of the morning“Whose eyes are they?” Instead he had fled from the station, andknew nothing more, until he found himself gazing into the window of acutler’s shop, and wondering if a knife with a staghorn handle would costmore than sixty copecks. And as the prince sat dreaming in the Summer Gardenunder a lime-tree, a wicked demon had come and whispered in his car:“Rogojin has been spying upon you and watching you all the morning in afrenzy of desperation. When he finds you have not gone to Pavlofsk—aterrible discovery for him—he will surely go at once to that house inPetersburg Side, and watch for you there, although only this morning you gaveyour word of honour not to see her, and swore that you had not come toPetersburg for that purpose.” And thereupon the prince had hastened offto that house, and what was there in the fact that he had met Rogojin there? Hehad only seen a wretched, suffering creature, whose state of mind was gloomyand miserable, but most comprehensible. In the morning Rogojin had seemed to betrying to keep out of the way; but at the station this afternoon he had stoodout, he had concealed himself, indeed, less than the prince himself; at thehouse, now, he had stood fifty yards off on the other side of the road, withfolded hands, watching, plainly in view and apparently desirous of being seen.He had stood there like an accuser, like a judge, not like a—a what?

And why had not the prince approached him and spoken to him, instead of turningaway and pretending he had seen nothing, although their eyes met? (Yes, theireyes had met, and they had looked at each other.) Why, he had himself wished totake Rogojin by the hand and go in together, he had himself determined to go tohim on the morrow and tell him that he had seen her, he had repudiated thedemon as he walked to the house, and his heart had been full of joy.

Was there something in the whole aspect of the man, today, sufficient tojustify the prince’s terror, and the awful suspicions of his demon?Something seen, but indescribable, which filled him with dreadfulpresentiments? Yes, he was convinced of it—convinced of what? (Oh, howmean and hideous of him to feel this conviction, this presentiment! How heblamed himself for it!) “Speak if you dare, and tell me, what is thepresentiment?” he repeated to himself, over and over again. “Put itinto words, speak out clearly and distinctly. Oh, miserable coward that Iam!” The prince flushed with shame for his own baseness. “How shallI ever look this man in the face again? My God, what a day! And what anightmare, what a nightmare!”

There was a moment, during this long, wretched walk back from the PetersburgSide, when the prince felt an irresistible desire to go straight toRogojin’s, wait for him, embrace him with tears of shame and contrition,and tell him of his distrust, and finish with it—once for all.

But here he was back at his hotel.

How often during the day he had thought of this hotel with loathing—itscorridor, its rooms, its stairs. How he had dreaded coming back to it, for somereason.

“What a regular old woman I am today,” he had said to himself eachtime, with annoyance. “I believe in every foolish presentiment that comesinto my head.”

He stopped for a moment at the door; a great flush of shame came over him.“I am a coward, a wretched coward,” he said, and moved forwardagain; but once more he paused.

Among all the incidents of the day, one recurred to his mind to the exclusionof the rest; although now that his self-control was regained, and he was nolonger under the influence of a nightmare, he was able to think of it calmly.It concerned the knife on Rogojin’s table. “Why should not Rogojinhave as many knives on his table as he chooses?” thought the prince,wondering at his suspicions, as he had done when he found himself looking intothe cutler’s window. “What could it have to do with me?” hesaid to himself again, and stopped as if rooted to the ground by a kind ofparalysis of limb such as attacks people under the stress of some humiliatingrecollection.

The doorway was dark and gloomy at any time; but just at this moment it wasrendered doubly so by the fact that the thunder-storm had just broken, and therain was coming down in torrents.

And in the semi-darkness the prince distinguished a man standing close to thestairs, apparently waiting.

There was nothing particularly significant in the fact that a man was standingback in the doorway, waiting to come out or go upstairs; but the prince felt anirresistible conviction that he knew this man, and that it was Rogojin. The manmoved on up the stairs; a moment later the prince passed up them, too. Hisheart froze within him. “In a minute or two I shall know all,” hethought.

The staircase led to the first and second corridors of the hotel, along whichlay the guests’ bedrooms. As is often the case in Petersburg houses, itwas narrow and very dark, and turned around a massive stone column.

On the first landing, which was as small as the necessary turn of the stairsallowed, there was a niche in the column, about half a yard wide, and in thisniche the prince felt convinced that a man stood concealed. He thought he coulddistinguish a figure standing there. He would pass by quickly and not look. Hetook a step forward, but could bear the uncertainty no longer and turned hishead.

The eyes—the same two eyes—met his! The man concealed in the nichehad also taken a step forward. For one second they stood face to face.

Suddenly the prince caught the man by the shoulder and twisted him roundtowards the light, so that he might see his face more clearly.

Rogojin’s eyes flashed, and a smile of insanity distorted hiscountenance. His right hand was raised, and something glittered in it. Theprince did not think of trying to stop it. All he could remember afterwards wasthat he seemed to have called out:

“Parfen! I won’t believe it.”

Next moment something appeared to burst open before him: a wonderful innerlight illuminated his soul. This lasted perhaps half a second, yet hedistinctly remembered hearing the beginning of the wail, the strange, dreadfulwail, which burst from his lips of its own accord, and which no effort of willon his part could suppress.

Next moment he was absolutely unconscious; black darkness blotted outeverything.

He had fallen in an epileptic fit.

As is well known, these fits occur instantaneously. The face, especially theeyes, become terribly disfigured, convulsions seize the limbs, a terrible crybreaks from the sufferer, a wail from which everything human seems to beblotted out, so that it is impossible to believe that the man who has justfallen is the same who emitted the dreadful cry. It seems more as though someother being, inside the stricken one, had cried. Many people have borne witnessto this impression; and many cannot behold an epileptic fit without a feelingof mysterious terror and dread.

Such a feeling, we must suppose, overtook Rogojin at this moment, and saved theprince’s life. Not knowing that it was a fit, and seeing his victimdisappear head foremost into the darkness, hearing his head strike the stonesteps below with a crash, Rogojin rushed downstairs, skirting the body, andflung himself headlong out of the hotel, like a raving madman.

The prince’s body slipped convulsively down the steps till it rested atthe bottom. Very soon, in five minutes or so, he was discovered, and a crowdcollected around him.

A pool of blood on the steps near his head gave rise to grave fears. Was it acase of accident, or had there been a crime? It was, however, soon recognizedas a case of epilepsy, and identification and proper measures for restorationfollowed one another, owing to a fortunate circumstance. Colia Ivolgin had comeback to his hotel about seven o’clock, owing to a sudden impulse whichmade him refuse to dine at the Epanchins’, and, finding a note from theprince awaiting him, had sped away to the latter’s address. Arrivedthere, he ordered a cup of tea and sat sipping it in the coffee-room. Whilethere he heard excited whispers of someone just found at the bottom of thestairs in a fit; upon which he had hurried to the spot, with a presentiment ofevil, and at once recognized the prince.

The sufferer was immediately taken to his room, and though he partiallyregained consciousness, he lay long in a semi-dazed condition.

The doctor stated that there was no danger to be apprehended from the wound onthe head, and as soon as the prince could understand what was going on aroundhim, Colia hired a carriage and took him away to Lebedeff’s. There he wasreceived with much cordiality, and the departure to the country was hastened onhis account. Three days later they were all at Pavlofsk.

VI.

Lebedeff’s country-house was not large, but it was pretty and convenient,especially the part which was let to the prince.

A row of orange and lemon trees and jasmines, planted in green tubs, stood onthe fairly wide terrace. According to Lebedeff, these trees gave the house amost delightful aspect. Some were there when he bought it, and he was socharmed with the effect that he promptly added to their number. When the tubscontaining these plants arrived at the villa and were set in their places,Lebedeff kept running into the street to enjoy the view of the house, and everytime he did so the rent to be demanded from the future tenant went up with abound.

This country villa pleased the prince very much in his state of physical andmental exhaustion. On the day that they left for Pavlofsk, that is the dayafter his attack, he appeared almost well, though in reality he felt very farfrom it. The faces of those around him for the last three days had made apleasant impression. He was pleased to see, not only Colia, who had become hisinseparable companion, but Lebedeff himself and all the family, except thenephew, who had left the house. He was also glad to receive a visit fromGeneral Ivolgin, before leaving St. Petersburg.

It was getting late when the party arrived at Pavlofsk, but several peoplecalled to see the prince, and assembled in the verandah. Gania was the first toarrive. He had grown so pale and thin that the prince could hardly recognizehim. Then came Varia and Ptitsin, who were rusticating in the neighbourhood. Asto General Ivolgin, he scarcely budged from Lebedeff’s house, and seemedto have moved to Pavlofsk with him. Lebedeff did his best to keep ArdalionAlexandrovitch by him, and to prevent him from invading the prince’squarters. He chatted with him confidentially, so that they might have beentaken for old friends. During those three days the prince had noticed that theyfrequently held long conversations; he often heard their voices raised inargument on deep and learned subjects, which evidently pleased Lebedeff. Heseemed as if he could not do without the general. But it was not only ArdalionAlexandrovitch whom Lebedeff kept out of the prince’s way. Since they hadcome to the villa, he treated his own family the same. Upon the pretext thathis tenant needed quiet, he kept him almost in isolation, and Muishkinprotested in vain against this excess of zeal. Lebedeff stamped his feet at hisdaughters and drove them away if they attempted to join the prince on theterrace; not even Vera was excepted.

“They will lose all respect if they are allowed to be so free and easy;besides it is not proper for them,” he declared at last, in answer to adirect question from the prince.

“Why on earth not?” asked the latter. “Really, you know, youare making yourself a nuisance, by keeping guard over me like this. I get boredall by myself; I have told you so over and over again, and you get on my nervesmore than ever by waving your hands and creeping in and out in the mysteriousway you do.”

It was a fact that Lebedeff, though he was so anxious to keep everyone elsefrom disturbing the patient, was continually in and out of the prince’sroom himself. He invariably began by opening the door a crack and peering in tosee if the prince was there, or if he had escaped; then he would creep softlyup to the arm-chair, sometimes making Muishkin jump by his sudden appearance.He always asked if the patient wanted anything, and when the latter repliedthat he only wanted to be left in peace, he would turn away obediently and makefor the door on tip-toe, with deprecatory gestures to imply that he had onlyjust looked in, that he would not speak a word, and would go away and notintrude again; which did not prevent him from reappearing in ten minutes or aquarter of an hour. Colia had free access to the prince, at which Lebedeff wasquite disgusted and indignant. He would listen at the door for half an hour ata time while the two were talking. Colia found this out, and naturally told theprince of his discovery.

“Do you think yourself my master, that you try to keep me under lock andkey like this?” said the prince to Lebedeff. “In the country, atleast, I intend to be free, and you may make up your mind that I mean to seewhom I like, and go where I please.”

“Why, of course,” replied the clerk, gesticulating with his hands.

The prince looked him sternly up and down.

“Well, Lukian Timofeyovitch, have you brought the little cupboard thatyou had at the head of your bed with you here?”

“No, I left it where it was.”

“Impossible!”

“It cannot be moved; you would have to pull the wall down, it is sofirmly fixed.”

“Perhaps you have one like it here?”

“I have one that is even better, much better; that is really why I boughtthis house.”

“Ah! What visitor did you turn away from my door, about an hourago?”

“The-the general. I would not let him in; there is no need for him tovisit you, prince... I have the deepest esteem for him, he is a—a greatman. You don’t believe it? Well, you will see, and yet, most excellentprince, you had much better not receive him.”

“May I ask why? and also why you walk about on tiptoe and always seem asif you were going to whisper a secret in my ear whenever you come nearme?”

“I am vile, vile; I know it!” cried Lebedeff, beating his breastwith a contrite air. “But will not the general be too hospitable foryou?”

“Too hospitable?”

“Yes. First, he proposes to come and live in my house. Well and good; buthe sticks at nothing; he immediately makes himself one of the family. We havetalked over our respective relations several times, and discovered that we areconnected by marriage. It seems also that you are a sort of nephew on hismother’s side; he was explaining it to me again only yesterday. If youare his nephew, it follows that I must also be a relation of yours, mostexcellent prince. Never mind about that, it is only a foible; but just now heassured me that all his life, from the day he was made an ensign to the 11th oflast June, he has entertained at least two hundred guests at his table everyday. Finally, he went so far as to say that they never rose from the table;they dined, supped, and had tea, for fifteen hours at a stretch. This went onfor thirty years without a break; there was barely time to change thetable-cloth; directly one person left, another took his place. On feast-days heentertained as many as three hundred guests, and they numbered seven hundred onthe thousandth anniversary of the foundation of the Russian Empire. It amountsto a passion with him; it makes one uneasy to hear of it. It is terrible tohave to entertain people who do things on such a scale. That is why I wonderwhether such a man is not too hospitable for you and me.”

“But you seem to be on the best of terms with him?”

“Quite fraternal—I look upon it as a joke. Let us bebrothers-in-law, it is all the same to me,—rather an honour than not. Butin spite of the two hundred guests and the thousandth anniversary of theRussian Empire, I can see that he is a very remarkable man. I am quite sincere.You said just now that I always looked as if I was going to tell you a secret;you are right. I have a secret to tell you: a certain person has just let meknow that she is very anxious for a secret interview with you.”

“Why should it be secret? Not at all; I will call on her myselftomorrow.”

“No, oh no!” cried Lebedeff, waving his arms; “if she isafraid, it is not for the reason you think. By the way, do you know that themonster comes every day to inquire after your health?”

“You call him a monster so often that it makes me suspicious.”

“You must have no suspicions, none whatever,” said Lebedeffquickly. “I only want you to know that the person in question is notafraid of him, but of something quite, quite different.”

“What on earth is she afraid of, then? Tell me plainly, without any morebeating about the bush,” said the prince, exasperated by theother’s mysterious grimaces.

“Ah that is the secret,” said Lebedeff, with a smile.

“Whose secret?”

“Yours. You forbade me yourself to mention it before you, most excellentprince,” murmured Lebedeff. Then, satisfied that he had worked upMuishkin’s curiosity to the highest pitch, he added abruptly: “Sheis afraid of Aglaya Ivanovna.”

The prince frowned for a moment in silence, and then said suddenly:

“Really, Lebedeff, I must leave your house. Where are GavrilaArdalionovitch and the Ptitsins? Are they here? Have you chased them away,too?”

“They are coming, they are coming; and the general as well. I will openall the doors; I will call all my daughters, all of them, this veryminute,” said Lebedeff in a low voice, thoroughly frightened, and wavinghis hands as he ran from door to door.

At that moment Colia appeared on the terrace; he announced that LizabethaProkofievna and her three daughters were close behind him.

Moved by this news, Lebedeff hurried up to the prince.

“Shall I call the Ptitsins, and Gavrila Ardalionovitch? Shall I let thegeneral in?” he asked.

“Why not? Let in anyone who wants to see me. I assure you, Lebedeff, youhave misunderstood my position from the very first; you have been wrong allalong. I have not the slightest reason to hide myself from anyone,”replied the prince gaily.

Seeing him laugh, Lebedeff thought fit to laugh also, and though much agitatedhis satisfaction was quite visible.

Colia was right; the Epanchin ladies were only a few steps behind him. As theyapproached the terrace other visitors appeared from Lebedeff’s side ofthe house—the Ptitsins, Gania, and Ardalion Alexandrovitch.

The Epanchins had only just heard of the prince’s illness and of hispresence in Pavlofsk, from Colia; and up to this time had been in a state ofconsiderable bewilderment about him. The general brought the prince’scard down from town, and Mrs. Epanchin had felt convinced that he himself wouldfollow his card at once; she was much excited.

In vain the girls assured her that a man who had not written for six monthswould not be in such a dreadful hurry, and that probably he had enough to do intown without needing to bustle down to Pavlofsk to see them. Their mother wasquite angry at the very idea of such a thing, and announced her absoluteconviction that he would turn up the next day at latest.

So next day the prince was expected all the morning, and at dinner, tea, andsupper; and when he did not appear in the evening, Mrs. Epanchin quarrelledwith everyone in the house, finding plenty of pretexts without so much asmentioning the prince’s name.

On the third day there was no talk of him at all, until Aglaya remarked atdinner: “Mamma is cross because the prince hasn’t turned up,”to which the general replied that it was not his fault.

Mrs. Epanchin misunderstood the observation, and rising from her place she leftthe room in majestic wrath. In the evening, however, Colia came with the storyof the prince’s adventures, so far as he knew them. Mrs. Epanchin wastriumphant; although Colia had to listen to a long lecture. “He idlesabout here the whole day long, one can’t get rid of him; and then when heis wanted he does not come. He might have sent a line if he did not wish toinconvenience himself.”

At the words “one can’t get rid of him,” Colia was veryangry, and nearly flew into a rage; but he resolved to be quiet for the timeand show his resentment later. If the words had been less offensive he mighthave forgiven them, so pleased was he to see Lizabetha Prokofievna worried andanxious about the prince’s illness.

She would have insisted on sending to Petersburg at once, for a certain greatmedical celebrity; but her daughters dissuaded her, though they were notwilling to stay behind when she at once prepared to go and visit the invalid.Aglaya, however, suggested that it was a little unceremonious to go enmasse to see him.

“Very well then, stay at home,” said Mrs. Epanchin, “and agood thing too, for Evgenie Pavlovitch is coming down and there will be no oneat home to receive him.”

Of course, after this, Aglaya went with the rest. In fact, she had never hadthe slightest intention of doing otherwise.

Prince S., who was in the house, was requested to escort the ladies. He hadbeen much interested when he first heard of the prince from the Epanchins. Itappeared that they had known one another before, and had spent some timetogether in a little provincial town three months ago. Prince S. had greatlytaken to him, and was delighted with the opportunity of meeting him again.

The general had not come down from town as yet, nor had Evgenie Pavlovitcharrived.

It was not more than two or three hundred yards from the Epanchins’ houseto Lebedeff’s. The first disagreeable impression experienced by Mrs.Epanchin was to find the prince surrounded by a whole assembly of otherguests—not to mention the fact that some of those present wereparticularly detestable in her eyes. The next annoying circumstance was when anapparently strong and healthy young fellow, well dressed, and smiling, cameforward to meet her on the terrace, instead of the half-dying unfortunate whomshe had expected to see.

She was astonished and vexed, and her disappointment pleased Colia immensely.Of course he could have undeceived her before she started, but the mischievousboy had been careful not to do that, foreseeing the probably laughable disgustthat she would experience when she found her dear friend, the prince, in goodhealth. Colia was indelicate enough to voice the delight he felt at his successin managing to annoy Lizabetha Prokofievna, with whom, in spite of their reallyamicable relations, he was constantly sparring.

“Just wait a while, my boy!” said she; “don’t be toocertain of your triumph.” And she sat down heavily, in the arm-chairpushed forward by the prince.

Lebedeff, Ptitsin, and General Ivolgin hastened to find chairs for the youngladies. Varia greeted them joyfully, and they exchanged confidences in ecstaticwhispers.

“I must admit, prince, I was a little put out to see you up and aboutlike this—I expected to find you in bed; but I give you my word, I wasonly annoyed for an instant, before I collected my thoughts properly. I amalways wiser on second thoughts, and I dare say you are the same. I assure youI am as glad to see you well as though you were my own son,—yes, andmore; and if you don’t believe me the more shame to you, and it’snot my fault. But that spiteful boy delights in playing all sorts of tricks.You are his patron, it seems. Well, I warn you that one fine morning I shalldeprive myself of the pleasure of his further acquaintance.”

“What have I done wrong now?” cried Colia. “What was the goodof telling you that the prince was nearly well again? You would not havebelieved me; it was so much more interesting to picture him on hisdeath-bed.”

“How long do you remain here, prince?” asked Madame Epanchin.

“All the summer, and perhaps longer.”

“You are alone, aren’t you,—not married?”

“No, I’m not married!” replied the prince, smiling at theingenuousness of this little feeler.

“Oh, you needn’t laugh! These things do happen, you know! Nowthen—why didn’t you come to us? We have a wing quite empty. Butjust as you like, of course. Do you lease it from him?—thisfellow, I mean,” she added, nodding towards Lebedeff. “And why doeshe always wriggle so?”

At that moment Vera, carrying the baby in her arms as usual, came out of thehouse, on to the terrace. Lebedeff kept fidgeting among the chairs, and did notseem to know what to do with himself, though he had no intention of going away.He no sooner caught sight of his daughter, than he rushed in her direction,waving his arms to keep her away; he even forgot himself so far as to stamp hisfoot.

“Is he mad?” asked Madame Epanchin suddenly.

“No, he...”

“Perhaps he is drunk? Your company is rather peculiar,” she added,with a glance at the other guests....

“But what a pretty girl! Who is she?”

“That is Lebedeff’s daughter—Vera Lukianovna.”

“Indeed? She looks very sweet. I should like to make heracquaintance.”

The words were hardly out of her mouth, when Lebedeff dragged Vera forward, inorder to present her.

“Orphans, poor orphans!” he began in a pathetic voice.

“The child she carries is an orphan, too. She is Vera’s sister, mydaughter Luboff. The day this babe was born, six weeks ago, my wife died, bythe will of God Almighty.... Yes... Vera takes her mother’s place, thoughshe is but her sister... nothing more... nothing more...”

“And you! You are nothing more than a fool, if you’ll excuse me!Well! well! you know that yourself, I expect,” said the lady indignantly.

Lebedeff bowed low. “It is the truth,” he replied, with extremerespect.

“Oh, Mr. Lebedeff, I am told you lecture on the Apocalypse. Is ittrue?” asked Aglaya.

“Yes, that is so... for the last fifteen years.”

“I have heard of you, and I think read of you in the newspapers.”

“No, that was another commentator, whom the papers named. He is dead,however, and I have taken his place,” said the other, much delighted.

“We are neighbours, so will you be so kind as to come over one day andexplain the Apocalypse to me?” said Aglaya. “I do not understand itin the least.”

“Allow me to warn you,” interposed General Ivolgin, “that heis the greatest charlatan on earth.” He had taken the chair next to thegirl, and was impatient to begin talking. “No doubt there are pleasuresand amusements peculiar to the country,” he continued, “and tolisten to a pretended student holding forth on the book of the Revelations maybe as good as any other. It may even be original. But... you seem to be lookingat me with some surprise—may I introduce myself—GeneralIvolgin—I carried you in my arms as a baby—”

“Delighted, I’m sure,” said Aglaya; “I am acquaintedwith Varvara Ardalionovna and Nina Alexandrovna.” She was trying hard torestrain herself from laughing.

Mrs. Epanchin flushed up; some accumulation of spleen in her suddenly needed anoutlet. She could not bear this General Ivolgin whom she had once known, longago—in society.

“You are deviating from the truth, sir, as usual!” she remarked,boiling over with indignation; “you never carried her in yourlife!”

“You have forgotten, mother,” said Aglaya, suddenly. “Hereally did carry me about,—in Tver, you know. I was six years old, Iremember. He made me a bow and arrow, and I shot a pigeon. Don’t youremember shooting a pigeon, you and I, one day?”

“Yes, and he made me a cardboard helmet, and a little woodensword—I remember!” said Adelaida.

“Yes, I remember too!” said Alexandra. “You quarrelled aboutthe wounded pigeon, and Adelaida was put in the corner, and stood there withher helmet and sword and all.”

The poor general had merely made the remark about having carried Aglaya in hisarms because he always did so begin a conversation with young people. But ithappened that this time he had really hit upon the truth, though he had himselfentirely forgotten the fact. But when Adelaida and Aglaya recalled the episodeof the pigeon, his mind became filled with memories, and it is impossible todescribe how this poor old man, usually half drunk, was moved by therecollection.

“I remember—I remember it all!” he cried. “I wascaptain then. You were such a lovely little thing—NinaAlexandrovna!—Gania, listen! I was received then by GeneralEpanchin.”

“Yes, and look what you have come to now!” interrupted Mrs.Epanchin. “However, I see you have not quite drunk your better feelingsaway. But you’ve broken your wife’s heart, sir—and instead oflooking after your children, you have spent your time in public-houses anddebtors’ prisons! Go away, my friend, stand in some corner and weep, andbemoan your fallen dignity, and perhaps God will forgive you yet! Go, go!I’m serious! There’s nothing so favourable for repentance as tothink of the past with feelings of remorse!”

There was no need to repeat that she was serious. The general, like alldrunkards, was extremely emotional and easily touched by recollections of hisbetter days. He rose and walked quietly to the door, so meekly that Mrs.Epanchin was instantly sorry for him.

“Ardalion Alexandrovitch,” she cried after him, “wait amoment, we are all sinners! When you feel that your conscience reproaches you alittle less, come over to me and we’ll have a talk about the past! I daresay I am fifty times more of a sinner than you are! And now go, go, good-bye,you had better not stay here!” she added, in alarm, as he turned asthough to come back.

“Don’t go after him just now, Colia, or he’ll be vexed, andthe benefit of this moment will be lost!” said the prince, as the boy washurrying out of the room.

“Quite true! Much better to go in half an hour or so,” said Mrs.Epanchin.

“That’s what comes of telling the truth for once in one’slife!” said Lebedeff. “It reduced him to tears.”

“Come, come! the less you say about it the better—to judgefrom all I have heard about you!” replied Mrs. Epanchin.

The prince took the first opportunity of informing the Epanchin ladies that hehad intended to pay them a visit that day, if they had not themselves come thisafternoon, and Lizabetha Prokofievna replied that she hoped he would still doso.

By this time some of the visitors had disappeared.

Ptitsin had tactfully retreated to Lebedeff’s wing; and Gania soonfollowed him.

The latter had behaved modestly, but with dignity, on this occasion of hisfirst meeting with the Epanchins since the rupture. Twice Mrs. Epanchin haddeliberately examined him from head to foot; but he had stood fire withoutflinching. He was certainly much changed, as anyone could see who had not methim for some time; and this fact seemed to afford Aglaya a good deal ofsatisfaction.

“That was Gavrila Ardalionovitch, who just went out, wasn’tit?” she asked suddenly, interrupting somebody else’s conversationto make the remark.

“Yes, it was,” said the prince.

“I hardly knew him; he is much changed, and for the better!”

“I am very glad,” said the prince.

“He has been very ill,” added Varia.

“How has he changed for the better?” asked Mrs. Epanchin. “Idon’t see any change for the better! What’s better in him? Wheredid you get that idea from? what’s better?”

“There’s nothing better than the ‘poor knight’!”said Colia, who was standing near the last speaker’s chair.

“I quite agree with you there!” said Prince S., laughing.

“So do I,” said Adelaida, solemnly.

“What poor knight?” asked Mrs. Epanchin, looking round atthe face of each of the speakers in turn. Seeing, however, that Aglaya wasblushing, she added, angrily:

“What nonsense you are all talking! What do you mean by poorknight?”

“It’s not the first time this urchin, your favourite, has shown hisimpudence by twisting other people’s words,” said Aglaya,haughtily.

Every time that Aglaya showed temper (and this was very often), there was somuch childish pouting, such “school-girlishness,” as it were, inher apparent wrath, that it was impossible to avoid smiling at her, to her ownunutterable indignation. On these occasions she would say, “How can they,how dare they laugh at me?”

This time everyone laughed at her, her sisters, Prince S., Prince Muishkin(though he himself had flushed for some reason), and Colia. Aglaya wasdreadfully indignant, and looked twice as pretty in her wrath.

“He’s always twisting round what one says,” she cried.

“I am only repeating your own exclamation!” said Colia. “Amonth ago you were turning over the pages of your Don Quixote, and suddenlycalled out ‘there is nothing better than the poor knight.’ Idon’t know whom you were referring to, of course, whether to Don Quixote,or Evgenie Pavlovitch, or someone else, but you certainly said these words, andafterwards there was a long conversation...”

“You are inclined to go a little too far, my good boy, with yourguesses,” said Mrs. Epanchin, with some show of annoyance.

“But it’s not I alone,” cried Colia. “They all talkedabout it, and they do still. Why, just now Prince S. and Adelaida Ivanovnadeclared that they upheld ‘the poor knight’; so evidently theredoes exist a ‘poor knight’; and if it were not for AdelaidaIvanovna, we should have known long ago who the ‘poor knight’was.”

“Why, how am I to blame?” asked Adelaida, smiling.

“You wouldn’t draw his portrait for us, that’s why you are toblame! Aglaya Ivanovna asked you to draw his portrait, and gave you the wholesubject of the picture. She invented it herself; and you wouldn’t.”

“What was I to draw? According to the lines she quoted:

“‘From his face he never lifted
That eternal mask of steel.’”

“What sort of a face was I to draw? I couldn’t draw a mask.”

“I don’t know what you are driving at; what mask do youmean?” said Mrs. Epanchin, irritably. She began to see pretty clearlythough what it meant, and whom they referred to by the generally accepted titleof “poor knight.” But what specially annoyed her was that theprince was looking so uncomfortable, and blushing like a ten-year-old child.

“Well, have you finished your silly joke?” she added, “and amI to be told what this ‘poor knight’ means, or is it a solemnsecret which cannot be approached lightly?”

But they all laughed on.

“It’s simply that there is a Russian poem,” began Prince S.,evidently anxious to change the conversation, “a strange thing, withoutbeginning or end, and all about a ‘poor knight.’ A month or so ago,we were all talking and laughing, and looking up a subject for one ofAdelaida’s pictures—you know it is the principal business of thisfamily to find subjects for Adelaida’s pictures. Well, we happened uponthis ‘poor knight.’ I don’t remember who thought of itfirst—”

“Oh! Aglaya Ivanovna did,” said Colia.

“Very likely—I don’t recollect,” continued Prince S.

“Some of us laughed at the subject; some liked it; but she declared that,in order to make a picture of the gentleman, she must first see his face. Wethen began to think over all our friends’ faces to see if any of themwould do, and none suited us, and so the matter stood; that’s all. Idon’t know why Nicolai Ardalionovitch has brought up the joke now. Whatwas appropriate and funny then, has quite lost all interest by thistime.”

“Probably there’s some new silliness about it,” said Mrs.Epanchin, sarcastically.

“There is no silliness about it at all—only the profoundestrespect,” said Aglaya, very seriously. She had quite recovered hertemper; in fact, from certain signs, it was fair to conclude that she wasdelighted to see this joke going so far; and a careful observer might haveremarked that her satisfaction dated from the moment when the fact of theprince’s confusion became apparent to all.

“‘Profoundest respect!’ What nonsense! First, insanegiggling, and then, all of a sudden, a display of ‘profoundestrespect.’ Why respect? Tell me at once, why have you suddenly developedthis ‘profound respect,’ eh?”

“Because,” replied Aglaya gravely, “in the poem the knight isdescribed as a man capable of living up to an ideal all his life. That sort ofthing is not to be found every day among the men of our times. In the poem itis not stated exactly what the ideal was, but it was evidently some vision,some revelation of pure Beauty, and the knight wore round his neck, instead ofa scarf, a rosary. A device—A. N. B.—the meaning of which is notexplained, was inscribed on his shield—”

“No, A. N. D.,” corrected Colia.

“I say A. N. B., and so it shall be!” cried Aglaya, irritably.“Anyway, the ‘poor knight’ did not care what his lady was, orwhat she did. He had chosen his ideal, and he was bound to serve her, and breaklances for her, and acknowledge her as the ideal of pure Beauty, whatever shemight say or do afterwards. If she had taken to stealing, he would havechampioned her just the same. I think the poet desired to embody in this onepicture the whole spirit of medieval chivalry and the platonic love of a pureand high-souled knight. Of course it’s all an ideal, and in the‘poor knight’ that spirit reached the utmost limit of asceticism.He is a Don Quixote, only serious and not comical. I used not to understandhim, and laughed at him, but now I love the ‘poor knight,’ andrespect his actions.”

So ended Aglaya; and, to look at her, it was difficult, indeed, to judgewhether she was joking or in earnest.

“Pooh! he was a fool, and his actions were the actions of a fool,”said Mrs. Epanchin; “and as for you, young woman, you ought to knowbetter. At all events, you are not to talk like that again. What poem is it?Recite it! I want to hear this poem! I have hated poetry all my life. Prince,you must excuse this nonsense. We neither of us like this sort of thing! Bepatient!”

They certainly were put out, both of them.

The prince tried to say something, but he was too confused, and could not gethis words out. Aglaya, who had taken such liberties in her little speech, wasthe only person present, perhaps, who was not in the least embarrassed. Sheseemed, in fact, quite pleased.

She now rose solemnly from her seat, walked to the centre of the terrace, andstood in front of the prince’s chair. All looked on with some surprise,and Prince S. and her sisters with feelings of decided alarm, to see what newfrolic she was up to; it had gone quite far enough already, they thought. ButAglaya evidently thoroughly enjoyed the affectation and ceremony with which shewas introducing her recitation of the poem.

Mrs. Epanchin was just wondering whether she would not forbid the performanceafter all, when, at the very moment that Aglaya commenced her declamation, twonew guests, both talking loudly, entered from the street. The new arrivals wereGeneral Epanchin and a young man.

Their entrance caused some slight commotion.

VII.

The young fellow accompanying the general was about twenty-eight, tall, andwell built, with a handsome and clever face, and bright black eyes, full of funand intelligence.

Aglaya did not so much as glance at the new arrivals, but went on with herrecitation, gazing at the prince the while in an affected manner, and at himalone. It was clear to him that she was doing all this with some specialobject.

But the new guests at least somewhat eased his strained and uncomfortableposition. Seeing them approaching, he rose from his chair, and nodding amicablyto the general, signed to him not to interrupt the recitation. He then gotbehind his chair, and stood there with his left hand resting on the back of it.Thanks to this change of position, he was able to listen to the ballad with farless embarrassment than before. Mrs. Epanchin had also twice motioned to thenew arrivals to be quiet, and stay where they were.

The prince was much interested in the young man who had just entered. He easilyconcluded that this was Evgenie Pavlovitch Radomski, of whom he had alreadyheard mention several times. He was puzzled, however, by the young man’splain clothes, for he had always heard of Evgenie Pavlovitch as a military man.An ironical smile played on Evgenie’s lips all the while the recitationwas proceeding, which showed that he, too, was probably in the secret of the‘poor knight’ joke. But it had become quite a different matter withAglaya. All the affectation of manner which she had displayed at the beginningdisappeared as the ballad proceeded. She spoke the lines in so serious andexalted a manner, and with so much taste, that she even seemed to justify theexaggerated solemnity with which she had stepped forward. It was impossible todiscern in her now anything but a deep feeling for the spirit of the poem whichshe had undertaken to interpret.

Her eyes were aglow with inspiration, and a slight tremor of rapture passedover her lovely features once or twice. She continued to recite:

When recalling all this afterwards the prince could not for the life of himunderstand how to reconcile the beautiful, sincere, pure nature of the girlwith the irony of this jest. That it was a jest there was no doubt whatever; heknew that well enough, and had good reason, too, for his conviction; for duringher recitation of the ballad Aglaya had deliberately changed the letters A. N.B. into N. P. B. He was quite sure she had not done this by accident, and thathis ears had not deceived him. At all events her performance—which was ajoke, of course, if rather a crude one,—was premeditated. They hadevidently talked (and laughed) over the ‘poor knight’ for more thana month.

Yet Aglaya had brought out these letters N. P. B. not only without theslightest appearance of irony, or even any particular accentuation, but with soeven and unbroken an appearance of seriousness that assuredly anyone might havesupposed that these initials were the original ones written in the ballad. Thething made an uncomfortable impression upon the prince. Of course Mrs. Epanchinsaw nothing either in the change of initials or in the insinuation embodiedtherein. General Epanchin only knew that there was a recitation of verses goingon, and took no further interest in the matter. Of the rest of the audience,many had understood the allusion and wondered both at the daring of the ladyand at the motive underlying it, but tried to show no sign of their feelings.But Evgenie Pavlovitch (as the prince was ready to wager) both comprehended andtried his best to show that he comprehended; his smile was too mocking to leaveany doubt on that point.

“How beautiful that is!” cried Mrs. Epanchin, with sincereadmiration. “Whose is it?”

“Pushkin’s, mama, of course! Don’t disgrace us all by showingyour ignorance,” said Adelaida.

“As soon as we reach home give it to me to read.”

“I don’t think we have a copy of Pushkin in the house.”

“There are a couple of torn volumes somewhere; they have been lying aboutfrom time immemorial,” added Alexandra.

“Send Feodor or Alexey up by the very first train to buy a copy,then.—Aglaya, come here—kiss me, dear, you recited beautifully!but,” she added in a whisper, “if you were sincere I am sorry foryou. If it was a joke, I do not approve of the feelings which prompted you todo it, and in any case you would have done far better not to recite it at all.Do you understand?—Now come along, young woman; we’ve sat here toolong. I’ll speak to you about this another time.”

Meanwhile the prince took the opportunity of greeting General Epanchin, and thegeneral introduced Evgenie Pavlovitch to him.

“I caught him up on the way to your house,” explained the general.“He had heard that we were all here.”

“Yes, and I heard that you were here, too,” added EvgeniePavlovitch; “and since I had long promised myself the pleasure of seekingnot only your acquaintance but your friendship, I did not wish to waste time,but came straight on. I am sorry to hear that you are unwell.”

“Oh, but I’m quite well now, thank you, and very glad to make youracquaintance. Prince S. has often spoken to me about you,” said Muishkin,and for an instant the two men looked intently into one another’s eyes.

The prince remarked that Evgenie Pavlovitch’s plain clothes had evidentlymade a great impression upon the company present, so much so that all otherinterests seemed to be effaced before this surprising fact.

His change of dress was evidently a matter of some importance. Adelaida andAlexandra poured out a stream of questions; Prince S., a relative of the youngman, appeared annoyed; and Ivan Fedorovitch quite excited. Aglaya alone was notinterested. She merely looked closely at Evgenie for a minute, curious perhapsas to whether civil or military clothes became him best, then turned away andpaid no more attention to him or his costume. Lizabetha Prokofievna asked noquestions, but it was clear that she was uneasy, and the prince fancied thatEvgenie was not in her good graces.

“He has astonished me,” said Ivan Fedorovitch. “I nearly felldown with surprise. I could hardly believe my eyes when I met him in Petersburgjust now. Why this haste? That’s what I want to know. He has always saidhimself that there is no need to break windows.”

Evgenie Pavlovitch remarked here that he had spoken of his intention of leavingthe service long ago. He had, however, always made more or less of a joke aboutit, so no one had taken him seriously. For that matter he joked abouteverything, and his friends never knew what to believe, especially if he didnot wish them to understand him.

“I have only retired for a time,” said he, laughing. “For afew months; at most for a year.”

“But there is no necessity for you to retire at all,” complainedthe general, “as far as I know.”

“I want to go and look after my country estates. You advised me to dothat yourself,” was the reply. “And then I wish to goabroad.”

After a few more expostulations, the conversation drifted into other channels,but the prince, who had been an attentive listener, thought all this excitementabout so small a matter very curious. “There must be more in it thanappears,” he said to himself.

“I see the ‘poor knight’ has come on the scene again,”said Evgenie Pavlovitch, stepping to Aglaya’s side.

To the amazement of the prince, who overheard the remark, Aglaya lookedhaughtily and inquiringly at the questioner, as though she would give him toknow, once for all, that there could be no talk between them about the‘poor knight,’ and that she did not understand his question.

“But not now! It is too late to send to town for a Pushkin now. It ismuch too late, I say!” Colia was exclaiming in a loud voice. “Ihave told you so at least a hundred times.”

“Yes, it is really much too late to send to town now,” said EvgeniePavlovitch, who had escaped from Aglaya as rapidly as possible. “I amsure the shops are shut in Petersburg; it is past eight o’clock,”he added, looking at his watch.

“We have done without him so far,” interrupted Adelaida in herturn. “Surely we can wait until to-morrow.”

“Besides,” said Colia, “it is quite unusual, almost improper,for people in our position to take any interest in literature. Ask EvgeniePavlovitch if I am not right. It is much more fashionable to drive a waggonettewith red wheels.”

“You got that from some magazine, Colia,” remarked Adelaida.

“He gets most of his conversation in that way,” laughed EvgeniePavlovitch. “He borrows whole phrases from the reviews. I have long hadthe pleasure of knowing both Nicholai Ardalionovitch and his conversationalmethods, but this time he was not repeating something he had read; he wasalluding, no doubt, to my yellow waggonette, which has, or had, red wheels. ButI have exchanged it, so you are rather behind the times, Colia.”

The prince had been listening attentively to Radomski’s words, andthought his manner very pleasant. When Colia chaffed him about his waggonettehe had replied with perfect equality and in a friendly fashion. This pleasedMuishkin.

At this moment Vera came up to Lizabetha Prokofievna, carrying several largeand beautifully bound books, apparently quite new.

“What is it?” demanded the lady.

“This is Pushkin,” replied the girl. “Papa told me to offerit to you.”

“What? Impossible!” exclaimed Mrs. Epanchin.

“Not as a present, not as a present! I should not have taken theliberty,” said Lebedeff, appearing suddenly from behind his daughter.“It is our own Pushkin, our family copy, Annenkoff’s edition; itcould not be bought now. I beg to suggest, with great respect, that yourexcellency should buy it, and thus quench the noble literary thirst which isconsuming you at this moment,” he concluded grandiloquently.

“Oh! if you will sell it, very good—and thank you. You shall not bea loser! But for goodness’ sake, don’t twist about like that, sir!I have heard of you; they tell me you are a very learned person. We must have atalk one of these days. You will bring me the books yourself?”

“With the greatest respect... and... and veneration,” repliedLebedeff, making extraordinary grimaces.

“Well, bring them, with or without respect, provided always you do notdrop them on the way; but on the condition,” went on the lady, lookingfull at him, “that you do not cross my threshold. I do not intend toreceive you today. You may send your daughter Vera at once, if you like. I ammuch pleased with her.”

“Why don’t you tell him about them?” said Vera impatiently toher father. “They will come in, whether you announce them or not, andthey are beginning to make a row. Lef Nicolaievitch,”—she addressedherself to the prince—“four men are here asking for you. They havewaited some time, and are beginning to make a fuss, and papa will not bringthem in.”

“Who are these people?” said the prince.

“They say that they have come on business, and they are the kind of men,who, if you do not see them here, will follow you about the street. It would bebetter to receive them, and then you will get rid of them. GavrilaArdalionovitch and Ptitsin are both there, trying to make them hearreason.”

“Pavlicheff’s son! It is not worth while!” cried Lebedeff.“There is no necessity to see them, and it would be most unpleasant foryour excellency. They do not deserve...”

“What? Pavlicheff’s son!” cried the prince, much perturbed.“I know... I know—but I entrusted this matter to GavrilaArdalionovitch. He told me...”

At that moment Gania, accompanied by Ptitsin, came out to the terrace. From anadjoining room came a noise of angry voices, and General Ivolgin, in loudtones, seemed to be trying to shout them down. Colia rushed off at once toinvestigate the cause of the uproar.

“This is most interesting!” observed Evgenie Pavlovitch.

“I expect he knows all about it!” thought the prince.

“What, the son of Pavlicheff? And who may this son of Pavlicheffbe?” asked General Epanchin with surprise; and looking curiously aroundhim, he discovered that he alone had no clue to the mystery. Expectation andsuspense were on every face, with the exception of that of the prince, whostood gravely wondering how an affair so entirely personal could have awakenedsuch lively and widespread interest in so short a time.

Aglaya went up to him with a peculiarly serious look.

“It will be well,” she said, “if you put an end to thisaffair yourself at once: but you must allow us to be your witnesses.They want to throw mud at you, prince, and you must be triumphantly vindicated.I give you joy beforehand!”

“And I also wish for justice to be done, once for all,” criedMadame Epanchin, “about this impudent claim. Deal with them promptly,prince, and don’t spare them! I am sick of hearing about the affair, andmany a quarrel I have had in your cause. But I confess I am anxious to see whathappens, so do make them come out here, and we will remain. You have heardpeople talking about it, no doubt?” she added, turning to Prince S.

“Of course,” said he. “I have heard it spoken about at yourhouse, and I am anxious to see these young men!”

“They are Nihilists, are they not?”

“No, they are not Nihilists,” explained Lebedeff, who seemed muchexcited. “This is another lot—a special group. According to mynephew they are more advanced even than the Nihilists. You are quite wrong,excellency, if you think that your presence will intimidate them; nothingintimidates them. Educated men, learned men even, are to be found amongNihilists; these go further, in that they are men of action. The movement is,properly speaking, a derivative from Nihilism—though they are only knownindirectly, and by hearsay, for they never advertise their doings in thepapers. They go straight to the point. For them, it is not a question ofshowing that Pushkin is stupid, or that Russia must be torn in pieces. No; butif they have a great desire for anything, they believe they have a right to getit even at the cost of the lives, say, of eight persons. They are checked by noobstacles. In fact, prince, I should not advise you...”

But Muishkin had risen, and was on his way to open the door for his visitors.

“You are slandering them, Lebedeff,” said he, smiling.

“You are always thinking about your nephew’s conduct. Don’tbelieve him, Lizabetha Prokofievna. I can assure you Gorsky and Daniloff areexceptions—and that these are only... mistaken. However, I do not careabout receiving them here, in public. Excuse me, Lizabetha Prokofievna. Theyare coming, and you can see them, and then I will take them away. Please comein, gentlemen!”

Another thought tormented him: He wondered was this an arrangedbusiness—arranged to happen when he had guests in his house, and inanticipation of his humiliation rather than of his triumph? But he reproachedhimself bitterly for such a thought, and felt as if he should die of shame ifit were discovered. When his new visitors appeared, he was quite ready tobelieve himself infinitely less to be respected than any of them.

Four persons entered, led by General Ivolgin, in a state of great excitement,and talking eloquently.

“He is for me, undoubtedly!” thought the prince, with a smile.Colia also had joined the party, and was talking with animation to Hippolyte,who listened with a jeering smile on his lips.

The prince begged the visitors to sit down. They were all so young that it madethe proceedings seem even more extraordinary. Ivan Fedorovitch, who reallyunderstood nothing of what was going on, felt indignant at the sight of theseyouths, and would have interfered in some way had it not been for the extremeinterest shown by his wife in the affair. He therefore remained, partly throughcuriosity, partly through good-nature, hoping that his presence might be ofsome use. But the bow with which General Ivolgin greeted him irritated himanew; he frowned, and decided to be absolutely silent.

As to the rest, one was a man of thirty, the retired officer, now a boxer, whohad been with Rogojin, and in his happier days had given fifteen roubles at atime to beggars. Evidently he had joined the others as a comrade to give themmoral, and if necessary material, support. The man who had been spoken of as“Pavlicheff’s son,” although he gave the name of AntipBurdovsky, was about twenty-two years of age, fair, thin and rather tall. Hewas remarkable for the poverty, not to say uncleanliness, of his personalappearance: the sleeves of his overcoat were greasy; his dirty waistcoat,buttoned up to his neck, showed not a trace of linen; a filthy black silkscarf, twisted till it resembled a cord, was round his neck, and his hands wereunwashed. He looked round with an air of insolent effrontery. His face, coveredwith pimples, was neither thoughtful nor even contemptuous; it wore anexpression of complacent satisfaction in demanding his rights and in being anaggrieved party. His voice trembled, and he spoke so fast, and with suchstammerings, that he might have been taken for a foreigner, though the purestRussian blood ran in his veins. Lebedeff’s nephew, whom the reader hasseen already, accompanied him, and also the youth named Hippolyte Terentieff.The latter was only seventeen or eighteen. He had an intelligent face, thoughit was usually irritated and fretful in expression. His skeleton-like figure,his ghastly complexion, the brightness of his eyes, and the red spots of colouron his cheeks, betrayed the victim of consumption to the most casual glance. Hecoughed persistently, and panted for breath; it looked as though he had but afew weeks more to live. He was nearly dead with fatigue, and fell, rather thansat, into a chair. The rest bowed as they came in; and being more or lessabashed, put on an air of extreme self-assurance. In short, their attitude wasnot that which one would have expected in men who professed to despise alltrivialities, all foolish mundane conventions, and indeed everything, excepttheir own personal interests.

“Antip Burdovsky,” stuttered the son of Pavlicheff.

“Vladimir Doktorenko,” said Lebedeff’s nephew briskly, andwith a certain pride, as if he boasted of his name.

“Keller,” murmured the retired officer.

“Hippolyte Terentieff,” cried the last-named, in a shrill voice.

They sat now in a row facing the prince, and frowned, and played with theircaps. All appeared ready to speak, and yet all were silent; the defiantexpression on their faces seemed to say, “No, sir, you don’t takeus in!” It could be felt that the first word spoken by anyone presentwould bring a torrent of speech from the whole deputation.

VIII.

“I did not expect you, gentlemen,” began the prince.“I have been ill until to-day. A month ago,” he continued,addressing himself to Antip Burdovsky, “I put your business into GavrilaArdalionovitch Ivolgin’s hands, as I told you then. I do not in the leastobject to having a personal interview... but you will agree with me that thisis hardly the time... I propose that we go into another room, if you will notkeep me long... As you see, I have friends here, and believe me...”

“Friends as many as you please, but allow me,” interrupted theharsh voice of Lebedeff’s nephew—“allow me to tell you thatyou might have treated us rather more politely, and not have kept us waiting atleast two hours...

“No doubt... and I... is that acting like a prince? And you... you may bea general! But I... I am not your valet! And I... I...” stammered AntipBurdovsky.

He was extremely excited; his lips trembled, and the resentment of anembittered soul was in his voice. But he spoke so indistinctly that hardly adozen words could be gathered.

“It was a princely action!” sneered Hippolyte.

“If anyone had treated me so,” grumbled the boxer.

“I mean to say that if I had been in Burdovsky’splace...I...”

“Gentlemen, I did not know you were there; I have only just beeninformed, I assure you,” repeated Muishkin.

“We are not afraid of your friends, prince,” remarkedLebedeff’s nephew, “for we are within our rights.”

The shrill tones of Hippolyte interrupted him. “What right have you... bywhat right do you demand us to submit this matter, about Burdovsky... to thejudgment of your friends? We know only too well what the judgment of yourfriends will be!...”

This beginning gave promise of a stormy discussion. The prince was muchdiscouraged, but at last he managed to make himself heard amid thevociferations of his excited visitors.

“If you,” he said, addressing Burdovsky—“if you prefernot to speak here, I offer again to go into another room with you... and as toyour waiting to see me, I repeat that I only this instant heard...”

“Well, you have no right, you have no right, no right at all!... Yourfriends indeed!”... gabbled Burdovsky, defiantly examining the facesround him, and becoming more and more excited. “You have noright!...” As he ended thus abruptly, he leant forward, staring at theprince with his short-sighted, bloodshot eyes. The latter was so astonished,that he did not reply, but looked steadily at him in return.

“Lef Nicolaievitch!” interposed Madame Epanchin, suddenly,“read this at once, this very moment! It is about this business.”

She held out a weekly comic paper, pointing to an article on one of its pages.Just as the visitors were coming in, Lebedeff, wishing to ingratiate himselfwith the great lady, had pulled this paper from his pocket, and presented it toher, indicating a few columns marked in pencil. Lizabetha Prokofievna had hadtime to read some of it, and was greatly upset.

“Would it not be better to peruse it alone... later,” asked theprince, nervously.

“No, no, read it—read it at once directly, and aloud, aloud!”cried she, calling Colia to her and giving him the journal.—“Readit aloud, so that everyone may hear it!”

An impetuous woman, Lizabetha Prokofievna sometimes weighed her anchors and putout to sea quite regardless of the possible storms she might encounter. IvanFedorovitch felt a sudden pang of alarm, but the others were merely curious,and somewhat surprised. Colia unfolded the paper, and began to read, in hisclear, high-pitched voice, the following article:

“Proletarians and scions of nobility! An episode of the brigandage oftoday and every day! Progress! Reform! Justice!”

“Strange things are going on in our so-called Holy Russia in this age ofreform and great enterprises; this age of patriotism in which hundreds ofmillions are yearly sent abroad; in which industry is encouraged, and the handsof Labour paralyzed, etc.; there is no end to this, gentlemen, so let us cometo the point. A strange thing has happened to a scion of our defunctaristocracy. (De profundis!) The grandfathers of these scions ruinedthemselves at the gaming-tables; their fathers were forced to serve as officersor subalterns; some have died just as they were about to be tried for innocentthoughtlessness in the handling of public funds. Their children are sometimescongenital idiots, like the hero of our story; sometimes they are found in thedock at the Assizes, where they are generally acquitted by the jury foredifying motives; sometimes they distinguish themselves by one of those burningscandals that amaze the public and add another blot to the stained record ofour age. Six months ago—that is, last winter—this particular scionreturned to Russia, wearing gaiters like a foreigner, and shivering with coldin an old scantily-lined cloak. He had come from Switzerland, where he had justundergone a successful course of treatment for idiocy (sic!). CertainlyFortune favoured him, for, apart from the interesting malady of which he wascured in Switzerland (can there be a cure for idiocy?) his story proves thetruth of the Russian proverb that ‘happiness is the right of certainclasses!’ Judge for yourselves. Our subject was an infant in arms when helost his father, an officer who died just as he was about to becourt-martialled for gambling away the funds of his company, and perhaps alsofor flogging a subordinate to excess (remember the good old days, gentlemen).The orphan was brought up by the charity of a very rich Russian landowner. Inthe good old days, this man, whom we will call P——, owned fourthousand souls as serfs (souls as serfs!—can you understand such anexpression, gentlemen? I cannot; it must be looked up in a dictionary beforeone can understand it; these things of a bygone day are already unintelligibleto us). He appears to have been one of those Russian parasites who lead an idleexistence abroad, spending the summer at some spa, and the winter in Paris, tothe greater profit of the organizers of public balls. It may safely be saidthat the manager of the Chateau des Fleurs (lucky man!) pocketed at least athird of the money paid by Russian peasants to their lords in the days ofserfdom. However this may be, the gay P—— brought up the orphanlike a prince, provided him with tutors and governesses (pretty, of course!)whom he chose himself in Paris. But the little aristocrat, the last of hisnoble race, was an idiot. The governesses, recruited at the Chateau des Fleurs,laboured in vain; at twenty years of age their pupil could not speak in anylanguage, not even Russian. But ignorance of the latter was still excusable. Atlast P—— was seized with a strange notion; he imagined that inSwitzerland they could change an idiot into a man of sense. After all, the ideawas quite logical; a parasite and landowner naturally supposed thatintelligence was a marketable commodity like everything else, and that inSwitzerland especially it could be bought for money. The case was entrusted toa celebrated Swiss professor, and cost thousands of roubles; the treatmentlasted five years. Needless to say, the idiot did not become intelligent, butit is alleged that he grew into something more or less resembling a man. Atthis stage P—— died suddenly, and, as usual, he had made no willand left his affairs in disorder. A crowd of eager claimants arose, who carednothing about any last scion of a noble race undergoing treatment inSwitzerland, at the expense of the deceased, as a congenital idiot. Idiotthough he was, the noble scion tried to cheat his professor, and they say hesucceeded in getting him to continue the treatment gratis for two years, byconcealing the death of his benefactor. But the professor himself was acharlatan. Getting anxious at last when no money was forthcoming, and alarmedabove all by his patient’s appetite, he presented him with a pair of oldgaiters and a shabby cloak and packed him off to Russia, third class. It wouldseem that Fortune had turned her back upon our hero. Not at all; Fortune, wholets whole populations die of hunger, showered all her gifts at once upon thelittle aristocrat, like Kryloff’s Cloud which passes over an arid plainand empties itself into the sea. He had scarcely arrived in St. Petersburg,when a relation of his mother’s (who was of bourgeois origin, of course),died at Moscow. He was a merchant, an Old Believer, and he had no children. Heleft a fortune of several millions in good current coin, and everything came toour noble scion, our gaitered baron, formerly treated for idiocy in a Swisslunatic asylum. Instantly the scene changed, crowds of friends gathered roundour baron, who meanwhile had lost his head over a celebrated demi-mondaine; heeven discovered some relations; moreover a number of young girls of high birthburned to be united to him in lawful matrimony. Could anyone possibly imagine abetter match? Aristocrat, millionaire, and idiot, he has every advantage! Onemight hunt in vain for his equal, even with the lantern of Diogenes; his likeis not to be had even by getting it made to order!”

“Oh, I don’t know what this means” cried Ivan Fedorovitch,transported with indignation.

“Leave off, Colia,” begged the prince. Exclamations arose on allsides.

“Let him go on reading at all costs!” ordered LizabethaProkofievna, evidently preserving her composure by a desperate effort.“Prince, if the reading is stopped, you and I will quarrel.”

Colia had no choice but to obey. With crimson cheeks he read on unsteadily:

“But while our young millionaire dwelt as it were in the Empyrean,something new occurred. One fine morning a man called upon him, calm and severeof aspect, distinguished, but plainly dressed. Politely, but in dignifiedterms, as befitted his errand, he briefly explained the motive for his visit.He was a lawyer of enlightened views; his client was a young man who hadconsulted him in confidence. This young man was no other than the son ofP——, though he bears another name. In his youth P——,the sensualist, had seduced a young girl, poor but respectable. She was a serf,but had received a European education. Finding that a child was expected, hehastened her marriage with a man of noble character who had loved her for along time. He helped the young couple for a time, but he was soon obliged togive up, for the high-minded husband refused to accept anything from him. Soonthe careless nobleman forgot all about his former mistress and the child shehad borne him; then, as we know, he died intestate. P——’sson, born after his mother’s marriage, found a true father in thegenerous man whose name he bore. But when he also died, the orphan was left toprovide for himself, his mother now being an invalid who had lost the use ofher limbs. Leaving her in a distant province, he came to the capital in searchof pupils. By dint of daily toil he earned enough to enable him to follow thecollege courses, and at last to enter the university. But what can one earn byteaching the children of Russian merchants at ten copecks a lesson, especiallywith an invalid mother to keep? Even her death did not much diminish thehardships of the young man’s struggle for existence. Now this is thequestion: how, in the name of justice, should our scion have argued the case?Our readers will think, no doubt, that he would say to himself:‘P—— showered benefits upon me all my life; he spent tens ofthousands of roubles to educate me, to provide me with governesses, and to keepme under treatment in Switzerland. Now I am a millionaire, andP——’s son, a noble young man who is not responsible for thefaults of his careless and forgetful father, is wearing himself out givingill-paid lessons. According to justice, all that was done for me ought to havebeen done for him. The enormous sums spent upon me were not really mine; theycame to me by an error of blind Fortune, when they ought to have gone toP——’s son. They should have gone to benefit him, not me, inwhom P—— interested himself by a mere caprice, instead of doing hisduty as a father. If I wished to behave nobly, justly, and with delicacy, Iought to bestow half my fortune upon the son of my benefactor; but as economyis my favourite virtue, and I know this is not a case in which the law canintervene, I will not give up half my millions. But it would be too openlyvile, too flagrantly infamous, if I did not at least restore toP——’s son the tens of thousands of roubles spent in curing myidiocy. This is simply a case of conscience and of strict justice. Whateverwould have become of me if P—— had not looked after my education,and had taken care of his own son instead of me?’

“No, gentlemen, our scions of the nobility do not reason thus. Thelawyer, who had taken up the matter purely out of friendship to the young man,and almost against his will, invoked every consideration of justice, delicacy,honour, and even plain figures; in vain, the ex-patient of the Swiss lunaticasylum was inflexible. All this might pass, but the sequel is absolutelyunpardonable, and not to be excused by any interesting malady. Thismillionaire, having but just discarded the old gaiters of his professor, couldnot even understand that the noble young man slaving away at his lessons wasnot asking for charitable help, but for his rightful due, though the debt wasnot a legal one; that, correctly speaking, he was not asking for anything, butit was merely his friends who had thought fit to bestir themselves on hisbehalf. With the cool insolence of a bloated capitalist, secure in hismillions, he majestically drew a banknote for fifty roubles from hispocket-book and sent it to the noble young man as a humiliating piece ofcharity. You can hardly believe it, gentlemen! You are scandalized anddisgusted; you cry out in indignation! But that is what he did! Needless tosay, the money was returned, or rather flung back in his face. The case is notwithin the province of the law, it must be referred to the tribunal of publicopinion; this is what we now do, guaranteeing the truth of all the detailswhich we have related.”

When Colia had finished reading, he handed the paper to the prince, and retiredsilently to a corner of the room, hiding his face in his hands. He was overcomeby a feeling of inexpressible shame; his boyish sensitiveness was woundedbeyond endurance. It seemed to him that something extraordinary, some suddencatastrophe had occurred, and that he was almost the cause of it, because hehad read the article aloud.

Yet all the others were similarly affected. The girls were uncomfortable andashamed. Lizabetha Prokofievna restrained her violent anger by a great effort;perhaps she bitterly regretted her interference in the matter; for the presentshe kept silence. The prince felt as very shy people often do in such a case;he was so ashamed of the conduct of other people, so humiliated for his guests,that he dared not look them in the face. Ptitsin, Varia, Gania, and Lebedeffhimself, all looked rather confused. Stranger still, Hippolyte and the“son of Pavlicheff” also seemed slightly surprised, andLebedeff’s nephew was obviously far from pleased. The boxer alone wasperfectly calm; he twisted his moustaches with affected dignity, and if hiseyes were cast down it was certainly not in confusion, but rather in noblemodesty, as if he did not wish to be insolent in his triumph. It was evidentthat he was delighted with the article.

“The devil knows what it means,” growled Ivan Fedorovitch, underhis breath; “it must have taken the united wits of fifty footmen to writeit.”

“May I ask your reason for such an insulting supposition, sir?”said Hippolyte, trembling with rage.

“You will admit yourself, general, that for an honourable man, if theauthor is an honourable man, that is an—an insult,” growled theboxer suddenly, with convulsive jerkings of his shoulders.

“In the first place, it is not for you to address me as‘sir,’ and, in the second place, I refuse to give you anyexplanation,” said Ivan Fedorovitch vehemently; and he rose withoutanother word, and went and stood on the first step of the flight that led fromthe verandah to the street, turning his back on the company. He was indignantwith Lizabetha Prokofievna, who did not think of moving even now.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, let me speak at last,” cried the prince,anxious and agitated. “Please let us understand one another. I saynothing about the article, gentlemen, except that every word is false; I saythis because you know it as well as I do. It is shameful. I should be surprisedif any one of you could have written it.”

“I did not know of its existence till this moment,” declaredHippolyte. “I do not approve of it.”

“I knew it had been written, but I would not have advised itspublication,” said Lebedeff’s nephew, “because it ispremature.”

“I knew it, but I have a right. I... I...” stammered the “sonof Pavlicheff.”

“What! Did you write all that yourself? Is it possible?” asked theprince, regarding Burdovsky with curiosity.

“One might dispute your right to ask such questions,” observedLebedeff’s nephew.

“I was only surprised that Mr. Burdovsky should have—however, thisis what I have to say. Since you had already given the matter publicity, whydid you object just now, when I began to speak of it to my friends?”

“At last!” murmured Lizabetha Prokofievna indignantly.

Lebedeff could restrain himself no longer; he made his way through the row ofchairs.

“Prince,” he cried, “you are forgetting that if you consentedto receive and hear them, it was only because of your kind heart which has noequal, for they had not the least right to demand it, especially as you hadplaced the matter in the hands of Gavrila Ardalionovitch, which was alsoextremely kind of you. You are also forgetting, most excellent prince, that youare with friends, a select company; you cannot sacrifice them to thesegentlemen, and it is only for you to have them turned out this instant. As themaster of the house I shall have great pleasure ....”

“Quite right!” agreed General Ivolgin in a loud voice.

“That will do, Lebedeff, that will do—” began the prince,when an indignant outcry drowned his words.

“Excuse me, prince, excuse me, but now that will not do,” shoutedLebedeff’s nephew, his voice dominating all the others. “The mattermust be clearly stated, for it is obviously not properly understood. They arecalling in some legal chicanery, and upon that ground they are threatening toturn us out of the house! Really, prince, do you think we are such fools as notto be aware that this matter does not come within the law, and that legally wecannot claim a rouble from you? But we are also aware that if actual law is noton our side, human law is for us, natural law, the law of common-sense andconscience, which is no less binding upon every noble and honest man—thatis, every man of sane judgment—because it is not to be found in miserablelegal codes. If we come here without fear of being turned out (as wasthreatened just now) because of the imperative tone of our demand, and theunseemliness of such a visit at this late hour (though it was not late when wearrived, we were kept waiting in your anteroom), if, I say, we came in withoutfear, it is just because we expected to find you a man of sense; I mean, a manof honour and conscience. It is quite true that we did not present ourselveshumbly, like your flatterers and parasites, but holding up our heads as befitsindependent men. We present no petition, but a proud and free demand (note itwell, we do not beseech, we demand!). We ask you fairly and squarely in adignified manner. Do you believe that in this affair of Burdovsky you haveright on your side? Do you admit that Pavlicheff overwhelmed you with benefits,and perhaps saved your life? If you admit it (which we take for granted), doyou intend, now that you are a millionaire, and do you not think it inconformity with justice, to indemnify Burdovsky? Yes or no? If it is yes, or,in other words, if you possess what you call honour and conscience, and we morejustly call common-sense, then accede to our demand, and the matter is at anend. Give us satisfaction, without entreaties or thanks from us; do not expectthanks from us, for what you do will be done not for our sake, but for the sakeof justice. If you refuse to satisfy us, that is, if your answer is no, we willgo away at once, and there will be an end of the matter. But we will tell youto your face before the present company that you are a man of vulgar andundeveloped mind; we will openly deny you the right to speak in future of yourhonour and conscience, for you have not paid the fair price of such a right. Ihave no more to say—I have put the question before you. Now turn us outif you dare. You can do it; force is on your side. But remember that we do notbeseech, we demand! We do not beseech, we demand!”

With these last excited words, Lebedeff’s nephew was silent.

“We demand, we demand, we demand, we do not beseech,” splutteredBurdovsky, red as a lobster.

The speech of Lebedeff’s nephew caused a certain stir among the company;murmurs arose, though with the exception of Lebedeff, who was still very muchexcited, everyone was careful not to interfere in the matter. Strangely enough,Lebedeff, although on the prince’s side, seemed quite proud of hisnephew’s eloquence. Gratified vanity was visible in the glances he castupon the assembled company.

“In my opinion, Mr. Doktorenko,” said the prince, in rather a lowvoice, “you are quite right in at least half of what you say. I would gofurther and say that you are altogether right, and that I quite agree with you,if there were not something lacking in your speech. I cannot undertake to sayprecisely what it is, but you have certainly omitted something, and you cannotbe quite just while there is something lacking. But let us put that aside andreturn to the point. Tell me what induced you to publish this article. Everyword of it is a calumny, and I think, gentlemen, that you have been guilty of amean action.”

“Allow me—”

“Sir—”

“What? What? What?” cried all the visitors at once, in violentagitation.

“As to the article,” said Hippolyte in his croaking voice, “Ihave told you already that we none of us approve of it! There is thewriter,” he added, pointing to the boxer, who sat beside him. “Iquite admit that he has written it in his old regimental manner, with an equaldisregard for style and decency. I know he is a cross between a fool and anadventurer; I make no bones about telling him so to his face every day. Butafter all he is half justified; publicity is the lawful right of every man;consequently, Burdovsky is not excepted. Let him answer for his own blunders.As to the objection which I made just now in the name of all, to the presenceof your friends, I think I ought to explain, gentlemen, that I only did so toassert our rights, though we really wished to have witnesses; we had agreedunanimously upon the point before we came in. We do not care who your witnessesmay be, or whether they are your friends or not. As they cannot fail torecognize Burdovsky’s right (seeing that it is mathematicallydemonstrable), it is just as well that the witnesses should be your friends.The truth will only be more plainly evident.”

“It is quite true; we had agreed upon that point,” saidLebedeff’s nephew, in confirmation.

“If that is the case, why did you begin by making such a fuss aboutit?” asked the astonished prince.

The boxer was dying to get in a few words; owing, no doubt, to the presence ofthe ladies, he was becoming quite jovial.

“As to the article, prince,” he said, “I admit that I wroteit, in spite of the severe criticism of my poor friend, in whom I alwaysoverlook many things because of his unfortunate state of health. But I wroteand published it in the form of a letter, in the paper of a friend. I showed itto no one but Burdovsky, and I did not read it all through, even to him. Heimmediately gave me permission to publish it, but you will admit that I mighthave done so without his consent. Publicity is a noble, beneficent, anduniversal right. I hope, prince, that you are too progressive to denythis?”

“I deny nothing, but you must confess that your article—”

“Is a bit thick, you mean? Well, in a way that is in the public interest;you will admit that yourself, and after all one cannot overlook a blatant fact.So much the worse for the guilty parties, but the public welfare must comebefore everything. As to certain inaccuracies and figures of speech, so tospeak, you will also admit that the motive, aim, and intention, are the chiefthing. It is a question, above all, of making a wholesome example; theindividual case can be examined afterwards; and as to the style—well, thething was meant to be humorous, so to speak, and, after all, everybody writeslike that; you must admit it yourself! Ha, ha!”

“But, gentlemen, I assure you that you are quite astray,” exclaimedthe prince. “You have published this article upon the supposition that Iwould never consent to satisfy Mr. Burdovsky. Acting on that conviction, youhave tried to intimidate me by this publication and to be revenged for mysupposed refusal. But what did you know of my intentions? It may be that I haveresolved to satisfy Mr. Burdovsky’s claim. I now declare openly, in thepresence of these witnesses, that I will do so.”

“The noble and intelligent word of an intelligent and most noble man, atlast!” exclaimed the boxer.

“Good God!” exclaimed Lizabetha Prokofievna involuntarily.

“This is intolerable,” growled the general.

“Allow me, gentlemen, allow me,” urged the prince.

“I will explain matters to you. Five weeks ago I received a visit fromTchebaroff, your agent, Mr. Burdovsky. You have given a very flatteringdescription of him in your article, Mr. Keller,” he continued, turning tothe boxer with a smile, “but he did not please me at all. I saw at oncethat Tchebaroff was the moving spirit in the matter, and, to speak frankly, Ithought he might have induced you, Mr. Burdovsky, to make this claim, by takingadvantage of your simplicity.”

“You have no right.... I am not simple,” stammered Burdovsky, muchagitated.

“You have no sort of right to suppose such things,” saidLebedeff’s nephew in a tone of authority.

“It is most offensive!” shrieked Hippolyte; “it is aninsulting suggestion, false, and most ill-timed.”

“I beg your pardon, gentlemen; please excuse me,” said the prince.“I thought absolute frankness on both sides would be best, but have ityour own way. I told Tchebaroff that, as I was not in Petersburg, I wouldcommission a friend to look into the matter without delay, and that I would letyou know, Mr. Burdovsky. Gentlemen, I have no hesitation in telling you that itwas the fact of Tchebaroff’s intervention that made me suspect a fraud.Oh! do not take offence at my words, gentlemen, for Heaven’s sake do notbe so touchy!” cried the prince, seeing that Burdovsky was gettingexcited again, and that the rest were preparing to protest. “If I say Isuspected a fraud, there is nothing personal in that. I had never seen any ofyou then; I did not even know your names; I only judged by Tchebaroff; I amspeaking quite generally—if you only knew how I have been‘done’ since I came into my fortune!”

“You are shockingly naive, prince,” said Lebedeff’s nephew inmocking tones.

“Besides, though you are a prince and a millionaire, and even though youmay really be simple and good-hearted, you can hardly be outside the generallaw,” Hippolyte declared loudly.

“Perhaps not; it is very possible,” the prince agreed hastily,“though I do not know what general law you allude to. I will goon—only please do not take offence without good cause. I assure you I donot mean to offend you in the least. Really, it is impossible to speak threewords sincerely without your flying into a rage! At first I was amazed whenTchebaroff told me that Pavlicheff had a son, and that he was in such amiserable position. Pavlicheff was my benefactor, and my father’s friend.Oh, Mr. Keller, why does your article impute things to my father without theslightest foundation? He never squandered the funds of his company norill-treated his subordinates, I am absolutely certain of it; I cannot imaginehow you could bring yourself to write such a calumny! But your assertionsconcerning Pavlicheff are absolutely intolerable! You do not scruple to make alibertine of that noble man; you call him a sensualist as coolly as if you werespeaking the truth, and yet it would not be possible to find a chaster man. Hewas even a scholar of note, and in correspondence with several celebratedscientists, and spent large sums in the interests of science. As to his kindheart and his good actions, you were right indeed when you said that I wasalmost an idiot at that time, and could hardly understand anything—(Icould speak and understand Russian, though),—but now I can appreciatewhat I remember—”

“Excuse me,” interrupted Hippolyte, “is not this rathersentimental? You said you wished to come to the point; please remember that itis after nine o’clock.”

“Very well, gentlemen—very well,” replied the prince.“At first I received the news with mistrust, then I said to myself that Imight be mistaken, and that Pavlicheff might possibly have had a son. But I wasabsolutely amazed at the readiness with which the son had revealed the secretof his birth at the expense of his mother’s honour. For Tchebaroff hadalready menaced me with publicity in our interview....”

“What nonsense!” Lebedeff’s nephew interrupted violently.

“You have no right—you have no right!” cried Burdovsky.

“The son is not responsible for the misdeeds of his father; and themother is not to blame,” added Hippolyte, with warmth.

“That seems to me all the more reason for sparing her,” said theprince timidly.

“Prince, you are not only simple, but your simplicity is almost past thelimit,” said Lebedeff’s nephew, with a sarcastic smile.

“But what right had you?” said Hippolyte in a very strange tone.

“None—none whatever,” agreed the prince hastily. “Iadmit you are right there, but it was involuntary, and I immediately said tomyself that my personal feelings had nothing to do with it,—that if Ithought it right to satisfy the demands of Mr. Burdovsky, out of respect forthe memory of Pavlicheff, I ought to do so in any case, whether I esteemed Mr.Burdovsky or not. I only mentioned this, gentlemen, because it seemed sounnatural to me for a son to betray his mother’s secret in such a way. Inshort, that is what convinced me that Tchebaroff must be a rogue, and that hehad induced Mr. Burdovsky to attempt this fraud.”

“But this is intolerable!” cried the visitors, some of themstarting to their feet.

“Gentlemen, I supposed from this that poor Mr. Burdovsky must be asimple-minded man, quite defenceless, and an easy tool in the hands of rogues.That is why I thought it my duty to try and help him as‘Pavlicheff’s son’; in the first place by rescuing him fromthe influence of Tchebaroff, and secondly by making myself his friend. I haveresolved to give him ten thousand roubles; that is about the sum which Icalculate that Pavlicheff must have spent on me.”

“What, only ten thousand!” cried Hippolyte.

“Well, prince, your arithmetic is not up to much, or else you are mightyclever at it, though you affect the air of a simpleton,” saidLebedeff’s nephew.

“I will not accept ten thousand roubles,” said Burdovsky.

“Accept, Antip,” whispered the boxer eagerly, leaning past the backof Hippolyte’s chair to give his friend this piece of advice. “Takeit for the present; we can see about more later on.”

“Look here, Mr. Muishkin,” shouted Hippolyte, “pleaseunderstand that we are not fools, nor idiots, as your guests seem to imagine;these ladies who look upon us with such scorn, and especially this finegentleman” (pointing to Evgenie Pavlovitch) “whom I have not thehonour of knowing, though I think I have heard some talk abouthim—”

“Really, really, gentlemen,” cried the prince in great agitation,“you are misunderstanding me again. In the first place, Mr. Keller, youhave greatly overestimated my fortune in your article. I am far from being amillionaire. I have barely a tenth of what you suppose. Secondly, my treatmentin Switzerland was very far from costing tens of thousands of roubles.Schneider received six hundred roubles a year, and he was only paid for thefirst three years. As to the pretty governesses whom Pavlicheff is supposed tohave brought from Paris, they only exist in Mr. Keller’s imagination; itis another calumny. According to my calculations, the sum spent on me was veryconsiderably under ten thousand roubles, but I decided on that sum, and youmust admit that in paying a debt I could not offer Mr. Burdovsky more, howeverkindly disposed I might be towards him; delicacy forbids it; I should seem tobe offering him charity instead of rightful payment. I don’t know how youcannot see that, gentlemen! Besides, I had no intention of leaving the matterthere. I meant to intervene amicably later on and help to improve poor Mr.Burdovsky’s position. It is clear that he has been deceived, or he wouldnever have agreed to anything so vile as the scandalous revelations about hismother in Mr. Keller’s article. But, gentlemen, why are you getting angryagain? Are we never to come to an understanding? Well, the event has proved meright! I have just seen with my own eyes the proof that my conjecture wascorrect!” he added, with increasing eagerness.

He meant to calm his hearers, and did not perceive that his words had onlyincreased their irritation.

“What do you mean? What are you convinced of?” they demandedangrily.

“In the first place, I have had the opportunity of getting a correct ideaof Mr. Burdovsky. I see what he is for myself. He is an innocent man, deceivedby everyone! A defenceless victim, who deserves indulgence! Secondly, GavrilaArdalionovitch, in whose hands I had placed the matter, had his first interviewwith me barely an hour ago. I had not heard from him for some time, as I wasaway, and have been ill for three days since my return to St. Petersburg. Hetells me that he has exposed the designs of Tchebaroff and has proof thatjustifies my opinion of him. I know, gentlemen, that many people think me anidiot. Counting upon my reputation as a man whose purse-strings are easilyloosened, Tchebaroff thought it would be a simple matter to fleece me,especially by trading on my gratitude to Pavlicheff. But the main pointis—listen, gentlemen, let me finish!—the main point is that Mr.Burdovsky is not Pavlicheff’s son at all. Gavrila Ardalionovitch has justtold me of his discovery, and assures me that he has positive proofs. Well,what do you think of that? It is scarcely credible, even after all the tricksthat have been played upon me. Please note that we have positive proofs! I canhardly believe it myself, I assure you; I do not yet believe it; I am stilldoubtful, because Gavrila Ardalionovitch has not had time to go into details;but there can be no further doubt that Tchebaroff is a rogue! He has deceivedpoor Mr. Burdovsky, and all of you, gentlemen, who have come forward so noblyto support your friend—(he evidently needs support, I quite see that!).He has abused your credulity and involved you all in an attempted fraud, forwhen all is said and done this claim is nothing else!”

“What! a fraud? What, he is not Pavlicheff’s son?Impossible!”

These exclamations but feebly expressed the profound bewilderment into whichthe prince’s words had plunged Burdovsky’s companions.

“Certainly it is a fraud! Since Mr. Burdovsky is not Pavlicheff’sson, his claim is neither more nor less than attempted fraud (supposing, ofcourse, that he had known the truth), but the fact is that he has beendeceived. I insist on this point in order to justify him; I repeat that hissimple-mindedness makes him worthy of pity, and that he cannot stand alone;otherwise he would have behaved like a scoundrel in this matter. But I feelcertain that he does not understand it! I was just the same myself before Iwent to Switzerland; I stammered incoherently; one tries to express oneself andcannot. I understand that. I am all the better able to pity Mr. Burdovsky,because I know from experience what it is to be like that, and so I have aright to speak. Well, though there is no such person as‘Pavlicheff’s son,’ and it is all nothing but a humbug, yet Iwill keep to my decision, and I am prepared to give up ten thousand roubles inmemory of Pavlicheff. Before Mr. Burdovsky made this claim, I proposed to founda school with this money, in memory of my benefactor, but I shall honour hismemory quite as well by giving the ten thousand roubles to Mr. Burdovsky,because, though he was not Pavlicheff’s son, he was treated almost asthough he were. That is what gave a rogue the opportunity of deceiving him; hereally did think himself Pavlicheff’s son. Listen, gentlemen; this mattermust be settled; keep calm; do not get angry; and sit down! GavrilaArdalionovitch will explain everything to you at once, and I confess that I amvery anxious to hear all the details myself. He says that he has even been toPskoff to see your mother, Mr. Burdovsky; she is not dead, as the article whichwas just read to us makes out. Sit down, gentlemen, sit down!”

The prince sat down, and at length prevailed upon Burdovsky’s company todo likewise. During the last ten or twenty minutes, exasperated by continualinterruptions, he had raised his voice, and spoken with great vehemence. Now,no doubt, he bitterly regretted several words and expressions which had escapedhim in his excitement. If he had not been driven beyond the limits ofendurance, he would not have ventured to express certain conjectures so openly.He had no sooner sat down than his heart was torn by sharp remorse. Besidesinsulting Burdovsky with the supposition, made in the presence of witnesses,that he was suffering from the complaint for which he had himself been treatedin Switzerland, he reproached himself with the grossest indelicacy in havingoffered him the ten thousand roubles before everyone. “I ought to havewaited till to-morrow and offered him the money when we were alone,”thought Muishkin. “Now it is too late, the mischief is done! Yes, I am anidiot, an absolute idiot!” he said to himself, overcome with shame andregret.

Till then Gavrila Ardalionovitch had sat apart in silence. When the princecalled upon him, he came and stood by his side, and in a calm, clear voicebegan to render an account of the mission confided to him. All conversationceased instantly. Everyone, especially the Burdovsky party, listened with theutmost curiosity.

IX.

“You will not deny, I am sure,” said Gavrila Ardalionovitch,turning to Burdovsky, who sat looking at him with wide-open eyes, perplexed andastonished. “You will not deny, seriously, that you were born just twoyears after your mother’s legal marriage to Mr. Burdovsky, your father.Nothing would be easier than to prove the date of your birth from well-knownfacts; we can only look on Mr. Keller’s version as a work of imagination,and one, moreover, extremely offensive both to you and your mother. Of coursehe distorted the truth in order to strengthen your claim, and to serve yourinterests. Mr. Keller said that he previously consulted you about his articlein the paper, but did not read it to you as a whole. Certainly he could nothave read that passage...”

“As a matter of fact, I did not read it,” interrupted the boxer,“but its contents had been given me on unimpeachable authority, andI...”

“Excuse me, Mr. Keller,” interposed Gavrila Ardalionovitch.“Allow me to speak. I assure you your article shall be mentioned in itsproper place, and you can then explain everything, but for the moment I wouldrather not anticipate. Quite accidentally, with the help of my sister, VarvaraArdalionovna Ptitsin, I obtained from one of her intimate friends, MadameZoubkoff, a letter written to her twenty-five years ago, by Nicolai AndreevitchPavlicheff, then abroad. After getting into communication with this lady, Iwent by her advice to Timofei Fedorovitch Viazovkin, a retired colonel, and oneof Pavlicheff’s oldest friends. He gave me two more letters written bythe latter when he was still in foreign parts. These three documents, theirdates, and the facts mentioned in them, prove in the most undeniable manner,that eighteen months before your birth, Nicolai Andreevitch went abroad, wherehe remained for three consecutive years. Your mother, as you are well aware,has never been out of Russia.... It is too late to read the letters now; I amcontent to state the fact. But if you desire it, come to me tomorrow morning,bring witnesses and writing experts with you, and I will prove the absolutetruth of my story. From that moment the question will be decided.”

These words caused a sensation among the listeners, and there was a generalmovement of relief. Burdovsky got up abruptly.

“If that is true,” said he, “I have been deceived, grosslydeceived, but not by Tchebaroff: and for a long time past, a long time. I donot wish for experts, not I, nor to go to see you. I believe you. I give itup.... But I refuse the ten thousand roubles. Good-bye.”

“Wait five minutes more, Mr. Burdovsky,” said GavrilaArdalionovitch pleasantly. “I have more to say. Some rather curious andimportant facts have come to light, and it is absolutely necessary, in myopinion, that you should hear them. You will not regret, I fancy, to have thewhole matter thoroughly cleared up.”

Burdovsky silently resumed his seat, and bent his head as though in profoundthought. His friend, Lebedeff’s nephew, who had risen to accompany him,also sat down again. He seemed much disappointed, though as self-confident asever. Hippolyte looked dejected and sulky, as well as surprised. He had justbeen attacked by a violent fit of coughing, so that his handkerchief wasstained with blood. The boxer looked thoroughly frightened.

“Oh, Antip!” cried he in a miserable voice, “I did say to youthe other day—the day before yesterday—that perhaps you were notreally Pavlicheff’s son!”

There were sounds of half-smothered laughter at this.

“Now, that is a valuable piece of information, Mr. Keller,” repliedGania. “However that may be, I have private information which convincesme that Mr. Burdovsky, though doubtless aware of the date of his birth, knewnothing at all about Pavlicheff’s sojourn abroad. Indeed, he passed thegreater part of his life out of Russia, returning at intervals for shortvisits. The journey in question is in itself too unimportant for his friends torecollect it after more than twenty years; and of course Mr. Burdovsky couldhave known nothing about it, for he was not born. As the event has proved, itwas not impossible to find evidence of his absence, though I must confess thatchance has helped me in a quest which might very well have come to nothing. Itwas really almost impossible for Burdovsky or Tchebaroff to discover thesefacts, even if it had entered their heads to try. Naturally they neverdreamt...”

Here the voice of Hippolyte suddenly intervened.

“Allow me, Mr. Ivolgin,” he said irritably. “What is the goodof all this rigmarole? Pardon me. All is now clear, and we acknowledge thetruth of your main point. Why go into these tedious details? You wish perhapsto boast of the cleverness of your investigation, to cry up your talents asdetective? Or perhaps your intention is to excuse Burdovsky, by proving that hetook up the matter in ignorance? Well, I consider that extremely impudent onyour part! You ought to know that Burdovsky has no need of being excused orjustified by you or anyone else! It is an insult! The affair is quite painfulenough for him without that. Will nothing make you understand?”

“Enough! enough! Mr. Terentieff,” interrupted Gania.

“Don’t excite yourself; you seem very ill, and I am sorry for that.I am almost done, but there are a few facts to which I must briefly refer, as Iam convinced that they ought to be clearly explained once for all....” Amovement of impatience was noticed in his audience as he resumed: “Imerely wish to state, for the information of all concerned, that the reason forMr. Pavlicheff’s interest in your mother, Mr. Burdovsky, was simply thatshe was the sister of a serf-girl with whom he was deeply in love in his youth,and whom most certainly he would have married but for her sudden death. I haveproofs that this circumstance is almost, if not quite, forgotten. I may addthat when your mother was about ten years old, Pavlicheff took her under hiscare, gave her a good education, and later, a considerable dowry. His relationswere alarmed, and feared he might go so far as to marry her, but she gave herhand to a young land-surveyor named Burdovsky when she reached the age oftwenty. I can even say definitely that it was a marriage of affection. Afterhis wedding your father gave up his occupation as land-surveyor, and with hiswife’s dowry of fifteen thousand roubles went in for commercialspeculations. As he had had no experience, he was cheated on all sides, andtook to drink in order to forget his troubles. He shortened his life by hisexcesses, and eight years after his marriage he died. Your mother says herselfthat she was left in the direst poverty, and would have died of starvation hadit not been for Pavlicheff, who generously allowed her a yearly pension of sixhundred roubles. Many people recall his extreme fondness for you as a littleboy. Your mother confirms this, and agrees with others in thinking that heloved you the more because you were a sickly child, stammering in your speech,and almost deformed—for it is known that all his life Nicolai Andreevitchhad a partiality for unfortunates of every kind, especially children. In myopinion this is most important. I may add that I discovered yet another fact,the last on which I employed my detective powers. Seeing how fond Pavlicheffwas of you,—it was thanks to him you went to school, and also had theadvantage of special teachers—his relations and servants grew to believethat you were his son, and that your father had been betrayed by his wife. Imay point out that this idea was only accredited generally during the lastyears of Pavlicheff’s life, when his next-of-kin were trembling about thesuccession, when the earlier story was quite forgotten, and when allopportunity for discovering the truth had seemingly passed away. No doubt you,Mr. Burdovsky, heard this conjecture, and did not hesitate to accept it astrue. I have had the honour of making your mother’s acquaintance, and Ifind that she knows all about these reports. What she does not know is thatyou, her son, should have listened to them so complaisantly. I found yourrespected mother at Pskoff, ill and in deep poverty, as she has been ever sincethe death of your benefactor. She told me with tears of gratitude how you hadsupported her; she expects much of you, and believes fervently in your futuresuccess...”

“Oh, this is unbearable!” said Lebedeff’s nephew impatiently.“What is the good of all this romancing?”

“It is revolting and unseemly!” cried Hippolyte, jumping up in afury.

Burdovsky alone sat silent and motionless.

“What is the good of it?” repeated Gavrila Ardalionovitch, withpretended surprise. “Well, firstly, because now perhaps Mr. Burdovsky isquite convinced that Mr. Pavlicheff’s love for him came simply fromgenerosity of soul, and not from paternal duty. It was most necessary toimpress this fact upon his mind, considering that he approved of the articlewritten by Mr. Keller. I speak thus because I look on you, Mr. Burdovsky, as anhonourable man. Secondly, it appears that there was no intention of cheating inthis case, even on the part of Tchebaroff. I wish to say this quite plainly,because the prince hinted a while ago that I too thought it an attempt atrobbery and extortion. On the contrary, everyone has been quite sincere in thematter, and although Tchebaroff may be somewhat of a rogue, in this business hehas acted simply as any sharp lawyer would do under the circumstances. Helooked at it as a case that might bring him in a lot of money, and he did notcalculate badly; because on the one hand he speculated on the generosity of theprince, and his gratitude to the late Mr. Pavlicheff, and on the other to hischivalrous ideas as to the obligations of honour and conscience. As to Mr.Burdovsky, allowing for his principles, we may acknowledge that he engaged inthe business with very little personal aim in view. At the instigation ofTchebaroff and his other friends, he decided to make the attempt in the serviceof truth, progress, and humanity. In short, the conclusion may be drawn that,in spite of all appearances, Mr. Burdovsky is a man of irreproachablecharacter, and thus the prince can all the more readily offer him hisfriendship, and the assistance of which he spoke just now...”

“Hush! hush! Gavrila Ardalionovitch!” cried Muishkin in dismay, butit was too late.

“I said, and I have repeated it over and over again,” shoutedBurdovsky furiously, “that I did not want the money. I will not takeit... why...I will not... I am going away!”

He was rushing hurriedly from the terrace, when Lebedeff’s nephew seizedhis arms, and said something to him in a low voice. Burdovsky turned quickly,and drawing an addressed but unsealed envelope from his pocket, he threw itdown on a little table beside the prince.

“There’s the money!... How dare you?... The money!”

“Those are the two hundred and fifty roubles you dared to send him as acharity, by the hands of Tchebaroff,” explained Doktorenko.

“The article in the newspaper put it at fifty!” cried Colia.

“I beg your pardon,” said the prince, going up to Burdovsky.“I have done you a great wrong, but I did not send you that money as acharity, believe me. And now I am again to blame. I offended you justnow.” (The prince was much distressed; he seemed worn out with fatigue,and spoke almost incoherently.) “I spoke of swindling... but I did notapply that to you. I was deceived .... I said you were... afflicted... likeme... But you are not like me... you give lessons... you support your mother. Isaid you had dishonoured your mother, but you love her. She says so herself...I did not know... Gavrila Ardalionovitch did not tell me that... Forgive me! Idared to offer you ten thousand roubles, but I was wrong. I ought to have doneit differently, and now... there is no way of doing it, for you despiseme...”

“I declare, this is a lunatic asylum!” cried Lizabetha Prokofievna.

“Of course it is a lunatic asylum!” repeated Aglaya sharply, buther words were overpowered by other voices. Everybody was talking loudly,making remarks and comments; some discussed the affair gravely, others laughed.Ivan Fedorovitch Epanchin was extremely indignant. He stood waiting for hiswife with an air of offended dignity. Lebedeff’s nephew took up the wordagain.

“Well, prince, to do you justice, you certainly know how to make the mostof your—let us call it infirmity, for the sake of politeness; you haveset about offering your money and friendship in such a way that noself-respecting man could possibly accept them. This is an excess ofingenuousness or of malice—you ought to know better than anyone whichword best fits the case.”

“Allow me, gentlemen,” said Gavrila Ardalionovitch, who had justexamined the contents of the envelope, “there are only a hundred roubleshere, not two hundred and fifty. I point this out, prince, to preventmisunderstanding.”

“Never mind, never mind,” said the prince, signing to him to keepquiet.

“But we do mind,” said Lebedeff’s nephew vehemently.“Prince, your ‘never mind’ is an insult to us. We havenothing to hide; our actions can bear daylight. It is true that there are onlya hundred roubles instead of two hundred and fifty, but it is all thesame.”

“Why, no, it is hardly the same,” remarked Gavrila Ardalionovitch,with an air of ingenuous surprise.

“Don’t interrupt, we are not such fools as you think, Mr.Lawyer,” cried Lebedeff’s nephew angrily. “Of course there isa difference between a hundred roubles and two hundred and fifty, but in thiscase the principle is the main point, and that a hundred and fifty roubles aremissing is only a side issue. The point to be emphasized is that Burdovsky willnot accept your highness’s charity; he flings it back in your face, andit scarcely matters if there are a hundred roubles or two hundred and fifty.Burdovsky has refused ten thousand roubles; you heard him. He would not havereturned even a hundred roubles if he was dishonest! The hundred and fiftyroubles were paid to Tchebaroff for his travelling expenses. You may jeer atour stupidity and at our inexperience in business matters; you have done allyou could already to make us look ridiculous; but do not dare to call usdishonest. The four of us will club together every day to repay the hundred andfifty roubles to the prince, if we have to pay it in instalments of a rouble ata time, but we will repay it, with interest. Burdovsky is poor, he has nomillions. After his journey to see the prince Tchebaroff sent in his bill. Wecounted on winning... Who would not have done the same in such a case?”

“Who indeed?” exclaimed Prince S.

“I shall certainly go mad, if I stay here!” cried LizabethaProkofievna.

“It reminds me,” said Evgenie Pavlovitch, laughing, “of thefamous plea of a certain lawyer who lately defended a man for murdering sixpeople in order to rob them. He excused his client on the score of poverty.‘It is quite natural,’ he said in conclusion, ‘consideringthe state of misery he was in, that he should have thought of murdering thesesix people; which of you, gentlemen, would not have done the same in hisplace?’”

“Enough,” cried Lizabetha Prokofievna abruptly, trembling withanger, “we have had enough of this balderdash!”

In a state of terrible excitement she threw back her head, with flaming eyes,casting looks of contempt and defiance upon the whole company, in which shecould no longer distinguish friend from foe. She had restrained herself so longthat she felt forced to vent her rage on somebody. Those who knew LizabethaProkofievna saw at once how it was with her. “She flies into these ragessometimes,” said Ivan Fedorovitch to Prince S. the next day, “butshe is not often so violent as she was yesterday; it does not happen more thanonce in three years.”

“Be quiet, Ivan Fedorovitch! Leave me alone!” cried Mrs. Epanchin.“Why do you offer me your arm now? You had not sense enough to take meaway before. You are my husband, you are a father, it was your duty to drag meaway by force, if in my folly I refused to obey you and go quietly. You mightat least have thought of your daughters. We can find our way out now withoutyour help. Here is shame enough for a year! Wait a moment ‘till I thankthe prince! Thank you, prince, for the entertainment you have given us! It wasmost amusing to hear these young men... It is vile, vile! A chaos, a scandal,worse than a nightmare! Is it possible that there can be many such people onearth? Be quiet, Aglaya! Be quiet, Alexandra! It is none of your business!Don’t fuss round me like that, Evgenie Pavlovitch; you exasperate me! So,my dear,” she cried, addressing the prince, “you go so far as tobeg their pardon! He says, ‘Forgive me for offering you a fortune.’And you, you mountebank, what are you laughing at?” she cried, turningsuddenly on Lebedeff’s nephew. “‘We refuse ten thousandroubles; we do not beseech, we demand!’ As if he did not know that thisidiot will call on them tomorrow to renew his offers of money and friendship.You will, won’t you? You will? Come, will you, or won’t you?”

“I shall,” said the prince, with gentle humility.

“You hear him! You count upon it, too,” she continued, turning uponDoktorenko. “You are as sure of him now as if you had the money in yourpocket. And there you are playing the swaggerer to throw dust in our eyes! No,my dear sir, you may take other people in! I can see through all your airs andgraces, I see your game!”

“Lizabetha Prokofievna!” exclaimed the prince.

“Come, Lizabetha Prokofievna, it is quite time for us to be going, wewill take the prince with us,” said Prince S. with a smile, in thecoolest possible way.

The girls stood apart, almost frightened; their father was positivelyhorrified. Mrs. Epanchin’s language astonished everybody. Some who stooda little way off smiled furtively, and talked in whispers. Lebedeff wore anexpression of utmost ecstasy.

“Chaos and scandal are to be found everywhere, madame,” remarkedDoktorenko, who was considerably put out of countenance.

“Not like this! Nothing like the spectacle you have just given us,sir,” answered Lizabetha Prokofievna, with a sort of hysterical rage.“Leave me alone, will you?” she cried violently to those aroundher, who were trying to keep her quiet. “No, Evgenie Pavlovitch, if, asyou said yourself just now, a lawyer said in open court that he found it quitenatural that a man should murder six people because he was in misery, the worldmust be coming to an end. I had not heard of it before. Now I understandeverything. And this stutterer, won’t he turn out a murderer?” shecried, pointing to Burdovsky, who was staring at her with stupefaction.“I bet he will! He will have none of your money, possibly, he will refuseit because his conscience will not allow him to accept it, but he will gomurdering you by night and walking off with your cashbox, with a clearconscience! He does not call it a dishonest action but ‘the impulse of anoble despair’; ‘a negation’; or the devil knows what! Bah!everything is upside down, everyone walks head downwards. A young girl, broughtup at home, suddenly jumps into a cab in the middle of the street, saying:‘Good-bye, mother, I married Karlitch, or Ivanitch, the other day!’And you think it quite right? You call such conduct estimable and natural? The‘woman question’? Look here,” she continued, pointing toColia, “the other day that whippersnapper told me that this was the wholemeaning of the ‘woman question.’ But even supposing that yourmother is a fool, you are none the less, bound to treat her with humanity. Whydid you come here tonight so insolently? ‘Give us our rights, butdon’t dare to speak in our presence. Show us every mark of deepestrespect, while we treat you like the scum of the earth.’ The miscreantshave written a tissue of calumny in their article, and these are the men whoseek for truth, and do battle for the right! ‘We do not beseech, wedemand, you will get no thanks from us, because you will be acting to satisfyyour own conscience!’ What morality! But, good heavens! if you declarethat the prince’s generosity will, excite no gratitude in you, he mightanswer that he is not, bound to be grateful to Pavlicheff, who also was onlysatisfying his own conscience. But you counted on the prince’s, gratitudetowards Pavlicheff; you never lent him any money; he owes you nothing; thenwhat were you counting upon if not on his gratitude? And if you appeal to thatsentiment in others, why should you expect to be exempted from it? They aremad! They say society is savage and inhuman because it despises a young girlwho has been seduced. But if you call society inhuman you imply that the younggirl is made to suffer by its censure. How then, can you hold her up to thescorn of society in the newspapers without realizing that you are making hersuffering, still greater? Madmen! Vain fools! They don’t believe in God,they don’t believe in Christ! But you are so eaten up by pride andvanity, that you will end by devouring each other—that is my prophecy! Isnot this absurd? Is it not monstrous chaos? And after all this, that shamelesscreature will go and beg their pardon! Are there many people like you? What areyou smiling at? Because I am not ashamed to disgrace myself beforeyou?—Yes, I am disgraced—it can’t be helped now! Butdon’t you jeer at me, you scum!” (this was aimed at Hippolyte).“He is almost at his last gasp, yet he corrupts others. You, have gothold of this lad—” (she pointed to Colia); “you, have turnedhis head, you have taught him to be an atheist, you don’t believe in God,and you are not too old to be whipped, sir! A plague upon you! And so, PrinceLef Nicolaievitch, you will call on them tomorrow, will you?” she askedthe prince breathlessly, for the second time.

“Yes.”

“Then I will never speak to you again.” She made a sudden movementto go, and then turned quickly back. “And you will call on thatatheist?” she continued, pointing to Hippolyte. “How dare you grinat me like that?” she shouted furiously, rushing at the invalid, whosemocking smile drove her to distraction.

Exclamations arose on all sides.

“Lizabetha Prokofievna! Lizabetha Prokofievna! LizabethaProkofievna!”

“Mother, this is disgraceful!” cried Aglaya.

Mrs. Epanchin had approached Hippolyte and seized him firmly by the arm, whileher eyes, blazing with fury, were fixed upon his face.

“Do not distress yourself, Aglaya Ivanovitch,” he answered calmly;“your mother knows that one cannot strike a dying man. I am ready toexplain why I was laughing. I shall be delighted if you will letme—”

A violent fit of coughing, which lasted a full minute, prevented him fromfinishing his sentence.

“He is dying, yet he will not stop holding forth!” cried LizabethaProkofievna. She loosed her hold on his arm, almost terrified, as she saw himwiping the blood from his lips. “Why do you talk? You ought to go home tobed.”

“So I will,” he whispered hoarsely. “As soon as I get home Iwill go to bed at once; and I know I shall be dead in a fortnight; Botkine toldme so himself last week. That is why I should like to say a few farewell words,if you will let me.”

“But you must be mad! It is ridiculous! You should take care of yourself;what is the use of holding a conversation now? Go home to bed, do!” criedMrs. Epanchin in horror.

“When I do go to bed I shall never get up again,” said Hippolyte,with a smile. “I meant to take to my bed yesterday and stay there till Idied, but as my legs can still carry me, I put it off for two days, so as tocome here with them to-day—but I am very tired.”

“Oh, sit down, sit down, why are you standing?”

Lizabetha Prokofievna placed a chair for him with her own hands.

“Thank you,” he said gently. “Sit opposite to me, and let ustalk. We must have a talk now, Lizabetha Prokofievna; I am very anxious forit.” He smiled at her once more. “Remember that today, for the lasttime, I am out in the air, and in the company of my fellow-men, and that in afortnight I shall certainly be no longer in this world. So, in a way, this ismy farewell to nature and to men. I am not very sentimental, but do you know, Iam quite glad that all this has happened at Pavlofsk, where at least one cansee a green tree.”

“But why talk now?” replied Lizabetha Prokofievna, more and morealarmed; “You are quite feverish. Just now you would not stop shouting,and now you can hardly breathe. You are gasping.”

“I shall have time to rest. Why will you not grant my last wish? Do youknow, Lizabetha Prokofievna, that I have dreamed of meeting you for a longwhile? I had often heard of you from Colia; he is almost the only person whostill comes to see me. You are an original and eccentric woman; I have seenthat for myself—Do you know, I have even been rather fond of you?”

“Good heavens! And I very nearly struck him!”

“You were prevented by Aglaya Ivanovna. I think I am not mistaken? Thatis your daughter, Aglaya Ivanovna? She is so beautiful that I recognized herdirectly, although I had never seen her before. Let me, at least, look onbeauty for the last time in my life,” he said with a wry smile.“You are here with the prince, and your husband, and a large company. Whyshould you refuse to gratify my last wish?”

“Give me a chair!” cried Lizabetha Prokofievna, but she seized onefor herself and sat down opposite to Hippolyte. “Colia, you must go homewith him,” she commanded, “and tomorrow I will come my self.”

“Will you let me ask the prince for a cup of tea?... I am exhausted. Doyou know what you might do, Lizabetha Prokofievna? I think you wanted to takethe prince home with you for tea. Stay here, and let us spend the eveningtogether. I am sure the prince will give us all some tea. Forgive me for beingso free and easy—but I know you are kind, and the prince is kind, too. Infact, we are all good-natured people—it is really quite comical.”

The prince bestirred himself to give orders. Lebedeff hurried out, followed byVera.

“It is quite true,” said Mrs. Epanchin decisively. “Talk, butnot too loud, and don’t excite yourself. You have made me sorry for you.Prince, you don’t deserve that I should stay and have tea with you, yet Iwill, all the same, but I won’t apologize. I apologize to nobody! Nobody!It is absurd! However, forgive me, prince, if I blew you up—that is, ifyou like, of course. But please don’t let me keep anyone,” sheadded suddenly to her husband and daughters, in a tone of resentment, as thoughthey had grievously offended her. “I can come home alone quitewell.”

But they did not let her finish, and gathered round her eagerly. The princeimmediately invited everyone to stay for tea, and apologized for not havingthought of it before. The general murmured a few polite words, and askedLizabetha Prokofievna if she did not feel cold on the terrace. He very nearlyasked Hippolyte how long he had been at the University, but stopped himself intime. Evgenie Pavlovitch and Prince S. suddenly grew extremely gay and amiable.Adelaida and Alexandra had not recovered from their surprise, but it was nowmingled with satisfaction; in short, everyone seemed very much relieved thatLizabetha Prokofievna had got over her paroxysm. Aglaya alone still frowned,and sat apart in silence. All the other guests stayed on as well; no one wantedto go, not even General Ivolgin, but Lebedeff said something to him in passingwhich did not seem to please him, for he immediately went and sulked in acorner. The prince took care to offer tea to Burdovsky and his friends as wellas the rest. The invitation made them rather uncomfortable. They muttered thatthey would wait for Hippolyte, and went and sat by themselves in a distantcorner of the verandah. Tea was served at once; Lebedeff had no doubt orderedit for himself and his family before the others arrived. It was strikingeleven.

X.

After moistening his lips with the tea which Vera Lebedeff brought him,Hippolyte set the cup down on the table, and glanced round. He seemed confusedand almost at a loss.

“Just look, Lizabetha Prokofievna,” he began, with a kind offeverish haste; “these china cups are supposed to be extremely valuable.Lebedeff always keeps them locked up in his china-cupboard; they were part ofhis wife’s dowry. Yet he has brought them out tonight—in yourhonour, of course! He is so pleased—” He was about to add somethingelse, but could not find the words.

“There, he is feeling embarrassed; I expected as much,” whisperedEvgenie Pavlovitch suddenly in the prince’s ear. “It is a bad sign;what do you think? Now, out of spite, he will come out with something sooutrageous that even Lizabetha Prokofievna will not be able to stand it.”

Muishkin looked at him inquiringly.

“You do not care if he does?” added Evgenie Pavlovitch.“Neither do I; in fact, I should be glad, merely as a proper punishmentfor our dear Lizabetha Prokofievna. I am very anxious that she should get it,without delay, and I shall stay till she does. You seem feverish.”

“Never mind; by-and-by; yes, I am not feeling well,” said theprince impatiently, hardly listening. He had just heard Hippolyte mention hisown name.

“You don’t believe it?” said the invalid, with a nervouslaugh. “I don’t wonder, but the prince will have no difficulty inbelieving it; he will not be at all surprised.”

“Do you hear, prince—do you hear that?” said LizabethaProkofievna, turning towards him.

There was laughter in the group around her, and Lebedeff stood before hergesticulating wildly.

“He declares that your humbug of a landlord revised thisgentleman’s article—the article that was read aloud justnow—in which you got such a charming dressing-down.”

The prince regarded Lebedeff with astonishment.

“Why don’t you say something?” cried Lizabetha Prokofievna,stamping her foot.

“Well,” murmured the prince, with his eyes still fixed on Lebedeff,“I can see now that he did.”

“Is it true?” she asked eagerly.

“Absolutely, your excellency,” said Lebedeff, without the leasthesitation.

Mrs. Epanchin almost sprang up in amazement at his answer, and at the assuranceof his tone.

“He actually seems to boast of it!” she cried.

“I am base—base!” muttered Lebedeff, beating his breast, andhanging his head.

“What do I care if you are base or not? He thinks he has only to say,‘I am base,’ and there is an end of it. As to you, prince, are younot ashamed?—I repeat, are you not ashamed, to mix with such riff-raff? Iwill never forgive you!”

“The prince will forgive me!” said Lebedeff with emotionalconviction.

Keller suddenly left his seat, and approached Lizabetha Prokofievna.

“It was only out of generosity, madame,” he said in a resonantvoice, “and because I would not betray a friend in an awkward position,that I did not mention this revision before; though you heard him yourselfthreatening to kick us down the steps. To clear the matter up, I declare nowthat I did have recourse to his assistance, and that I paid him six roubles forit. But I did not ask him to correct my style; I simply went to him forinformation concerning the facts, of which I was ignorant to a great extent,and which he was competent to give. The story of the gaiters, the appetite inthe Swiss professor’s house, the substitution of fifty roubles for twohundred and fifty—all such details, in fact, were got from him. I paidhim six roubles for them; but he did not correct the style.”

“I must state that I only revised the first part of the article,”interposed Lebedeff with feverish impatience, while laughter rose from allaround him; “but we fell out in the middle over one idea, so I nevercorrected the second part. Therefore I cannot be held responsible for thenumerous grammatical blunders in it.”

“That is all he thinks of!” cried Lizabetha Prokofievna.

“May I ask when this article was revised?” said Evgenie Pavlovitchto Keller.

“Yesterday morning,” he replied, “we had an interview whichwe all gave our word of honour to keep secret.”

“The very time when he was cringing before you and making protestationsof devotion! Oh, the mean wretches! I will have nothing to do with yourPushkin, and your daughter shall not set foot in my house!”

Lizabetha Prokofievna was about to rise, when she saw Hippolyte laughing, andturned upon him with irritation.

“Well, sir, I suppose you wanted to make me look ridiculous?”

“Heaven forbid!” he answered, with a forced smile. “But I ammore than ever struck by your eccentricity, Lizabetha Prokofievna. I admit thatI told you of Lebedeff’s duplicity, on purpose. I knew the effect itwould have on you,—on you alone, for the prince will forgive him. He hasprobably forgiven him already, and is racking his brains to find some excusefor him—is not that the truth, prince?”

He gasped as he spoke, and his strange agitation seemed to increase.

“Well?” said Mrs. Epanchin angrily, surprised at his tone;“well, what more?”

“I have heard many things of the kind about you...they delighted me... Ihave learned to hold you in the highest esteem,” continued Hippolyte.

His words seemed tinged with a kind of sarcastic mockery, yet he was extremelyagitated, casting suspicious glances around him, growing confused, andconstantly losing the thread of his ideas. All this, together with hisconsumptive appearance, and the frenzied expression of his blazing eyes,naturally attracted the attention of everyone present.

“I might have been surprised (though I admit I know nothing of theworld), not only that you should have stayed on just now in the company of suchpeople as myself and my friends, who are not of your class, but that you shouldlet these... young ladies listen to such a scandalous affair, though no doubtnovel-reading has taught them all there is to know. I may be mistaken; I hardlyknow what I am saying; but surely no one but you would have stayed to please awhippersnapper (yes, a whippersnapper; I admit it) to spend the evening andtake part in everything—only to be ashamed of it tomorrow. (I know Iexpress myself badly.) I admire and appreciate it all extremely, though theexpression on the face of his excellency, your husband, shows that he thinks itvery improper. He-he!” He burst out laughing, and was seized with a fitof coughing which lasted for two minutes and prevented him from speaking.

“He has lost his breath now!” said Lizabetha Prokofievna coldly,looking at him with more curiosity than pity: “Come, my dear boy, that isquite enough—let us make an end of this.”

Ivan Fedorovitch, now quite out of patience, interrupted suddenly. “Letme remark in my turn, sir,” he said in tones of deep annoyance,“that my wife is here as the guest of Prince Lef Nicolaievitch, ourfriend and neighbour, and that in any case, young man, it is not for you topass judgment on the conduct of Lizabetha Prokofievna, or to make remarks aloudin my presence concerning what feelings you think may be read in my face. Yes,my wife stayed here,” continued the general, with increasing irritation,“more out of amazement than anything else. Everyone can understand that acollection of such strange young men would attract the attention of a personinterested in contemporary life. I stayed myself, just as I sometimes stop tolook on in the street when I see something that may be regardedas-as-as-”

“As a curiosity,” suggested Evgenie Pavlovitch, seeing hisexcellency involved in a comparison which he could not complete.

“That is exactly the word I wanted,” said the general withsatisfaction—“a curiosity. However, the most astonishing and, if Imay so express myself, the most painful, thing in this matter, is that youcannot even understand, young man, that Lizabetha Prokofievna, only stayed withyou because you are ill,—if you really are dying—moved by the pityawakened by your plaintive appeal, and that her name, character, and socialposition place her above all risk of contamination. LizabethaProkofievna!” he continued, now crimson with rage, “if you arecoming, we will say goodnight to the prince, and—”

“Thank you for the lesson, general,” said Hippolyte, withunexpected gravity, regarding him thoughtfully.

“Two minutes more, if you please, dear Ivan Fedorovitch,” saidLizabetha Prokofievna to her husband; “it seems to me that he is in afever and delirious; you can see by his eyes what a state he is in; it isimpossible to let him go back to Petersburg tonight. Can you put him up, LefNicolaievitch? I hope you are not bored, dear prince,” she added suddenlyto Prince S. “Alexandra, my dear, come here! Your hair is comingdown.”

She arranged her daughter’s hair, which was not in the least disordered,and gave her a kiss. This was all that she had called her for.

“I thought you were capable of development,” said Hippolyte, comingout of his fit of abstraction. “Yes, that is what I meant to say,”he added, with the satisfaction of one who suddenly remembers something he hadforgotten. “Here is Burdovsky, sincerely anxious to protect his mother;is not that so? And he himself is the cause of her disgrace. The prince isanxious to help Burdovsky and offers him friendship and a large sum of money,in the sincerity of his heart. And here they stand like two swornenemies—ha, ha, ha! You all hate Burdovsky because his behaviour withregard to his mother is shocking and repugnant to you; do you not? Is not thattrue? Is it not true? You all have a passion for beauty and distinction inoutward forms; that is all you care for, isn’t it? I have suspected for along time that you cared for nothing else! Well, let me tell you that perhapsthere is not one of you who loved your mother as Burdovsky loved his. As toyou, prince, I know that you have sent money secretly to Burdovsky’smother through Gania. Well, I bet now,” he continued with an hystericallaugh, “that Burdovsky will accuse you of indelicacy, and reproach youwith a want of respect for his mother! Yes, that is quite certain! Ha, ha,ha!”

He caught his breath, and began to cough once more.

“Come, that is enough! That is all now; you have no more to say? Now goto bed; you are burning with fever,” said Lizabetha Prokofievnaimpatiently. Her anxious eyes had never left the invalid. “Good heavens,he is going to begin again!”

“You are laughing, I think? Why do you keep laughing at me?” saidHippolyte irritably to Evgenie Pavlovitch, who certainly was laughing.

“I only want to know, Mr. Hippolyte—excuse me, I forget yoursurname.”

“Mr. Terentieff,” said the prince.

“Oh yes, Mr. Terentieff. Thank you prince. I heard it just now, but hadforgotten it. I want to know, Mr. Terentieff, if what I have heard about you istrue. It seems you are convinced that if you could speak to the people from awindow for a quarter of an hour, you could make them all adopt your views andfollow you?”

“I may have said so,” answered Hippolyte, as if trying to remember.“Yes, I certainly said so,” he continued with sudden animation,fixing an unflinching glance on his questioner. “What of it?”

“Nothing. I was only seeking further information, to put the finishingtouch.”

Evgenie Pavlovitch was silent, but Hippolyte kept his eyes fixed upon him,waiting impatiently for more.

“Well, have you finished?” said Lizabetha Prokofievna to Evgenie.“Make haste, sir; it is time he went to bed. Have you more to say?”She was very angry.

“Yes, I have a little more,” said Evgenie Pavlovitch, with a smile.“It seems to me that all you and your friends have said, Mr. Terentieff,and all you have just put forward with such undeniable talent, may be summed upin the triumph of right above all, independent of everything else, to theexclusion of everything else; perhaps even before having discovered whatconstitutes the right. I may be mistaken?”

“You are certainly mistaken; I do not even understand you. Whatelse?”

Murmurs arose in the neighbourhood of Burdovsky and his companions;Lebedeff’s nephew protested under his breath.

“I have nearly finished,” replied Evgenie Pavlovitch.

“I will only remark that from these premises one could conclude thatmight is right—I mean the right of the clenched fist, and of personalinclination. Indeed, the world has often come to that conclusion. Prudhonupheld that might is right. In the American War some of the most advancedLiberals took sides with the planters on the score that the blacks were aninferior race to the whites, and that might was the right of the whiterace.”

“Well?”

“You mean, no doubt, that you do not deny that might is right?”

“What then?”

“You are at least logical. I would only point out that from the right ofmight, to the right of tigers and crocodiles, or even Daniloff and Gorsky, isbut a step.”

“I know nothing about that; what else?”

Hippolyte was scarcely listening. He kept saying “well?” and“what else?” mechanically, without the least curiosity, and by mereforce of habit.

“Why, nothing else; that is all.”

“However, I bear you no grudge,” said Hippolyte suddenly, and,hardly conscious of what he was doing, he held out his hand with a smile. Thegesture took Evgenie Pavlovitch by surprise, but with the utmost gravity hetouched the hand that was offered him in token of forgiveness.

“I can but thank you,” he said, in a tone too respectful to besincere, “for your kindness in letting me speak, for I have often noticedthat our Liberals never allow other people to have an opinion of their own, andimmediately answer their opponents with abuse, if they do not have recourse toarguments of a still more unpleasant nature.”

“What you say is quite true,” observed General Epanchin; then,clasping his hands behind his back, he returned to his place on the terracesteps, where he yawned with an air of boredom.

“Come, sir, that will do; you weary me,” said Lizabetha Prokofievnasuddenly to Evgenie Pavlovitch.

Hippolyte rose all at once, looking troubled and almost frightened.

“It is time for me to go,” he said, glancing round in perplexity.“I have detained you... I wanted to tell you everything... I thought youall... for the last time... it was a whim...”

He evidently had sudden fits of returning animation, when he awoke from hissemi-delirium; then, recovering full self-possession for a few moments, hewould speak, in disconnected phrases which had perhaps haunted him for a longwhile on his bed of suffering, during weary, sleepless nights.

“Well, good-bye,” he said abruptly. “You think it is easy forme to say good-bye to you? Ha, ha!”

Feeling that his question was somewhat gauche, he smiled angrily. Then as ifvexed that he could not ever express what he really meant, he said irritably,in a loud voice:

“Excellency, I have the honour of inviting you to my funeral; that is, ifyou will deign to honour it with your presence. I invite you all, gentlemen, aswell as the general.”

He burst out laughing again, but it was the laughter of a madman. LizabethaProkofievna approached him anxiously and seized his arm. He stared at her for amoment, still laughing, but soon his face grew serious.

“Do you know that I came here to see those trees?” pointing to thetrees in the park. “It is not ridiculous, is it? Say that it is notridiculous!” he demanded urgently of Lizabetha Prokofievna. Then heseemed to be plunged in thought. A moment later he raised his head, and hiseyes sought for someone. He was looking for Evgenie Pavlovitch, who was closeby on his right as before, but he had forgotten this, and his eyes ranged overthe assembled company. “Ah! you have not gone!” he said, when hecaught sight of him at last. “You kept on laughing just now, because Ithought of speaking to the people from the window for a quarter of an hour. ButI am not eighteen, you know; lying on that bed, and looking out of that window,I have thought of all sorts of things for such a long time that... a dead manhas no age, you know. I was saying that to myself only last week, when I wasawake in the night. Do you know what you fear most? You fear our sincerity morethan anything, although you despise us! The idea crossed my mind that night...You thought I was making fun of you just now, Lizabetha Prokofievna? No, theidea of mockery was far from me; I only meant to praise you. Colia told me theprince called you a child—very well—but let me see, I had somethingelse to say...” He covered his face with his hands and tried to collecthis thoughts.

“Ah, yes—you were going away just now, and I thought to myself:‘I shall never see these people again—never again! This is the lasttime I shall see the trees, too. I shall see nothing after this but the redbrick wall of Meyer’s house opposite my window. Tell them aboutit—try to tell them,’ I thought. ‘Here is a beautiful younggirl—you are a dead man; make them understand that. Tell them that a deadman may say anything—and Mrs. Grundy will not be angry—ha-ha! Youare not laughing?” He looked anxiously around. “But you know I getso many queer ideas, lying there in bed. I have grown convinced that nature isfull of mockery—you called me an atheist just now, but you know thisnature... why are you laughing again? You are very cruel!” he addedsuddenly, regarding them all with mournful reproach. “I have notcorrupted Colia,” he concluded in a different and very serious tone, asif remembering something again.

“Nobody here is laughing at you. Calm yourself,” said LizabethaProkofievna, much moved. “You shall see a new doctor tomorrow; the otherwas mistaken; but sit down, do not stand like that! You aredelirious—” Oh, what shall we do with him she cried in anguish, asshe made him sit down again in the arm-chair.

A tear glistened on her cheek. At the sight of it Hippolyte seemed amazed. Helifted his hand timidly and, touched the tear with his finger, smiling like achild.

“I... you,” he began joyfully. “You cannot tell how I... healways spoke so enthusiastically of you, Colia here; I liked his enthusiasm. Iwas not corrupting him! But I must leave him, too—I wanted to leave themall—there was not one of them—not one! I wanted to be a man ofaction—I had a right to be. Oh! what a lot of things I wanted! Now I wantnothing; I renounce all my wants; I swore to myself that I would want nothing;let them seek the truth without me! Yes, nature is full of mockery!Why”—he continued with sudden warmth—“does she createthe choicest beings only to mock at them? The only human being who isrecognized as perfect, when nature showed him to mankind, was given the missionto say things which have caused the shedding of so much blood that it wouldhave drowned mankind if it had all been shed at once! Oh! it is better for meto die! I should tell some dreadful lie too; nature would so contrive it! Ihave corrupted nobody. I wanted to live for the happiness of all men, to findand spread the truth. I used to look out of my window at the wall ofMeyer’s house, and say to myself that if I could speak for a quarter ofan hour I would convince the whole world, and now for once in my life I havecome into contact with... you—if not with the others! And what is theresult? Nothing! The sole result is that you despise me! Therefore I must be afool, I am useless, it is time I disappeared! And I shall leave not even amemory! Not a sound, not a trace, not a single deed! I have not spread a singletruth!... Do not laugh at the fool! Forget him! Forget him forever! I beseechyou, do not be so cruel as to remember! Do you know that if I were notconsumptive, I would kill myself?”

Though he seemed to wish to say much more, he became silent. He fell back intohis chair, and, covering his face with his hands, began to sob like a littlechild.

“Oh! what on earth are we to do with him?” cried LizabethaProkofievna. She hastened to him and pressed his head against her bosom, whilehe sobbed convulsively.

“Come, come, come! There, you must not cry, that will do. You are a goodchild! God will forgive you, because you knew no better. Come now, be a man!You know presently you will be ashamed.”

Hippolyte raised his head with an effort, saying:

“I have little brothers and sisters, over there, poor avid innocent. Shewill corrupt them! You are a saint! You are a child yourself—save them!Snatch them from that... she is... it is shameful! Oh! help them! God willrepay you a hundredfold. For the love of God, for the love of Christ!”

“Speak, Ivan Fedorovitch! What are we to do?” cried LizabethaProkofievna, irritably. “Please break your majestic silence! I tell you,if you cannot come to some decision, I will stay here all night myself. Youhave tyrannized over me enough, you autocrat!”

She spoke angrily, and in great excitement, and expected an immediate reply.But in such a case, no matter how many are present, all prefer to keep silence:no one will take the initiative, but all reserve their comments tillafterwards. There were some present—Varvara Ardalionovna, forinstance—who would have willingly sat there till morning without saying aword. Varvara had sat apart all the evening without opening her lips, but shelistened to everything with the closest attention; perhaps she had her reasonsfor so doing.

“My dear,” said the general, “it seems to me that asick-nurse would be of more use here than an excitable person like you. Perhapsit would be as well to get some sober, reliable man for the night. In any casewe must consult the prince, and leave the patient to rest at once. Tomorrow wecan see what can be done for him.”

“It is nearly midnight; we are going. Will he come with us, or is he tostay here?” Doktorenko asked crossly of the prince.

“You can stay with him if you like,” said Muishkin.

“There is plenty of room here.”

Suddenly, to the astonishment of all, Keller went quickly up to the general.

“Excellency,” he said, impulsively, “if you want a reliableman for the night, I am ready to sacrifice myself for my friend—such asoul as he has! I have long thought him a great man, excellency! My articleshowed my lack of education, but when he criticizes he scatters pearls!”

Ivan Fedorovitch turned from the boxer with a gesture of despair.

“I shall be delighted if he will stay; it would certainly be difficultfor him to get back to Petersburg,” said the prince, in answer to theeager questions of Lizabetha Prokofievna.

“But you are half asleep, are you not? If you don’t want him, Iwill take him back to my house! Why, good gracious! He can hardly stand uphimself! What is it? Are you ill?”

Not finding the prince on his death-bed, Lizabetha Prokofievna had been misledby his appearance to think him much better than he was. But his recent illness,the painful memories attached to it, the fatigue of this evening, the incidentwith “Pavlicheff’s son,” and now this scene with Hippolyte,had all so worked on his oversensitive nature that he was now almost in afever. Moreover, a new trouble, almost a fear, showed itself in his eyes; hewatched Hippolyte anxiously as if expecting something further.

Suddenly Hippolyte arose. His face, shockingly pale, was that of a manoverwhelmed with shame and despair. This was shown chiefly in the look of fearand hatred which he cast upon the assembled company, and in the wild smile uponhis trembling lips. Then he cast down his eyes, and with the same smile,staggered towards Burdovsky and Doktorenko, who stood at the entrance to theverandah. He had decided to go with them.

“There! that is what I feared!” cried the prince. “It wasinevitable!”

Hippolyte turned upon him, a prey to maniacal rage, which set all the musclesof his face quivering.

“Ah! that is what you feared! It was inevitable, you say! Well, let metell you that if I hate anyone here—I hate you all,” he cried, in ahoarse, strained voice—“but you, you, with your jesuitical soul,your soul of sickly sweetness, idiot, beneficent millionaire—I hate youworse than anything or anyone on earth! I saw through you and hated you longago; from the day I first heard of you. I hated you with my whole heart. Youhave contrived all this! You have driven me into this state! You have made adying man disgrace himself. You, you, you are the cause of my abject cowardice!I would kill you if I remained alive! I do not want your benefits; I willaccept none from anyone; do you hear? Not from any one! I want nothing! I wasdelirious, do not dare to triumph! I curse every one of you, once forall!”

Breath failed him here, and he was obliged to stop.

“He is ashamed of his tears!” whispered Lebedeff to LizabethaProkofievna. “It was inevitable. Ah! what a wonderful man the prince is!He read his very soul.”

But Mrs. Epanchin would not deign to look at Lebedeff. Drawn up haughtily, withher head held high, she gazed at the “riff-raff,” with scornfulcuriosity. When Hippolyte had finished, Ivan Fedorovitch shrugged hisshoulders, and his wife looked him angrily up and down, as if to demand themeaning of his movement. Then she turned to the prince.

“Thanks, prince, many thanks, eccentric friend of the family, for thepleasant evening you have provided for us. I am sure you are quite pleased thatyou have managed to mix us up with your extraordinary affairs. It is quiteenough, dear family friend; thank you for giving us an opportunity of gettingto know you so well.”

She arranged her cloak with hands that trembled with anger as she waited forthe “riff-raff” to go. The cab which Lebedeff’s son had goneto fetch a quarter of an hour ago, by Doktorenko’s order, arrived at thatmoment. The general thought fit to put in a word after his wife.

“Really, prince, I hardly expected after—after all our friendlyintercourse—and you see, Lizabetha Prokofievna—”

“Papa, how can you?” cried Adelaida, walking quickly up to theprince and holding out her hand.

He smiled absently at her; then suddenly he felt a burning sensation in his earas an angry voice whispered:

“If you do not turn those dreadful people out of the house this veryinstant, I shall hate you all my life—all my life!” It was Aglaya.She seemed almost in a frenzy, but she turned away before the prince could lookat her. However, there was no one left to turn out of the house, for they hadmanaged meanwhile to get Hippolyte into the cab, and it had driven off.

“Well, how much longer is this going to last, Ivan Fedorovitch? What doyou think? Shall I soon be delivered from these odious youths?”

“My dear, I am quite ready; naturally... the prince.”

Ivan Fedorovitch held out his hand to Muishkin, but ran after his wife, who wasleaving with every sign of violent indignation, before he had time to shake it.Adelaida, her fiance, and Alexandra, said good-bye to their host with sincerefriendliness. Evgenie Pavlovitch did the same, and he alone seemed in goodspirits.

“What I expected has happened! But I am sorry, you poor fellow, that youshould have had to suffer for it,” he murmured, with a most charmingsmile.

Aglaya left without saying good-bye. But the evening was not to end without alast adventure. An unexpected meeting was yet in store for LizabethaProkofievna.

She had scarcely descended the terrace steps leading to the high road thatskirts the park at Pavlofsk, when suddenly there dashed by a smart opencarriage, drawn by a pair of beautiful white horses. Having passed some tenyards beyond the house, the carriage suddenly drew up, and one of the twoladies seated in it turned sharp round as though she had just caught sight ofsome acquaintance whom she particularly wished to see.

“Evgenie Pavlovitch! Is that you?” cried a clear, sweet voice,which caused the prince, and perhaps someone else, to tremble. “Well, Iam glad I’ve found you at last! I’ve sent to town for youtwice today myself! My messengers have been searching for youeverywhere!”

Evgenie Pavlovitch stood on the steps like one struck by lightning. Mrs.Epanchin stood still too, but not with the petrified expression of Evgenie. Shegazed haughtily at the audacious person who had addressed her companion, andthen turned a look of astonishment upon Evgenie himself.

“There’s news!” continued the clear voice. “You neednot be anxious about Kupferof’s IOU’s—Rogojin has bought themup. I persuaded him to!—I dare say we shall settle Biscup too, soit’s all right, you see! Au revoir, tomorrow! And don’tworry!” The carriage moved on, and disappeared.

“The woman’s mad!” cried Evgenie, at last, crimson withanger, and looking confusedly around. “I don’t know whatshe’s talking about! What IOU’s? Who is she?” Mrs. Epanchincontinued to watch his face for a couple of seconds; then she marched brisklyand haughtily away towards her own house, the rest following her.

A minute afterwards, Evgenie Pavlovitch reappeared on the terrace, in greatagitation.

“Prince,” he said, “tell me the truth; do you know what allthis means?”

“I know nothing whatever about it!” replied the latter, who was,himself, in a state of nervous excitement.

“No?”

“No!”

“Well, nor do I!” said Evgenie Pavlovitch, laughing suddenly.“I haven’t the slightest knowledge of any such IOU’s as shementioned, I swear I haven’t—What’s the matter, are youfainting?”

“Oh, no—no—I’m all right, I assure you!”

XI.

The anger of the Epanchin family was unappeased for three days. As usual theprince reproached himself, and had expected punishment, but he was inwardlyconvinced that Lizabetha Prokofievna could not be seriously angry with him, andthat she probably was more angry with herself. He was painfully surprised,therefore, when three days passed with no word from her. Other things alsotroubled and perplexed him, and one of these grew more important in his eyes asthe days went by. He had begun to blame himself for two oppositetendencies—on the one hand to extreme, almost “senseless,”confidence in his fellows, on the other to a “vile, gloomysuspiciousness.”

By the end of the third day the incident of the eccentric lady and EvgeniePavlovitch had attained enormous and mysterious proportions in his mind. Hesorrowfully asked himself whether he had been the cause of this new“monstrosity,” or was it... but he refrained from saying who elsemight be in fault. As for the letters N.P.B., he looked on that as a harmlessjoke, a mere childish piece of mischief—so childish that he felt it wouldbe shameful, almost dishonourable, to attach any importance to it.

The day after these scandalous events, however, the prince had the honour ofreceiving a visit from Adelaida and her fiance, Prince S. They came,ostensibly, to inquire after his health. They had wandered out for a walk, andcalled in “by accident,” and talked for almost the whole of thetime they were with him about a certain most lovely tree in the park, whichAdelaida had set her heart upon for a picture. This, and a little amiableconversation on Prince S.’s part, occupied the time, and not a word wassaid about last evening’s episodes. At length Adelaida burst outlaughing, apologized, and explained that they had come incognito; from which,and from the circumstance that they said nothing about the prince’seither walking back with them or coming to see them later on, the latterinferred that he was in Mrs. Epanchin’s black books. Adelaida mentioned awatercolour that she would much like to show him, and explained that she wouldeither send it by Colia, or bring it herself the next day—which to theprince seemed very suggestive.

At length, however, just as the visitors were on the point of departing, PrinceS. seemed suddenly to recollect himself. “Oh yes, by-the-by,” hesaid, “do you happen to know, my dear Lef Nicolaievitch, who that ladywas who called out to Evgenie Pavlovitch last night, from the carriage?”

“It was Nastasia Philipovna,” said the prince; “didn’tyou know that? I cannot tell you who her companion was.”

“But what on earth did she mean? I assure you it is a real riddle tome—to me, and to others, too!” Prince S. seemed to be under theinfluence of sincere astonishment.

“She spoke of some bills of Evgenie Pavlovitch’s,” said theprince, simply, “which Rogojin had bought up from someone; and impliedthat Rogojin would not press him.”

“Oh, I heard that much, my dear fellow! But the thing is so impossiblyabsurd! A man of property like Evgenie to give IOU’s to a money-lender,and to be worried about them! It is ridiculous. Besides, he cannot possibly beon such intimate terms with Nastasia Philipovna as she gave us to understand;that’s the principal part of the mystery! He has given me his word thathe knows nothing whatever about the matter, and of course I believe him. Well,the question is, my dear prince, do you know anything about it? Has any sort ofsuspicion of the meaning of it come across you?”

“No, I know nothing whatever about it. I assure you I had nothing at allto do with it.”

“Oh, prince, how strange you have become! I assure you, I hardly know youfor your old self. How can you suppose that I ever suggested you could have hada finger in such a business? But you are not quite yourself today, I cansee.” He embraced the prince, and kissed him.

“What do you mean, though,” asked Muishkin, “‘by such abusiness’? I don’t see any particular ‘business’ aboutit at all!”

“Oh, undoubtedly, this person wished somehow, and for some reason, to doEvgenie Pavlovitch a bad turn, by attributing to him—beforewitnesses—qualities which he neither has nor can have,” repliedPrince S. drily enough.

Muiskhin looked disturbed, but continued to gaze intently and questioninglyinto Prince S.’s face. The latter, however, remained silent.

“Then it was not simply a matter of bills?” Muishkin said at last,with some impatience. “It was not as she said?”

“But I ask you, my dear sir, how can there be anything in common betweenEvgenie Pavlovitch, and—her, and again Rogojin? I tell you he is a man ofimmense wealth—as I know for a fact; and he has further expectations fromhis uncle. Simply Nastasia Philipovna—”

Prince S. paused, as though unwilling to continue talking about NastasiaPhilipovna.

“Then at all events he knows her!” remarked the prince, after amoment’s silence.

“Oh, that may be. He may have known her some time ago—two or threeyears, at least. He used to know Totski. But it is impossible that there shouldbe any intimacy between them. She has not even been in the place—manypeople don’t even know that she has returned from Moscow! I have onlyobserved her carriage about for the last three days or so.”

“It’s a lovely carriage,” said Adelaida.

“Yes, it was a beautiful turn-out, certainly!”

The visitors left the house, however, on no less friendly terms than before.But the visit was of the greatest importance to the prince, from his own pointof view. Admitting that he had his suspicions, from the moment of theoccurrence of last night, perhaps even before, that Nastasia had somemysterious end in view, yet this visit confirmed his suspicions and justifiedhis fears. It was all clear to him; Prince S. was wrong, perhaps, in his viewof the matter, but he was somewhere near the truth, and was right in so far asthat he understood there to be an intrigue of some sort going on. PerhapsPrince S. saw it all more clearly than he had allowed his hearers tounderstand. At all events, nothing could be plainer than that he and Adelaidahad come for the express purpose of obtaining explanations, and that theysuspected him of being concerned in the affair. And if all this were so, thenshe must have some terrible object in view! What was it? There was nostopping her, as Muishkin knew from experience, in the performance ofanything she had set her mind on! “Oh, she is mad, mad!” thoughtthe poor prince.

But there were many other puzzling occurrences that day, which requiredimmediate explanation, and the prince felt very sad. A visit from Vera Lebedeffdistracted him a little. She brought the infant Lubotchka with her as usual,and talked cheerfully for some time. Then came her younger sister, and laterthe brother, who attended a school close by. He informed Muishkin that hisfather had lately found a new interpretation of the star called“wormwood,” which fell upon the water-springs, as described in theApocalypse. He had decided that it meant the network of railroads spread overthe face of Europe at the present time. The prince refused to believe thatLebedeff could have given such an interpretation, and they decided to ask himabout it at the earliest opportunity. Vera related how Keller had taken up hisabode with them on the previous evening. She thought he would remain for sometime, as he was greatly pleased with the society of General Ivolgin and of thewhole family. But he declared that he had only come to them in order tocomplete his education! The prince always enjoyed the company ofLebedeff’s children, and today it was especially welcome, for Colia didnot appear all day. Early that morning he had started for Petersburg. Lebedeffalso was away on business. But Gavrila Ardalionovitch had promised to visitMuishkin, who eagerly awaited his coming.

About seven in the evening, soon after dinner, he arrived. At the first glanceit struck the prince that he, at any rate, must know all the details of lastnight’s affair. Indeed, it would have been impossible for him to remainin ignorance considering the intimate relationship between him, VarvaraArdalionovna, and Ptitsin. But although he and the prince were intimate, in asense, and although the latter had placed the Burdovsky affair in hishands—and this was not the only mark of confidence he hadreceived—it seemed curious how many matters there were that were tacitlyavoided in their conversations. Muishkin thought that Gania at times appearedto desire more cordiality and frankness. It was apparent now, when he entered,that he was convinced that the moment for breaking the ice between them hadcome at last.

But all the same Gania was in haste, for his sister was waiting atLebedeff’s to consult him on an urgent matter of business. If he hadanticipated impatient questions, or impulsive confidences, he was soonundeceived. The prince was thoughtful, reserved, even a little absent-minded,and asked none of the questions—one in particular—that Gania hadexpected. So he imitated the prince’s demeanour, and talked fast andbrilliantly upon all subjects but the one on which their thoughts were engaged.Among other things Gania told his host that Nastasia Philipovna had been onlyfour days in Pavlofsk, and that everyone was talking about her already. She wasstaying with Daria Alexeyevna, in an ugly little house in Mattrossky Street,but drove about in the smartest carriage in the place. A crowd of followers hadpursued her from the first, young and old. Some escorted her on horse-back whenshe took the air in her carriage.

She was as capricious as ever in the choice of her acquaintances, and admittedfew into her narrow circle. Yet she already had a numerous following and manychampions on whom she could depend in time of need. One gentleman on hisholiday had broken off his engagement on her account, and an old general hadquarrelled with his only son for the same reason.

She was accompanied sometimes in her carriage by a girl of sixteen, a distantrelative of her hostess. This young lady sang very well; in fact, her music hadgiven a kind of notoriety to their little house. Nastasia, however, wasbehaving with great discretion on the whole. She dressed quietly, though withsuch taste as to drive all the ladies in Pavlofsk mad with envy, of that, aswell as of her beauty and her carriage and horses.

“As for yesterday’s episode,” continued Gania, “ofcourse it was pre-arranged.” Here he paused, as though expecting to beasked how he knew that. But the prince did not inquire. Concerning EvgeniePavlovitch, Gania stated, without being asked, that he believed the former hadnot known Nastasia Philipovna in past years, but that he had probably beenintroduced to her by somebody in the park during these four days. As to thequestion of the IOU’s she had spoken of, there might easily be somethingin that; for though Evgenie was undoubtedly a man of wealth, yet certain of hisaffairs were equally undoubtedly in disorder. Arrived at this interestingpoint, Gania suddenly broke off, and said no more about Nastasia’s prankof the previous evening.

At last Varvara Ardalionovna came in search of her brother, and remained for afew minutes. Without Muishkin’s asking her, she informed him that EvgeniePavlovitch was spending the day in Petersburg, and perhaps would remain thereover tomorrow; and that her husband had also gone to town, probably inconnection with Evgenie Pavlovitch’s affairs.

“Lizabetha Prokofievna is in a really fiendish temper today,” sheadded, as she went out, “but the most curious thing is that Aglaya hasquarrelled with her whole family; not only with her father and mother, but withher sisters also. It is not a good sign.” She said all this quitecasually, though it was extremely important in the eyes of the prince, and wentoff with her brother. Regarding the episode of “Pavlicheff’sson,” Gania had been absolutely silent, partly from a kind of falsemodesty, partly, perhaps, to “spare the prince’s feelings.”The latter, however, thanked him again for the trouble he had taken in theaffair.

Muishkin was glad enough to be left alone. He went out of the garden, crossedthe road, and entered the park. He wished to reflect, and to make up his mindas to a certain “step.” This step was one of those things, however,which are not thought out, as a rule, but decided for or against hastily, andwithout much reflection. The fact is, he felt a longing to leave all this andgo away—go anywhere, if only it were far enough, and at once, withoutbidding farewell to anyone. He felt a presentiment that if he remained but afew days more in this place, and among these people, he would be fixed thereirrevocably and permanently. However, in a very few minutes he decided that torun away was impossible; that it would be cowardly; that great problems laybefore him, and that he had no right to leave them unsolved, or at least torefuse to give all his energy and strength to the attempt to solve them. Havingcome to this determination, he turned and went home, his walk having lastedless than a quarter of an hour. At that moment he was thoroughly unhappy.

Lebedeff had not returned, so towards evening Keller managed to penetrate intothe prince’s apartments. He was not drunk, but in a confidential andtalkative mood. He announced that he had come to tell the story of his life toMuishkin, and had only remained at Pavlofsk for that purpose. There was nomeans of turning him out; nothing short of an earthquake would have removedhim.

In the manner of one with long hours before him, he began his history; butafter a few incoherent words he jumped to the conclusion, which was that“having ceased to believe in God Almighty, he had lost every vestige ofmorality, and had gone so far as to commit a theft.” “Could youimagine such a thing?” said he.

“Listen to me, Keller,” returned the prince. “If I were inyour place, I should not acknowledge that unless it were absolutely necessaryfor some reason. But perhaps you are making yourself out to be worse than youare, purposely?”

“I should tell it to no one but yourself, prince, and I only name it nowas a help to my soul’s evolution. When I die, that secret will die withme! But, excellency, if you knew, if you only had the least idea, how difficultit is to get money nowadays! Where to find it is the question. Ask for a loan,the answer is always the same: ‘Give us gold, jewels, or diamonds, and itwill be quite easy.’ Exactly what one has not got! Can you picture thatto yourself? I got angry at last, and said, ‘I suppose you would acceptemeralds?’ ‘Certainly, we accept emeralds with pleasure.Yes!’ ‘Well, that’s all right,’ said I. ‘Go tothe devil, you den of thieves!’ And with that I seized my hat, and walkedout.”

“Had you any emeralds?” asked the prince.

“What? I have emeralds? Oh, prince! with what simplicity, with whatalmost pastoral simplicity, you look upon life!”

Could not something be made of this man under good influences? asked the princeof himself, for he began to feel a kind of pity for his visitor. He thoughtlittle of the value of his own personal influence, not from a sense ofhumility, but from his peculiar way of looking at things in general.Imperceptibly the conversation grew more animated and more interesting, so thatneither of the two felt anxious to bring it to a close. Keller confessed, withapparent sincerity, to having been guilty of many acts of such a nature that itastonished the prince that he could mention them, even to him. At every freshavowal he professed the deepest repentance, and described himself as being“bathed in tears”; but this did not prevent him from putting on aboastful air at times, and some of his stories were so absurdly comical thatboth he and the prince laughed like madmen.

“One point in your favour is that you seem to have a child-like mind, andextreme truthfulness,” said the prince at last. “Do you know thatthat atones for much?”

“I am assuredly noble-minded, and chivalrous to a degree!” saidKeller, much softened. “But, do you know, this nobility of mind exists ina dream, if one may put it so? It never appears in practice or deed. Now, whyis that? I can never understand.”

“Do not despair. I think we may say without fear of deceiving ourselves,that you have now given a fairly exact account of your life. I, at least, thinkit would be impossible to add much to what you have just told me.”

“Impossible?” cried Keller, almost pityingly. “Oh prince, howlittle you really seem to understand human nature!”

“Is there really much more to be added?” asked the prince, withmild surprise. “Well, what is it you really want of me? Speak out; tellme why you came to make your confession to me?”

“What did I want? Well, to begin with, it is good to meet a man like you.It is a pleasure to talk over my faults with you. I know you for one of thebest of men... and then... then...”

He hesitated, and appeared so much embarrassed that the prince helped him out.

“Then you wanted me to lend you money?”

The words were spoken in a grave tone, and even somewhat shyly.

Keller started, gave an astonished look at the speaker, and thumped the tablewith his fist.

“Well, prince, that’s enough to knock me down! It astounds me! Hereyou are, as simple and innocent as a knight of the golden age, and yet...yet... you read a man’s soul like a psychologist! Now, do explain it tome, prince, because I... I really do not understand!... Of course, my aim wasto borrow money all along, and you... you asked the question as if there wasnothing blameable in it—as if you thought it quite natural.”

“Yes... from you it is quite natural.”

“And you are not offended?”

“Why should I be offended?”

“Well, just listen, prince. I remained here last evening, partly becauseI have a great admiration for the French archbishop Bourdaloue. I enjoyed adiscussion over him till three o’clock in the morning, with Lebedeff; andthen... then—I swear by all I hold sacred that I am telling you thetruth—then I wished to develop my soul in this frank and heartfeltconfession to you. This was my thought as I was sobbing myself to sleep atdawn. Just as I was losing consciousness, tears in my soul, tears on my face (Iremember how I lay there sobbing), an idea from hell struck me. ‘Why not,after confessing, borrow money from him?’ You see, this confession was akind of masterstroke; I intended to use it as a means to your good grace andfavour—and then—then I meant to walk off with a hundred and fiftyroubles. Now, do you not call that base?”

“It is hardly an exact statement of the case,” said the prince inreply. “You have confused your motives and ideas, as I need scarcely saytoo often happens to myself. I can assure you, Keller, I reproach myselfbitterly for it sometimes. When you were talking just now I seemed to belistening to something about myself. At times I have imagined that all men werethe same,” he continued earnestly, for he appeared to be much interestedin the conversation, “and that consoled me in a certain degree, for adouble motive is a thing most difficult to fight against. I have tried,and I know. God knows whence they arise, these ideas that you speak of as base.I fear these double motives more than ever just now, but I am not your judge,and in my opinion it is going too far to give the name of baseness toit—what do you think? You were going to employ your tears as a ruse inorder to borrow money, but you also say—in fact, you have sworn to thefact—that independently of this your confession was made with anhonourable motive. As for the money, you want it for drink, do you not? Afteryour confession, that is weakness, of course; but, after all, how can anyonegive up a bad habit at a moment’s notice? It is impossible. What can wedo? It is best, I think, to leave the matter to your own conscience. How doesit seem to you?” As he concluded the prince looked curiously at Keller;evidently this problem of double motives had often been considered by himbefore.

“Well, how anybody can call you an idiot after that, is more than I canunderstand!” cried the boxer.

The prince reddened slightly.

“Bourdaloue, the archbishop, would not have spared a man like me,”Keller continued, “but you, you have judged me with humanity. To show howgrateful I am, and as a punishment, I will not accept a hundred and fiftyroubles. Give me twenty-five—that will be enough; it is all I reallyneed, for a fortnight at least. I will not ask you for more for a fortnight. Ishould like to have given Agatha a present, but she does not really deserve it.Oh, my dear prince, God bless you!”

At this moment Lebedeff appeared, having just arrived from Petersburg. Hefrowned when he saw the twenty-five rouble note in Keller’s hand, but thelatter, having got the money, went away at once. Lebedeff began to abuse him.

“You are unjust; I found him sincerely repentant,” observed theprince, after listening for a time.

“What is the good of repentance like that? It is the same exactly as mineyesterday, when I said, ‘I am base, I am base,’—words, andnothing more!”

“Then they were only words on your part? I thought, on thecontrary...”

“Well, I don’t mind telling you the truth—you only! Becauseyou see through a man somehow. Words and actions, truth and falsehood, are alljumbled up together in me, and yet I am perfectly sincere. I feel the deepestrepentance, believe it or not, as you choose; but words and lies come out inthe infernal craving to get the better of other people. It is alwaysthere—the notion of cheating people, and of using my repentant tears tomy own advantage! I assure you this is the truth, prince! I would not tell anyother man for the world! He would laugh and jeer at me—but you, you judgea man humanely.”

“Why, Keller said the same thing to me nearly word for word a few minutesago!” cried Muishkin. “And you both seem inclined to boast aboutit! You astonish me, but I think he is more sincere than you, for you make aregular trade of it. Oh, don’t put on that pathetic expression, anddon’t put your hand on your heart! Have you anything to say to me? Youhave not come for nothing...”

Lebedeff grinned and wriggled.

“I have been waiting all day for you, because I want to ask you aquestion; and, for once in your life, please tell me the truth at once. Had youanything to do with that affair of the carriage yesterday?”

Lebedeff began to grin again, rubbed his hands, sneezed, but spoke not a wordin reply.

“I see you had something to do with it.”

“Indirectly, quite indirectly! I am speaking the truth—I am indeed!I merely told a certain person that I had people in my house, and that such andsuch personages might be found among them.”

“I am aware that you sent your son to that house—he told me sohimself just now, but what is this intrigue?” said the prince,impatiently.

“It is not my intrigue!” cried Lebedeff, waving his hand.

“It was engineered by other people, and is, properly speaking, rather afantasy than an intrigue!”

“But what is it all about? Tell me, for Heaven’s sake! Cannot youunderstand how nearly it touches me? Why are they blackening EvgeniePavlovitch’s reputation?”

Lebedeff grimaced and wriggled again.

“Prince!” said he. “Excellency! You won’t let me tellyou the whole truth; I have tried to explain; more than once I have begun, butyou have not allowed me to go on...”

The prince gave no answer, and sat deep in thought. Evidently he was strugglingto decide.

“Very well! Tell me the truth,” he said, dejectedly.

“Aglaya Ivanovna...” began Lebedeff, promptly.

“Be silent! At once!” interrupted the prince, red with indignation,and perhaps with shame, too. “It is impossible and absurd! All that hasbeen invented by you, or fools like you! Let me never hear you say a word againon that subject!”

Late in the evening Colia came in with a whole budget of Petersburg andPavlofsk news. He did not dwell much on the Petersburg part of it, whichconsisted chiefly of intelligence about his friend Hippolyte, but passedquickly to the Pavlofsk tidings. He had gone straight to the Epanchins’from the station.

“There’s the deuce and all going on there!” he said.“First of all about the row last night, and I think there must besomething new as well, though I didn’t like to ask. Not a word aboutyou, prince, the whole time! The most interesting fact was that Aglayahad been quarrelling with her people about Gania. Colia did not know anydetails, except that it had been a terrible quarrel! Also Evgenie Pavlovitchhad called, and met with an excellent reception all round. And another curiousthing: Mrs. Epanchin was so angry that she called Varia to her—Varia wastalking to the girls—and turned her out of the house ‘once forall’ she said. I heard it from Varia herself—Mrs. Epanchin wasquite polite, but firm; and when Varia said good-bye to the girls, she toldthem nothing about it, and they didn’t know they were saying goodbye forthe last time. I’m sorry for Varia, and for Gania too; he isn’thalf a bad fellow, in spite of his faults, and I shall never forgive myself fornot liking him before! I don’t know whether I ought to continue to go tothe Epanchins’ now,” concluded Colia—“I like to bequite independent of others, and of other people’s quarrels if I can; butI must think over it.”

“I don’t think you need break your heart over Gania,” saidthe prince; “for if what you say is true, he must be considered dangerousin the Epanchin household, and if so, certain hopes of his must have beenencouraged.”

“What? What hopes?” cried Colia; “you surely don’t meanAglaya?—oh, no!—”

“You’re a dreadful sceptic, prince,” he continued, after amoment’s silence. “I have observed of late that you have grownsceptical about everything. You don’t seem to believe in people as youdid, and are always attributing motives and so on—am I using the word‘sceptic’ in its proper sense?”

“I believe so; but I’m not sure.”

“Well, I’ll change it, right or wrong; I’ll say that you arenot sceptical, but jealous. There! you are deadly jealous of Gania, overa certain proud damsel! Come!” Colia jumped up, with these words, andburst out laughing. He laughed as he had perhaps never laughed before, andstill more when he saw the prince flushing up to his temples. He was delightedthat the prince should be jealous about Aglaya. However, he stopped immediatelyon seeing that the other was really hurt, and the conversation continued, veryearnestly, for an hour or more.

Next day the prince had to go to town, on business. Returning in the afternoon,he happened upon General Epanchin at the station. The latter seized his hand,glancing around nervously, as if he were afraid of being caught in wrong-doing,and dragged him into a first-class compartment. He was burning to speak aboutsomething of importance.

“In the first place, my dear prince, don’t be angry with me. Iwould have come to see you yesterday, but I didn’t know how LizabethaProkofievna would take it. My dear fellow, my house is simply a hell just now,a sort of sphinx has taken up its abode there. We live in an atmosphere ofriddles; I can’t make head or tail of anything. As for you, I feel sureyou are the least to blame of any of us, though you certainly have been thecause of a good deal of trouble. You see, it’s all very pleasant to be aphilanthropist; but it can be carried too far. Of course I admirekind-heartedness, and I esteem my wife, but—”

The general wandered on in this disconnected way for a long time; it was clearthat he was much disturbed by some circumstance which he could make nothing of.

“It is plain to me, that you are not in it at all,” hecontinued, at last, a little less vaguely, “but perhaps you had betternot come to our house for a little while. I ask you in the friendliest manner,mind; just till the wind changes again. As for Evgenie Pavlovitch,” hecontinued with some excitement, “the whole thing is a calumny, a dirtycalumny. It is simply a plot, an intrigue, to upset our plans and to stir up aquarrel. You see, prince, I’ll tell you privately, Evgenie and ourselveshave not said a word yet, we have no formal understanding, we are in no waybound on either side, but the word may be said very soon, don’t you see,very soon, and all this is most injurious, and is meant to be so. Why?I’m sure I can’t tell you. She’s an extraordinary woman, yousee, an eccentric woman; I tell you I am so frightened of that woman that Ican’t sleep. What a carriage that was, and where did it come from, eh? Ideclare, I was base enough to suspect Evgenie at first; but it seems certainthat that cannot be the case, and if so, why is she interfering here?That’s the riddle, what does she want? Is it to keep Evgenie to herself?But, my dear fellow, I swear to you, I swear he doesn’t even knowher, and as for those bills, why, the whole thing is an invention! And thefamiliarity of the woman! It’s quite clear we must treat the impudentcreature’s attempt with disdain, and redouble our courtesy towardsEvgenie. I told my wife so.

“Now I’ll tell you my secret conviction. I’m certain thatshe’s doing this to revenge herself on me, on account of the past, thoughI assure you that all the time I was blameless. I blush at the very idea. Andnow she turns up again like this, when I thought she had finally disappeared!Where’s Rogojin all this time? I thought she was Mrs. Rogojin, longago.”

The old man was in a state of great mental perturbation. The whole of thejourney, which occupied nearly an hour, he continued in this strain, puttingquestions and answering them himself, shrugging his shoulders, pressing theprince’s hand, and assuring the latter that, at all events, he had nosuspicion whatever of him. This last assurance was satisfactory, at allevents. The general finished by informing him that Evgenie’s uncle washead of one of the civil service departments, and rich, very rich, and agourmand. “And, well, Heaven preserve him, of course—but Evgeniegets his money, don’t you see? But, for all this, I’muncomfortable, I don’t know why. There’s something in the air, Ifeel there’s something nasty in the air, like a bat, and I’m by nomeans comfortable.”

And it was not until the third day that the formal reconciliation between theprince and the Epanchins took place, as said before.

XII.

It was seven in the evening, and the prince was just preparing to go out for awalk in the park, when suddenly Mrs. Epanchin appeared on the terrace.

“In the first place, don’t dare to suppose,” she began,“that I am going to apologize. Nonsense! You were entirely toblame.”

The prince remained silent.

“Were you to blame, or not?”

“No, certainly not, no more than yourself, though at first I thought Iwas.”

“Oh, very well, let’s sit down, at all events, for I don’tintend to stand up all day. And remember, if you say, one word about‘mischievous urchins,’ I shall go away and break with youaltogether. Now then, did you, or did you not, send a letter to Aglaya, acouple of months or so ago, about Easter-tide?”

“Yes!”

“What for? What was your object? Show me the letter.” Mrs.Epanchin’s eyes flashed; she was almost trembling with impatience.

“I have not got the letter,” said the prince, timidly, extremelysurprised at the turn the conversation had taken. “If anyone has it, ifit still exists, Aglaya Ivanovna must have it.”

“No finessing, please. What did you write about?”

“I am not finessing, and I am not in the least afraid of telling you; butI don’t see the slightest reason why I should not have written.”

“Be quiet, you can talk afterwards! What was the letter about? Why areyou blushing?”

The prince was silent. At last he spoke.

“I don’t understand your thoughts, Lizabetha Prokofievna; but I cansee that the fact of my having written is for some reason repugnant to you. Youmust admit that I have a perfect right to refuse to answer your questions; but,in order to show you that I am neither ashamed of the letter, nor sorry that Iwrote it, and that I am not in the least inclined to blush about it”(here the prince’s blushes redoubled), “I will repeat the substanceof my letter, for I think I know it almost by heart.”

So saying, the prince repeated the letter almost word for word, as he hadwritten it.

“My goodness, what utter twaddle, and what may all this nonsense havesignified, pray? If it had any meaning at all!” said Mrs. Epanchin,cuttingly, after having listened with great attention.

“I really don’t absolutely know myself; I know my feeling was verysincere. I had moments at that time full of life and hope.”

“What sort of hope?”

“It is difficult to explain, but certainly not the hopes you have in yourmind. Hopes—well, in a word, hopes for the future, and a feeling of joythat there, at all events, I was not entirely a stranger and aforeigner. I felt an ecstasy in being in my native land once more; and onesunny morning I took up a pen and wrote her that letter, but why to her,I don’t quite know. Sometimes one longs to have a friend near, and Ievidently felt the need of one then,” added the prince, and paused.

“Are you in love with her?”

“N-no! I wrote to her as to a sister; I signed myself her brother.”

“Oh yes, of course, on purpose! I quite understand.”

“It is very painful to me to answer these questions, LizabethaProkofievna.”

“I dare say it is; but that’s no affair of mine. Now then, assureme truly as before Heaven, are you lying to me or not?”

“No, I am not lying.”

“Are you telling the truth when you say you are not in love?”

“I believe it is the absolute truth.”

“‘I believe,’ indeed! Did that mischievous urchin give it toher?”

“I asked Nicolai Ardalionovitch...”

“The urchin! the urchin!” interrupted Lizabetha Prokofievna in anangry voice. “I do not want to know if it were Nicolai Ardalionovitch!The urchin!”

“Nicolai Ardalionovitch...”

“The urchin, I tell you!”

“No, it was not the urchin: it was Nicolai Ardalionovitch,” saidthe prince very firmly, but without raising his voice.

“Well, all right! All right, my dear! I shall put that down to youraccount.”

She was silent a moment to get breath, and to recover her composure.

“Well!—and what’s the meaning of the ‘poorknight,’ eh?”

“I don’t know in the least; I wasn’t present when the jokewas made. It is a joke. I suppose, and that’s all.”

“Well, that’s a comfort, at all events. You don’t suppose shecould take any interest in you, do you? Why, she called you an‘idiot’ herself.”

“I think you might have spared me that,” murmured the princereproachfully, almost in a whisper.

“Don’t be angry; she is a wilful, mad, spoilt girl. If she likes aperson she will pitch into him, and chaff him. I used to be just such another.But for all that you needn’t flatter yourself, my boy; she is not foryou. I don’t believe it, and it is not to be. I tell you so at once, sothat you may take proper precautions. Now, I want to hear you swear that youare not married to that woman?”

“Lizabetha Prokofievna, what are you thinking of?” cried theprince, almost leaping to his feet in amazement.

“Why? You very nearly were, anyhow.”

“Yes—I nearly was,” whispered the prince, hanging his head.

“Well then, have you come here for her? Are you in love withher? With that creature?”

“I did not come to marry at all,” replied the prince.

“Is there anything you hold sacred?”

“There is.”

“Then swear by it that you did not come here to marry her!”

“I’ll swear it by whatever you please.”

“I believe you. You may kiss me; I breathe freely at last. But you mustknow, my dear friend, Aglaya does not love you, and she shall never be yourwife while I am out of my grave. So be warned in time. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, I hear.”

The prince flushed up so much that he could not look her in the face.

“I have waited for you with the greatest impatience (not that you wereworth it). Every night I have drenched my pillow with tears, not for you, myfriend, not for you, don’t flatter yourself! I have my own grief, alwaysthe same, always the same. But I’ll tell you why I have been awaiting youso impatiently, because I believe that Providence itself sent you to be afriend and a brother to me. I haven’t a friend in the world exceptPrincess Bielokonski, and she is growing as stupid as a sheep from old age. Nowthen, tell me, yes or no? Do you know why she called out from her carriage theother night?”

“I give you my word of honour that I had nothing to do with the matterand know nothing about it.”

“Very well, I believe you. I have my own ideas about it. Up to yesterdaymorning I thought it was really Evgenie Pavlovitch who was to blame; now Icannot help agreeing with the others. But why he was made such a fool of Icannot understand. However, he is not going to marry Aglaya, I can tell youthat. He may be a very excellent fellow, but—so it shall be. I was not atall sure of accepting him before, but now I have quite made up my mind that Iwon’t have him. ‘Put me in my coffin first and then into my grave,and then you may marry my daughter to whomsoever you please,’ so I saidto the general this very morning. You see how I trust you, my boy.”

“Yes, I see and understand.”

Mrs. Epanchin gazed keenly into the prince’s eyes. She was anxious to seewhat impression the news as to Evgenie Pavlovitch had made upon him.

“Do you know anything about Gavrila Ardalionovitch?” she asked atlast.

“Oh yes, I know a good deal.”

“Did you know he had communications with Aglaya?”

“No, I didn’t,” said the prince, trembling a little, and ingreat agitation. “You say Gavrila Ardalionovitch has privatecommunications with Aglaya?—Impossible!”

“Only quite lately. His sister has been working like a rat to clear theway for him all the winter.”

“I don’t believe it!” said the prince abruptly, after a shortpause. “Had it been so I should have known long ago.”

“Oh, of course, yes; he would have come and wept out his secret on yourbosom. Oh, you simpleton—you simpleton! Anyone can deceive you and takeyou in like a—like a,—aren’t you ashamed to trust him?Can’t you see that he humbugs you just as much as ever he pleases?”

“I know very well that he does deceive me occasionally, and he knows thatI know it, but—” The prince did not finish his sentence.

“And that’s why you trust him, eh? So I should have supposed. GoodLord, was there ever such a man as you? Tfu! and are you aware, sir, that thisGania, or his sister Varia, have brought her into correspondence with NastasiaPhilipovna?”

“Brought whom?” cried Muishkin.

“Aglaya.”

“I don’t believe it! It’s impossible! What object could theyhave?” He jumped up from his chair in his excitement.

“Nor do I believe it, in spite of the proofs. The girl is self-willed andfantastic, and insane! She’s wicked, wicked! I’ll repeat it for athousand years that she’s wicked; they all are, just now, all mydaughters, even that ‘wet hen’ Alexandra. And yet I don’tbelieve it. Because I don’t choose to believe it, perhaps; but Idon’t. Why haven’t you been?” she turned on the princesuddenly. “Why didn’t you come near us all these three days,eh?”

The prince began to give his reasons, but she interrupted him again.

“Everybody takes you in and deceives you; you went to town yesterday. Idare swear you went down on your knees to that rogue, and begged him to acceptyour ten thousand roubles!”

“I never thought of doing any such thing. I have not seen him, and he isnot a rogue, in my opinion. I have had a letter from him.”

“Show it me!”

The prince took a paper from his pocket-book, and handed it to LizabethaProkofievna. It ran as follows:

“Sir,
“In the eyes of the world I am sure that I have no cause for pride orself-esteem. I am much too insignificant for that. But what may be so to othermen’s eyes is not so to yours. I am convinced that you are better thanother people. Doktorenko disagrees with me, but I am content to differ from himon this point. I will never accept one single copeck from you, but you havehelped my mother, and I am bound to be grateful to you for that, however weakit may seem. At any rate, I have changed my opinion about you, and I thinkright to inform you of the fact; but I also suppose that there can be nofurther intercourse between us.

“Antip Burdovsky.

“P.S.—The two hundred roubles I owe you shall certainly be repaidin time.”

“How extremely stupid!” cried Mrs. Epanchin, giving back the letterabruptly. “It was not worth the trouble of reading. Why are yousmiling?”

“Confess that you are pleased to have read it.”

“What! Pleased with all that nonsense! Why, cannot you see that they areall infatuated with pride and vanity?”

“He has acknowledged himself to be in the wrong. Don’t you see thatthe greater his vanity, the more difficult this admission must have been on hispart? Oh, what a little child you are, Lizabetha Prokofievna!”

“Are you tempting me to box your ears for you, or what?”

“Not at all. I am only proving that you are glad about the letter. Whyconceal your real feelings? You always like to do it.”

“Never come near my house again!” cried Mrs. Epanchin, pale withrage. “Don’t let me see as much as a shadow of you about theplace! Do you hear?”

“Oh yes, and in three days you’ll come and invite me yourself.Aren’t you ashamed now? These are your best feelings; you are onlytormenting yourself.”

“I’ll die before I invite you! I shall forget your very name!I’ve forgotten it already!”

She marched towards the door.

“But I’m forbidden your house as it is, without your addedthreats!” cried the prince after her.

“What? Who forbade you?”

She turned round so suddenly that one might have supposed a needle had beenstuck into her.

The prince hesitated. He perceived that he had said too much now.

“Who forbade you?” cried Mrs. Epanchin once more.

“Aglaya Ivanovna told me—”

“When? Speak—quick!”

“She sent to say, yesterday morning, that I was never to dare to comenear the house again.”

Lizabetha Prokofievna stood like a stone.

“What did she send? Whom? Was it that boy? Was it amessage?—quick!”

“I had a note,” said the prince.

“Where is it? Give it here, at once.”

The prince thought a moment. Then he pulled out of his waistcoat pocket anuntidy slip of paper, on which was scrawled:

“PRINCE LEFNICOLAIEVITCH,—If you think fit, after all that haspassed, to honour our house with a visit, I can assure you you will not find meamong the number of those who are in any way delighted to see you.

“Aglaya Epanchin.”

Mrs. Epanchin reflected a moment. The next minute she flew at the prince,seized his hand, and dragged him after her to the door.

“Quick—come along!” she cried, breathless with agitation andimpatience. “Come along with me this moment!”

“But you declared I wasn’t—”

“Don’t be a simpleton. You behave just as though you weren’ta man at all. Come on! I shall see, now, with my own eyes. I shall seeall.”

“Well, let me get my hat, at least.”

“Here’s your miserable hat. He couldn’t even choose arespectable shape for his hat! Come on! She did that because I took your partand said you ought to have come—little vixen!—else she would neverhave sent you that silly note. It’s a most improper note, I call it; mostimproper for such an intelligent, well-brought-up girl to write. H’m! Idare say she was annoyed that you didn’t come; but she ought to haveknown that one can’t write like that to an idiot like you, foryou’d be sure to take it literally.” Mrs. Epanchin was dragging theprince along with her all the time, and never let go of his hand for aninstant. “What are you listening for?” she added, seeing that shehad committed herself a little. “She wants a clown like you—shehasn’t seen one for some time—to play with. That’s why she isanxious for you to come to the house. And right glad I am that she’llmake a thorough good fool of you. You deserve it; and she can do it—oh!she can, indeed!—as well as most people.”

PART III

I.

The Epanchin family, or at least the more serious members of it, were sometimesgrieved because they seemed so unlike the rest of the world. They were notquite certain, but had at times a strong suspicion that things did not happento them as they did to other people. Others led a quiet, uneventful life, whilethey were subject to continual upheavals. Others kept on the rails withoutdifficulty; they ran off at the slightest obstacle. Other houses were governedby a timid routine; theirs was somehow different. Perhaps Lizabetha Prokofievnawas alone in making these fretful observations; the girls, though not wantingin intelligence, were still young; the general was intelligent, too, butnarrow, and in any difficulty he was content to say, “H’m!”and leave the matter to his wife. Consequently, on her fell the responsibility.It was not that they distinguished themselves as a family by any particularoriginality, or that their excursions off the track led to any breach of theproprieties. Oh no.

There was nothing premeditated, there was not even any conscious purpose in itall, and yet, in spite of everything, the family, although highly respected,was not quite what every highly respected family ought to be. For a long timenow Lizabetha Prokofievna had had it in her mind that all the trouble was owingto her “unfortunate character,” and this added to her distress. Sheblamed her own stupid unconventional “eccentricity.” Alwaysrestless, always on the go, she constantly seemed to lose her way, and to getinto trouble over the simplest and more ordinary affairs of life.

We said at the beginning of our story, that the Epanchins were liked andesteemed by their neighbours. In spite of his humble origin, Ivan Fedorovitchhimself was received everywhere with respect. He deserved this, partly onaccount of his wealth and position, partly because, though limited, he wasreally a very good fellow. But a certain limitation of mind seems to be anindispensable asset, if not to all public personages, at least to all seriousfinanciers. Added to this, his manner was modest and unassuming; he knew whento be silent, yet never allowed himself to be trampled upon. Also—andthis was more important than all—he had the advantage of being underexalted patronage.

As to Lizabetha Prokofievna, she, as the reader knows, belonged to anaristocratic family. True, Russians think more of influential friends than ofbirth, but she had both. She was esteemed and even loved by people ofconsequence in society, whose example in receiving her was therefore followedby others. It seems hardly necessary to remark that her family worries andanxieties had little or no foundation, or that her imagination increased themto an absurd degree; but if you have a wart on your forehead or nose, youimagine that all the world is looking at it, and that people would make fun ofyou because of it, even if you had discovered America! Doubtless LizabethaProkofievna was considered “eccentric” in society, but she was nonethe less esteemed: the pity was that she was ceasing to believe in that esteem.When she thought of her daughters, she said to herself sorrowfully that she wasa hindrance rather than a help to their future, that her character and temperwere absurd, ridiculous, insupportable. Naturally, she put the blame on hersurroundings, and from morning to night was quarrelling with her husband andchildren, whom she really loved to the point of self-sacrifice, even, one mightsay, of passion.

She was, above all distressed by the idea that her daughters might grow up“eccentric,” like herself; she believed that no other society girlswere like them. “They are growing into Nihilists!” she repeatedover and over again. For years she had tormented herself with this idea, andwith the question: “Why don’t they get married?”

“It is to annoy their mother; that is their one aim in life; it can benothing else. The fact is it is all of a piece with these modern ideas, thatwretched woman’s question! Six months ago Aglaya took a fancy to cut offher magnificent hair. Why, even I, when I was young, had nothing like it! Thescissors were in her hand, and I had to go down on my knees and implore her...She did it, I know, from sheer mischief, to spite her mother, for she is anaughty, capricious girl, a real spoiled child spiteful and mischievous to adegree! And then Alexandra wanted to shave her head, not from caprice ormischief, but, like a little fool, simply because Aglaya persuaded her shewould sleep better without her hair, and not suffer from headache! And how manysuitors have they not had during the last five years! Excellent offers, too!What more do they want? Why don’t they get married? For no other reasonthan to vex their mother—none—none!”

But Lizabetha Prokofievna felt somewhat consoled when she could say that one ofher girls, Adelaida, was settled at last. “It will be one off ourhands!” she declared aloud, though in private she expressed herself withgreater tenderness. The engagement was both happy and suitable, and wastherefore approved in society. Prince S. was a distinguished man, he had money,and his future wife was devoted to him; what more could be desired? LizabethaProkofievna had felt less anxious about this daughter, however, although sheconsidered her artistic tastes suspicious. But to make up for them she was, asher mother expressed it, “merry,” and had plenty of“common-sense.” It was Aglaya’s future which disturbed hermost. With regard to her eldest daughter, Alexandra, the mother never quiteknew whether there was cause for anxiety or not. Sometimes she felt as if therewas nothing to be expected from her. She was twenty-five now, and must be fatedto be an old maid, and “with such beauty, too!” The mother spentwhole nights in weeping and lamenting, while all the time the cause of hergrief slumbered peacefully. “What is the matter with her? Is she aNihilist, or simply a fool?”

But Lizabetha Prokofievna knew perfectly well how unnecessary was the lastquestion. She set a high value on Alexandra Ivanovna’s judgment, andoften consulted her in difficulties; but that she was a ‘wet hen’she never for a moment doubted. “She is so calm; nothing rousesher—though wet hens are not always calm! Oh! I can’t understandit!” Her eldest daughter inspired Lizabetha with a kind of puzzledcompassion. She did not feel this in Aglaya’s case, though the latter washer idol. It may be said that these outbursts and epithets, such as “wethen” (in which the maternal solicitude usually showed itself), only madeAlexandra laugh. Sometimes the most trivial thing annoyed Mrs. Epanchin, anddrove her into a frenzy. For instance, Alexandra Ivanovna liked to sleep late,and was always dreaming, though her dreams had the peculiarity of being asinnocent and naive as those of a child of seven; and the very innocence of herdreams annoyed her mother. Once she dreamt of nine hens, and this was the causeof quite a serious quarrel—no one knew why. Another time she had—itwas most unusual—a dream with a spark of originality in it. She dreamt ofa monk in a dark room, into which she was too frightened to go. Adelaida andAglaya rushed off with shrieks of laughter to relate this to their mother, butshe was quite angry, and said her daughters were all fools.

“H’m! she is as stupid as a fool! A veritable ‘wethen’! Nothing excites her; and yet she is not happy; some days it makesone miserable only to look at her! Why is she unhappy, I wonder?” Attimes Lizabetha Prokofievna put this question to her husband, and as usual shespoke in the threatening tone of one who demands an immediate answer. IvanFedorovitch would frown, shrug his shoulders, and at last give his opinion:“She needs a husband!”

“God forbid that he should share your ideas, Ivan Fedorovitch!” hiswife flashed back. “Or that he should be as gross and churlish asyou!”

The general promptly made his escape, and Lizabetha Prokofievna after a whilegrew calm again. That evening, of course, she would be unusually attentive,gentle, and respectful to her “gross and churlish” husband, her“dear, kind Ivan Fedorovitch,” for she had never left off lovinghim. She was even still “in love” with him. He knew it well, andfor his part held her in the greatest esteem.

But the mother’s great and continual anxiety was Aglaya. “She isexactly like me—my image in everything,” said Mrs. Epanchin toherself. “A tyrant! A real little demon! A Nihilist! Eccentric, senselessand mischievous! Good Lord, how unhappy she will be!”

But as we said before, the fact of Adelaida’s approaching marriage wasbalm to the mother. For a whole month she forgot her fears and worries.

Adelaida’s fate was settled; and with her name that of Aglaya’s waslinked, in society gossip. People whispered that Aglaya, too, was “asgood as engaged;” and Aglaya always looked so sweet and behaved so well(during this period), that the mother’s heart was full of joy. Of course,Evgenie Pavlovitch must be thoroughly studied first, before the final stepshould be taken; but, really, how lovely dear Aglaya had become—sheactually grew more beautiful every day! And then—Yes, and then—thisabominable prince showed his face again, and everything went topsy-turvy atonce, and everyone seemed as mad as March hares.

What had really happened?

If it had been any other family than the Epanchins’, nothing particularwould have happened. But, thanks to Mrs. Epanchin’s invariable fussinessand anxiety, there could not be the slightest hitch in the simplest matters ofeveryday life, but she immediately foresaw the most dreadful and alarmingconsequences, and suffered accordingly.

What then must have been her condition, when, among all the imaginary anxietiesand calamities which so constantly beset her, she now saw looming ahead aserious cause for annoyance—something really likely to arouse doubts andsuspicions!

“How dared they, how dared they write that hateful anonymousletter informing me that Aglaya is in communication with NastasiaPhilipovna?” she thought, as she dragged the prince along towards her ownhouse, and again when she sat him down at the round table where the family wasalready assembled. “How dared they so much as think of such athing? I should die with shame if I thought there was a particle oftruth in it, or if I were to show the letter to Aglaya herself! Who dares playthese jokes upon us, the Epanchins? Why didn’t we go to theYelagin instead of coming down here? I told you we had better go to theYelagin this summer, Ivan Fedorovitch. It’s all your fault. I dare say itwas that Varia who sent the letter. It’s all Ivan Fedorovitch.That woman is doing it all for him, I know she is, to show she can makea fool of him now just as she did when he used to give her pearls.

“But after all is said, we are mixed up in it. Your daughters are mixedup in it, Ivan Fedorovitch; young ladies in society, young ladies at an age tobe married; they were present, they heard everything there was to hear. Theywere mixed up with that other scene, too, with those dreadful youths. You mustbe pleased to remember they heard it all. I cannot forgive that wretchedprince. I never shall forgive him! And why, if you please, has Aglaya had anattack of nerves for these last three days? Why has she all but quarrelled withher sisters, even with Alexandra—whom she respects so much that shealways kisses her hands as though she were her mother? What are all theseriddles of hers that we have to guess? What has Gavrila Ardalionovitch to dowith it? Why did she take upon herself to champion him this morning, and burstinto tears over it? Why is there an allusion to that cursed ‘poorknight’ in the anonymous letter? And why did I rush off to him just nowlike a lunatic, and drag him back here? I do believe I’ve gone mad atlast. What on earth have I done now? To talk to a young man about mydaughter’s secrets—and secrets having to do with himself, too!Thank goodness, he’s an idiot, and a friend of the house! Surely Aglayahasn’t fallen in love with such a gaby! What an idea! Pfu! we ought allto be put under glass cases—myself first of all—and be shown off ascuriosities, at ten copecks a peep!”

“I shall never forgive you for all this, Ivan Fedorovitch—never!Look at her now. Why doesn’t she make fun of him? She said she would, andshe doesn’t. Look there! She stares at him with all her eyes, anddoesn’t move; and yet she told him not to come. He looks pale enough; andthat abominable chatterbox, Evgenie Pavlovitch, monopolizes the whole of theconversation. Nobody else can get a word in. I could soon find out all abouteverything if I could only change the subject.”

The prince certainly was very pale. He sat at the table and seemed to befeeling, by turns, sensations of alarm and rapture.

Oh, how frightened he was of looking to one side—one particularcorner—whence he knew very well that a pair of dark eyes were watchinghim intently, and how happy he was to think that he was once more among them,and occasionally hearing that well-known voice, although she had written andforbidden him to come again!

“What on earth will she say to me, I wonder?” he thought tohimself.

He had not said a word yet; he sat silent and listened to EvgeniePavlovitch’s eloquence. The latter had never appeared so happy andexcited as on this evening. The prince listened to him, but for a long time didnot take in a word he said.

Excepting Ivan Fedorovitch, who had not as yet returned from town, the wholefamily was present. Prince S. was there; and they all intended to go out tohear the band very soon.

Colia arrived presently and joined the circle. “So he is received asusual, after all,” thought the prince.

The Epanchins’ country-house was a charming building, built after themodel of a Swiss chalet, and covered with creepers. It was surrounded on allsides by a flower garden, and the family sat, as a rule, on the open verandahas at the prince’s house.

The subject under discussion did not appear to be very popular with theassembly, and some would have been delighted to change it; but Evgenie wouldnot stop holding forth, and the prince’s arrival seemed to spur him on tostill further oratorical efforts.

Lizabetha Prokofievna frowned, but had not as yet grasped the subject, whichseemed to have arisen out of a heated argument. Aglaya sat apart, almost in thecorner, listening in stubborn silence.

“Excuse me,” continued Evgenie Pavlovitch hotly, “Idon’t say a word against liberalism. Liberalism is not a sin, it is anecessary part of a great whole, which whole would collapse and fall to pieceswithout it. Liberalism has just as much right to exist as has the most moralconservatism; but I am attacking Russian liberalism; and I attack it forthe simple reason that a Russian liberal is not a Russian liberal, he is anon-Russian liberal. Show me a real Russian liberal, and I’ll kiss himbefore you all, with pleasure.”

“If he cared to kiss you, that is,” said Alexandra, whose cheekswere red with irritation and excitement.

“Look at that, now,” thought the mother to herself, “she doesnothing but sleep and eat for a year at a time, and then suddenly flies out inthe most incomprehensible way!”

The prince observed that Alexandra appeared to be angry with Evgenie, becausehe spoke on a serious subject in a frivolous manner, pretending to be inearnest, but with an under-current of irony.

“I was saying just now, before you came in, prince, that there has beennothing national up to now, about our liberalism, and nothing the liberals do,or have done, is in the least degree national. They are drawn from two classesonly, the old landowning class, and clerical families—”

“How, nothing that they have done is Russian?” asked Prince S.

“It may be Russian, but it is not national. Our liberals are not Russian,nor are our conservatives, and you may be sure that the nation does notrecognize anything that has been done by the landed gentry, or by theseminarists, or what is to be done either.”

“Come, that’s good! How can you maintain such a paradox? If you areserious, that is. I cannot allow such a statement about the landed proprietorsto pass unchallenged. Why, you are a landed proprietor yourself!” criedPrince S. hotly.

“I suppose you’ll say there is nothing national about ourliterature either?” said Alexandra.

“Well, I am not a great authority on literary questions, but I certainlydo hold that Russian literature is not Russian, except perhaps Lomonosoff,Pouschkin and Gogol.”

“In the first place, that is a considerable admission, and in the secondplace, one of the above was a peasant, and the other two were both landedproprietors!”

“Quite so, but don’t be in such a hurry! For since it has been thepart of these three men, and only these three, to say something absolutelytheir own, not borrowed, so by this very fact these three men become reallynational. If any Russian shall have done or said anything really and absolutelyoriginal, he is to be called national from that moment, though he may not beable to talk the Russian language; still he is a national Russian. I considerthat an axiom. But we were not speaking of literature; we began by discussingthe socialists. Very well then, I insist that there does not exist one singleRussian socialist. There does not, and there has never existed such a one,because all socialists are derived from the two classes—the landedproprietors, and the seminarists. All our eminent socialists are merely oldliberals of the class of landed proprietors, men who were liberals in the daysof serfdom. Why do you laugh? Give me their books, give me their studies, theirmemoirs, and though I am not a literary critic, yet I will prove as clear asday that every chapter and every word of their writings has been the work of aformer landed proprietor of the old school. You’ll find that all theirraptures, all their generous transports are proprietary, all their woes andtheir tears, proprietary; all proprietary or seminarist! You are laughingagain, and you, prince, are smiling too. Don’t you agree with me?”

It was true enough that everybody was laughing, the prince among them.

“I cannot tell you on the instant whether I agree with you or not,”said the latter, suddenly stopping his laughter, and starting like a schoolboycaught at mischief. “But, I assure you, I am listening to you withextreme gratification.”

So saying, he almost panted with agitation, and a cold sweat stood upon hisforehead. These were his first words since he had entered the house; he triedto lift his eyes, and look around, but dared not; Evgenie Pavlovitch noticedhis confusion, and smiled.

“I’ll just tell you one fact, ladies and gentlemen,”continued the latter, with apparent seriousness and even exaltation of manner,but with a suggestion of “chaff” behind every word, as though hewere laughing in his sleeve at his own nonsense—“a fact, thediscovery of which, I believe, I may claim to have made by myself alone. At allevents, no other has ever said or written a word about it; and in this fact isexpressed the whole essence of Russian liberalism of the sort which I am nowconsidering.

“In the first place, what is liberalism, speaking generally, but anattack (whether mistaken or reasonable, is quite another question) upon theexisting order of things? Is this so? Yes. Very well. Then my‘fact’ consists in this, that Russian liberalism is not anattack upon the existing order of things, but an attack upon the very essenceof things themselves—indeed, on the things themselves; not an attack onthe Russian order of things, but on Russia itself. My Russian liberal goes sofar as to reject Russia; that is, he hates and strikes his own mother. Everymisfortune and mishap of the mother-country fills him with mirth, and even withecstasy. He hates the national customs, Russian history, and everything. If hehas a justification, it is that he does not know what he is doing, and believesthat his hatred of Russia is the grandest and most profitable kind ofliberalism. (You will often find a liberal who is applauded and esteemed by hisfellows, but who is in reality the dreariest, blindest, dullest ofconservatives, and is not aware of the fact.) This hatred for Russia has beenmistaken by some of our ‘Russian liberals’ for sincere love oftheir country, and they boast that they see better than their neighbours whatreal love of one’s country should consist in. But of late they havegrown, more candid and are ashamed of the expression ‘love ofcountry,’ and have annihilated the very spirit of the words as somethinginjurious and petty and undignified. This is the truth, and I hold by it; butat the same time it is a phenomenon which has not been repeated at any othertime or place; and therefore, though I hold to it as a fact, yet I recognizethat it is an accidental phenomenon, and may likely enough pass away. There canbe no such thing anywhere else as a liberal who really hates his country; andhow is this fact to be explained among us? By my original statement thata Russian liberal is not a Russian liberal—that’s theonly explanation that I can see.”

“I take all that you have said as a joke,” said Prince S.seriously.

“I have not seen all kinds of liberals, and cannot, therefore, set myselfup as a judge,” said Alexandra, “but I have heard all you have saidwith indignation. You have taken some accidental case and twisted it into auniversal law, which is unjust.”

“Accidental case!” said Evgenie Pavlovitch. “Do you considerit an accidental case, prince?”

“I must also admit,” said the prince, “that I have not seenmuch, or been very far into the question; but I cannot help thinking that youare more or less right, and that Russian liberalism—that phase of itwhich you are considering, at least—really is sometimes inclined to hateRussia itself, and not only its existing order of things in general. Of coursethis is only partially the truth; you cannot lay down the law forall...”

The prince blushed and broke off, without finishing what he meant to say.

In spite of his shyness and agitation, he could not help being greatlyinterested in the conversation. A special characteristic of his was the naivecandour with which he always listened to arguments which interested him, andwith which he answered any questions put to him on the subject at issue. In thevery expression of his face this naivete was unmistakably evident, thisdisbelief in the insincerity of others, and unsuspecting disregard of irony orhumour in their words.

But though Evgenie Pavlovitch had put his questions to the prince with no otherpurpose but to enjoy the joke of his simple-minded seriousness, yet now, at hisanswer, he was surprised into some seriousness himself, and looked gravely atMuishkin as though he had not expected that sort of answer at all.

“Why, how strange!” he ejaculated. “You didn’t answerme seriously, surely, did you?”

“Did not you ask me the question seriously” inquired the prince, inamazement.

Everybody laughed.

“Oh, trust him for that!” said Adelaida. “EvgeniePavlovitch turns everything and everybody he can lay hold of to ridicule. Youshould hear the things he says sometimes, apparently in perfectseriousness.”

“In my opinion the conversation has been a painful one throughout, and weought never to have begun it,” said Alexandra. “We were all goingfor a walk—”

“Come along then,” said Evgenie; “it’s a gloriousevening. But, to prove that this time I was speaking absolutely seriously, andespecially to prove this to the prince (for you, prince, have interested meexceedingly, and I swear to you that I am not quite such an ass as I like toappear sometimes, although I am rather an ass, I admit), and—well, ladiesand gentlemen, will you allow me to put just one more question to the prince,out of pure curiosity? It shall be the last. This question came into my mind acouple of hours since (you see, prince, I do think seriously at times), and Imade my own decision upon it; now I wish to hear what the prince will say toit.”

“We have just used the expression ‘accidental case.’ This isa significant phrase; we often hear it. Well, not long since everyone wastalking and reading about that terrible murder of six people on the part ofa—young fellow, and of the extraordinary speech of the counsel for thedefence, who observed that in the poverty-stricken condition of the criminal itmust have come naturally into his head to kill these six people. I donot quote his words, but that is the sense of them, or something very like it.Now, in my opinion, the barrister who put forward this extraordinary plea wasprobably absolutely convinced that he was stating the most liberal, the mosthumane, the most enlightened view of the case that could possibly be broughtforward in these days. Now, was this distortion, this capacity for a pervertedway of viewing things, a special or accidental case, or is such a generalrule?”

Everyone laughed at this.

“A special case—accidental, of course!” cried Alexandra andAdelaida.

“Let me remind you once more, Evgenie,” said Prince S., “thatyour joke is getting a little threadbare.”

“What do you think about it, prince?” asked Evgenie, taking nonotice of the last remark, and observing Muishkin’s serious eyes fixedupon his face. “What do you think—was it a special or a usualcase—the rule, or an exception? I confess I put the question especiallyfor you.”

“No, I don’t think it was a special case,” said the prince,quietly, but firmly.

“My dear fellow!” cried Prince S., with some annoyance,“don’t you see that he is chaffing you? He is simply laughing atyou, and wants to make game of you.”

“I thought Evgenie Pavlovitch was talking seriously,” said theprince, blushing and dropping his eyes.

“My dear prince,” continued Prince S. “remember what you andI were saying two or three months ago. We spoke of the fact that in our newlyopened Law Courts one could already lay one’s finger upon so manytalented and remarkable young barristers. How pleased you were with the stateof things as we found it, and how glad I was to observe your delight! We bothsaid it was a matter to be proud of; but this clumsy defence that Evgeniementions, this strange argument can, of course, only be an accidentalcase—one in a thousand!”

The prince reflected a little, but very soon he replied, with absoluteconviction in his tone, though he still spoke somewhat shyly and timidly:

“I only wished to say that this ‘distortion,’ as EvgeniePavlovitch expressed it, is met with very often, and is far more the generalrule than the exception, unfortunately for Russia. So much so, that if thisdistortion were not the general rule, perhaps these dreadful crimes would beless frequent.”

“Dreadful crimes? But I can assure you that crimes just as dreadful, andprobably more horrible, have occurred before our times, and at all times, andnot only here in Russia, but everywhere else as well. And in my opinion it isnot at all likely that such murders will cease to occur for a very long time tocome. The only difference is that in former times there was less publicity,while now everyone talks and writes freely about such things—which factgives the impression that such crimes have only now sprung into existence. Thatis where your mistake lies—an extremely natural mistake, I assure you, mydear fellow!” said Prince S.

“I know that there were just as many, and just as terrible, crimes beforeour times. Not long since I visited a convict prison and made acquaintance withsome of the criminals. There were some even more dreadful criminals than thisone we have been speaking of—men who have murdered a dozen of theirfellow-creatures, and feel no remorse whatever. But what I especially noticedwas this, that the very most hopeless and remorseless murderer—howeverhardened a criminal he may be—still knows that he is a criminal;that is, he is conscious that he has acted wickedly, though he may feel noremorse whatever. And they were all like this. Those of whom Evgenie Pavlovitchhas spoken, do not admit that they are criminals at all; they think they had aright to do what they did, and that they were even doing a good deed, perhaps.I consider there is the greatest difference between the two cases. Andrecollect—it was a youth, at the particular age which is mosthelplessly susceptible to the distortion of ideas!”

Prince S. was now no longer smiling; he gazed at the prince in bewilderment.

Alexandra, who had seemed to wish to put in her word when the prince began, nowsat silent, as though some sudden thought had caused her to change her mindabout speaking.

Evgenie Pavlovitch gazed at him in real surprise, and this time his expressionof face had no mockery in it whatever.

“What are you looking so surprised about, my friend?” asked Mrs.Epanchin, suddenly. “Did you suppose he was stupider than yourself, andwas incapable of forming his own opinions, or what?”

“No! Oh no! Not at all!” said Evgenie. “But—how is it,prince, that you—(excuse the question, will you?)—if you arecapable of observing and seeing things as you evidently do, how is it that yousaw nothing distorted or perverted in that claim upon your property, which youacknowledged a day or two since; and which was full of arguments founded uponthe most distorted views of right and wrong?”

“I’ll tell you what, my friend,” cried Mrs. Epanchin, of asudden, “here are we all sitting here and imagining we are very clever,and perhaps laughing at the prince, some of us, and meanwhile he has received aletter this very day in which that same claimant renounces his claim, and begsthe prince’s pardon. There! we don’t often get that sort ofletter; and yet we are not ashamed to walk with our noses in the air beforehim.”

“And Hippolyte has come down here to stay,” said Colia, suddenly.

“What! has he arrived?” said the prince, starting up.

“Yes, I brought him down from town just after you had left thehouse.”

“There now! It’s just like him,” cried Lizabetha Prokofievna,boiling over once more, and entirely oblivious of the fact that she had justtaken the prince’s part. “I dare swear that you went up to townyesterday on purpose to get the little wretch to do you the great honour ofcoming to stay at your house. You did go up to town, you know you did—yousaid so yourself! Now then, did you, or did you not, go down on your knees andbeg him to come, confess!”

“No, he didn’t, for I saw it all myself,” said Colia.“On the contrary, Hippolyte kissed his hand twice and thanked him; andall the prince said was that he thought Hippolyte might feel better here in thecountry!”

“Don’t, Colia,—what is the use of saying all that?”cried the prince, rising and taking his hat.

“Where are you going to now?” cried Mrs. Epanchin.

“Never mind about him now, prince,” said Colia. “He is allright and taking a nap after the journey. He is very happy to be here; but Ithink perhaps it would be better if you let him alone for today,—he isvery sensitive now that he is so ill—and he might be embarrassed if youshow him too much attention at first. He is decidedly better today, and says hehas not felt so well for the last six months, and has coughed much less,too.”

The prince observed that Aglaya came out of her corner and approached the tableat this point.

He did not dare look at her, but he was conscious, to the very tips of hisfingers, that she was gazing at him, perhaps angrily; and that she had probablyflushed up with a look of fiery indignation in her black eyes.

“It seems to me, Mr. Colia, that you were very foolish to bring youryoung friend down—if he is the same consumptive boy who wept soprofusely, and invited us all to his own funeral,” remarked EvgeniePavlovitch. “He talked so eloquently about the blank wall outside hisbedroom window, that I’m sure he will never support life here withoutit.”

“I think so too,” said Mrs. Epanchin; “he will quarrel withyou, and be off,” and she drew her workbox towards her with an air ofdignity, quite oblivious of the fact that the family was about to start for awalk in the park.

“Yes, I remember he boasted about the blank wall in an extraordinaryway,” continued Evgenie, “and I feel that without that blank wallhe will never be able to die eloquently; and he does so long to dieeloquently!”

“Oh, you must forgive him the blank wall,” said the prince,quietly. “He has come down to see a few trees now, poor fellow.”

“Oh, I forgive him with all my heart; you may tell him so if youlike,” laughed Evgenie.

“I don’t think you should take it quite like that,” said theprince, quietly, and without removing his eyes from the carpet. “I thinkit is more a case of his forgiving you.”

“Forgiving me! why so? What have I done to need his forgiveness?”

“If you don’t understand, then—but of course, you dounderstand. He wished—he wished to bless you all round and to have yourblessing—before he died—that’s all.”

“My dear prince,” began Prince S., hurriedly, exchanging glanceswith some of those present, “you will not easily find heaven on earth,and yet you seem to expect to. Heaven is a difficult thing to find anywhere,prince; far more difficult than appears to that good heart of yours. Betterstop this conversation, or we shall all be growing quite disturbed in ourminds, and—”

“Let’s go and hear the band, then,” said LizabethaProkofievna, angrily rising from her place.

The rest of the company followed her example.

II.

The prince suddenly approached Evgenie Pavlovitch.

“Evgenie Pavlovitch,” he said, with strange excitement and seizingthe latter’s hand in his own, “be assured that I esteem you as agenerous and honourable man, in spite of everything. Be assured of that.”

Evgenie Pavlovitch fell back a step in astonishment. For one moment it was allhe could do to restrain himself from bursting out laughing; but, lookingcloser, he observed that the prince did not seem to be quite himself; at allevents, he was in a very curious state.

“I wouldn’t mind betting, prince,” he cried, “that youdid not in the least mean to say that, and very likely you meant to addresssomeone else altogether. What is it? Are you feeling unwell or anything?”

“Very likely, extremely likely, and you must be a very close observer todetect the fact that perhaps I did not intend to come up to you atall.”

So saying he smiled strangely; but suddenly and excitedly he began again:

“Don’t remind me of what I have done or said. Don’t! I amvery much ashamed of myself, I—”

“Why, what have you done? I don’t understand you.”

“I see you are ashamed of me, Evgenie Pavlovitch; you are blushing forme; that’s a sign of a good heart. Don’t be afraid; I shall go awaydirectly.”

“What’s the matter with him? Do his fits begin like that?”said Lizabetha Prokofievna, in a high state of alarm, addressing Colia.

“No, no, Lizabetha Prokofievna, take no notice of me. I am not going tohave a fit. I will go away directly; but I know I am afflicted. I wastwenty-four years an invalid, you see—the first twenty-four years of mylife—so take all I do and say as the sayings and actions of an invalid.I’m going away directly, I really am—don’t be afraid. I amnot blushing, for I don’t think I need blush about it, need I? But I seethat I am out of place in society—society is better without me.It’s not vanity, I assure you. I have thought over it all these lastthree days, and I have made up my mind that I ought to unbosom myself candidlybefore you at the first opportunity. There are certain things, certain greatideas, which I must not so much as approach, as Prince S. has just reminded me,or I shall make you all laugh. I have no sense of proportion, I know; my wordsand gestures do not express my ideas—they are a humiliation and abasementof the ideas, and therefore, I have no right—and I am too sensitive.Still, I believe I am beloved in this household, and esteemed far more than Ideserve. But I can’t help knowing that after twenty-four years of illnessthere must be some trace left, so that it is impossible for people to refrainfrom laughing at me sometimes; don’t you think so?”

He seemed to pause for a reply, for some verdict, as it were, and looked humblyaround him.

All present stood rooted to the earth with amazement at this unexpected andapparently uncalled-for outbreak; but the poor prince’s painful andrambling speech gave rise to a strange episode.

“Why do you say all this here?” cried Aglaya, suddenly. “Whydo you talk like this to them?”

She appeared to be in the last stages of wrath and irritation; her eyesflashed. The prince stood dumbly and blindly before her, and suddenly grewpale.

“There is not one of them all who is worthy of these words ofyours,” continued Aglaya. “Not one of them is worth your littlefinger, not one of them has heart or head to compare with yours! You are morehonest than all, and better, nobler, kinder, wiser than all. There are somehere who are unworthy to bend and pick up the handkerchief you have justdropped. Why do you humiliate yourself like this, and place yourself lower thanthese people? Why do you debase yourself before them? Why have you nopride?”

“My God! Who would ever have believed this?” cried Mrs. Epanchin,wringing her hands.

“Hurrah for the ‘poor knight’!” cried Colia.

“Be quiet! How dare they laugh at me in your house?” said Aglaya,turning sharply on her mother in that hysterical frame of mind that ridesrecklessly over every obstacle and plunges blindly through proprieties.“Why does everyone, everyone worry and torment me? Why have they all beenbullying me these three days about you, prince? I will not marryyou—never, and under no circumstances! Know that once and for all; as ifanyone could marry an absurd creature like you! Just look in the glass and seewhat you look like, this very moment! Why, why do they torment me andsay I am going to marry you? You must know it; you are in the plot withthem!”

“No one ever tormented you on the subject,” murmured Adelaida,aghast.

“No one ever thought of such a thing! There has never been a word saidabout it!” cried Alexandra.

“Who has been annoying her? Who has been tormenting the child? Who couldhave said such a thing to her? Is she raving?” cried LizabethaProkofievna, trembling with rage, to the company in general.

“Every one of them has been saying it—every one of them—allthese three days! And I will never, never marry him!”

So saying, Aglaya burst into bitter tears, and, hiding her face in herhandkerchief, sank back into a chair.

“But he has never even—”

“I have never asked you to marry me, Aglaya Ivanovna!” said theprince, of a sudden.

“What?” cried Mrs. Epanchin, raising her hands in horror.“What’s that?”

She could not believe her ears.

“I meant to say—I only meant to say,” said the prince,faltering, “I merely meant to explain to Aglaya Ivanovna—to havethe honour to explain, as it were—that I had no intention—neverhad—to ask the honour of her hand. I assure you I am not guilty, AglayaIvanovna, I am not, indeed. I never did wish to—I never thought of it atall—and never shall—you’ll see it yourself—you may bequite assured of it. Some wicked person has been maligning me to you; butit’s all right. Don’t worry about it.”

So saying, the prince approached Aglaya.

She took the handkerchief from her face, glanced keenly at him, took in what hehad said, and burst out laughing—such a merry, unrestrained laugh, sohearty and gay, that Adelaida could not contain herself. She, too, glanced atthe prince’s panic-stricken countenance, then rushed at her sister, threwher arms round her neck, and burst into as merry a fit of laughter asAglaya’s own. They laughed together like a couple of school-girls.Hearing and seeing this, the prince smiled happily, and in accents of reliefand joy, he exclaimed “Well, thank God—thank God!”

Alexandra now joined in, and it looked as though the three sisters were goingto laugh on for ever.

“They are insane,” muttered Lizabetha Prokofievna. “Eitherthey frighten one out of one’s wits, or else—”

But Prince S. was laughing now, too, so was Evgenie Pavlovitch, so was Colia,and so was the prince himself, who caught the infection as he looked roundradiantly upon the others.

“Come along, let’s go out for a walk!” cried Adelaida.“We’ll all go together, and the prince must absolutely go with us.You needn’t go away, you dear good fellow! Isn’t he a dear,Aglaya? Isn’t he, mother? I must really give him a kiss for—for hisexplanation to Aglaya just now. Mother, dear, I may kiss him, mayn’t I?Aglaya, may I kiss your prince?” cried the young rogue, and sureenough she skipped up to the prince and kissed his forehead.

He seized her hands, and pressed them so hard that Adelaida nearly cried out;he then gazed with delight into her eyes, and raising her right hand to hislips with enthusiasm, kissed it three times.

“Come along,” said Aglaya. “Prince, you must walk with me.May he, mother? This young cavalier, who won’t have me? You said youwould never have me, didn’t you, prince? No—no, not likethat; that’s not the way to give your arm. Don’t you knowhow to give your arm to a lady yet? There—so. Now, come along, you and Iwill lead the way. Would you like to lead the way with me alone,tête-à-tête?”

She went on talking and chatting without a pause, with occasional little burstsof laughter between.

“Thank God—thank God!” said Lizabetha Prokofievna to herself,without quite knowing why she felt so relieved.

“What extraordinary people they are!” thought Prince S., forperhaps the hundredth time since he had entered into intimate relations withthe family; but—he liked these “extraordinary people,” allthe same. As for Prince Lef Nicolaievitch himself, Prince S. did not seem quiteto like him, somehow. He was decidedly preoccupied and a little disturbed asthey all started off.

Evgenie Pavlovitch seemed to be in a lively humour. He made Adelaida andAlexandra laugh all the way to the Vauxhall; but they both laughed so veryreadily and promptly that the worthy Evgenie began at last to suspect that theywere not listening to him at all.

At this idea, he burst out laughing all at once, in quite unaffected mirth, andwithout giving any explanation.

The sisters, who also appeared to be in high spirits, never tired of glancingat Aglaya and the prince, who were walking in front. It was evident that theiryounger sister was a thorough puzzle to them both.

Prince S. tried hard to get up a conversation with Mrs. Epanchin upon outsidesubjects, probably with the good intention of distracting and amusing her; buthe bored her dreadfully. She was absent-minded to a degree, and answered atcross purposes, and sometimes not at all.

But the puzzle and mystery of Aglaya was not yet over for the evening. The lastexhibition fell to the lot of the prince alone. When they had proceeded somehundred paces or so from the house, Aglaya said to her obstinately silentcavalier in a quick half-whisper:

“Look to the right!”

The prince glanced in the direction indicated.

“Look closer. Do you see that bench, in the park there, just by thosethree big trees—that green bench?”

The prince replied that he saw it.

“Do you like the position of it? Sometimes of a morning early, at seveno’clock, when all the rest are still asleep, I come out and sit therealone.”

The prince muttered that the spot was a lovely one.

“Now, go away, I don’t wish to have your arm any longer; orperhaps, better, continue to give me your arm, and walk along beside me, butdon’t speak a word to me. I wish to think by myself.”

The warning was certainly unnecessary; for the prince would not have said aword all the rest of the time whether forbidden to speak or not. His heart beatloud and painfully when Aglaya spoke of the bench; could she—but no! hebanished the thought, after an instant’s deliberation.

At Pavlofsk, on weekdays, the public is more select than it is on Sundays andSaturdays, when the townsfolk come down to walk about and enjoy the park.

The ladies dress elegantly, on these days, and it is the fashion to gatherround the band, which is probably the best of our pleasure-garden bands, andplays the newest pieces. The behaviour of the public is most correct andproper, and there is an appearance of friendly intimacy among the usualfrequenters. Many come for nothing but to look at their acquaintances, butthere are others who come for the sake of the music. It is very seldom thatanything happens to break the harmony of the proceedings, though, of course,accidents will happen everywhere.

On this particular evening the weather was lovely, and there were a largenumber of people present. All the places anywhere near the orchestra wereoccupied.

Our friends took chairs near the side exit. The crowd and the music cheeredMrs. Epanchin a little, and amused the girls; they bowed and shook hands withsome of their friends and nodded at a distance to others; they examined theladies’ dresses, noticed comicalities and eccentricities among thepeople, and laughed and talked among themselves. Evgenie Pavlovitch, too, foundplenty of friends to bow to. Several people noticed Aglaya and the prince, whowere still together.

Before very long two or three young men had come up, and one or two remained totalk; all of these young men appeared to be on intimate terms with EvgeniePavlovitch. Among them was a young officer, a remarkably handsomefellow—very good-natured and a great chatterbox. He tried to get up aconversation with Aglaya, and did his best to secure her attention. Aglayabehaved very graciously to him, and chatted and laughed merrily. EvgeniePavlovitch begged the prince’s leave to introduce their friend to him.The prince hardly realized what was wanted of him, but the introduction cameoff; the two men bowed and shook hands.

Evgenie Pavlovitch’s friend asked the prince some question, but thelatter did not reply, or if he did, he muttered something so strangelyindistinct that there was nothing to be made of it. The officer stared intentlyat him, then glanced at Evgenie, divined why the latter had introduced him, andgave his undivided attention to Aglaya again. Only Evgenie Pavlovitch observedthat Aglaya flushed up for a moment at this.

The prince did not notice that others were talking and making themselvesagreeable to Aglaya; in fact, at moments, he almost forgot that he was sittingby her himself. At other moments he felt a longing to go away somewhere and bealone with his thoughts, and to feel that no one knew where he was.

Or if that were impossible he would like to be alone at home, on theterrace—without either Lebedeff or his children, or anyone else abouthim, and to lie there and think—a day and night and another day again! Hethought of the mountains—and especially of a certain spot which he usedto frequent, whence he would look down upon the distant valleys and fields, andsee the waterfall, far off, like a little silver thread, and the old ruinedcastle in the distance. Oh! how he longed to be there now—alone with histhoughts—to think of one thing all his life—one thing! A thousandyears would not be too much time! And let everyone here forget him—forgethim utterly! How much better it would have been if they had never knownhim—if all this could but prove to be a dream. Perhaps it was a dream!

Now and then he looked at Aglaya for five minutes at a time, without taking hiseyes off her face; but his expression was very strange; he would gaze at her asthough she were an object a couple of miles distant, or as though he werelooking at her portrait and not at herself at all.

“Why do you look at me like that, prince?” she asked suddenly,breaking off her merry conversation and laughter with those about her.“I’m afraid of you! You look as though you were just going to putout your hand and touch my face to see if it’s real! Doesn’t he,Evgenie Pavlovitch—doesn’t he look like that?”

The prince seemed surprised that he should have been addressed at all; hereflected a moment, but did not seem to take in what had been said to him; atall events, he did not answer. But observing that she and the others had begunto laugh, he too opened his mouth and laughed with them.

The laughter became general, and the young officer, who seemed a particularlylively sort of person, simply shook with mirth.

Aglaya suddenly whispered angrily to herself the word—

“Idiot!”

“My goodness—surely she is not in love with such a—surely sheisn’t mad!” groaned Mrs. Epanchin, under her breath.

“It’s all a joke, mamma; it’s just a joke like the‘poor knight’—nothing more whatever, I assure you!”Alexandra whispered in her ear. “She is chaffing him—making a foolof him, after her own private fashion, that’s all! But she carries itjust a little too far—she is a regular little actress. How she frightenedus just now—didn’t she?—and all for a lark!”

“Well, it’s lucky she has happened upon an idiot, then,that’s all I can say!” whispered Lizabetha Prokofievna, who wassomewhat comforted, however, by her daughter’s remark.

The prince had heard himself referred to as “idiot,” and hadshuddered at the moment; but his shudder, it so happened, was not caused by theword applied to him. The fact was that in the crowd, not far from where he wassitting, a pale familiar face, with curly black hair, and a well-known smileand expression, had flashed across his vision for a moment, and disappearedagain. Very likely he had imagined it! There only remained to him theimpression of a strange smile, two eyes, and a bright green tie. Whether theman had disappeared among the crowd, or whether he had turned towards theVauxhall, the prince could not say.

But a moment or two afterwards he began to glance keenly about him. That firstvision might only too likely be the forerunner of a second; it was almostcertain to be so. Surely he had not forgotten the possibility of such a meetingwhen he came to the Vauxhall? True enough, he had not remarked where he wascoming to when he set out with Aglaya; he had not been in a condition to remarkanything at all.

Had he been more careful to observe his companion, he would have seen that forthe last quarter of an hour Aglaya had also been glancing around in apparentanxiety, as though she expected to see someone, or something particular, amongthe crowd of people. Now, at the moment when his own anxiety became so marked,her excitement also increased visibly, and when he looked about him, she didthe same.

The reason for their anxiety soon became apparent. From that very side entranceto the Vauxhall, near which the prince and all the Epanchin party were seated,there suddenly appeared quite a large knot of persons, at least a dozen.

Heading this little band walked three ladies, two of whom were remarkablylovely; and there was nothing surprising in the fact that they should have hada large troop of admirers following in their wake.

But there was something in the appearance of both the ladies and their admirerswhich was peculiar, quite different for that of the rest of the publicassembled around the orchestra.

Nearly everyone observed the little band advancing, and all pretended not tosee or notice them, except a few young fellows who exchanged glances andsmiled, saying something to one another in whispers.

It was impossible to avoid noticing them, however, in reality, for they madetheir presence only too conspicuous by laughing and talking loudly. It was tobe supposed that some of them were more than half drunk, although they werewell enough dressed, some even particularly well. There were one or two,however, who were very strange-looking creatures, with flushed faces andextraordinary clothes; some were military men; not all were quite young; one ortwo were middle-aged gentlemen of decidedly disagreeable appearance, men whoare avoided in society like the plague, decked out in large gold studs andrings, and magnificently “got up,” generally.

Among our suburban resorts there are some which enjoy a specially highreputation for respectability and fashion; but the most careful individual isnot absolutely exempt from the danger of a tile falling suddenly upon his headfrom his neighbour’s roof.

Such a tile was about to descend upon the elegant and decorous public nowassembled to hear the music.

In order to pass from the Vauxhall to the band-stand, the visitor has todescend two or three steps. Just at these steps the group paused, as though itfeared to proceed further; but very quickly one of the three ladies, who formedits apex, stepped forward into the charmed circle, followed by two members ofher suite.

One of these was a middle-aged man of very respectable appearance, but with thestamp of parvenu upon him, a man whom nobody knew, and who evidently knewnobody. The other follower was younger and far less respectable-looking.

No one else followed the eccentric lady; but as she descended the steps she didnot even look behind her, as though it were absolutely the same to her whetheranyone were following or not. She laughed and talked loudly, however, just asbefore. She was dressed with great taste, but with rather more magnificencethan was needed for the occasion, perhaps.

She walked past the orchestra, to where an open carriage was waiting, near theroad.

The prince had not seen her for more than three months. All these dayssince his arrival from Petersburg he had intended to pay her a visit, but somemysterious presentiment had restrained him. He could not picture to himselfwhat impression this meeting with her would make upon him, though he had oftentried to imagine it, with fear and trembling. One fact was quite certain, andthat was that the meeting would be painful.

Several times during the last six months he had recalled the effect which thefirst sight of this face had had upon him, when he only saw its portrait. Herecollected well that even the portrait face had left but too painful animpression.

That month in the provinces, when he had seen this woman nearly every day, hadaffected him so deeply that he could not now look back upon it calmly. In thevery look of this woman there was something which tortured him. In conversationwith Rogojin he had attributed this sensation to pity—immeasurable pity,and this was the truth. The sight of the portrait face alone had filled hisheart full of the agony of real sympathy; and this feeling of sympathy, nay, ofactual suffering, for her, had never left his heart since that hour, andwas still in full force. Oh yes, and more powerful than ever!

But the prince was not satisfied with what he had said to Rogojin. Only at thismoment, when she suddenly made her appearance before him, did he realize to thefull the exact emotion which she called up in him, and which he had notdescribed correctly to Rogojin.

And, indeed, there were no words in which he could have expressed his horror,yes, horror, for he was now fully convinced from his own privateknowledge of her, that the woman was mad.

If, loving a woman above everything in the world, or at least having aforetaste of the possibility of such love for her, one were suddenly to beholdher on a chain, behind bars and under the lash of a keeper, one would feelsomething like what the poor prince now felt.

“What’s the matter?” asked Aglaya, in a whisper, giving hissleeve a little tug.

He turned his head towards her and glanced at her black and (for some reason)flashing eyes, tried to smile, and then, apparently forgetting her in aninstant, turned to the right once more, and continued to watch the startlingapparition before him.

Nastasia Philipovna was at this moment passing the young ladies’ chairs.

Evgenie Pavlovitch continued some apparently extremely funny and interestinganecdote to Alexandra, speaking quickly and with much animation. The princeremembered that at this moment Aglaya remarked in a half-whisper:

“What a—”

She did not finish her indefinite sentence; she restrained herself in a moment;but it was enough.

Nastasia Philipovna, who up to now had been walking along as though she had notnoticed the Epanchin party, suddenly turned her head in their direction, asthough she had just observed Evgenie Pavlovitch sitting there for the firsttime.

“Why, I declare, here he is!” she cried, stopping suddenly.“The man one can’t find with all one’s messengers sent aboutthe place, sitting just under one’s nose, exactly where one never thoughtof looking! I thought you were sure to be at your uncle’s by thistime.”

Evgenie Pavlovitch flushed up and looked angrily at Nastasia Philipovna, thenturned his back on her.

“What! don’t you know about it yet? He doesn’tknow—imagine that! Why, he’s shot himself. Your uncle shot himselfthis very morning. I was told at two this afternoon. Half the town must know itby now. They say there are three hundred and fifty thousand roubles, governmentmoney, missing; some say five hundred thousand. And I was under the impressionthat he would leave you a fortune! He’s whistled it all away. A mostdepraved old gentleman, really! Well, ta, ta!—bonne chance! Surely youintend to be off there, don’t you? Ha, ha! You’ve retired from thearmy in good time, I see! Plain clothes! Well done, sly rogue! Nonsense! Isee—you knew it all before—I dare say you knew all about ityesterday-”

Although the impudence of this attack, this public proclamation of intimacy, asit were, was doubtless premeditated, and had its special object, yet EvgeniePavlovitch at first seemed to intend to make no show of observing either histormentor or her words. But Nastasia’s communication struck him with theforce of a thunderclap. On hearing of his uncle’s death he suddenly grewas white as a sheet, and turned towards his informant.

At this moment, Lizabetha Prokofievna rose swiftly from her seat, beckoned hercompanions, and left the place almost at a run.

Only the prince stopped behind for a moment, as though in indecision; andEvgenie Pavlovitch lingered too, for he had not collected his scattered wits.But the Epanchins had not had time to get more than twenty paces away when ascandalous episode occurred. The young officer, Evgenie Pavlovitch’sfriend who had been conversing with Aglaya, said aloud in a great state ofindignation:

“She ought to be whipped—that’s the only way to deal withcreatures like that—she ought to be whipped!”

This gentleman was a confidant of Evgenie’s, and had doubtless heard ofthe carriage episode.

Nastasia turned to him. Her eyes flashed; she rushed up to a young man standingnear, whom she did not know in the least, but who happened to have in his handa thin cane. Seizing this from him, she brought it with all her force acrossthe face of her insulter.

All this occurred, of course, in one instant of time.

The young officer, forgetting himself, sprang towards her. Nastasia’sfollowers were not by her at the moment (the elderly gentleman havingdisappeared altogether, and the younger man simply standing aside and roaringwith laughter).

In another moment, of course, the police would have been on the spot, and itwould have gone hard with Nastasia Philipovna had not unexpected aid appeared.

Muishkin, who was but a couple of steps away, had time to spring forward andseize the officer’s arms from behind.

The officer, tearing himself from the prince’s grasp, pushed him soviolently backwards that he staggered a few steps and then subsided into achair.

But there were other defenders for Nastasia on the spot by this time. Thegentleman known as the “boxer” now confronted the enraged officer.

“Keller is my name, sir; ex-lieutenant,” he said, very loud.“If you will accept me as champion of the fair sex, I am at yourdisposal. English boxing has no secrets from me. I sympathize with you for theinsult you have received, but I can’t permit you to raise your handagainst a woman in public. If you prefer to meet me—as would be morefitting to your rank—in some other manner, of course you understand me,captain.”

But the young officer had recovered himself, and was no longer listening. Atthis moment Rogojin appeared, elbowing through the crowd; he tookNastasia’s hand, drew it through his arm, and quickly led her away. Heappeared to be terribly excited; he was trembling all over, and was as pale asa corpse. As he carried Nastasia off, he turned and grinned horribly in theofficer’s face, and with low malice observed:

“Tfu! look what the fellow got! Look at the blood on his cheek! Ha,ha!”

Recollecting himself, however, and seeing at a glance the sort of people he hadto deal with, the officer turned his back on both his opponents, andcourteously, but concealing his face with his handkerchief, approached theprince, who was now rising from the chair into which he had fallen.

“Prince Muishkin, I believe? The gentleman to whom I had the honour ofbeing introduced?”

“She is mad, insane—I assure you, she is mad,” replied theprince in trembling tones, holding out both his hands mechanically towards theofficer.

“I cannot boast of any such knowledge, of course, but I wished to knowyour name.”

He bowed and retired without waiting for an answer.

Five seconds after the disappearance of the last actor in this scene, thepolice arrived. The whole episode had not lasted more than a couple of minutes.Some of the spectators had risen from their places, and departed altogether;some merely exchanged their seats for others a little further off; some weredelighted with the occurrence, and talked and laughed over it for a long time.

In a word, the incident closed as such incidents do, and the band began to playagain. The prince walked away after the Epanchin party. Had he thought oflooking round to the left after he had been pushed so unceremoniously into thechair, he would have observed Aglaya standing some twenty yards away. She hadstayed to watch the scandalous scene in spite of her mother’s andsisters’ anxious cries to her to come away.

Prince S. ran up to her and persuaded her, at last, to come home with them.

Lizabetha Prokofievna saw that she returned in such a state of agitation thatit was doubtful whether she had even heard their calls. But only a couple ofminutes later, when they had reached the park, Aglaya suddenly remarked, in herusual calm, indifferent voice:

“I wanted to see how the farce would end.”

III.

The occurrence at the Vauxhall had filled both mother and daughters withsomething like horror. In their excitement Lizabetha Prokofievna and the girlswere nearly running all the way home.

In her opinion there was so much disclosed and laid bare by the episode, that,in spite of the chaotic condition of her mind, she was able to feel more orless decided on certain points which, up to now, had been in a cloudycondition.

However, one and all of the party realized that something important hadhappened, and that, perhaps fortunately enough, something which had hithertobeen enveloped in the obscurity of guess-work had now begun to come forth alittle from the mists. In spite of Prince S.‘s assurances andexplanations, Evgenie Pavlovitch’s real character and position were atlast coming to light. He was publicly convicted of intimacy with “thatcreature.” So thought Lizabetha Prokofievna and her two elder daughters.

But the real upshot of the business was that the number of riddles to be solvedwas augmented. The two girls, though rather irritated at their mother’sexaggerated alarm and haste to depart from the scene, had been unwilling toworry her at first with questions.

Besides, they could not help thinking that their sister Aglaya probably knewmore about the whole matter than both they and their mother put together.

Prince S. looked as black as night, and was silent and moody. Mrs. Epanchin didnot say a word to him all the way home, and he did not seem to observe thefact. Adelaida tried to pump him a little by asking, “who was the unclethey were talking about, and what was it that had happened inPetersburg?” But he had merely muttered something disconnected about“making inquiries,” and that “of course it was allnonsense.” “Oh, of course,” replied Adelaida, and asked nomore questions. Aglaya, too, was very quiet; and the only remark she made onthe way home was that they were “walking much too fast to bepleasant.”

Once she turned and observed the prince hurrying after them. Noticing hisanxiety to catch them up, she smiled ironically, and then looked back no more.At length, just as they neared the house, General Epanchin came out and metthem; he had only just arrived from town.

His first word was to inquire after Evgenie Pavlovitch. But Lizabetha stalkedpast him, and neither looked at him nor answered his question.

He immediately judged from the faces of his daughters and Prince S. that therewas a thunderstorm brewing, and he himself already bore evidences of unusualperturbation of mind.

He immediately button-holed Prince S., and standing at the front door, engagedin a whispered conversation with him. By the troubled aspect of both of them,when they entered the house, and approached Mrs. Epanchin, it was evident thatthey had been discussing very disturbing news.

Little by little the family gathered together upstairs in LizabethaProkofievna’s apartments, and Prince Muishkin found himself alone on theverandah when he arrived. He settled himself in a corner and sat waiting,though he knew not what he expected. It never struck him that he had better goaway, with all this disturbance in the house. He seemed to have forgotten allthe world, and to be ready to sit on where he was for years on end. Fromupstairs he caught sounds of excited conversation every now and then.

He could not say how long he sat there. It grew late and became quite dark.

Suddenly Aglaya entered the verandah. She seemed to be quite calm, though alittle pale.

Observing the prince, whom she evidently did not expect to see there, alone inthe corner, she smiled, and approached him:

“What are you doing there?” she asked.

The prince muttered something, blushed, and jumped up; but Aglaya immediatelysat down beside him; so he reseated himself.

She looked suddenly, but attentively into his face, then at the window, asthough thinking of something else, and then again at him.

“Perhaps she wants to laugh at me,” thought the prince, “butno; for if she did she certainly would do so.”

“Would you like some tea? I’ll order some,” she said, after aminute or two of silence.

“N-no thanks, I don’t know—”

“Don’t know! How can you not know? By-the-by, look here—ifsomeone were to challenge you to a duel, what should you do? I wished to askyou this—some time ago—”

“Why? Nobody would ever challenge me to a duel!”

“But if they were to, would you be dreadfully frightened?”

“I dare say I should be—much alarmed!”

“Seriously? Then are you a coward?”

“N-no!—I don’t think so. A coward is a man who is afraid andruns away; the man who is frightened but does not run away, is not quite acoward,” said the prince with a smile, after a moment’s thought.

“And you wouldn’t run away?”

“No—I don’t think I should run away,” replied theprince, laughing outright at last at Aglaya’s questions.

“Though I am a woman, I should certainly not run away foranything,” said Aglaya, in a slightly pained voice. “However, I seeyou are laughing at me and twisting your face up as usual in order to makeyourself look more interesting. Now tell me, they generally shoot at twentypaces, don’t they? At ten, sometimes? I suppose if at ten they must beeither wounded or killed, mustn’t they?”

“I don’t think they often kill each other at duels.”

“They killed Pushkin that way.”

“That may have been an accident.”

“Not a bit of it; it was a duel to the death, and he was killed.”

“The bullet struck so low down that probably his antagonist would neverhave aimed at that part of him—people never do; he would have aimed athis chest or head; so that probably the bullet hit him accidentally. I havebeen told this by competent authorities.”

“Well, a soldier once told me that they were always ordered to aim at themiddle of the body. So you see they don’t aim at the chest or head; theyaim lower on purpose. I asked some officer about this afterwards, and he saidit was perfectly true.”

“That is probably when they fire from a long distance.”

“Can you shoot at all?”

“No, I have never shot in my life.”

“Can’t you even load a pistol?”

“No! That is, I understand how it’s done, of course, but I havenever done it.”

“Then, you don’t know how, for it is a matter that needs practice.Now listen and learn; in the first place buy good powder, not damp (they say itmustn’t be at all damp, but very dry), some fine kind it is—youmust ask for pistol powder, not the stuff they load cannons with. Theysay one makes the bullets oneself, somehow or other. Have you got apistol?”

“No—and I don’t want one,” said the prince, laughing.

“Oh, what nonsense! You must buy one. French or English are thebest, they say. Then take a little powder, about a thimbleful, or perhaps two,and pour it into the barrel. Better put plenty. Then push in a bit of felt (itmust be felt, for some reason or other); you can easily get a bit offsome old mattress, or off a door; it’s used to keep the cold out. Well,when you have pushed the felt down, put the bullet in; do you hear now? Thebullet last and the powder first, not the other way, or the pistol won’tshoot. What are you laughing at? I wish you to buy a pistol and practise everyday, and you must learn to hit a mark for certain; will you?”

The prince only laughed. Aglaya stamped her foot with annoyance.

Her serious air, however, during this conversation had surprised himconsiderably. He had a feeling that he ought to be asking her something, thatthere was something he wanted to find out far more important than how to load apistol; but his thoughts had all scattered, and he was only aware that she wassitting by him, and talking to him, and that he was looking at her; as to whatshe happened to be saying to him, that did not matter in the least.

The general now appeared on the verandah, coming from upstairs. He was on hisway out, with an expression of determination on his face, and of preoccupationand worry also.

“Ah! Lef Nicolaievitch, it’s you, is it? Where are you off tonow?” he asked, oblivious of the fact that the prince had not showed theleast sign of moving. “Come along with me; I want to say a word or two toyou.”

“Au revoir, then!” said Aglaya, holding out her hand to theprince.

It was quite dark now, and Muishkin could not see her face clearly, but aminute or two later, when he and the general had left the villa, he suddenlyflushed up, and squeezed his right hand tightly.

It appeared that he and the general were going in the same direction. In spiteof the lateness of the hour, the general was hurrying away to talk to someoneupon some important subject. Meanwhile he talked incessantly but disconnectedlyto the prince, and continually brought in the name of Lizabetha Prokofievna.

If the prince had been in a condition to pay more attention to what the generalwas saying, he would have discovered that the latter was desirous of drawingsome information out of him, or indeed of asking him some question outright;but that he could not make up his mind to come to the point.

Muishkin was so absent, that from the very first he could not attend to a wordthe other was saying; and when the general suddenly stopped before him withsome excited question, he was obliged to confess, ignominiously, that he didnot know in the least what he had been talking about.

The general shrugged his shoulders.

“How strange everyone, yourself included, has become of late,” saidhe. “I was telling you that I cannot in the least understand LizabethaProkofievna’s ideas and agitations. She is in hysterics up there, andmoans and says that we have been ‘shamed and disgraced.’ How? Why?When? By whom? I confess that I am very much to blame myself; I do not concealthe fact; but the conduct, the outrageous behaviour of this woman, must reallybe kept within limits, by the police if necessary, and I am just on my way nowto talk the question over and make some arrangements. It can all be managedquietly and gently, even kindly, and without the slightest fuss or scandal. Iforesee that the future is pregnant with events, and that there is much thatneeds explanation. There is intrigue in the wind; but if on one side nothing isknown, on the other side nothing will be explained. If I have heard nothingabout it, nor have you, nor he, nor she—whohas heard about it, I should like to know? How can all this beexplained except by the fact that half of it is mirage or moonshine, or somehallucination of that sort?”

“She is insane,” muttered the prince, suddenly recollectingall that had passed, with a spasm of pain at his heart.

“I too had that idea, and I slept in peace. But now I see that theiropinion is more correct. I do not believe in the theory of madness! The womanhas no common sense; but she is not only not insane, she is artful to a degree.Her outburst of this evening about Evgenie’s uncle proves thatconclusively. It was villainous, simply jesuitical, and it was all forsome special purpose.”

“What about Evgenie’s uncle?”

“My goodness, Lef Nicolaievitch, why, you can’t have heard a singleword I said! Look at me, I’m still trembling all over with the dreadfulshock! It is that that kept me in town so late. Evgenie Pavlovitch’suncle—”

“Well?” cried the prince.

“Shot himself this morning, at seven o’clock. A respected, eminentold man of seventy; and exactly point for point as she described it; a sum ofmoney, a considerable sum of government money, missing!”

“Why, how could she—”

“What, know of it? Ha, ha, ha! Why, there was a whole crowd round her themoment she appeared on the scenes here. You know what sort of people surroundher nowadays, and solicit the honour of her ‘acquaintance.’ Ofcourse she might easily have heard the news from someone coming from town. AllPetersburg, if not all Pavlofsk, knows it by now. Look at the slyness of herobservation about Evgenie’s uniform! I mean, her remark that he hadretired just in time! There’s a venomous hint for you, if you like! No,no! there’s no insanity there! Of course I refuse to believe that EvgeniePavlovitch could have known beforehand of the catastrophe; that is, that atsuch and such a day at seven o’clock, and all that; but he might wellhave had a presentiment of the truth. And I—all of us—Prince S. andeverybody, believed that he was to inherit a large fortune from this uncle.It’s dreadful, horrible! Mind, I don’t suspect Evgenie of anything,be quite clear on that point; but the thing is a little suspicious,nevertheless. Prince S. can’t get over it. Altogether it is a veryextraordinary combination of circumstances.”

“What suspicion attaches to Evgenie Pavlovitch?”

“Oh, none at all! He has behaved very well indeed. I didn’t mean todrop any sort of hint. His own fortune is intact, I believe. LizabethaProkofievna, of course, refuses to listen to anything. That’s the worstof it all, these family catastrophes or quarrels, or whatever you like to callthem. You know, prince, you are a friend of the family, so I don’t mindtelling you; it now appears that Evgenie Pavlovitch proposed to Aglaya a monthago, and was refused.”

“Impossible!” cried the prince.

“Why? Do you know anything about it? Look here,” continued thegeneral, more agitated than ever, and trembling with excitement, “maybe Ihave been letting the cat out of the bag too freely with you, if so, it isbecause you are—that sort of man, you know! Perhaps you have some specialinformation?”

“I know nothing about Evgenie Pavlovitch!” said the prince.

“Nor do I! They always try to bury me underground when there’sanything going on; they don’t seem to reflect that it is unpleasant to aman to be treated so! I won’t stand it! We have just had a terriblescene!—mind, I speak to you as I would to my own son! Aglaya laughs ather mother. Her sisters guessed about Evgenie having proposed and beenrejected, and told Lizabetha.

“I tell you, my dear fellow, Aglaya is such an extraordinary, such aself-willed, fantastical little creature, you wouldn’t believe it! Everyhigh quality, every brilliant trait of heart and mind, are to be found in her,and, with it all, so much caprice and mockery, such wild fancies—indeed,a little devil! She has just been laughing at her mother to her very face, andat her sisters, and at Prince S., and everybody—and of course she alwayslaughs at me! You know I love the child—I love her even when she laughsat me, and I believe the wild little creature has a special fondness for me forthat very reason. She is fonder of me than any of the others. I dare swear shehas had a good laugh at you before now! You were having a quiet talkjust now, I observed, after all the thunder and lightning upstairs. She wassitting with you just as though there had been no row at all.”

The prince blushed painfully in the darkness, and closed his right handtightly, but he said nothing.

“My dear good Prince Lef Nicolaievitch,” began the general again,suddenly, “both I and Lizabetha Prokofievna—(who has begun torespect you once more, and me through you, goodness knows why!)—we bothlove you very sincerely, and esteem you, in spite of any appearances to thecontrary. But you’ll admit what a riddle it must have been for us whenthat calm, cold, little spitfire, Aglaya—(for she stood up to her motherand answered her questions with inexpressible contempt, and mine still more so,because, like a fool, I thought it my duty to assert myself as head of thefamily)—when Aglaya stood up of a sudden and informed us that ‘thatmadwoman’ (strangely enough, she used exactly the same expression as youdid) ‘has taken it into her head to marry me to Prince Lef Nicolaievitch,and therefore is doing her best to choke Evgenie Pavlovitch off, and rid thehouse of him.’ That’s what she said. She would not give theslightest explanation; she burst out laughing, banged the door, and went away.We all stood there with our mouths open. Well, I was told afterwards of yourlittle passage with Aglaya this afternoon, and—and—dearprince—you are a good, sensible fellow, don’t be angry if I speakout—she is laughing at you, my boy! She is enjoying herself like a child,at your expense, and therefore, since she is a child, don’t be angry withher, and don’t think anything of it. I assure you, she is simply making afool of you, just as she does with one and all of us out of pure lack ofsomething better to do. Well—good-bye! You know our feelings, don’tyou—our sincere feelings for yourself? They are unalterable, you know,dear boy, under all circumstances, but—Well, here we part; I must go downto the right. Rarely have I sat so uncomfortably in my saddle, as they say, asI now sit. And people talk of the charms of a country holiday!”

Left to himself at the cross-roads, the prince glanced around him, quicklycrossed the road towards the lighted window of a neighbouring house, andunfolded a tiny scrap of paper which he had held clasped in his right handduring the whole of his conversation with the general.

He read the note in the uncertain rays that fell from the window. It was asfollows:

“Tomorrow morning, I shall be at the green bench in the park at seven,and shall wait there for you. I have made up my mind to speak to you about amost important matter which closely concerns yourself.

“P.S.—I trust that you will not show this note to anyone. Though Iam ashamed of giving you such instructions, I feel that I must do so,considering what you are. I therefore write the words, and blush for yoursimple character.

“P.P.S.—It is the same green bench that I showed you before. There!aren’t you ashamed of yourself? I felt that it was necessary to repeateven that information.”

The note was written and folded anyhow, evidently in a great hurry, andprobably just before Aglaya had come down to the verandah.

In inexpressible agitation, amounting almost to fear, the prince slippedquickly away from the window, away from the light, like a frightened thief, butas he did so he collided violently with some gentleman who seemed to springfrom the earth at his feet.

“I was watching for you, prince,” said the individual.

“Is that you, Keller?” said the prince, in surprise.

“Yes, I’ve been looking for you. I waited for you at theEpanchins’ house, but of course I could not come in. I dogged you frombehind as you walked along with the general. Well, prince, here is Keller,absolutely at your service—command him!—ready to sacrificehimself—even to die in case of need.”

“But—why?”

“Oh, why?—Of course you’ll be challenged! That was youngLieutenant Moloftsoff. I know him, or rather of him; he won’t pass aninsult. He will take no notice of Rogojin and myself, and, therefore, you arethe only one left to account for. You’ll have to pay the piper, prince.He has been asking about you, and undoubtedly his friend will call on youtomorrow—perhaps he is at your house already. If you would do me thehonour to have me for a second, prince, I should be happy. That’s why Ihave been looking for you now.”

“Duel! You’ve come to talk about a duel, too!” The princeburst out laughing, to the great astonishment of Keller. He laughedunrestrainedly, and Keller, who had been on pins and needles, and in a fever ofexcitement to offer himself as “second,” was very near beingoffended.

“You caught him by the arms, you know, prince. No man of proper pride canstand that sort of treatment in public.”

“Yes, and he gave me a fearful dig in the chest,” cried the prince,still laughing. “What are we to fight about? I shall beg his pardon,that’s all. But if we must fight—we’ll fight! Let him have ashot at me, by all means; I should rather like it. Ha, ha, ha! I know how toload a pistol now; do you know how to load a pistol, Keller? First, you have tobuy the powder, you know; it mustn’t be wet, and it mustn’t be thatcoarse stuff that they load cannons with—it must be pistol powder. Thenyou pour the powder in, and get hold of a bit of felt from some door, and thenshove the bullet in. But don’t shove the bullet in before the powder,because the thing wouldn’t go off—do you hear, Keller, the thingwouldn’t go off! Ha, ha, ha! Isn’t that a grand reason, Keller, myfriend, eh? Do you know, my dear fellow, I really must kiss you, and embraceyou, this very moment. Ha, ha! How was it you so suddenly popped up in front ofme as you did? Come to my house as soon as you can, and we’ll have somechampagne. We’ll all get drunk! Do you know I have a dozen of champagnein Lebedeff’s cellar? Lebedeff sold them to me the day after I arrived. Itook the lot. We’ll invite everybody! Are you going to do any sleepingtonight?”

“As much as usual, prince—why?”

“Pleasant dreams then—ha, ha!”

The prince crossed the road, and disappeared into the park, leaving theastonished Keller in a state of ludicrous wonder. He had never before seen theprince in such a strange condition of mind, and could not have imagined thepossibility of it.

“Fever, probably,” he said to himself, “for the man is allnerves, and this business has been a little too much for him. He is notafraid, that’s clear; that sort never funks! H’m! champagne!That was an interesting item of news, at all events!—Twelve bottles! Dearme, that’s a very respectable little stock indeed! I bet anythingLebedeff lent somebody money on deposit of this dozen of champagne. Hum!he’s a nice fellow, is this prince! I like this sort of man. Well, Ineedn’t be wasting time here, and if it’s a case of champagne,why—there’s no time like the present!”

That the prince was almost in a fever was no more than the truth. He wanderedabout the park for a long while, and at last came to himself in a lonelyavenue. He was vaguely conscious that he had already paced this particularwalk—from that large, dark tree to the bench at the other end—abouta hundred yards altogether—at least thirty times backwards and forwards.

As to recollecting what he had been thinking of all that time, he could not. Hecaught himself, however, indulging in one thought which made him roar withlaughter, though there was nothing really to laugh at in it; but he felt thathe must laugh, and go on laughing.

It struck him that the idea of the duel might not have occurred to Kelleralone, but that his lesson in the art of pistol-loading might have been notaltogether accidental! “Pooh! nonsense!” he said to himself, struckby another thought, of a sudden. “Why, she was immensely surprised tofind me there on the verandah, and laughed and talked about tea! And yetshe had this little note in her hand, therefore she must have known that I wassitting there. So why was she surprised? Ha, ha, ha!”

He pulled the note out and kissed it; then paused and reflected. “Howstrange it all is! how strange!” he muttered, melancholy enough now. Inmoments of great joy, he invariably felt a sensation of melancholy come overhim—he could not tell why.

He looked intently around him, and wondered why he had come here; he was verytired, so he approached the bench and sat down on it. Around him was profoundsilence; the music in the Vauxhall was over. The park seemed quite empty,though it was not, in reality, later than half-past eleven. It was a quiet,warm, clear night—a real Petersburg night of early June; but in the denseavenue, where he was sitting, it was almost pitch dark.

If anyone had come up at this moment and told him that he was in love,passionately in love, he would have rejected the idea with astonishment, and,perhaps, with irritation. And if anyone had added that Aglaya’s note wasa love-letter, and that it contained an appointment to a lover’srendezvous, he would have blushed with shame for the speaker, and, probably,have challenged him to a duel.

All this would have been perfectly sincere on his part. He had never for amoment entertained the idea of the possibility of this girl loving him, or evenof such a thing as himself falling in love with her. The possibility of beingloved himself, “a man like me,” as he put it, he ranked amongridiculous suppositions. It appeared to him that it was simply a joke onAglaya’s part, if there really were anything in it at all; but thatseemed to him quite natural. His preoccupation was caused by somethingdifferent.

As to the few words which the general had let slip about Aglaya laughing ateverybody, and at himself most of all—he entirely believed them. He didnot feel the slightest sensation of offence; on the contrary, he was quitecertain that it was as it should be.

His whole thoughts were now as to next morning early; he would see her; hewould sit by her on that little green bench, and listen to how pistols wereloaded, and look at her. He wanted nothing more.

The question as to what she might have to say of special interest to himselfoccurred to him once or twice. He did not doubt, for a moment, that she reallyhad some such subject of conversation in store, but so very little interestedin the matter was he that it did not strike him to wonder what it could be. Thecrunch of gravel on the path suddenly caused him to raise his head.

A man, whose face it was difficult to see in the gloom, approached the bench,and sat down beside him. The prince peered into his face, and recognized thelivid features of Rogojin.

“I knew you’d be wandering about somewhere here. I didn’thave to look for you very long,” muttered the latter between his teeth.

It was the first time they had met since the encounter on the staircase at thehotel.

Painfully surprised as he was at this sudden apparition of Rogojin, the prince,for some little while, was unable to collect his thoughts. Rogojin, evidently,saw and understood the impression he had made; and though he seemed more orless confused at first, yet he began talking with what looked like assumed easeand freedom. However, the prince soon changed his mind on this score, andthought that there was not only no affectation of indifference, but thatRogojin was not even particularly agitated. If there were a little apparentawkwardness, it was only in his words and gestures. The man could not changehis heart.

“How did you—find me here?” asked the prince for the sake ofsaying something.

“Keller told me (I found him at your place) that you were in the park.‘Of course he is!’ I thought.”

“Why so?” asked the prince uneasily.

Rogojin smiled, but did not explain.

“I received your letter, Lef Nicolaievitch—what’s the good ofall that?—It’s no use, you know. I’ve come to you fromher,—she bade me tell you that she must see you, she has somethingto say to you. She told me to find you today.”

“I’ll come tomorrow. Now I’m going home—are you comingto my house?”

“Why should I? I’ve given you the message.—Goodbye!”

“Won’t you come?” asked the prince in a gentle voice.

“What an extraordinary man you are! I wonder at you!” Rogojinlaughed sarcastically.

“Why do you hate me so?” asked the prince, sadly. “You knowyourself that all you suspected is quite unfounded. I felt you were still angrywith me, though. Do you know why? Because you tried to killme—that’s why you can’t shake off your wrath against me. Itell you that I only remember the Parfen Rogojin with whom I exchanged crosses,and vowed brotherhood. I wrote you this in yesterday’s letter, in orderthat you might forget all that madness on your part, and that you might notfeel called to talk about it when we met. Why do you avoid me? Why do you holdyour hand back from me? I tell you again, I consider all that has passed adelirium, an insane dream. I can understand all you did, and all you felt thatday, as if it were myself. What you were then imagining was not the case, andcould never be the case. Why, then, should there be anger between us?”

“You don’t know what anger is!” laughed Rogojin, in reply tothe prince’s heated words.

He had moved a pace or two away, and was hiding his hands behind him.

“No, it is impossible for me to come to your house again,” he addedslowly.

“Why? Do you hate me so much as all that?”

“I don’t love you, Lef Nicolaievitch, and, therefore, what would bethe use of my coming to see you? You are just like a child—you want aplaything, and it must be taken out and given you—and then youdon’t know how to work it. You are simply repeating all you said in yourletter, and what’s the use? Of course I believe every word you say, and Iknow perfectly well that you neither did or ever can deceive me in any way, andyet, I don’t love you. You write that you’ve forgotten everything,and only remember your brother Parfen, with whom you exchanged crosses, andthat you don’t remember anything about the Rogojin who aimed a knife atyour throat. What do you know about my feelings, eh?” (Rogojin laugheddisagreeably.) “Here you are holding out your brotherly forgiveness to mefor a thing that I have perhaps never repented of in the slightest degree. Idid not think of it again all that evening; all my thoughts were centred onsomething else—”

“Not think of it again? Of course you didn’t!” cried theprince. “And I dare swear that you came straight away down here toPavlofsk to listen to the music and dog her about in the crowd, and stare ather, just as you did today. There’s nothing surprising in that! If youhadn’t been in that condition of mind that you could think of nothing butone subject, you would, probably, never have raised your knife against me. Ihad a presentiment of what you would do, that day, ever since I saw you firstin the morning. Do you know yourself what you looked like? I knew you would tryto murder me even at the very moment when we exchanged crosses. What did youtake me to your mother for? Did you think to stay your hand by doing so?Perhaps you did not put your thoughts into words, but you and I were thinkingthe same thing, or feeling the same thing looming over us, at the same moment.What should you think of me now if you had not raised your knife tome—the knife which God averted from my throat? I would have been guiltyof suspecting you all the same—and you would have intended the murder allthe same; therefore we should have been mutually guilty in any case. Come,don’t frown; you needn’t laugh at me, either. You say youhaven’t ‘repented.’ Repented! You probably couldn’t, ifyou were to try; you dislike me too much for that. Why, if I were an angel oflight, and as innocent before you as a babe, you would still loathe me if youbelieved that she loved me, instead of loving yourself. That’sjealousy—that is the real jealousy.

“But do you know what I have been thinking out during this last week,Parfen? I’ll tell you. What if she loves you now better than anyone? Andwhat if she torments you because she loves you, and in proportion to herlove for you, so she torments you the more? She won’t tell you this, ofcourse; you must have eyes to see. Why do you suppose she consents to marryyou? She must have a reason, and that reason she will tell you some day. Somewomen desire the kind of love you give her, and she is probably one of these.Your love and your wild nature impress her. Do you know that a woman is capableof driving a man crazy almost, with her cruelties and mockeries, and feels notone single pang of regret, because she looks at him and says to herself,‘There! I’ll torment this man nearly into his grave, and then, oh!how I’ll compensate him for it all with my love!’”

Rogojin listened to the end, and then burst out laughing:

“Why, prince, I declare you must have had a taste of this sort of thingyourself—haven’t you? I have heard tell of something of the kind,you know; is it true?”

“What? What can you have heard?” said the prince, stammering.

Rogojin continued to laugh loudly. He had listened to the prince’s speechwith curiosity and some satisfaction. The speaker’s impulsive warmth hadsurprised and even comforted him.

“Why, I’ve not only heard of it; I see it for myself,” hesaid. “When have you ever spoken like that before? It wasn’t likeyourself, prince. Why, if I hadn’t heard this report about you, I shouldnever have come all this way into the park—at midnight, too!”

“I don’t understand you in the least, Parfen.”

“Oh, she told me all about it long ago, and tonight I saw formyself. I saw you at the music, you know, and whom you were sitting with. Sheswore to me yesterday, and again today, that you are madly in love with AglayaIvanovna. But that’s all the same to me, prince, and it’s not myaffair at all; for if you have ceased to love her, she has notceased to love you. You know, of course, that she wants to marry you tothat girl? She’s sworn to it! Ha, ha! She says to me, ‘Until then Iwon’t marry you. When they go to church, we’ll go too—and notbefore.’ What on earth does she mean by it? I don’t know, and Inever did. Either she loves you without limits or—yet, if she loves you,why does she wish to marry you to another girl? She says, ‘I want to seehim happy,’ which is to say—she loves you.”

“I wrote, and I say to you once more, that she is not in her rightmind,” said the prince, who had listened with anguish to what Rogojinsaid.

“Goodness knows—you may be wrong there! At all events, she namedthe day this evening, as we left the gardens. ‘In three weeks,’says she, ‘and perhaps sooner, we shall be married.’ She swore toit, took off her cross and kissed it. So it all depends upon you now, prince,You see! Ha, ha!”

“That’s all madness. What you say about me, Parfen, never can andnever will be. Tomorrow, I shall come and see you—”

“How can she be mad,” Rogojin interrupted, “when she is saneenough for other people and only mad for you? How can she write letters toher, if she’s mad? If she were insane they would observe it in herletters.”

“What letters?” said the prince, alarmed.

“She writes to her—and the girl reads the letters.Haven’t you heard?—You are sure to hear; she’s sure to showyou the letters herself.”

“I won’t believe this!” cried the prince.

“Why, prince, you’ve only gone a few steps along this road, Iperceive. You are evidently a mere beginner. Wait a bit! Before long,you’ll have your own detectives, you’ll watch day and night, andyou’ll know every little thing that goes on there—that is,if—”

“Drop that subject, Rogojin, and never mention it again. And listen: as Ihave sat here, and talked, and listened, it has suddenly struck me thattomorrow is my birthday. It must be about twelve o’clock, now; come homewith me—do, and we’ll see the day in! We’ll have some wine,and you shall wish me—I don’t know what—but you, especiallyyou, must wish me a good wish, and I shall wish you full happiness in return.Otherwise, hand me my cross back again. You didn’t return it to me nextday. Haven’t you got it on now?”

“Yes, I have,” said Rogojin.

“Come along, then. I don’t wish to meet my new year withoutyou—my new life, I should say, for a new life is beginning for me. Didyou know, Parfen, that a new life had begun for me?”

“I see for myself that it is so—and I shall tell her. Butyou are not quite yourself, Lef Nicolaievitch.”

IV.

The prince observed with great surprise, as he approached his villa,accompanied by Rogojin, that a large number of people were assembled on hisverandah, which was brilliantly lighted up. The company seemed merry and werenoisily laughing and talking—even quarrelling, to judge from the sounds.At all events they were clearly enjoying themselves, and the prince observedfurther on closer investigation—that all had been drinking champagne. Tojudge from the lively condition of some of the party, it was to be supposedthat a considerable quantity of champagne had been consumed already.

All the guests were known to the prince; but the curious part of the matter wasthat they had all arrived on the same evening, as though with one accord,although he had only himself recollected the fact that it was his birthday afew moments since.

“You must have told somebody you were going to trot out the champagne,and that’s why they are all come!” muttered Rogojin, as the twoentered the verandah. “We know all about that! You’ve only towhistle and they come up in shoals!” he continued, almost angrily. He wasdoubtless thinking of his own late experiences with his boon companions.

All surrounded the prince with exclamations of welcome, and, on hearing that itwas his birthday, with cries of congratulation and delight; many of them werevery noisy.

The presence of certain of those in the room surprised the prince vastly, butthe guest whose advent filled him with the greatest wonder—almostamounting to alarm—was Evgenie Pavlovitch. The prince could not believehis eyes when he beheld the latter, and could not help thinking that somethingwas wrong.

Lebedeff ran up promptly to explain the arrival of all these gentlemen. He washimself somewhat intoxicated, but the prince gathered from his long-windedperiods that the party had assembled quite naturally, and accidentally.

First of all Hippolyte had arrived, early in the evening, and feeling decidedlybetter, had determined to await the prince on the verandah. There Lebedeff hadjoined him, and his household had followed—that is, his daughters andGeneral Ivolgin. Burdovsky had brought Hippolyte, and stayed on with him. Ganiaand Ptitsin had dropped in accidentally later on; then came Keller, and he andColia insisted on having champagne. Evgenie Pavlovitch had only dropped in halfan hour or so ago. Lebedeff had served the champagne readily.

“My own though, prince, my own, mind,” he said, “andthere’ll be some supper later on; my daughter is getting it ready now.Come and sit down, prince, we are all waiting for you, we want you with us.Fancy what we have been discussing! You know the question, ‘to be or notto be,’—out of Hamlet! A contemporary theme! Quite up-to-date! Mr.Hippolyte has been eloquent to a degree. He won’t go to bed, but he hasonly drunk a little champagne, and that can’t do him any harm. Comealong, prince, and settle the question. Everyone is waiting for you, sighingfor the light of your luminous intelligence...”

The prince noticed the sweet, welcoming look on Vera Lebedeff’s face, asshe made her way towards him through the crowd. He held out his hand to her.She took it, blushing with delight, and wished him “a happy life fromthat day forward.” Then she ran off to the kitchen, where her presencewas necessary to help in the preparations for supper. Before the prince’sarrival she had spent some time on the terrace, listening eagerly to theconversation, though the visitors, mostly under the influence of wine, werediscussing abstract subjects far beyond her comprehension. In the next room heryounger sister lay on a wooden chest, sound asleep, with her mouth wide open;but the boy, Lebedeff’s son, had taken up his position close beside Coliaand Hippolyte, his face lit up with interest in the conversation of his fatherand the rest, to which he would willingly have listened for ten hours at astretch.

“I have waited for you on purpose, and am very glad to see you arrive sohappy,” said Hippolyte, when the prince came forward to press his hand,immediately after greeting Vera.

“And how do you know that I am ‘so happy’?”

“I can see it by your face! Say ‘how do you do’ to theothers, and come and sit down here, quick—I’ve been waiting foryou!” he added, accentuating the fact that he had waited. On theprince’s asking, “Will it not be injurious to you to sit out solate?” he replied that he could not believe that he had thought himselfdying three days or so ago, for he never had felt better than this evening.

Burdovsky next jumped up and explained that he had come in by accident, havingescorted Hippolyte from town. He murmured that he was glad he had“written nonsense” in his letter, and then pressed theprince’s hand warmly and sat down again.

The prince approached Evgenie Pavlovitch last of all. The latter immediatelytook his arm.

“I have a couple of words to say to you,” he began, “andthose on a very important matter; let’s go aside for a minute ortwo.”

“Just a couple of words!” whispered another voice in theprince’s other ear, and another hand took his other arm. Muishkin turned,and to his great surprise observed a red, flushed face and a droll-lookingfigure which he recognized at once as that of Ferdishenko. Goodness knows wherehe had turned up from!

“Do you remember Ferdishenko?” he asked.

“Where have you dropped from?” cried the prince.

“He is sorry for his sins now, prince,” cried Keller. “He didnot want to let you know he was here; he was hidden over there in thecorner,—but he repents now, he feels his guilt.”

“Why, what has he done?”

“I met him outside and brought him in—he’s a gentleman whodoesn’t often allow his friends to see him, of late—but he’ssorry now.”

“Delighted, I’m sure!—I’ll come back directly,gentlemen,—sit down there with the others, please,—excuse me onemoment,” said the host, getting away with difficulty in order to followEvgenie.

“You are very gay here,” began the latter, “and I have hadquite a pleasant half-hour while I waited for you. Now then, my dear LefNicolaievitch, this is what’s the matter. I’ve arranged it all withMoloftsoff, and have just come in to relieve your mind on that score. You needbe under no apprehensions. He was very sensible, as he should be, of course,for I think he was entirely to blame himself.”

“What Moloftsoff?”

“The young fellow whose arms you held, don’t you know? He was sowild with you that he was going to send a friend to you tomorrowmorning.”

“What nonsense!”

“Of course it is nonsense, and in nonsense it would have ended,doubtless; but you know these fellows, they—”

“Excuse me, but I think you must have something else that you wished tospeak about, Evgenie Pavlovitch?”

“Of course, I have!” said the other, laughing. “You see, mydear fellow, tomorrow, very early in the morning, I must be off to town aboutthis unfortunate business (my uncle, you know!). Just imagine, my dear sir, itis all true—word for word—and, of course, everybody knew itexcepting myself. All this has been such a blow to me that I have not managedto call in at the Epanchins’. Tomorrow I shall not see them either,because I shall be in town. I may not be here for three days or more; in aword, my affairs are a little out of gear. But though my town business is, ofcourse, most pressing, still I determined not to go away until I had seen you,and had a clear understanding with you upon certain points; and that withoutloss of time. I will wait now, if you will allow me, until the company departs;I may just as well, for I have nowhere else to go to, and I shall certainly notdo any sleeping tonight; I’m far too excited. And finally, I must confessthat, though I know it is bad form to pursue a man in this way, I have come tobeg your friendship, my dear prince. You are an unusual sort of a person; youdon’t lie at every step, as some men do; in fact, you don’t lie atall, and there is a matter in which I need a true and sincere friend, for Ireally may claim to be among the number of bona fide unfortunates justnow.”

He laughed again.

“But the trouble is,” said the prince, after a slight pause forreflection, “that goodness only knows when this party will break up.Hadn’t we better stroll into the park? I’ll excuse myself,there’s no danger of their going away.”

“No, no! I have my reasons for wishing them not to suspect us of beingengaged in any specially important conversation. There are gentry present whoare a little too much interested in us. You are not aware of that perhaps,prince? It will be a great deal better if they see that we are friendly just inan ordinary way. They’ll all go in a couple of hours, and then I’llask you to give me twenty minutes—half an hour at most.”

“By all means! I assure you I am delighted—you need not haveentered into all these explanations. As for your remarks about friendship withme—thanks, very much indeed. You must excuse my being a little absentthis evening. Do you know, I cannot somehow be attentive to anything justnow?”

“I see, I see,” said Evgenie, smiling gently. His mirth seemed verynear the surface this evening.

“What do you see?” said the prince, startled.

“I don’t want you to suspect that I have simply come here todeceive you and pump information out of you!” said Evgenie, stillsmiling, and without making any direct reply to the question.

“Oh, but I haven’t the slightest doubt that you did come to pumpme,” said the prince, laughing himself, at last; “and I dare sayyou are quite prepared to deceive me too, so far as that goes. But what ofthat? I’m not afraid of you; besides, you’ll hardly believe it, Ifeel as though I really didn’t care a scrap one way or the other, justnow!—And—and—and as you are a capital fellow, I am convincedof that, I dare say we really shall end by being good friends. I like you verymuch Evgenie Pavlovitch; I consider you a very good fellow indeed.”

“Well, in any case, you are a most delightful man to have to deal with,be the business what it may,” concluded Evgenie. “Come along now,I’ll drink a glass to your health. I’m charmed to have entered intoalliance with you. By-the-by,” he added suddenly, “has this youngHippolyte come down to stay with you?”

“Yes.”

“He’s not going to die at once, I should think, is he?”

“Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been half an hour here with him, andhe—”

Hippolyte had been waiting for the prince all this time, and had never ceasedlooking at him and Evgenie Pavlovitch as they conversed in the corner. Hebecame much excited when they approached the table once more. He was disturbedin his mind, it seemed; perspiration stood in large drops on his forehead; inhis gleaming eyes it was easy to read impatience and agitation; his gazewandered from face to face of those present, and from object to object in theroom, apparently without aim. He had taken a part, and an animated one, in thenoisy conversation of the company; but his animation was clearly the outcome offever. His talk was almost incoherent; he would break off in the middle of asentence which he had begun with great interest, and forget what he had beensaying. The prince discovered to his dismay that Hippolyte had been allowed todrink two large glasses of champagne; the one now standing by him being thethird. All this he found out afterwards; at the moment he did not noticeanything, very particularly.

“Do you know I am specially glad that today is your birthday!”cried Hippolyte.

“Why?”

“You’ll soon see. D’you know I had a feeling that there wouldbe a lot of people here tonight? It’s not the first time that mypresentiments have been fulfilled. I wish I had known it was your birthday,I’d have brought you a present—perhaps I have got a present foryou! Who knows? Ha, ha! How long is it now before daylight?”

“Not a couple of hours,” said Ptitsin, looking at his watch.“What’s the good of daylight now? One can read all night in theopen air without it,” said someone.

“The good of it! Well, I want just to see a ray of the sun,” saidHippolyte. “Can one drink to the sun’s health, do you think,prince?”

“Oh, I dare say one can; but you had better be calm and lie down,Hippolyte—that’s much more important.”

“You are always preaching about resting; you are a regular nurse to me,prince. As soon as the sun begins to ‘resound’ in thesky—what poet said that? ‘The sun resounded in the sky.’ Itis beautiful, though there’s no sense in it!—then we will go tobed. Lebedeff, tell me, is the sun the source of life? What does the source, or‘spring,’ of life really mean in the Apocalypse? You have heard ofthe ‘Star that is called Wormwood,’ prince?”

“I have heard that Lebedeff explains it as the railroads that coverEurope like a net.”

Everybody laughed, and Lebedeff got up abruptly.

“No! Allow me, that is not what we are discussing!” he cried,waving his hand to impose silence. “Allow me! With these gentlemen... allthese gentlemen,” he added, suddenly addressing the prince, “oncertain points... that is...” He thumped the table repeatedly, and thelaughter increased. Lebedeff was in his usual evening condition, and had justended a long and scientific argument, which had left him excited and irritable.On such occasions he was apt to evince a supreme contempt for his opponents.

“It is not right! Half an hour ago, prince, it was agreed among us thatno one should interrupt, no one should laugh, that each person was to expresshis thoughts freely; and then at the end, when everyone had spoken, objectionsmight be made, even by the atheists. We chose the general as president. Nowwithout some such rule and order, anyone might be shouted down, even in theloftiest and most profound thought....”

“Go on! Go on! Nobody is going to interrupt you!” cried severalvoices.

“Speak, but keep to the point!”

“What is this ‘star’?” asked another.

“I have no idea,” replied General Ivolgin, who presided with muchgravity.

“I love these arguments, prince,” said Keller, also more than halfintoxicated, moving restlessly in his chair. “Scientific andpolitical.” Then, turning suddenly towards Evgenie Pavlovitch, who wasseated near him: “Do you know, I simply adore reading the accounts of thedebates in the English parliament. Not that the discussions themselves interestme; I am not a politician, you know; but it delights me to see how they addresseach other ‘the noble lord who agrees with me,’ ‘myhonourable opponent who astonished Europe with his proposal,’ ‘thenoble viscount sitting opposite’—all these expressions, all thisparliamentarism of a free people, has an enormous attraction for me. Itfascinates me, prince. I have always been an artist in the depths of my soul, Iassure you, Evgenie Pavlovitch.”

“Do you mean to say,” cried Gania, from the other corner, “doyou mean to say that railways are accursed inventions, that they are a sourceof ruin to humanity, a poison poured upon the earth to corrupt the springs oflife?”

Gavrila Ardalionovitch was in high spirits that evening, and it seemed to theprince that his gaiety was mingled with triumph. Of course he was only jokingwith Lebedeff, meaning to egg him on, but he grew excited himself at the sametime.

“Not the railways, oh dear, no!” replied Lebedeff, with a mixtureof violent anger and extreme enjoyment. “Considered alone, the railwayswill not pollute the springs of life, but as a whole they are accursed. Thewhole tendency of our latest centuries, in its scientific and materialisticaspect, is most probably accursed.”

“Is it certainly accursed?... or do you only mean it might be? That is animportant point,” said Evgenie Pavlovitch.

“It is accursed, certainly accursed!” replied the clerk,vehemently.

“Don’t go so fast, Lebedeff; you are much milder in themorning,” said Ptitsin, smiling.

“But, on the other hand, more frank in the evening! In the eveningsincere and frank,” repeated Lebedeff, earnestly. “More candid,more exact, more honest, more honourable, and... although I may show you myweak side, I challenge you all; you atheists, for instance! How are you goingto save the world? How find a straight road of progress, you men of science, ofindustry, of cooperation, of trades unions, and all the rest? How are you goingto save it, I say? By what? By credit? What is credit? To what will credit leadyou?”

“You are too inquisitive,” remarked Evgenie Pavlovitch.

“Well, anyone who does not interest himself in questions such as this is,in my opinion, a mere fashionable dummy.”

“But it will lead at least to solidarity, and balance ofinterests,” said Ptitsin.

“You will reach that with nothing to help you but credit? Withoutrecourse to any moral principle, having for your foundation only individualselfishness, and the satisfaction of material desires? Universal peace, and thehappiness of mankind as a whole, being the result! Is it really so that I mayunderstand you, sir?”

“But the universal necessity of living, of drinking, of eating—inshort, the whole scientific conviction that this necessity can only besatisfied by universal co-operation and the solidarity of interests—is,it seems to me, a strong enough idea to serve as a basis, so to speak, and a‘spring of life,’ for humanity in future centuries,” saidGavrila Ardalionovitch, now thoroughly roused.

“The necessity of eating and drinking, that is to say, solely theinstinct of self-preservation...”

“Is not that enough? The instinct of self-preservation is the normal lawof humanity...”

“Who told you that?” broke in Evgenie Pavlovitch.

“It is a law, doubtless, but a law neither more nor less normal than thatof destruction, even self-destruction. Is it possible that the whole normal lawof humanity is contained in this sentiment of self-preservation?”

“Ah!” cried Hippolyte, turning towards Evgenie Pavlovitch, andlooking at him with a queer sort of curiosity.

Then seeing that Radomski was laughing, he began to laugh himself, nudgedColia, who was sitting beside him, with his elbow, and again asked what time itwas. He even pulled Colia’s silver watch out of his hand, and looked atit eagerly. Then, as if he had forgotten everything, he stretched himself outon the sofa, put his hands behind his head, and looked up at the sky. After aminute or two he got up and came back to the table to listen toLebedeff’s outpourings, as the latter passionately commentated on EvgeniePavlovitch’s paradox.

“That is an artful and traitorous idea. A smart notion,”vociferated the clerk, “thrown out as an apple of discord. But it isjust. You are a scoffer, a man of the world, a cavalry officer, and, though notwithout brains, you do not realize how profound is your thought, nor how true.Yes, the laws of self-preservation and of self-destruction are equally powerfulin this world. The devil will hold his empire over humanity until a limit oftime which is still unknown. You laugh? You do not believe in the devil?Scepticism as to the devil is a French idea, and it is also a frivolous idea.Do you know who the devil is? Do you know his name? Although you don’tknow his name you make a mockery of his form, following the example ofVoltaire. You sneer at his hoofs, at his tail, at his horns—all of themthe produce of your imagination! In reality the devil is a great and terriblespirit, with neither hoofs, nor tail, nor horns; it is you who have endowed himwith these attributes! But... he is not the question just now!”

“How do you know he is not the question now?” cried Hippolyte,laughing hysterically.

“Another excellent idea, and worth considering!” replied Lebedeff.“But, again, that is not the question. The question at this moment iswhether we have not weakened ‘the springs of life’ by theextension...”

“Of railways?” put in Colia eagerly.

“Not railways, properly speaking, presumptuous youth, but the generaltendency of which railways may be considered as the outward expression andsymbol. We hurry and push and hustle, for the good of humanity! ‘Theworld is becoming too noisy, too commercial!’ groans some solitarythinker. ‘Undoubtedly it is, but the noise of waggons bearing bread tostarving humanity is of more value than tranquillity of soul,’ repliesanother triumphantly, and passes on with an air of pride. As for me, Idon’t believe in these waggons bringing bread to humanity. For, foundedon no moral principle, these may well, even in the act of carrying bread tohumanity, coldly exclude a considerable portion of humanity from enjoying it;that has been seen more than once.”

“What, these waggons may coldly exclude?” repeated someone.

“That has been seen already,” continued Lebedeff, not deigning tonotice the interruption. “Malthus was a friend of humanity, but, withill-founded moral principles, the friend of humanity is the devourer ofhumanity, without mentioning his pride; for, touch the vanity of one of thesenumberless philanthropists, and to avenge his self-esteem, he will be ready atonce to set fire to the whole globe; and to tell the truth, we are all more orless like that. I, perhaps, might be the first to set a light to the fuel, andthen run away. But, again, I must repeat, that is not the question.”

“What is it then, for goodness’ sake?”

“He is boring us!”

“The question is connected with the following anecdote of past times; forI am obliged to relate a story. In our times, and in our country, which I hopeyou love as much as I do, for as far as I am concerned, I am ready to shed thelast drop of my blood...

“Go on! Go on!”

“In our dear country, as indeed in the whole of Europe, a famine visitshumanity about four times a century, as far as I can remember; once in everytwenty-five years. I won’t swear to this being the exact figure, butanyhow they have become comparatively rare.”

“Comparatively to what?”

“To the twelfth century, and those immediately preceding and followingit. We are told by historians that widespread famines occurred in those daysevery two or three years, and such was the condition of things that menactually had recourse to cannibalism, in secret, of course. One of thesecannibals, who had reached a good age, declared of his own free will thatduring the course of his long and miserable life he had personally killed andeaten, in the most profound secrecy, sixty monks, not to mention severalchildren; the number of the latter he thought was about six, an insignificanttotal when compared with the enormous mass of ecclesiastics consumed by him. Asto adults, laymen that is to say, he had never touched them.”

The president joined in the general outcry.

“That’s impossible!” said he in an aggrieved tone. “Iam often discussing subjects of this nature with him, gentlemen, but for themost part he talks nonsense enough to make one deaf: this story has no pretenceof being true.”

“General, remember the siege of Kars! And you, gentlemen, I assure you myanecdote is the naked truth. I may remark that reality, although it is governedby invariable law, has at times a resemblance to falsehood. In fact, the truera thing is the less true it sounds.”

“But could anyone possibly eat sixty monks?” objected the scoffinglisteners.

“It is quite clear that he did not eat them all at once, but in a spaceof fifteen or twenty years: from that point of view the thing is comprehensibleand natural...”

“Natural?”

“And natural,” repeated Lebedeff with pedantic obstinacy.“Besides, a Catholic monk is by nature excessively curious; it would bequite easy therefore to entice him into a wood, or some secret place, on falsepretences, and there to deal with him as said. But I do not dispute in theleast that the number of persons consumed appears to denote a spice ofgreediness.”

“It is perhaps true, gentlemen,” said the prince, quietly. He hadbeen listening in silence up to that moment without taking part in theconversation, but laughing heartily with the others from time to time.Evidently he was delighted to see that everybody was amused, that everybody wastalking at once, and even that everybody was drinking. It seemed as if he werenot intending to speak at all, when suddenly he intervened in such a seriousvoice that everyone looked at him with interest.

“It is true that there were frequent famines at that time, gentlemen. Ihave often heard of them, though I do not know much history. But it seems to methat it must have been so. When I was in Switzerland I used to look withastonishment at the many ruins of feudal castles perched on the top of steepand rocky heights, half a mile at least above sea-level, so that to reach themone had to climb many miles of stony tracks. A castle, as you know, is, a kindof mountain of stones—a dreadful, almost an impossible, labour! Doubtlessthe builders were all poor men, vassals, and had to pay heavy taxes, and tokeep up the priesthood. How, then, could they provide for themselves, and whenhad they time to plough and sow their fields? The greater number must,literally, have died of starvation. I have sometimes asked myself how it wasthat these communities were not utterly swept off the face of the earth, andhow they could possibly survive. Lebedeff is not mistaken, in my opinion, whenhe says that there were cannibals in those days, perhaps in considerablenumbers; but I do not understand why he should have dragged in the monks, norwhat he means by that.”

“It is undoubtedly because, in the twelfth century, monks were the onlypeople one could eat; they were the fat, among many lean,” said GavrilaArdalionovitch.

“A brilliant idea, and most true!” cried Lebedeff, “for henever even touched the laity. Sixty monks, and not a single layman! It is aterrible idea, but it is historic, it is statistic; it is indeed one of thosefacts which enables an intelligent historian to reconstruct the physiognomy ofa special epoch, for it brings out this further point with mathematicalaccuracy, that the clergy were in those days sixty times richer and moreflourishing than the rest of humanity and perhaps sixty times fatteralso...”

“You are exaggerating, you are exaggerating, Lebedeff!” cried hishearers, amid laughter.

“I admit that it is an historic thought, but what is yourconclusion?” asked the prince.

He spoke so seriously in addressing Lebedeff, that his tone contrasted quitecomically with that of the others. They were very nearly laughing at him, too,but he did not notice it.

“Don’t you see he is a lunatic, prince?” whispered EvgeniePavlovitch in his ear. “Someone told me just now that he is a bit touchedon the subject of lawyers, that he has a mania for making speeches and intendsto pass the examinations. I am expecting a splendid burlesque now.”

“My conclusion is vast,” replied Lebedeff, in a voice like thunder.“Let us examine first the psychological and legal position of thecriminal. We see that in spite of the difficulty of finding other food, theaccused, or, as we may say, my client, has often during his peculiar lifeexhibited signs of repentance, and of wishing to give up this clerical diet.Incontrovertible facts prove this assertion. He has eaten five or six children,a relatively insignificant number, no doubt, but remarkable enough from anotherpoint of view. It is manifest that, pricked by remorse—for my client isreligious, in his way, and has a conscience, as I shall prove later—anddesiring to extenuate his sin as far as possible, he has tried six times atleast to substitute lay nourishment for clerical. That this was merely anexperiment we can hardly doubt: for if it had been only a question ofgastronomic variety, six would have been too few; why only six? Why not thirty?But if we regard it as an experiment, inspired by the fear of committing newsacrilege, then this number six becomes intelligible. Six attempts to calm hisremorse, and the pricking of his conscience, would amply suffice, for theseattempts could scarcely have been happy ones. In my humble opinion, a child istoo small; I should say, not sufficient; which would result in four or fivetimes more lay children than monks being required in a given time. The sin,lessened on the one hand, would therefore be increased on the other, inquantity, not in quality. Please understand, gentlemen, that in reasoning thus,I am taking the point of view which might have been taken by a criminal of themiddle ages. As for myself, a man of the late nineteenth century, I, of course,should reason differently; I say so plainly, and therefore you need not jeer atme nor mock me, gentlemen. As for you, general, it is still more unbecoming onyour part. In the second place, and giving my own personal opinion, achild’s flesh is not a satisfying diet; it is too insipid, too sweet; andthe criminal, in making these experiments, could have satisfied neither hisconscience nor his appetite. I am about to conclude, gentlemen; and myconclusion contains a reply to one of the most important questions of that dayand of our own! This criminal ended at last by denouncing himself to theclergy, and giving himself up to justice. We cannot but ask, remembering thepenal system of that day, and the tortures that awaited him—the wheel,the stake, the fire!—we cannot but ask, I repeat, what induced him toaccuse himself of this crime? Why did he not simply stop short at the numbersixty, and keep his secret until his last breath? Why could he not simply leavethe monks alone, and go into the desert to repent? Or why not become a monkhimself? That is where the puzzle comes in! There must have been somethingstronger than the stake or the fire, or even than the habits of twenty years!There must have been an idea more powerful than all the calamities and sorrowsof this world, famine or torture, leprosy or plague—an idea which enteredinto the heart, directed and enlarged the springs of life, and made even thathell supportable to humanity! Show me a force, a power like that, in this ourcentury of vices and railways! I might say, perhaps, in our century ofsteamboats and railways, but I repeat in our century of vices and railways,because I am drunk but truthful! Show me a single idea which unites mennowadays with half the strength that it had in those centuries, and dare tomaintain that the ‘springs of life’ have not been polluted andweakened beneath this ‘star,’ beneath this network in which men areentangled! Don’t talk to me about your prosperity, your riches, therarity of famine, the rapidity of the means of transport! There is more ofriches, but less of force. The idea uniting heart and soul to heart and soulexists no more. All is loose, soft, limp—we are all of us limp....Enough, gentlemen! I have done. That is not the question. No, the question isnow, excellency, I believe, to sit down to the banquet you are about to providefor us!”

Lebedeff had roused great indignation in some of his auditors (it should beremarked that the bottles were constantly uncorked during his speech); but thisunexpected conclusion calmed even the most turbulent spirits.“That’s how a clever barrister makes a good point!” said he,when speaking of his peroration later on. The visitors began to laugh andchatter once again; the committee left their seats, and stretched their legs onthe terrace. Keller alone was still disgusted with Lebedeff and his speech; heturned from one to another, saying in a loud voice:

“He attacks education, he boasts of the fanaticism of the twelfthcentury, he makes absurd grimaces, and added to that he is by no means theinnocent he makes himself out to be. How did he get the money to buy thishouse, allow me to ask?”

In another corner was the general, holding forth to a group of hearers, amongthem Ptitsin, whom he had buttonholed. “I have known,” said he,“a real interpreter of the Apocalypse, the late Gregory SemeonovitchBurmistroff, and he—he pierced the heart like a fiery flash! He began byputting on his spectacles, then he opened a large black book; his white beard,and his two medals on his breast, recalling acts of charity, all added to hisimpressiveness. He began in a stern voice, and before him generals, hard men ofthe world, bowed down, and ladies fell to the ground fainting. But this onehere—he ends by announcing a banquet! That is not the real thing!”

Ptitsin listened and smiled, then turned as if to get his hat; but if he hadintended to leave, he changed his mind. Before the others had risen from thetable, Gania had suddenly left off drinking, and pushed away his glass, a darkshadow seemed to come over his face. When they all rose, he went and sat downby Rogojin. It might have been believed that quite friendly relations existedbetween them. Rogojin, who had also seemed on the point of going away now satmotionless, his head bent, seeming to have forgotten his intention. He haddrunk no wine, and appeared absorbed in reflection. From time to time he raisedhis eyes, and examined everyone present; one might have imagined that he wasexpecting something very important to himself, and that he had decided to waitfor it. The prince had taken two or three glasses of champagne, and seemedcheerful. As he rose he noticed Evgenie Pavlovitch, and, remembering theappointment he had made with him, smiled pleasantly. Evgenie Pavlovitch made asign with his head towards Hippolyte, whom he was attentively watching. Theinvalid was fast asleep, stretched out on the sofa.

“Tell me, prince, why on earth did this boy intrude himself uponyou?” he asked, with such annoyance and irritation in his voice that theprince was quite surprised. “I wouldn’t mind laying odds that he isup to some mischief.”

“I have observed,” said the prince, “that he seems to be anobject of very singular interest to you, Evgenie Pavlovitch. Why is it?”

“You may add that I have surely enough to think of, on my own account,without him; and therefore it is all the more surprising that I cannot tear myeyes and thoughts away from his detestable physiognomy.”

“Oh, come! He has a handsome face.”

“Why, look at him—look at him now!”

The prince glanced again at Evgenie Pavlovitch with considerable surprise.

V.

Hippolyte, who had fallen asleep during Lebedeff’s discourse, nowsuddenly woke up, just as though someone had jogged him in the side. Heshuddered, raised himself on his arm, gazed around, and grew very pale. A lookalmost of terror crossed his face as he recollected.

“What! are they all off? Is it all over? Is the sun up?” Hetrembled, and caught at the prince’s hand. “What time is it? Tellme, quick, for goodness’ sake! How long have I slept?” he added,almost in despair, just as though he had overslept something upon which hiswhole fate depended.

“You have slept seven or perhaps eight minutes,” said EvgeniePavlovitch.

Hippolyte gazed eagerly at the latter, and mused for a few moments.

“Oh, is that all?” he said at last. “Then I—”

He drew a long, deep breath of relief, as it seemed. He realized that all wasnot over as yet, that the sun had not risen, and that the guests had merelygone to supper. He smiled, and two hectic spots appeared on his cheeks.

“So you counted the minutes while I slept, did you, EvgeniePavlovitch?” he said, ironically. “You have not taken your eyes offme all the evening—I have noticed that much, you see! Ah, Rogojin!I’ve just been dreaming about him, prince,” he added, frowning.“Yes, by the by,” starting up, “where’s the orator?Where’s Lebedeff? Has he finished? What did he talk about? Is it true,prince, that you once declared that ‘beauty would save the world’?Great Heaven! The prince says that beauty saves the world! And I declare thathe only has such playful ideas because he’s in love! Gentlemen, theprince is in love. I guessed it the moment he came in. Don’t blush,prince; you make me sorry for you. What beauty saves the world? Colia told methat you are a zealous Christian; is it so? Colia says you call yourself aChristian.”

The prince regarded him attentively, but said nothing.

“You don’t answer me; perhaps you think I am very fond ofyou?” added Hippolyte, as though the words had been drawn from him.

“No, I don’t think that. I know you don’t love me.”

“What, after yesterday? Wasn’t I honest with you?”

“I knew yesterday that you didn’t love me.”

“Why so? why so? Because I envy you, eh? You always think that, I know.But do you know why I am saying all this? Look here! I must have some morechampagne—pour me out some, Keller, will you?”

“No, you’re not to drink any more, Hippolyte. I won’t letyou.” The prince moved the glass away.

“Well perhaps you’re right,” said Hippolyte, musing.“They might say—yet, devil take them! what does itmatter?—prince, what can it matter what people will say of usthen, eh? I believe I’m half asleep. I’ve had such adreadful dream—I’ve only just remembered it. Prince, I don’twish you such dreams as that, though sure enough, perhaps, I don’tlove you. Why wish a man evil, though you do not love him, eh? Give me yourhand—let me press it sincerely. There—you’ve given me yourhand—you must feel that I do press it sincerely, don’t you?I don’t think I shall drink any more. What time is it? Never mind, I knowthe time. The time has come, at all events. What! they are laying supper overthere, are they? Then this table is free? Capital, gentlemen! I—hem!these gentlemen are not listening. Prince, I will just read over an article Ihave here. Supper is more interesting, of course, but—”

Here Hippolyte suddenly, and most unexpectedly, pulled out of his breast-pocketa large sealed paper. This imposing-looking document he placed upon the tablebefore him.

The effect of this sudden action upon the company was instantaneous. EvgeniePavlovitch almost bounded off his chair in excitement. Rogojin drew nearer tothe table with a look on his face as if he knew what was coming. Gania camenearer too; so did Lebedeff and the others—the paper seemed to be anobject of great interest to the company in general.

“What have you got there?” asked the prince, with some anxiety.

“At the first glimpse of the rising sun, prince, I will go to bed. I toldyou I would, word of honour! You shall see!” cried Hippolyte. “Youthink I’m not capable of opening this packet, do you?” He glareddefiantly round at the audience in general.

The prince observed that he was trembling all over.

“None of us ever thought such a thing!” Muishkin replied for all.“Why should you suppose it of us? And what are you going to read,Hippolyte? What is it?”

“Yes, what is it?” asked others. The packet sealed with red waxseemed to attract everyone, as though it were a magnet.

“I wrote this yesterday, myself, just after I saw you, prince, and toldyou I would come down here. I wrote all day and all night, and finished it thismorning early. Afterwards I had a dream.”

“Hadn’t we better hear it tomorrow?” asked the princetimidly.

“Tomorrow ‘there will be no more time!’” laughedHippolyte, hysterically. “You needn’t be afraid; I shall getthrough the whole thing in forty minutes, at most an hour! Look how interestedeverybody is! Everybody has drawn near. Look! look at them all staring at mysealed packet! If I hadn’t sealed it up it wouldn’t have been halfso effective! Ha, ha! that’s mystery, that is! Now then, gentlemen, shallI break the seal or not? Say the word; it’s a mystery, I tell you—asecret! Prince, you know who said there would be ‘no more time’? Itwas the great and powerful angel in the Apocalypse.”

“Better not read it now,” said the prince, putting his hand on thepacket.

“No, don’t read it!” cried Evgenie suddenly. He appeared sostrangely disturbed that many of those present could not help wondering.

“Reading? None of your reading now!” said somebody;“it’s supper-time.” “What sort of an article is it? Fora paper? Probably it’s very dull,” said another. But theprince’s timid gesture had impressed even Hippolyte.

“Then I’m not to read it?” he whispered, nervously. “AmI not to read it?” he repeated, gazing around at each face in turn.“What are you afraid of, prince?” he turned and asked the lattersuddenly.

“What should I be afraid of?”

“Has anyone a coin about them? Give me a twenty-copeck piece,somebody!” And Hippolyte leapt from his chair.

“Here you are,” said Lebedeff, handing him one; he thought the boyhad gone mad.

“Vera Lukianovna,” said Hippolyte, “toss it, will you? Heads,I read, tails, I don’t.”

Vera Lebedeff tossed the coin into the air and let it fall on the table.

It was “heads.”

“Then I read it,” said Hippolyte, in the tone of one bowing to thefiat of destiny. He could not have grown paler if a verdict of death hadsuddenly been presented to him.

“But after all, what is it? Is it possible that I should have just riskedmy fate by tossing up?” he went on, shuddering; and looked round himagain. His eyes had a curious expression of sincerity. “That is anastonishing psychological fact,” he cried, suddenly addressing theprince, in a tone of the most intense surprise. “It is... it is somethingquite inconceivable, prince,” he repeated with growing animation, like aman regaining consciousness. “Take note of it, prince, remember it; youcollect, I am told, facts concerning capital punishment... They told me so. Ha,ha! My God, how absurd!” He sat down on the sofa, put his elbows on thetable, and laid his head on his hands. “It is shameful—though whatdoes it matter to me if it is shameful?

“Gentlemen, gentlemen! I am about to break the seal,” he continued,with determination. “I—I—of course I don’t insist uponanyone listening if they do not wish to.”

With trembling fingers he broke the seal and drew out several sheets of paper,smoothed them out before him, and began sorting them.

“What on earth does all this mean? What’s he going to read?”muttered several voices. Others said nothing; but one and all sat down andwatched with curiosity. They began to think something strange might really beabout to happen. Vera stood and trembled behind her father’s chair,almost in tears with fright; Colia was nearly as much alarmed as she was.Lebedeff jumped up and put a couple of candles nearer to Hippolyte, so that hemight see better.

“Gentlemen, this—you’ll soon see what this is,” beganHippolyte, and suddenly commenced his reading.

“It’s headed, ‘A Necessary Explanation,’ with themotto, ‘Après moi le déluge!’ Oh, deuce take it all! SurelyI can never have seriously written such a silly motto as that? Look here,gentlemen, I beg to give notice that all this is very likely terrible nonsense.It is only a few ideas of mine. If you think that there is anything mysteriouscoming—or in a word—”

“Better read on without any more beating about the bush,” saidGania.

“Affectation!” remarked someone else.

“Too much talk,” said Rogojin, breaking the silence for the firsttime.

Hippolyte glanced at him suddenly, and when their eyes met Rogojin showed histeeth in a disagreeable smile, and said the following strange words:“That’s not the way to settle this business, my friend;that’s not the way at all.”

Of course nobody knew what Rogojin meant by this; but his words made a deepimpression upon all. Everyone seemed to see in a flash the same idea.

As for Hippolyte, their effect upon him was astounding. He trembled so that theprince was obliged to support him, and would certainly have cried out, but thathis voice seemed to have entirely left him for the moment. For a minute or twohe could not speak at all, but panted and stared at Rogojin. At last he managedto ejaculate:

“Then it was you whocame—you—you?”

“Came where? What do you mean?” asked Rogojin, amazed. ButHippolyte, panting and choking with excitement, interrupted him violently.

“You came to me last week, in the night, at two o’clock, theday I was with you in the morning! Confess it was you!”

“Last week? In the night? Have you gone cracked, my good friend?”

Hippolyte paused and considered a moment. Then a smile of cunning—almosttriumph—crossed his lips.

“It was you,” he murmured, almost in a whisper, but with absoluteconviction. “Yes, it was you who came to my room and sat silently on achair at my window for a whole hour—more! It was between one and two atnight; you rose and went out at about three. It was you, you! Why you shouldhave frightened me so, why you should have wished to torment me like that, Icannot tell—but you it was.”

There was absolute hatred in his eyes as he said this, but his look of fear andhis trembling had not left him.

“You shall hear all this directly, gentlemen.I—I—listen!”

He seized his paper in a desperate hurry; he fidgeted with it, and tried tosort it, but for a long while his trembling hands could not collect the sheetstogether. “He’s either mad or delirious,” murmured Rogojin.At last he began.

For the first five minutes the reader’s voice continued to tremble, andhe read disconnectedly and unevenly; but gradually his voice strengthened.Occasionally a violent fit of coughing stopped him, but his animation grew withthe progress of the reading—as did also the disagreeable impression whichit made upon his audience,—until it reached the highest pitch ofexcitement.

Here is the article.

MY NECESSARY EXPLANATION.

“Après moi le déluge.

“Yesterday morning the prince came to see me. Among other things he askedme to come down to his villa. I knew he would come and persuade me to thisstep, and that he would adduce the argument that it would be easier for me todie ‘among people and green trees,’—as he expressed it. Buttoday he did not say ‘die,’ he said ‘live.’ It ispretty much the same to me, in my position, which he says. When I asked him whyhe made such a point of his ‘green trees,’ he told me, to myastonishment, that he had heard that last time I was in Pavlofsk I had saidthat I had come ‘to have a last look at the trees.’

“When I observed that it was all the same whether one died among trees orin front of a blank brick wall, as here, and that it was not worth making anyfuss over a fortnight, he agreed at once. But he insisted that the good air atPavlofsk and the greenness would certainly cause a physical change for thebetter, and that my excitement, and my dreams, would be perhapsrelieved. I remarked to him, with a smile, that he spoke like a materialist,and he answered that he had always been one. As he never tells a lie, theremust be something in his words. His smile is a pleasant one. I have had a goodlook at him. I don’t know whether I like him or not; and I have no timeto waste over the question. The hatred which I felt for him for five months hasbecome considerably modified, I may say, during the last month. Who knows,perhaps I am going to Pavlofsk on purpose to see him! But why do I leave mychamber? Those who are sentenced to death should not leave their cells. If Ihad not formed a final resolve, but had decided to wait until the last minute,I should not leave my room, or accept his invitation to come and die atPavlofsk. I must be quick and finish this explanation before tomorrow. I shallhave no time to read it over and correct it, for I must read it tomorrow to theprince and two or three witnesses whom I shall probably find there.

“As it will be absolutely true, without a touch of falsehood, I amcurious to see what impression it will make upon me myself at the moment when Iread it out. This is my ‘last and solemn’—but why need I callit that? There is no question about the truth of it, for it is not worthwhilelying for a fortnight; a fortnight of life is not itself worth having, which isa proof that I write nothing here but pure truth.

(“N.B.—Let me remember to consider; am I mad at this moment, ornot? or rather at these moments? I have been told that consumptives sometimesdo go out of their minds for a while in the last stages of the malady. I canprove this tomorrow when I read it out, by the impression it makes upon theaudience. I must settle this question once and for all, otherwise I can’tgo on with anything.)

“I believe I have just written dreadful nonsense; but there’s notime for correcting, as I said before. Besides that, I have made myself apromise not to alter a single word of what I write in this paper, even though Ifind that I am contradicting myself every five lines. I wish to verify theworking of the natural logic of my ideas tomorrow during thereading—whether I am capable of detecting logical errors, and whether allthat I have meditated over during the last six months be true, or nothing butdelirium.

“If two months since I had been called upon to leave my room and the viewof Meyer’s wall opposite, I verily believe I should have been sorry. Butnow I have no such feeling, and yet I am leaving this room and Meyer’sbrick wall for ever. So that my conclusion, that it is not worth whileindulging in grief, or any other emotion, for a fortnight, has proved strongerthan my very nature, and has taken over the direction of my feelings. But is itso? Is it the case that my nature is conquered entirely? If I were to be put onthe rack now, I should certainly cry out. I should not say that it is not worthwhile to yell and feel pain because I have but a fortnight to live.

“But is it true that I have but a fortnight of life left to me? I know Itold some of my friends that Doctor B. had informed me that this was the case;but I now confess that I lied; B. has not even seen me. However, a week ago, Icalled in a medical student, Kislorodoff, who is a Nationalist, an Atheist, anda Nihilist, by conviction, and that is why I had him. I needed a man who wouldtell me the bare truth without any humbug or ceremony—and so hedid—indeed, almost with pleasure (which I thought was going a little toofar).

“Well, he plumped out that I had about a month left me; it might be alittle more, he said, under favourable circumstances, but it might also beconsiderably less. According to his opinion I might die quitesuddenly—tomorrow, for instance—there had been such cases. Only aday or two since a young lady at Colomna who suffered from consumption, and wasabout on a par with myself in the march of the disease, was going out to marketto buy provisions, when she suddenly felt faint, lay down on the sofa, gaspedonce, and died.

“Kislorodoff told me all this with a sort of exaggerated devil-may-carenegligence, and as though he did me great honour by talking to me so, becauseit showed that he considered me the same sort of exalted Nihilistic being ashimself, to whom death was a matter of no consequence whatever, either way.

“At all events, the fact remained—a month of life and no more! Thathe is right in his estimation I am absolutely persuaded.

“It puzzles me much to think how on earth the prince guessed yesterdaythat I have had bad dreams. He said to me, ‘Your excitement and dreamswill find relief at Pavlofsk.’ Why did he say ‘dreams’?Either he is a doctor, or else he is a man of exceptional intelligence andwonderful powers of observation. (But that he is an ‘idiot,’ atbottom there can be no doubt whatever.) It so happened that just before hearrived I had a delightful little dream; one of a kind that I have hundreds ofjust now. I had fallen asleep about an hour before he came in, and dreamed thatI was in some room, not my own. It was a large room, well furnished, with acupboard, chest of drawers, sofa, and my bed, a fine wide bed covered with asilken counterpane. But I observed in the room a dreadful-looking creature, asort of monster. It was a little like a scorpion, but was not a scorpion, butfar more horrible, and especially so, because there are no creatures anythinglike it in nature, and because it had appeared to me for a purpose, and boresome mysterious signification. I looked at the beast well; it was brown incolour and had a shell; it was a crawling kind of reptile, about eight incheslong, and narrowed down from the head, which was about a couple of fingers inwidth, to the end of the tail, which came to a fine point. Out of its trunk,about a couple of inches below its head, came two legs at an angle offorty-five degrees, each about three inches long, so that the beast looked likea trident from above. It had eight hard needle-like whiskers coming out fromdifferent parts of its body; it went along like a snake, bending its body aboutin spite of the shell it wore, and its motion was very quick and very horribleto look at. I was dreadfully afraid it would sting me; somebody had told me, Ithought, that it was venomous; but what tormented me most of all was thewondering and wondering as to who had sent it into my room, and what was themystery which I felt it contained.

“It hid itself under the cupboard and under the chest of drawers, andcrawled into the corners. I sat on a chair and kept my legs tucked under me.Then the beast crawled quietly across the room and disappeared somewhere nearmy chair. I looked about for it in terror, but I still hoped that as my feetwere safely tucked away it would not be able to touch me.

“Suddenly I heard behind me, and about on a level with my head, a sort ofrattling sound. I turned sharp round and saw that the brute had crawled up thewall as high as the level of my face, and that its horrible tail, which wasmoving incredibly fast from side to side, was actually touching my hair! Ijumped up—and it disappeared. I did not dare lie down on my bed for fearit should creep under my pillow. My mother came into the room, and some friendsof hers. They began to hunt for the reptile and were more composed than I was;they did not seem to be afraid of it. But they did not understand as I did.

“Suddenly the monster reappeared; it crawled slowly across the room andmade for the door, as though with some fixed intention, and with a slowmovement that was more horrible than ever.

“Then my mother opened the door and called my dog, Norma. Norma was agreat Newfoundland, and died five years ago.

“She sprang forward and stood still in front of the reptile as if she hadbeen turned to stone. The beast stopped too, but its tail and claws still movedabout. I believe animals are incapable of feeling supernatural fright—ifI have been rightly informed,—but at this moment there appeared to me tobe something more than ordinary about Norma’s terror, as though it mustbe supernatural; and as though she felt, just as I did myself, that thisreptile was connected with some mysterious secret, some fatal omen.

“Norma backed slowly and carefully away from the brute, which followedher, creeping deliberately after her as though it intended to make a suddendart and sting her.

“In spite of Norma’s terror she looked furious, though she trembledin all her limbs. At length she slowly bared her terrible teeth, opened hergreat red jaws, hesitated—took courage, and seized the beast in hermouth. It seemed to try to dart out of her jaws twice, but Norma caught at itand half swallowed it as it was escaping. The shell cracked in her teeth; andthe tail and legs stuck out of her mouth and shook about in a horrible manner.Suddenly Norma gave a piteous whine; the reptile had bitten her tongue. Sheopened her mouth wide with the pain, and I saw the beast lying across hertongue, and out of its body, which was almost bitten in two, came a hideouswhite-looking substance, oozing out into Norma’s mouth; it was of theconsistency of a crushed black-beetle. Just then I awoke and the prince enteredthe room.”

“Gentlemen!” said Hippolyte, breaking off here, “I have notdone yet, but it seems to me that I have written down a great deal here that isunnecessary,—this dream—”

“You have indeed!” said Gania.

“There is too much about myself, I know, but—” As Hippolytesaid this his face wore a tired, pained look, and he wiped the sweat off hisbrow.

“Yes,” said Lebedeff, “you certainly think a great deal toomuch about yourself.”

“Well—gentlemen—I do not force anyone to listen! If any ofyou are unwilling to sit it out, please go away, by all means!”

“He turns people out of a house that isn’t his own,” mutteredRogojin.

“Suppose we all go away?” said Ferdishenko suddenly.

Hippolyte clutched his manuscript, and gazing at the last speaker withglittering eyes, said: “You don’t like me at all!” A fewlaughed at this, but not all.

“Hippolyte,” said the prince, “give me the papers, and go tobed like a sensible fellow. We’ll have a good talk tomorrow, but youreally mustn’t go on with this reading; it is not good for you!”

“How can I? How can I?” cried Hippolyte, looking at him inamazement. “Gentlemen! I was a fool! I won’t break off again.Listen, everyone who wants to!”

He gulped down some water out of a glass standing near, bent over the table, inorder to hide his face from the audience, and recommenced.

“The idea that it is not worth while living for a few weeks tookpossession of me a month ago, when I was told that I had four weeks to live,but only partially so at that time. The idea quite overmastered me three dayssince, that evening at Pavlofsk. The first time that I felt really impressedwith this thought was on the terrace at the prince’s, at the very momentwhen I had taken it into my head to make a last trial of life. I wanted to seepeople and trees (I believe I said so myself), I got excited, I maintainedBurdovsky’s rights, ‘my neighbour!’—I dreamt that oneand all would open their arms, and embrace me, that there would be anindescribable exchange of forgiveness between us all! In a word, I behaved likea fool, and then, at that very same instant, I felt my ‘lastconviction.’ I ask myself now how I could have waited six months for thatconviction! I knew that I had a disease that spares no one, and I really had noillusions; but the more I realized my condition, the more I clung to life; Iwanted to live at any price. I confess I might well have resented that blind,deaf fate, which, with no apparent reason, seemed to have decided to crush melike a fly; but why did I not stop at resentment? Why did I begin to live,knowing that it was not worthwhile to begin? Why did I attempt to do what Iknew to be an impossibility? And yet I could not even read a book to the end; Ihad given up reading. What is the good of reading, what is the good of learninganything, for just six months? That thought has made me throw aside a book morethan once.

“Yes, that wall of Meyer’s could tell a tale if it liked. There wasno spot on its dirty surface that I did not know by heart. Accursed wall! andyet it is dearer to me than all the Pavlofsk trees!—That is—itwould be dearer if it were not all the same to me, now!

“I remember now with what hungry interest I began to watch the lives ofother people—interest that I had never felt before! I used to wait forColia’s arrival impatiently, for I was so ill myself, then, that I couldnot leave the house. I so threw myself into every little detail of news, andtook so much interest in every report and rumour, that I believe I became aregular gossip! I could not understand, among other things, how all thesepeople—with so much life in and before them—do not becomerich—and I don’t understand it now. I remember being told ofa poor wretch I once knew, who had died of hunger. I was almost beside myselfwith rage! I believe if I could have resuscitated him I would have done so forthe sole purpose of murdering him!

“Occasionally I was so much better that I could go out; but the streetsused to put me in such a rage that I would lock myself up for days rather thango out, even if I were well enough to do so! I could not bear to see all thosepreoccupied, anxious-looking creatures continuously surging along the streetspast me! Why are they always anxious? What is the meaning of their eternal careand worry? It is their wickedness, their perpetual detestablemalice—that’s what it is—they are all full of malice, malice!

“Whose fault is it that they are all miserable, that they don’tknow how to live, though they have fifty or sixty years of life before them?Why did that fool allow himself to die of hunger with sixty years of unlivedlife before him?

“And everyone of them shows his rags, his toil-worn hands, and yells inhis wrath: ‘Here are we, working like cattle all our lives, and always ashungry as dogs, and there are others who do not work, and are fat andrich!’ The eternal refrain! And side by side with them trots along somewretched fellow who has known better days, doing light porter’s work frommorn to night for a living, always blubbering and saying that ‘his wifedied because he had no money to buy medicine with,’ and his childrendying of cold and hunger, and his eldest daughter gone to the bad, and so on.Oh! I have no pity and no patience for these fools of people. Why can’tthey be Rothschilds? Whose fault is it that a man has not got millions of moneylike Rothschild? If he has life, all this must be in his power! Whose fault isit that he does not know how to live his life?

“Oh! it’s all the same to me now—now! But at that timeI would soak my pillow at night with tears of mortification, and tear at myblanket in my rage and fury. Oh, how I longed at that time to be turnedout—me, eighteen years old, poor, half-clothed, turned out intothe street, quite alone, without lodging, without work, without a crust ofbread, without relations, without a single acquaintance, in some largetown—hungry, beaten (if you like), but in good health—andthen I would show them—

“What would I show them?

“Oh, don’t think that I have no sense of my own humiliation! I havesuffered already in reading so far. Which of you all does not think me a foolat this moment—a young fool who knows nothing of life—forgettingthat to live as I have lived these last six months is to live longer thangrey-haired old men. Well, let them laugh, and say it is all nonsense, if theyplease. They may say it is all fairy-tales, if they like; and I have spentwhole nights telling myself fairy-tales. I remember them all. But how can Itell fairy-tales now? The time for them is over. They amused me when I foundthat there was not even time for me to learn the Greek grammar, as I wanted todo. ‘I shall die before I get to the syntax,’ I thought at thefirst page—and threw the book under the table. It is there still, for Iforbade anyone to pick it up.

“If this ‘Explanation’ gets into anybody’s hands, andthey have patience to read it through, they may consider me a madman, or aschoolboy, or, more likely, a man condemned to die, who thought it only naturalto conclude that all men, excepting himself, esteem life far too lightly, liveit far too carelessly and lazily, and are, therefore, one and all, unworthy ofit. Well, I affirm that my reader is wrong again, for my convictions havenothing to do with my sentence of death. Ask them, ask any one of them, or allof them, what they mean by happiness! Oh, you may be perfectly sure that ifColumbus was happy, it was not after he had discovered America, but when he wasdiscovering it! You may be quite sure that he reached the culminating point ofhis happiness three days before he saw the New World with his actual eyes, whenhis mutinous sailors wanted to tack about, and return to Europe! What did theNew World matter after all? Columbus had hardly seen it when he died, and inreality he was entirely ignorant of what he had discovered. The important thingis life—life and nothing else! What is any ‘discovery’whatever compared with the incessant, eternal discovery of life?

“But what is the use of talking? I’m afraid all this is socommonplace that my confession will be taken for a schoolboy exercise—thework of some ambitious lad writing in the hope of his work ‘seeing thelight’; or perhaps my readers will say that ‘I had perhapssomething to say, but did not know how to express it.’

“Let me add to this that in every idea emanating from genius, or even inevery serious human idea—born in the human brain—there alwaysremains something—some sediment—which cannot be expressed toothers, though one wrote volumes and lectured upon it for five-and-thirtyyears. There is always a something, a remnant, which will never come out fromyour brain, but will remain there with you, and you alone, for ever and ever,and you will die, perhaps, without having imparted what may be the very essenceof your idea to a single living soul.

“So that if I cannot now impart all that has tormented me for the lastsix months, at all events you will understand that, having reached my‘last convictions,’ I must have paid a very dear price for them.That is what I wished, for reasons of my own, to make a point of in this my‘Explanation.’

“But let me resume.”

VI.

“I will not deceive you. ‘Reality’ got me so entrapped in itsmeshes now and again during the past six months, that I forgot my‘sentence’ (or perhaps I did not wish to think of it), and actuallybusied myself with affairs.

“A word as to my circumstances. When, eight months since, I became veryill, I threw up all my old connections and dropped all my old companions. As Iwas always a gloomy, morose sort of individual, my friends easily forgot me; ofcourse, they would have forgotten me all the same, without that excuse. Myposition at home was solitary enough. Five months ago I separated myselfentirely from the family, and no one dared enter my room except at statedtimes, to clean and tidy it, and so on, and to bring me my meals. My motherdared not disobey me; she kept the children quiet, for my sake, and beat themif they dared to make any noise and disturb me. I so often complained of themthat I should think they must be very fond, indeed, of me by this time. I thinkI must have tormented ‘my faithful Colia’ (as I called him) a gooddeal too. He tormented me of late; I could see that he always bore my tempersas though he had determined to ‘spare the poor invalid.’ Thisannoyed me, naturally. He seemed to have taken it into his head to imitate theprince in Christian meekness! Surikoff, who lived above us, annoyed me, too. Hewas so miserably poor, and I used to prove to him that he had no one to blamebut himself for his poverty. I used to be so angry that I think I frightenedhim eventually, for he stopped coming to see me. He was a most meek and humblefellow, was Surikoff. (N.B.—They say that meekness is a great power. Imust ask the prince about this, for the expression is his.) But I remember oneday in March, when I went up to his lodgings to see whether it was true thatone of his children had been starved and frozen to death, I began to hold forthto him about his poverty being his own fault, and, in the course of my remarks,I accidentally smiled at the corpse of his child. Well, the poor wretch’slips began to tremble, and he caught me by the shoulder, and pushed me to thedoor. ‘Go out,’ he said, in a whisper. I went out, of course, and Ideclare I liked it. I liked it at the very moment when I was turned out.But his words filled me with a strange sort of feeling of disdainful pity forhim whenever I thought of them—a feeling which I did not in the leastdesire to entertain. At the very moment of the insult (for I admit that I didinsult him, though I did not mean to), this man could not lose his temper. Hislips had trembled, but I swear it was not with rage. He had taken me by thearm, and said, ‘Go out,’ without the least anger. There wasdignity, a great deal of dignity, about him, and it was so inconsistent withthe look of him that, I assure you, it was quite comical. But there was noanger. Perhaps he merely began to despise me at that moment.

“Since that time he has always taken off his hat to me on the stairs,whenever I met him, which is a thing he never did before; but he always getsaway from me as quickly as he can, as though he felt confused. If he diddespise me, he despised me ‘meekly,’ after his own fashion.

“I dare say he only took his hat off out of fear, as it were, to the sonof his creditor; for he always owed my mother money. I thought of having anexplanation with him, but I knew that if I did, he would begin to apologize ina minute or two, so I decided to let him alone.

“Just about that time, that is, the middle of March, I suddenly felt verymuch better; this continued for a couple of weeks. I used to go out at dusk. Ilike the dusk, especially in March, when the night frost begins to harden theday’s puddles, and the gas is burning.

“Well, one night in the Shestilavochnaya, a man passed me with a paperparcel under his arm. I did not take stock of him very carefully, but he seemedto be dressed in some shabby summer dust-coat, much too light for the season.When he was opposite the lamp-post, some ten yards away, I observed somethingfall out of his pocket. I hurried forward to pick it up, just in time, for anold wretch in a long kaftan rushed up too. He did not dispute the matter, butglanced at what was in my hand and disappeared.

“It was a large old-fashioned pocket-book, stuffed full; but I guessed,at a glance, that it had anything in the world inside it, except money.

“The owner was now some forty yards ahead of me, and was very soon lostin the crowd. I ran after him, and began calling out; but as I knew nothing tosay excepting ‘hey!’ he did not turn round. Suddenly he turned intothe gate of a house to the left; and when I darted in after him, the gatewaywas so dark that I could see nothing whatever. It was one of those large housesbuilt in small tenements, of which there must have been at least a hundred.

“When I entered the yard I thought I saw a man going along on the farside of it; but it was so dark I could not make out his figure.

“I crossed to that corner and found a dirty dark staircase. I heard a manmounting up above me, some way higher than I was, and thinking I should catchhim before his door would be opened to him, I rushed after him. I heard a dooropen and shut on the fifth storey, as I panted along; the stairs were narrow,and the steps innumerable, but at last I reached the door I thought the rightone. Some moments passed before I found the bell and got it to ring.

“An old peasant woman opened the door; she was busy lighting the‘samovar’ in a tiny kitchen. She listened silently to my questions,did not understand a word, of course, and opened another door leading into alittle bit of a room, low and scarcely furnished at all, but with a large, widebed in it, hung with curtains. On this bed lay one Terentich, as the womancalled him, drunk, it appeared to me. On the table was an end of candle in aniron candlestick, and a half-bottle of vodka, nearly finished. Terentichmuttered something to me, and signed towards the next room. The old woman haddisappeared, so there was nothing for me to do but to open the door indicated.I did so, and entered the next room.

“This was still smaller than the other, so cramped that I could scarcelyturn round; a narrow single bed at one side took up nearly all the room.Besides the bed there were only three common chairs, and a wretched oldkitchen-table standing before a small sofa. One could hardly squeeze throughbetween the table and the bed.

“On the table, as in the other room, burned a tallow candle-end in aniron candlestick; and on the bed there whined a baby of scarcely three weeksold. A pale-looking woman was dressing the child, probably the mother; shelooked as though she had not as yet got over the trouble of childbirth, sheseemed so weak and was so carelessly dressed. Another child, a little girl ofabout three years old, lay on the sofa, covered over with what looked like aman’s old dress-coat.

“At the table stood a man in his shirt sleeves; he had thrown off hiscoat; it lay upon the bed; and he was unfolding a blue paper parcel in whichwere a couple of pounds of bread, and some little sausages.

“On the table along with these things were a few old bits of black bread,and some tea in a pot. From under the bed there protruded an open portmanteaufull of bundles of rags. In a word, the confusion and untidiness of the roomwere indescribable.

“It appeared to me, at the first glance, that both the man and the womanwere respectable people, but brought to that pitch of poverty where untidinessseems to get the better of every effort to cope with it, till at last they takea sort of bitter satisfaction in it. When I entered the room, the man, who hadentered but a moment before me, and was still unpacking his parcels, was sayingsomething to his wife in an excited manner. The news was apparently bad, asusual, for the woman began whimpering. The man’s face seemed to me to berefined and even pleasant. He was dark-complexioned, and about twenty-eightyears of age; he wore black whiskers, and his lip and chin were shaved. Helooked morose, but with a sort of pride of expression. A curious scenefollowed.

“There are people who find satisfaction in their own touchy feelings,especially when they have just taken the deepest offence; at such moments theyfeel that they would rather be offended than not. These easily-ignited natures,if they are wise, are always full of remorse afterwards, when they reflect thatthey have been ten times as angry as they need have been.

“The gentleman before me gazed at me for some seconds in amazement, andhis wife in terror; as though there was something alarmingly extraordinary inthe fact that anyone could come to see them. But suddenly he fell upon mealmost with fury; I had had no time to mutter more than a couple of words; buthe had doubtless observed that I was decently dressed and, therefore, took deepoffence because I had dared enter his den so unceremoniously, and spy out thesqualor and untidiness of it.

“Of course he was delighted to get hold of someone upon whom to vent hisrage against things in general.

“For a moment I thought he would assault me; he grew so pale that helooked like a woman about to have hysterics; his wife was dreadfully alarmed.

“‘How dare you come in so? Be off!’ he shouted, trembling allover with rage and scarcely able to articulate the words. Suddenly, however, heobserved his pocketbook in my hand.

“‘I think you dropped this,’ I remarked, as quietly and drilyas I could. (I thought it best to treat him so.) For some while he stood beforeme in downright terror, and seemed unable to understand. He then suddenlygrabbed at his side-pocket, opened his mouth in alarm, and beat his foreheadwith his hand.

“‘My God!’ he cried, ‘where did you find it?How?’ I explained in as few words as I could, and as drily as possible,how I had seen it and picked it up; how I had run after him, and called out tohim, and how I had followed him upstairs and groped my way to his door.

“‘Gracious Heaven!’ he cried, ‘all our papers are init! My dear sir, you little know what you have done for us. I should have beenlost—lost!’

“I had taken hold of the door-handle meanwhile, intending to leave theroom without reply; but I was panting with my run upstairs, and my exhaustioncame to a climax in a violent fit of coughing, so bad that I could hardlystand.

“I saw how the man dashed about the room to find me an empty chair, howhe kicked the rags off a chair which was covered up by them, brought it to me,and helped me to sit down; but my cough went on for another three minutes orso. When I came to myself he was sitting by me on another chair, which he hadalso cleared of the rubbish by throwing it all over the floor, and was watchingme intently.

“‘I’m afraid you are ill?’ he remarked, in the tonewhich doctors use when they address a patient. ‘I am myself a medicalman’ (he did not say ‘doctor’), with which words he waved hishands towards the room and its contents as though in protest at his presentcondition. ‘I see that you—’

“‘I’m in consumption,’ I said laconically, rising frommy seat.

“He jumped up, too.

“‘Perhaps you are exaggerating—if you were to take propermeasures perhaps—”

“He was terribly confused and did not seem able to collect his scatteredsenses; the pocket-book was still in his left hand.

“‘Oh, don’t mind me,’ I said. ‘Dr.B—— saw me last week’ (I lugged him in again), ‘and myhash is quite settled; pardon me—’ I took hold of the door-handleagain. I was on the point of opening the door and leaving my grateful butconfused medical friend to himself and his shame, when my damnable cough gothold of me again.

“My doctor insisted on my sitting down again to get my breath. He nowsaid something to his wife who, without leaving her place, addressed a fewwords of gratitude and courtesy to me. She seemed very shy over it, and hersickly face flushed up with confusion. I remained, but with the air of a manwho knows he is intruding and is anxious to get away. The doctor’sremorse at last seemed to need a vent, I could see.

“‘If I—’ he began, breaking off abruptly every othermoment, and starting another sentence. ‘I—I am so very grateful toyou, and I am so much to blame in your eyes, I feel sure, I—yousee—’ (he pointed to the room again) ‘at this moment I am insuch a position—’

“‘Oh!’ I said, ‘there’s nothing to see;it’s quite a clear case—you’ve lost your post and have comeup to make explanations and get another, if you can!’

“‘How do you know that?’ he asked in amazement.

“‘Oh, it was evident at the first glance,’ I said ironically,but not intentionally so. ‘There are lots of people who come up from theprovinces full of hope, and run about town, and have to live as best theycan.’

“He began to talk at once excitedly and with trembling lips; he begancomplaining and telling me his story. He interested me, I confess; I sat therenearly an hour. His story was a very ordinary one. He had been a provincialdoctor; he had a civil appointment, and had no sooner taken it up thanintrigues began. Even his wife was dragged into these. He was proud, and flewinto a passion; there was a change of local government which acted in favour ofhis opponents; his position was undermined, complaints were made against him;he lost his post and came up to Petersburg with his last remaining money, inorder to appeal to higher authorities. Of course nobody would listen to him fora long time; he would come and tell his story one day and be refused promptly;another day he would be fed on false promises; again he would be treatedharshly; then he would be told to sign some documents; then he would sign thepaper and hand it in, and they would refuse to receive it, and tell him to filea formal petition. In a word he had been driven about from office to office forfive months and had spent every farthing he had; his wife’s last rags hadjust been pawned; and meanwhile a child had been born to them and—andtoday I have a final refusal to my petition, and I have hardly a crumb of breadleft—I have nothing left; my wife has had a baby lately—andI—I—’

“He sprang up from his chair and turned away. His wife was crying in thecorner; the child had begun to moan again. I pulled out my note-book and beganwriting in it. When I had finished and rose from my chair he was standingbefore me with an expression of alarmed curiosity.

“‘I have jotted down your name,’ I told him, ‘and allthe rest of it—the place you served at, the district, the date, and all.I have a friend, Bachmatoff, whose uncle is a councillor of state and has to dowith these matters, one Peter Matveyevitch Bachmatoff.’

“‘Peter Matveyevitch Bachmatoff!’ he cried, trembling allover with excitement. ‘Why, nearly everything depends on that veryman!’

“It is very curious, this story of the medical man, and my visit, and thehappy termination to which I contributed by accident! Everything fitted in, asin a novel. I told the poor people not to put much hope in me, because I wasbut a poor schoolboy myself—(I am not really, but I humiliated myself asmuch as possible in order to make them less hopeful)—but that I would goat once to the Vassili Ostroff and see my friend; and that as I knew forcertain that his uncle adored him, and was absolutely devoted to him as thelast hope and branch of the family, perhaps the old man might do something tooblige his nephew.

“‘If only they would allow me to explain all to his excellency! IfI could but be permitted to tell my tale to him!” he cried, tremblingwith feverish agitation, and his eyes flashing with excitement. I repeated oncemore that I could not hold out much hope—that it would probably end insmoke, and if I did not turn up next morning they must make up their minds thatthere was no more to be done in the matter.

“They showed me out with bows and every kind of respect; they seemedquite beside themselves. I shall never forget the expression of their faces!

“I took a droshky and drove over to the Vassili Ostroff at once. For someyears I had been at enmity with this young Bachmatoff, at school. We consideredhim an aristocrat; at all events I called him one. He used to dress smartly,and always drove to school in a private trap. He was a good companion, and wasalways merry and jolly, sometimes even witty, though he was not veryintellectual, in spite of the fact that he was always top of the class; Imyself was never top in anything! All his companions were very fond of him,excepting myself. He had several times during those years come up to me andtried to make friends; but I had always turned sulkily away and refused to haveanything to do with him. I had not seen him for a whole year now; he was at theuniversity. When, at nine o’clock, or so, this evening, I arrived and wasshown up to him with great ceremony, he first received me with astonishment,and not too affably, but he soon cheered up, and suddenly gazed intently at meand burst out laughing.

“‘Why, what on earth can have possessed you to come and seeme, Terentieff?’ he cried, with his usual pleasant, sometimesaudacious, but never offensive familiarity, which I liked in reality, but forwhich I also detested him. ‘Why what’s the matter?’ he criedin alarm. ‘Are you ill?’

“That confounded cough of mine had come on again; I fell into a chair,and with difficulty recovered my breath. ‘It’s all right,it’s only consumption’ I said. ‘I have come to you with apetition!’

“He sat down in amazement, and I lost no time in telling him the medicalman’s history; and explained that he, with the influence which hepossessed over his uncle, might do some good to the poor fellow.

“‘I’ll do it—I’ll do it, of course!’ hesaid. ‘I shall attack my uncle about it tomorrow morning, and I’mvery glad you told me the story. But how was it that you thought of coming tome about it, Terentieff?’

“‘So much depends upon your uncle,’ I said. ‘Andbesides we have always been enemies, Bachmatoff; and as you are a generous sortof fellow, I thought you would not refuse my request because I was yourenemy!’ I added with irony.

“‘Like Napoleon going to England, eh?’ cried he, laughing.‘I’ll do it though—of course, and at once, if I can!’he added, seeing that I rose seriously from my chair at this point.

“And sure enough the matter ended as satisfactorily as possible. A monthor so later my medical friend was appointed to another post. He got histravelling expenses paid, and something to help him to start life with oncemore. I think Bachmatoff must have persuaded the doctor to accept a loan fromhimself. I saw Bachmatoff two or three times, about this period, the third timebeing when he gave a farewell dinner to the doctor and his wife before theirdeparture, a champagne dinner.

“Bachmatoff saw me home after the dinner and we crossed the Nicolaibridge. We were both a little drunk. He told me of his joy, the joyful feelingof having done a good action; he said that it was all thanks to myself that hecould feel this satisfaction; and held forth about the foolishness of thetheory that individual charity is useless.

“I, too, was burning to have my say!

“‘In Moscow,’ I said, ‘there was an old statecounsellor, a civil general, who, all his life, had been in the habit ofvisiting the prisons and speaking to criminals. Every party of convicts on itsway to Siberia knew beforehand that on the Vorobeef Hills the “oldgeneral” would pay them a visit. He did all he undertook seriously anddevotedly. He would walk down the rows of the unfortunate prisoners, stopbefore each individual and ask after his needs—he never sermonized them;he spoke kindly to them—he gave them money; he brought them all sorts ofnecessaries for the journey, and gave them devotional books, choosing those whocould read, under the firm conviction that they would read to those who couldnot, as they went along.

“‘He scarcely ever talked about the particular crimes of any ofthem, but listened if any volunteered information on that point. All theconvicts were equal for him, and he made no distinction. He spoke to all as tobrothers, and every one of them looked upon him as a father. When he observedamong the exiles some poor woman with a child, he would always come forward andfondle the little one, and make it laugh. He continued these acts of mercy upto his very death; and by that time all the criminals, all over Russia andSiberia, knew him!

“‘A man I knew who had been to Siberia and returned, told me thathe himself had been a witness of how the very most hardened criminalsremembered the old general, though, in point of fact, he could never, ofcourse, have distributed more than a few pence to each member of a party. Theirrecollection of him was not sentimental or particularly devoted. Some wretch,for instance, who had been a murderer—cutting the throat of a dozenfellow-creatures, for instance; or stabbing six little children for his ownamusement (there have been such men!)—would perhaps, without rhyme orreason, suddenly give a sigh and say, “I wonder whether that old generalis alive still!” Although perhaps he had not thought of mentioning himfor a dozen years before! How can one say what seed of good may have beendropped into his soul, never to die?’

“I continued in that strain for a long while, pointing out to Bachmatoffhow impossible it is to follow up the effects of any isolated good deed one maydo, in all its influences and subtle workings upon the heart and after-actionsof others.

“‘And to think that you are to be cut off from life!’remarked Bachmatoff, in a tone of reproach, as though he would like to findsomeone to pitch into on my account.

“We were leaning over the balustrade of the bridge, looking into the Nevaat this moment.

“‘Do you know what has suddenly come into my head?’ said I,suddenly—leaning further and further over the rail.

“‘Surely not to throw yourself into the river?’ criedBachmatoff in alarm. Perhaps he read my thought in my face.

“‘No, not yet. At present nothing but the following consideration.You see I have some two or three months left me to live—perhaps four;well, supposing that when I have but a month or two more, I take a fancy forsome “good deed” that needs both trouble and time, like thisbusiness of our doctor friend, for instance: why, I shall have to give up theidea of it and take to something else—some little good deed,more within my means, eh? Isn’t that an amusing idea!’

“Poor Bachmatoff was much impressed—painfully so. He took me allthe way home; not attempting to console me, but behaving with the greatestdelicacy. On taking leave he pressed my hand warmly and asked permission tocome and see me. I replied that if he came to me as a ‘comforter,’so to speak (for he would be in that capacity whether he spoke to me in asoothing manner or only kept silence, as I pointed out to him), he would butremind me each time of my approaching death! He shrugged his shoulders, butquite agreed with me; and we parted better friends than I had expected.

“But that evening and that night were sown the first seeds of my‘last conviction.’ I seized greedily on my new idea; I thirstilydrank in all its different aspects (I did not sleep a wink that night!), andthe deeper I went into it the more my being seemed to merge itself in it, andthe more alarmed I became. A dreadful terror came over me at last, and did notleave me all next day.

“Sometimes, thinking over this, I became quite numb with the terror ofit; and I might well have deduced from this fact, that my ‘lastconviction’ was eating into my being too fast and too seriously, andwould undoubtedly come to its climax before long. And for the climax I neededgreater determination than I yet possessed.

“However, within three weeks my determination was taken, owing to a verystrange circumstance.

“Here on my paper, I make a note of all the figures and dates that comeinto my explanation. Of course, it is all the same to me, but justnow—and perhaps only at this moment—I desire that all those who areto judge of my action should see clearly out of how logical a sequence ofdeductions has at length proceeded my ‘last conviction.’

“I have said above that the determination needed by me for theaccomplishment of my final resolve, came to hand not through any sequence ofcauses, but thanks to a certain strange circumstance which had perhaps noconnection whatever with the matter at issue. Ten days ago Rogojin called uponme about certain business of his own with which I have nothing to do atpresent. I had never seen Rogojin before, but had often heard about him.

“I gave him all the information he needed, and he very soon took hisdeparture; so that, since he only came for the purpose of gaining theinformation, the matter might have been expected to end there.

“But he interested me too much, and all that day I was under theinfluence of strange thoughts connected with him, and I determined to returnhis visit the next day.

“Rogojin was evidently by no means pleased to see me, and hinted,delicately, that he saw no reason why our acquaintance should continue. For allthat, however, I spent a very interesting hour, and so, I dare say, did he.There was so great a contrast between us that I am sure we must both have feltit; anyhow, I felt it acutely. Here was I, with my days numbered, and he, a manin the full vigour of life, living in the present, without the slightestthought for ‘final convictions,’ or numbers, or days, or, in fact,for anything but that which-which—well, which he was mad about, if hewill excuse me the expression—as a feeble author who cannot express hisideas properly.

“In spite of his lack of amiability, I could not help seeing, in Rogojina man of intellect and sense; and although, perhaps, there was little in theoutside world which was of interest to him, still he was clearly a man witheyes to see.

“I hinted nothing to him about my ‘final conviction,’ but itappeared to me that he had guessed it from my words. He remainedsilent—he is a terribly silent man. I remarked to him, as I rose todepart, that, in spite of the contrast and the wide differences between us two,les extremites se touchent (‘extremes meet,’ as I explained to himin Russian); so that maybe he was not so far from my final conviction asappeared.

“His only reply to this was a sour grimace. He rose and looked for mycap, and placed it in my hand, and led me out of the house—that dreadfulgloomy house of his—to all appearances, of course, as though I wereleaving of my own accord, and he were simply seeing me to the door out ofpoliteness. His house impressed me much; it is like a burial-ground, he seemsto like it, which is, however, quite natural. Such a full life as he leads isso overflowing with absorbing interests that he has little need of assistancefrom his surroundings.

“The visit to Rogojin exhausted me terribly. Besides, I had felt illsince the morning; and by evening I was so weak that I took to my bed, and wasin high fever at intervals, and even delirious. Colia sat with me until eleveno’clock.

“Yet I remember all he talked about, and every word we said, thoughwhenever my eyes closed for a moment I could picture nothing but the image ofSurikoff just in the act of finding a million roubles. He could not make up hismind what to do with the money, and tore his hair over it. He trembled withfear that somebody would rob him, and at last he decided to bury it in theground. I persuaded him that, instead of putting it all away uselesslyunderground, he had better melt it down and make a golden coffin out of it forhis starved child, and then dig up the little one and put her into the goldencoffin. Surikoff accepted this suggestion, I thought, with tears of gratitude,and immediately commenced to carry out my design.

“I thought I spat on the ground and left him in disgust. Colia told me,when I quite recovered my senses, that I had not been asleep for a moment, butthat I had spoken to him about Surikoff the whole while.

“At moments I was in a state of dreadful weakness and misery, so thatColia was greatly disturbed when he left me.

“When I arose to lock the door after him, I suddenly called to mind apicture I had noticed at Rogojin’s in one of his gloomiest rooms, overthe door. He had pointed it out to me himself as we walked past it, and Ibelieve I must have stood a good five minutes in front of it. There was nothingartistic about it, but the picture made me feel strangely uncomfortable. Itrepresented Christ just taken down from the cross. It seems to me that paintersas a rule represent the Saviour, both on the cross and taken down from it, withgreat beauty still upon His face. This marvellous beauty they strive topreserve even in His moments of deepest agony and passion. But there was nosuch beauty in Rogojin’s picture. This was the presentment of a poormangled body which had evidently suffered unbearable anguish even before itscrucifixion, full of wounds and bruises, marks of the violence of soldiers andpeople, and of the bitterness of the moment when He had fallen with thecross—all this combined with the anguish of the actual crucifixion.

“The face was depicted as though still suffering; as though the body,only just dead, was still almost quivering with agony. The picture was one ofpure nature, for the face was not beautified by the artist, but was left as itwould naturally be, whosoever the sufferer, after such anguish.

“I know that the earliest Christian faith taught that the Savioursuffered actually and not figuratively, and that nature was allowed her own wayeven while His body was on the cross.

“It is strange to look on this dreadful picture of the mangled corpse ofthe Saviour, and to put this question to oneself: ‘Supposing that thedisciples, the future apostles, the women who had followed Him and stood by thecross, all of whom believed in and worshipped Him—supposing that they sawthis tortured body, this face so mangled and bleeding and bruised (and theymust have so seen it)—how could they have gazed upon the dreadfulsight and yet have believed that He would rise again?’

“The thought steps in, whether one likes it or no, that death is soterrible and so powerful, that even He who conquered it in His miracles duringlife was unable to triumph over it at the last. He who called to Lazarus,‘Lazarus, come forth!’ and the dead man lived—He was nowHimself a prey to nature and death. Nature appears to one, looking at thispicture, as some huge, implacable, dumb monster; or still better—astranger simile—some enormous mechanical engine of modern days which hasseized and crushed and swallowed up a great and invaluable Being, a Being worthnature and all her laws, worth the whole earth, which was perhaps createdmerely for the sake of the advent of that Being.

“This blind, dumb, implacable, eternal, unreasoning force is well shownin the picture, and the absolute subordination of all men and things to it isso well expressed that the idea unconsciously arises in the mind of anyone wholooks at it. All those faithful people who were gazing at the cross and itsmutilated occupant must have suffered agony of mind that evening; for they musthave felt that all their hopes and almost all their faith had been shattered ata blow. They must have separated in terror and dread that night, though eachperhaps carried away with him one great thought which was never eradicated fromhis mind for ever afterwards. If this great Teacher of theirs could have seenHimself after the Crucifixion, how could He have consented to mount the Crossand to die as He did? This thought also comes into the mind of the man whogazes at this picture. I thought of all this by snatches probably between myattacks of delirium—for an hour and a half or so before Colia’sdeparture.

“Can there be an appearance of that which has no form? And yet it seemedto me, at certain moments, that I beheld in some strange and impossible form,that dark, dumb, irresistibly powerful, eternal force.

“I thought someone led me by the hand and showed me, by the light of acandle, a huge, loathsome insect, which he assured me was that very force, thatvery almighty, dumb, irresistible Power, and laughed at the indignation withwhich I received this information. In my room they always light the little lampbefore my icon for the night; it gives a feeble flicker of light, but it isstrong enough to see by dimly, and if you sit just under it you can even readby it. I think it was about twelve or a little past that night. I had not slepta wink, and was lying with my eyes wide open, when suddenly the door opened,and in came Rogojin.

“He entered, and shut the door behind him. Then he silently gazed at meand went quickly to the corner of the room where the lamp was burning and satdown underneath it.

“I was much surprised, and looked at him expectantly.

“Rogojin only leaned his elbow on the table and silently stared at me. Sopassed two or three minutes, and I recollect that his silence hurt and offendedme very much. Why did he not speak?

“That his arrival at this time of night struck me as more or less strangemay possibly be the case; but I remember I was by no means amazed at it. On thecontrary, though I had not actually told him my thought in the morning, yet Iknow he understood it; and this thought was of such a character that it wouldnot be anything very remarkable, if one were to come for further talk about itat any hour of night, however late.

“I thought he must have come for this purpose.

“In the morning we had parted not the best of friends; I remember helooked at me with disagreeable sarcasm once or twice; and this same look Iobserved in his eyes now—which was the cause of the annoyance I felt.

“I did not for a moment suspect that I was delirious and that thisRogojin was but the result of fever and excitement. I had not the slightestidea of such a theory at first.

“Meanwhile he continued to sit and stare jeeringly at me.

“I angrily turned round in bed and made up my mind that I would not say aword unless he did; so I rested silently on my pillow determined to remaindumb, if it were to last till morning. I felt resolved that he should speakfirst. Probably twenty minutes or so passed in this way. Suddenly the ideastruck me—what if this is an apparition and not Rogojin himself?

“Neither during my illness nor at any previous time had I ever seen anapparition;—but I had always thought, both when I was a little boy, andeven now, that if I were to see one I should die on the spot—though Idon’t believe in ghosts. And yet now, when the idea struck me thatthis was a ghost and not Rogojin at all, I was not in the least alarmed.Nay—the thought actually irritated me. Strangely enough, the decision ofthe question as to whether this were a ghost or Rogojin did not, for somereason or other, interest me nearly so much as it ought to have done;—Ithink I began to muse about something altogether different. For instance, Ibegan to wonder why Rogojin, who had been in dressing-gown and slippers when Isaw him at home, had now put on a dress-coat and white waistcoat and tie? Ialso thought to myself, I remember—‘if this is a ghost, and I amnot afraid of it, why don’t I approach it and verify my suspicions?Perhaps I am afraid—’ And no sooner did this last idea enter myhead than an icy blast blew over me; I felt a chill down my backbone and myknees shook.

“At this very moment, as though divining my thoughts, Rogojin raised hishead from his arm and began to part his lips as though he were going tolaugh—but he continued to stare at me as persistently as before.

“I felt so furious with him at this moment that I longed to rush at him;but as I had sworn that he should speak first, I continued to liestill—and the more willingly, as I was still by no means satisfied as towhether it really was Rogojin or not.

“I cannot remember how long this lasted; I cannot recollect, either,whether consciousness forsook me at intervals, or not. But at last Rogojinrose, staring at me as intently as ever, but not smiling any longer,—andwalking very softly, almost on tip-toes, to the door, he opened it, went out,and shut it behind him.

“I did not rise from my bed, and I don’t know how long I lay withmy eyes open, thinking. I don’t know what I thought about, nor how I fellasleep or became insensible; but I awoke next morning after nine o’clockwhen they knocked at my door. My general orders are that if I don’t openthe door and call, by nine o’clock, Matreona is to come and bring my tea.When I now opened the door to her, the thought suddenly struck me—howcould he have come in, since the door was locked? I made inquiries and foundthat Rogojin himself could not possibly have come in, because all our doorswere locked for the night.

“Well, this strange circumstance—which I have described with somuch detail—was the ultimate cause which led me to taking my finaldetermination. So that no logic, or logical deductions, had anything to do withmy resolve;—it was simply a matter of disgust.

“It was impossible for me to go on living when life was full of suchdetestable, strange, tormenting forms. This ghost had humiliated me;—norcould I bear to be subordinate to that dark, horrible force which was embodiedin the form of the loathsome insect. It was only towards evening, when I hadquite made up my mind on this point, that I began to feel easier.”

VII.

“I had a small pocket pistol. I had procured it while still a boy, atthat droll age when the stories of duels and highwaymen begin to delight one,and when one imagines oneself nobly standing fire at some future day, in aduel.

“There were a couple of old bullets in the bag which contained thepistol, and powder enough in an old flask for two or three charges.

“The pistol was a wretched thing, very crooked and wouldn’t carryfarther than fifteen paces at the most. However, it would send your skullflying well enough if you pressed the muzzle of it against your temple.

“I determined to die at Pavlofsk at sunrise, in the park—so as tomake no commotion in the house.

“This ‘explanation’ will make the matter clear enough to thepolice. Students of psychology, and anyone else who likes, may make what theyplease of it. I should not like this paper, however, to be made public. Irequest the prince to keep a copy himself, and to give a copy to AglayaIvanovna Epanchin. This is my last will and testament. As for my skeleton, Ibequeath it to the Medical Academy for the benefit of science.

“I recognize no jurisdiction over myself, and I know that I am now beyondthe power of laws and judges.

“A little while ago a very amusing idea struck me. What if I were now tocommit some terrible crime—murder ten fellow-creatures, for instance, oranything else that is thought most shocking and dreadful in thisworld—what a dilemma my judges would be in, with a criminal who only hasa fortnight to live in any case, now that the rack and other forms of tortureare abolished! Why, I should die comfortably in their own hospital—in awarm, clean room, with an attentive doctor—probably much more comfortablythan I should at home.

“I don’t understand why people in my position do not oftenerindulge in such ideas—if only for a joke! Perhaps they do! Who knows!There are plenty of merry souls among us!

“But though I do not recognize any jurisdiction over myself, still I knowthat I shall be judged, when I am nothing but a voiceless lump of clay;therefore I do not wish to go before I have left a word of reply—thereply of a free man—not one forced to justify himself—oh no! I haveno need to ask forgiveness of anyone. I wish to say a word merely because Ihappen to desire it of my own free will.

“Here, in the first place, comes a strange thought!

“Who, in the name of what Law, would think of disputing my full personalright over the fortnight of life left to me? What jurisdiction can be broughtto bear upon the case? Who would wish me, not only to be sentenced, but toendure the sentence to the end? Surely there exists no man who would wish sucha thing—why should anyone desire it? For the sake of morality? Well, Ican understand that if I were to make an attempt upon my own life while in theenjoyment of full health and vigour—my life which might have been‘useful,’ etc., etc.—morality might reproach me, according tothe old routine, for disposing of my life without permission—or whateverits tenet may be. But now, now, when my sentence is out and my daysnumbered! How can morality have need of my last breaths, and why should I dielistening to the consolations offered by the prince, who, without doubt, wouldnot omit to demonstrate that death is actually a benefactor to me? (Christianslike him always end up with that—it is their pet theory.) And what dothey want with their ridiculous ‘Pavlofsk trees’? To sweeten mylast hours? Cannot they understand that the more I forget myself, the more Ilet myself become attached to these last illusions of life and love, by meansof which they try to hide from me Meyer’s wall, and all that is soplainly written on it—the more unhappy they make me? What is the use ofall your nature to me—all your parks and trees, your sunsets andsunrises, your blue skies and your self-satisfied faces—when all thiswealth of beauty and happiness begins with the fact that it accountsme—only me—one too many! What is the good of all this beauty andglory to me, when every second, every moment, I cannot but be aware that thislittle fly which buzzes around my head in the sun’s rays—even thislittle fly is a sharer and participator in all the glory of the universe, andknows its place and is happy in it;—while I—only I, am an outcast,and have been blind to the fact hitherto, thanks to my simplicity! Oh! I knowwell how the prince and others would like me, instead of indulging in all thesewicked words of my own, to sing, to the glory and triumph of morality, thatwell-known verse of Gilbert’s:

“‘O, puissent voir longtemps votre beauté sacrée
Tant d’amis, sourds à mes adieux!
Qu’ils meurent pleins de jours, que leur mort soit pleurée,
Qu’un ami leur ferme les yeux!’

“But believe me, believe me, my simple-hearted friends, that in thishighly moral verse, in this academical blessing to the world in general in theFrench language, is hidden the intensest gall and bitterness; but so wellconcealed is the venom, that I dare say the poet actually persuaded himselfthat his words were full of the tears of pardon and peace, instead of thebitterness of disappointment and malice, and so died in the delusion.

“Do you know there is a limit of ignominy, beyond which man’sconsciousness of shame cannot go, and after which begins satisfaction in shame?Well, of course humility is a great force in that sense, I admitthat—though not in the sense in which religion accounts humility to bestrength!

“Religion!—I admit eternal life—and perhaps I always didadmit it.

“Admitted that consciousness is called into existence by the will of aHigher Power; admitted that this consciousness looks out upon the world andsays ‘I am;’ and admitted that the Higher Power wills that theconsciousness so called into existence, be suddenly extinguished (forso—for some unexplained reason—it is and must be)—still therecomes the eternal question—why must I be humble through all this? Is itnot enough that I am devoured, without my being expected to bless the powerthat devours me? Surely—surely I need not suppose thatSomebody—there—will be offended because I do not wish to live outthe fortnight allowed me? I don’t believe it.

“It is much simpler, and far more likely, to believe that my death isneeded—the death of an insignificant atom—in order to fulfil thegeneral harmony of the universe—in order to make even some plus or minusin the sum of existence. Just as every day the death of numbers of beings isnecessary because without their annihilation the rest cannot liveon—(although we must admit that the idea is not a particularly grand onein itself!)

“However—admit the fact! Admit that without such perpetualdevouring of one another the world cannot continue to exist, or could neverhave been organized—I am ever ready to confess that I cannot understandwhy this is so—but I’ll tell you what I do know, forcertain. If I have once been given to understand and realize that Iam—what does it matter to me that the world is organized on asystem full of errors and that otherwise it cannot be organized at all? Whowill or can judge me after this? Say what you like—the thing isimpossible and unjust!

“And meanwhile I have never been able, in spite of my great desire to doso, to persuade myself that there is no future existence, and no Providence.

“The fact of the matter is that all this does exist, but that weknow absolutely nothing about the future life and its laws!

“But it is so difficult, and even impossible to understand, that surely Iam not to be blamed because I could not fathom the incomprehensible?

“Of course I know they say that one must be obedient, and of course, too,the prince is one of those who say so: that one must be obedient withoutquestions, out of pure goodness of heart, and that for my worthy conduct inthis matter I shall meet with reward in another world. We degrade God when weattribute our own ideas to Him, out of annoyance that we cannot fathom Hisways.

“Again, I repeat, I cannot be blamed because I am unable to understandthat which it is not given to mankind to fathom. Why am I to be judged becauseI could not comprehend the Will and Laws of Providence? No, we had better dropreligion.

“And enough of this. By the time I have got so far in the reading of mydocument the sun will be up and the huge force of his rays will be acting uponthe living world. So be it. I shall die gazing straight at the great Fountainof life and power; I do not want this life!

“If I had had the power to prevent my own birth I should certainly neverhave consented to accept existence under such ridiculous conditions. However, Ihave the power to end my existence, although I do but give back days that arealready numbered. It is an insignificant gift, and my revolt is equallyinsignificant.

“Final explanation: I die, not in the least because I am unable tosupport these next three weeks. Oh no, I should find strength enough, and if Iwished it I could obtain consolation from the thought of the injury that isdone me. But I am not a French poet, and I do not desire such consolation. Andfinally, nature has so limited my capacity for work or activity of any kind, inallotting me but three weeks of time, that suicide is about the only thing leftthat I can begin and end in the time of my own free will.

“Perhaps then I am anxious to take advantage of my last chance of doingsomething for myself. A protest is sometimes no small thing.”

The explanation was finished; Hippolyte paused at last.

There is, in extreme cases, a final stage of cynical candour when a nervousman, excited, and beside himself with emotion, will be afraid of nothing andready for any sort of scandal, nay, glad of it. The extraordinary, almostunnatural, tension of the nerves which upheld Hippolyte up to this point, hadnow arrived at this final stage. This poor feeble boy ofeighteen—exhausted by disease—looked for all the world as weak andfrail as a leaflet torn from its parent tree and trembling in the breeze; butno sooner had his eye swept over his audience, for the first time during thewhole of the last hour, than the most contemptuous, the most haughty expressionof repugnance lighted up his face. He defied them all, as it were. But hishearers were indignant, too; they rose to their feet with annoyance. Fatigue,the wine consumed, the strain of listening so long, all added to thedisagreeable impression which the reading had made upon them.

Suddenly Hippolyte jumped up as though he had been shot.

“The sun is rising,” he cried, seeing the gilded tops of the trees,and pointing to them as to a miracle. “See, it is rising now!”

“Well, what then? Did you suppose it wasn’t going to rise?”asked Ferdishenko.

“It’s going to be atrociously hot again all day,” said Gania,with an air of annoyance, taking his hat. “A month of this... Are youcoming home, Ptitsin?” Hippolyte listened to this in amazement, almostamounting to stupefaction. Suddenly he became deadly pale and shuddered.

“You manage your composure too awkwardly. I see you wish to insultme,” he cried to Gania. “You—you are a cur!” He lookedat Gania with an expression of malice.

“What on earth is the matter with the boy? What phenomenalfeeble-mindedness!” exclaimed Ferdishenko.

“Oh, he’s simply a fool,” said Gania.

Hippolyte braced himself up a little.

“I understand, gentlemen,” he began, trembling as before, andstumbling over every word, “that I have deserved your resentment,and—and am sorry that I should have troubled you with this ravingnonsense” (pointing to his article), “or rather, I am sorry that Ihave not troubled you enough.” He smiled feebly. “Have I troubledyou, Evgenie Pavlovitch?” He suddenly turned on Evgenie with thisquestion. “Tell me now, have I troubled you or not?”

“Well, it was a little drawn out, perhaps; but—”

“Come, speak out! Don’t lie, for once in your life—speakout!” continued Hippolyte, quivering with agitation.

“Oh, my good sir, I assure you it’s entirely the same to me. Pleaseleave me in peace,” said Evgenie, angrily, turning his back on him.

“Good-night, prince,” said Ptitsin, approaching his host.

“What are you thinking of? Don’t go, he’ll blow his brainsout in a minute!” cried Vera Lebedeff, rushing up to Hippolyte andcatching hold of his hands in a torment of alarm. “What are you thinkingof? He said he would blow his brains out at sunrise.”

“Oh, he won’t shoot himself!” cried several voices,sarcastically.

“Gentlemen, you’d better look out,” cried Colia, also seizingHippolyte by the hand. “Just look at him! Prince, what are you thinkingof?” Vera and Colia, and Keller, and Burdovsky were all crowding roundHippolyte now and holding him down.

“He has the right—the right—” murmured Burdovsky.“Excuse me, prince, but what are your arrangements?” askedLebedeff, tipsy and exasperated, going up to Muishkin.

“What do you mean by ‘arrangements’?”

“No, no, excuse me! I’m master of this house, though I do not wishto lack respect towards you. You are master of the house too, in a way; but Ican’t allow this sort of thing—”

“He won’t shoot himself; the boy is only playing the fool,”said General Ivolgin, suddenly and unexpectedly, with indignation.

“I know he won’t, I know he won’t, general; butI—I’m master here!”

“Listen, Mr. Terentieff,” said Ptitsin, who had bidden the princegood-night, and was now holding out his hand to Hippolyte; “I think youremark in that manuscript of yours, that you bequeath your skeleton to theAcademy. Are you referring to your own skeleton—I mean, your verybones?”

“Yes, my bones, I—”

“Quite so, I see; because, you know, little mistakes have occurred nowand then. There was a case—”

“Why do you tease him?” cried the prince, suddenly.

“You’ve moved him to tears,” added Ferdishenko. But Hippolytewas by no means weeping. He was about to move from his place, when his fourguards rushed at him and seized him once more. There was a laugh at this.

“He led up to this on purpose. He took the trouble of writing all that sothat people should come and grab him by the arm,” observed Rogojin.“Good-night, prince. What a time we’ve sat here, my very bonesache!”

“If you really intended to shoot yourself, Terentieff,” saidEvgenie Pavlovitch, laughing, “if I were you, after all thesecompliments, I should just not shoot myself in order to vex them all.”

“They are very anxious to see me blow my brains out,” saidHippolyte, bitterly.

“Yes, they’ll be awfully annoyed if they don’t see it.”

“Then you think they won’t see it?”

“I am not trying to egg you on. On the contrary, I think it very likelythat you may shoot yourself; but the principal thing is to keep cool,”said Evgenie with a drawl, and with great condescension.

“I only now perceive what a terrible mistake I made in reading thisarticle to them,” said Hippolyte, suddenly, addressing Evgenie, andlooking at him with an expression of trust and confidence, as though he wereapplying to a friend for counsel.

“Yes, it’s a droll situation; I really don’t know what adviceto give you,” replied Evgenie, laughing. Hippolyte gazed steadfastly athim, but said nothing. To look at him one might have supposed that he wasunconscious at intervals.

“Excuse me,” said Lebedeff, “but did you observe the younggentleman’s style? ‘I’ll go and blow my brains out in thepark,’ says he, ‘so as not to disturb anyone.’ He thinks hewon’t disturb anybody if he goes three yards away, into the park, andblows his brains out there.”

“Gentlemen—” began the prince.

“No, no, excuse me, most revered prince,” Lebedeff interrupted,excitedly. “Since you must have observed yourself that this is no joke,and since at least half your guests must also have concluded that after allthat has been said this youth must blow his brains out forhonour’s sake—I—as master of this house, and before thesewitnesses, now call upon you to take steps.”

“Yes, but what am I to do, Lebedeff? What steps am I to take? I amready.”

“I’ll tell you. In the first place he must immediately deliver upthe pistol which he boasted of, with all its appurtenances. If he does this Ishall consent to his being allowed to spend the night in thishouse—considering his feeble state of health, and of course conditionallyupon his being under proper supervision. But tomorrow he must go elsewhere.Excuse me, prince! Should he refuse to deliver up his weapon, then I shallinstantly seize one of his arms and General Ivolgin the other, and we shallhold him until the police arrive and take the matter into their own hands. Mr.Ferdishenko will kindly fetch them.”

At this there was a dreadful noise; Lebedeff danced about in his excitement;Ferdishenko prepared to go for the police; Gania frantically insisted that itwas all nonsense, “for nobody was going to shoot themselves.”Evgenie Pavlovitch said nothing.

“Prince,” whispered Hippolyte, suddenly, his eyes all ablaze,“you don’t suppose that I did not foresee all this hatred?”He looked at the prince as though he expected him to reply, for a moment.“Enough!” he added at length, and addressing the whole company, hecried: “It’s all my fault, gentlemen! Lebedeff, here’s thekey,” (he took out a small bunch of keys); “this one, the last butone—Colia will show you—Colia, where’s Colia?” hecried, looking straight at Colia and not seeing him. “Yes, he’llshow you; he packed the bag with me this morning. Take him up, Colia; my bag isupstairs in the prince’s study, under the table. Here’s the key,and in the little case you’ll find my pistol and the powder, and all.Colia packed it himself, Mr. Lebedeff; he’ll show you; but it’s oncondition that tomorrow morning, when I leave for Petersburg, you will give meback my pistol, do you hear? I do this for the prince’s sake, notyours.”

“Capital, that’s much better!” cried Lebedeff, and seizingthe key he made off in haste.

Colia stopped a moment as though he wished to say something; but Lebedeffdragged him away.

Hippolyte looked around at the laughing guests. The prince observed that histeeth were chattering as though in a violent attack of ague.

“What brutes they all are!” he whispered to the prince. Whenever headdressed him he lowered his voice.

“Let them alone, you’re too weak now—”

“Yes, directly; I’ll go away directly. I’ll—”

Suddenly he embraced Muishkin.

“Perhaps you think I am mad, eh?” he asked him, laughing verystrangely.

“No, but you—”

“Directly, directly! Stand still a moment, I wish to look in your eyes;don’t speak—stand so—let me look at you! I am biddingfarewell to mankind.”

He stood so for ten seconds, gazing at the prince, motionless, deadly pale, histemples wet with perspiration; he held the prince’s hand in a strangegrip, as though afraid to let him go.

“Hippolyte, Hippolyte, what is the matter with you?” criedMuishkin.

“Directly! There, that’s enough. I’ll lie down directly. Imust drink to the sun’s health. I wish to—I insist upon it! Letgo!”

He seized a glass from the table, broke away from the prince, and in a momenthad reached the terrace steps.

The prince made after him, but it so happened that at this moment EvgeniePavlovitch stretched out his hand to say good-night. The next instant there wasa general outcry, and then followed a few moments of indescribable excitement.

Reaching the steps, Hippolyte had paused, holding the glass in his left handwhile he put his right hand into his coat pocket.

Keller insisted afterwards that he had held his right hand in his pocket allthe while, when he was speaking to the prince, and that he had held thelatter’s shoulder with his left hand only. This circumstance, Kelleraffirmed, had led him to feel some suspicion from the first. However this maybe, Keller ran after Hippolyte, but he was too late.

He caught sight of something flashing in Hippolyte’s right hand, and sawthat it was a pistol. He rushed at him, but at that very instant Hippolyteraised the pistol to his temple and pulled the trigger. There followed a sharpmetallic click, but no report.

When Keller seized the would-be suicide, the latter fell forward into his arms,probably actually believing that he was shot. Keller had hold of the pistolnow. Hippolyte was immediately placed in a chair, while the whole companythronged around excitedly, talking and asking each other questions. Every oneof them had heard the snap of the trigger, and yet they saw a live andapparently unharmed man before them.

Hippolyte himself sat quite unconscious of what was going on, and gazed aroundwith a senseless expression.

Lebedeff and Colia came rushing up at this moment.

“What is it?” someone asked, breathlessly—“Amisfire?”

“Perhaps it wasn’t loaded,” said several voices.

“It’s loaded all right,” said Keller, examining the pistol,“but—”

“What! did it miss fire?”

“There was no cap in it,” Keller announced.

It would be difficult to describe the pitiable scene that now followed. Thefirst sensation of alarm soon gave place to amusement; some burst out laughingloud and heartily, and seemed to find a malicious satisfaction in the joke.Poor Hippolyte sobbed hysterically; he wrung his hands; he approached everyonein turn—even Ferdishenko—and took them by both hands, and sworesolemnly that he had forgotten—absolutelyforgotten—“accidentally, and not on purpose,”—to put acap in—that he “had ten of them, at least, in his pocket.” Hepulled them out and showed them to everyone; he protested that he had not likedto put one in beforehand for fear of an accidental explosion in his pocket.That he had thought he would have lots of time to put it inafterwards—when required—and, that, in the heat of the moment, hehad forgotten all about it. He threw himself upon the prince, then on EvgeniePavlovitch. He entreated Keller to give him back the pistol, and he’dsoon show them all that “his honour—his honour,”—but hewas “dishonoured, now, for ever!”

He fell senseless at last—and was carried into the prince’s study.

Lebedeff, now quite sobered down, sent for a doctor; and he and his daughter,with Burdovsky and General Ivolgin, remained by the sick man’s couch.

When he was carried away unconscious, Keller stood in the middle of the room,and made the following declaration to the company in general, in a loud tone ofvoice, with emphasis upon each word.

“Gentlemen, if any one of you casts any doubt again, before me, uponHippolyte’s good faith, or hints that the cap was forgottenintentionally, or suggests that this unhappy boy was acting a part before us, Ibeg to announce that the person so speaking shall account to me for hiswords.”

No one replied.

The company departed very quickly, in a mass. Ptitsin, Gania, and Rogojin wentaway together.

The prince was much astonished that Evgenie Pavlovitch changed his mind, andtook his departure without the conversation he had requested.

“Why, you wished to have a talk with me when the others left?” hesaid.

“Quite so,” said Evgenie, sitting down suddenly beside him,“but I have changed my mind for the time being. I confess, I am toodisturbed, and so, I think, are you; and the matter as to which I wished toconsult you is too serious to tackle with one’s mind even a littledisturbed; too serious both for myself and for you. You see, prince, for oncein my life I wish to perform an absolutely honest action, that is, an actionwith no ulterior motive; and I think I am hardly in a condition to talk of itjust at this moment, and—and—well, we’ll discuss it anothertime. Perhaps the matter may gain in clearness if we wait for two or threedays—just the two or three days which I must spend in Petersburg.”

Here he rose again from his chair, so that it seemed strange that he shouldhave thought it worth while to sit down at all.

The prince thought, too, that he looked vexed and annoyed, and not nearly sofriendly towards himself as he had been earlier in the night.

“I suppose you will go to the sufferer’s bedside now?” headded.

“Yes, I am afraid...” began the prince.

“Oh, you needn’t fear! He’ll live another six weeks allright. Very likely he will recover altogether; but I strongly advise you topack him off tomorrow.”

“I think I may have offended him by saying nothing just now. I am afraidhe may suspect that I doubted his good faith,—about shooting himself, youknow. What do you think, Evgenie Pavlovitch?”

“Not a bit of it! You are much too good to him; you shouldn’t carea hang about what he thinks. I have heard of such things before, but never cameacross, till tonight, a man who would actually shoot himself in order to gain avulgar notoriety, or blow out his brains for spite, if he finds that peopledon’t care to pat him on the back for his sanguinary intentions. But whatastonishes me more than anything is the fellow’s candid confession ofweakness. You’d better get rid of him tomorrow, in any case.”

“Do you think he will make another attempt?”

“Oh no, not he, not now! But you have to be very careful with this sortof gentleman. Crime is too often the last resource of these petty nonentities.This young fellow is quite capable of cutting the throats of ten people, simplyfor a lark, as he told us in his ‘explanation.’ I assure you thoseconfounded words of his will not let me sleep.”

“I think you disturb yourself too much.”

“What an extraordinary person you are, prince! Do you mean to say thatyou doubt the fact that he is capable of murdering ten men?”

“I daren’t say, one way or the other; all this is verystrange—but—”

“Well, as you like, just as you like,” said Evgenie Pavlovitch,irritably. “Only you are such a plucky fellow, take care you don’tget included among the ten victims!”

“Oh, he is much more likely not to kill anyone at all,” said theprince, gazing thoughtfully at Evgenie. The latter laughed disagreeably.

“Well, au revoir! Did you observe that he ‘willed’ acopy of his confession to Aglaya Ivanovna?”

“Yes, I did; I am thinking of it.”

“In connection with ‘the ten,’ eh?” laughed Evgenie, ashe left the room.

An hour later, towards four o’clock, the prince went into the park. Hehad endeavoured to fall asleep, but could not, owing to the painful beating ofhis heart.

He had left things quiet and peaceful; the invalid was fast asleep, and thedoctor, who had been called in, had stated that there was no special danger.Lebedeff, Colia, and Burdovsky were lying down in the sick-room, ready to takeit in turns to watch. There was nothing to fear, therefore, at home.

But the prince’s mental perturbation increased every moment. He wanderedabout the park, looking absently around him, and paused in astonishment when hesuddenly found himself in the empty space with the rows of chairs round it,near the Vauxhall. The look of the place struck him as dreadful now: so heturned round and went by the path which he had followed with the Epanchins onthe way to the band, until he reached the green bench which Aglaya had pointedout for their rendezvous. He sat down on it and suddenly burst into a loud fitof laughter, immediately followed by a feeling of irritation. His disturbanceof mind continued; he felt that he must go away somewhere, anywhere.

Above his head some little bird sang out, of a sudden; he began to peer aboutfor it among the leaves. Suddenly the bird darted out of the tree and away, andinstantly he thought of the “fly buzzing about in the sun’srays” that Hippolyte had talked of; how that it knew its place and was aparticipator in the universal life, while he alone was an“outcast.” This picture had impressed him at the time, and hemeditated upon it now. An old, forgotten memory awoke in his brain, andsuddenly burst into clearness and light. It was a recollection of Switzerland,during the first year of his cure, the very first months. At that time he hadbeen pretty nearly an idiot still; he could not speak properly, and haddifficulty in understanding when others spoke to him. He climbed themountain-side, one sunny morning, and wandered long and aimlessly with acertain thought in his brain, which would not become clear. Above him was theblazing sky, below, the lake; all around was the horizon, clear and infinite.He looked out upon this, long and anxiously. He remembered how he had stretchedout his arms towards the beautiful, boundless blue of the horizon, and wept,and wept. What had so tormented him was the idea that he was a stranger to allthis, that he was outside this glorious festival.

What was this universe? What was this grand, eternal pageant to which he hadyearned from his childhood up, and in which he could never take part? Everymorning the same magnificent sun; every morning the same rainbow in thewaterfall; every evening the same glow on the snow-mountains.

Every little fly that buzzed in the sun’s rays was a singer in theuniversal chorus, “knew its place, and was happy in it.” Everyblade of grass grew and was happy. Everything knew its path and loved it, wentforth with a song and returned with a song; only he knew nothing, understoodnothing, neither men nor words, nor any of nature’s voices; he was astranger and an outcast.

Oh, he could not then speak these words, or express all he felt! He had beentormented dumbly; but now it appeared to him that he must have said these verywords—even then—and that Hippolyte must have taken his picture ofthe little fly from his tears and words of that time.

He was sure of it, and his heart beat excitedly at the thought, he knew notwhy.

He fell asleep on the bench; but his mental disquiet continued through hisslumbers.

Just before he dozed off, the idea of Hippolyte murdering ten men flittedthrough his brain, and he smiled at the absurdity of such a thought.

Around him all was quiet; only the flutter and whisper of the leaves broke thesilence, but broke it only to cause it to appear yet more deep and still.

He dreamed many dreams as he sat there, and all were full of disquiet, so thathe shuddered every moment.

At length a woman seemed to approach him. He knew her, oh! he knew her only toowell. He could always name her and recognize her anywhere; but, strange, sheseemed to have quite a different face from hers, as he had known it, and hefelt a tormenting desire to be able to say she was not the same woman. In theface before him there was such dreadful remorse and horror that he thought shemust be a criminal, that she must have just committed some awful crime.

Tears were trembling on her white cheek. She beckoned him, but placed herfinger on her lip as though to warn him that he must follow her very quietly.His heart froze within him. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t confessher to be a criminal, and yet he felt that something dreadful would happen thenext moment, something which would blast his whole life.

She seemed to wish to show him something, not far off, in the park.

He rose from his seat in order to follow her, when a bright, clear peal oflaughter rang out by his side. He felt somebody’s hand suddenly in hisown, seized it, pressed it hard, and awoke. Before him stood Aglaya, laughingaloud.

VIII.

She laughed, but she was rather angry too.

“He’s asleep! You were asleep,” she said, with contemptuoussurprise.

“Is it really you?” muttered the prince, not quite himself as yet,and recognizing her with a start of amazement. “Oh yes, of course,”he added, “this is our rendezvous. I fell asleep here.”

“So I saw.”

“Did no one awake me besides yourself? Was there no one else here? Ithought there was another woman.”

“There was another woman here?”

At last he was wide awake.

“It was a dream, of course,” he said, musingly. “Strange thatI should have a dream like that at such a moment. Sit down—”

He took her hand and seated her on the bench; then sat down beside her andreflected.

Aglaya did not begin the conversation, but contented herself with watching hercompanion intently.

He looked back at her, but at times it was clear that he did not see her andwas not thinking of her.

Aglaya began to flush up.

“Oh yes!” cried the prince, starting. “Hippolyte’ssuicide—”

“What? At your house?” she asked, but without much surprise.“He was alive yesterday evening, wasn’t he? How could you sleephere after that?” she cried, growing suddenly animated.

“Oh, but he didn’t kill himself; the pistol didn’t gooff.” Aglaya insisted on hearing the whole story. She hurried the princealong, but interrupted him with all sorts of questions, nearly all of whichwere irrelevant. Among other things, she seemed greatly interested in everyword that Evgenie Pavlovitch had said, and made the prince repeat that part ofthe story over and over again.

“Well, that’ll do; we must be quick,” she concluded, afterhearing all. “We have only an hour here, till eight; I must be home bythen without fail, so that they may not find out that I came and sat here withyou; but I’ve come on business. I have a great deal to say to you. Butyou have bowled me over considerably with your news. As to Hippolyte, I thinkhis pistol was bound not to go off; it was more consistent with the wholeaffair. Are you sure he really wished to blow his brains out, and that therewas no humbug about the matter?”

“No humbug at all.”

“Very likely. So he wrote that you were to bring me a copy of hisconfession, did he? Why didn’t you bring it?”

“Why, he didn’t die! I’ll ask him for it, if you like.”

“Bring it by all means; you needn’t ask him. He will be delighted,you may be sure; for, in all probability, he shot at himself simply in orderthat I might read his confession. Don’t laugh at what I say, please, LefNicolaievitch, because it may very well be the case.”

“I’m not laughing. I am convinced, myself, that that may have beenpartly the reason.”

“You are convinced? You don’t really mean to say you think thathonestly?” asked Aglaya, extremely surprised.

She put her questions very quickly and talked fast, every now and thenforgetting what she had begun to say, and not finishing her sentence. Sheseemed to be impatient to warn the prince about something or other. She was ina state of unusual excitement, and though she put on a brave and even defiantair, she seemed to be rather alarmed. She was dressed very simply, but thissuited her well. She continually trembled and blushed, and she sat on the veryedge of the seat.

The fact that the prince confirmed her idea, about Hippolyte shooting himselfthat she might read his confession, surprised her greatly.

“Of course,” added the prince, “he wished us all to applaudhis conduct—besides yourself.”

“How do you mean—applaud?”

“Well—how am I to explain? He was very anxious that we should allcome around him, and say we were so sorry for him, and that we loved him verymuch, and all that; and that we hoped he wouldn’t kill himself, butremain alive. Very likely he thought more of you than the rest of us, becausehe mentioned you at such a moment, though perhaps he did not know himself thathe had you in his mind’s eye.”

“I don’t understand you. How could he have me in view, and not beaware of it himself? And yet, I don’t know—perhaps I do. Do youknow I have intended to poison myself at least thirty times—ever since Iwas thirteen or so—and to write to my parents before I did it? I used tothink how nice it would be to lie in my coffin, and have them all weeping overme and saying it was all their fault for being so cruel, and allthat—what are you smiling at?” she added, knitting her brow.“What do you think of when you go mooning about alone? I supposeyou imagine yourself a field-marshal, and think you have conqueredNapoleon?”

“Well, I really have thought something of the sort now and then,especially when just dozing off,” laughed the prince. “Only it isthe Austrians whom I conquer—not Napoleon.”

“I don’t wish to joke with you, Lef Nicolaievitch. I shall seeHippolyte myself. Tell him so. As for you, I think you are behaving very badly,because it is not right to judge a man’s soul as you are judgingHippolyte’s. You have no gentleness, but only justice—so you areunjust.”

The prince reflected.

“I think you are unfair towards me,” he said. “There isnothing wrong in the thoughts I ascribe to Hippolyte; they are only natural.But of course I don’t know for certain what he thought. Perhaps hethought nothing, but simply longed to see human faces once more, and to hearhuman praise and feel human affection. Who knows? Only it all came out wrong,somehow. Some people have luck, and everything comes out right with them;others have none, and never a thing turns out fortunately.”

“I suppose you have felt that in your own case,” said Aglaya.

“Yes, I have,” replied the prince, quite unsuspicious of any ironyin the remark.

“H’m—well, at all events, I shouldn’t have fallenasleep here, in your place. It wasn’t nice of you, that. I suppose youfall asleep wherever you sit down?”

“But I didn’t sleep a wink all night. I walked and walked about,and went to where the music was—”

“What music?”

“Where they played last night. Then I found this bench and sat down, andthought and thought—and at last I fell fast asleep.”

“Oh, is that it? That makes a difference, perhaps. What did you go to thebandstand for?”

“I don’t know; I—”

“Very well—afterwards. You are always interrupting me. What womanwas it you were dreaming about?”

“It was—about—you saw her—”

“Quite so; I understand. I understand quite well. You arevery—Well, how did she appear to you? What did she look like? No, Idon’t want to know anything about her,” said Aglaya, angrily;“don’t interrupt me—”

She paused a moment as though getting breath, or trying to master her feelingof annoyance.

“Look here; this is what I called you here for. I wish to make youa—to ask you to be my friend. What do you stare at me like thatfor?” she added, almost angrily.

The prince certainly had darted a rather piercing look at her, and now observedthat she had begun to blush violently. At such moments, the more Aglayablushed, the angrier she grew with herself; and this was clearly expressed inher eyes, which flashed like fire. As a rule, she vented her wrath on herunfortunate companion, be it who it might. She was very conscious of her ownshyness, and was not nearly so talkative as her sisters for thisreason—in fact, at times she was much too quiet. When, therefore, she wasbound to talk, especially at such delicate moments as this, she invariably didso with an air of haughty defiance. She always knew beforehand when she wasgoing to blush, long before the blush came.

“Perhaps you do not wish to accept my proposition?” she asked,gazing haughtily at the prince.

“Oh yes, I do; but it is so unnecessary. I mean, I did not think you needmake such a proposition,” said the prince, looking confused.

“What did you suppose, then? Why did you think I invited you out here? Isuppose you think me a ‘little fool,’ as they all call me athome?”

“I didn’t know they called you a fool. I certainly don’tthink you one.”

“You don’t think me one! Oh, dear me!—that’s veryclever of you; you put it so neatly, too.”

“In my opinion, you are far from a fool sometimes—in fact, you arevery intelligent. You said a very clever thing just now about my being unjustbecause I had only justice. I shall remember that, and think aboutit.”

Aglaya blushed with pleasure. All these changes in her expression came about sonaturally and so rapidly—they delighted the prince; he watched her, andlaughed.

“Listen,” she began again; “I have long waited to tell youall this, ever since the time when you sent me that letter—even beforethat. Half of what I have to say you heard yesterday. I consider you the mosthonest and upright of men—more honest and upright than any other man; andif anybody says that your mind is—is sometimes affected, youknow—it is unfair. I always say so and uphold it, because even if yoursurface mind be a little affected (of course you will not feel angry with mefor talking so—I am speaking from a higher point of view) yet your realmind is far better than all theirs put together. Such a mind as they have nevereven dreamed of; because really, there are two minds—thekind that matters, and the kind that doesn’t matter. Isn’t itso?”

“May be! may be so!” said the prince, faintly; his heart wasbeating painfully.

“I knew you would not misunderstand me,” she said, triumphantly.“Prince S. and Evgenie Pavlovitch and Alexandra don’t understandanything about these two kinds of mind, but, just fancy, mamma does!”

“You are very like Lizabetha Prokofievna.”

“What! surely not?” said Aglaya.

“Yes, you are, indeed.”

“Thank you; I am glad to be like mamma,” she said, thoughtfully.“You respect her very much, don’t you?” she added, quiteunconscious of the naiveness of the question.

“Very much; and I am so glad that you have realized thefact.”

“I am very glad, too, because she is often laughed at by people. Butlisten to the chief point. I have long thought over the matter, and at last Ihave chosen you. I don’t wish people to laugh at me; I don’t wishpeople to think me a ‘little fool.’ I don’t want to bechaffed. I felt all this of a sudden, and I refused Evgenie Pavlovitch flatly,because I am not going to be forever thrown at people’s heads to bemarried. I want—I want—well, I’ll tell you, I wish to runaway from home, and I have chosen you to help me.”

“Run away from home?” cried the prince.

“Yes—yes—yes! Run away from home!” she repeated, in atransport of rage. “I won’t, I won’t be made to blush everyminute by them all! I don’t want to blush before Prince S. or EvgeniePavlovitch, or anyone, and therefore I have chosen you. I shall tell youeverything, everything, even the most important things of all, wheneverI like, and you are to hide nothing from me on your side. I want to speak to atleast one person, as I would to myself. They have suddenly begun to say that Iam waiting for you, and in love with you. They began this before you arrivedhere, and so I didn’t show them the letter, and now they all say it,every one of them. I want to be brave, and be afraid of nobody. I don’twant to go to their balls and things—I want to do good. I have longdesired to run away, for I have been kept shut up for twenty years, and theyare always trying to marry me off. I wanted to run away when I was fourteenyears old—I was a little fool then, I know—but now I have worked itall out, and I have waited for you to tell me about foreign countries. I havenever seen a single Gothic cathedral. I must go to Rome; I must see all themuseums; I must study in Paris. All this last year I have been preparing andreading forbidden books. Alexandra and Adelaida are allowed to read anythingthey like, but I mayn’t. I don’t want to quarrel with my sisters,but I told my parents long ago that I wish to change my social position. I havedecided to take up teaching, and I count on you because you said you lovedchildren. Can we go in for education together—if not at once, thenafterwards? We could do good together. I won’t be a general’sdaughter any more! Tell me, are you a very learned man?”

“Oh no; not at all.”

“Oh-h-h! I’m sorry for that. I thought you were. I wonder why Ialways thought so—but at all events you’ll help me, won’tyou? Because I’ve chosen you, you know.”

“Aglaya Ivanovna, it’s absurd.”

“But I will, I will run away!” she cried—and her eyesflashed again with anger—“and if you don’t agree I shall goand marry Gavrila Ardalionovitch! I won’t be considered a horrible girl,and accused of goodness knows what.”

“Are you out of your mind?” cried the prince, almost starting fromhis seat. “What do they accuse you of? Who accuses you?”

“At home, everybody, mother, my sisters, Prince S., even that detestableColia! If they don’t say it, they think it. I told them all so to theirfaces. I told mother and father and everybody. Mamma was ill all the day afterit, and next day father and Alexandra told me that I didn’t understandwhat nonsense I was talking. I informed them that they little knew me—Iwas not a small child—I understood every word in the language—thatI had read a couple of Paul de Kok’s novels two years since on purpose,so as to know all about everything. No sooner did mamma hear me say this thanshe nearly fainted!”

A strange thought passed through the prince’s brain; he gazed intently atAglaya and smiled.

He could not believe that this was the same haughty young girl who had once soproudly shown him Gania’s letter. He could not understand how that proudand austere beauty could show herself to be such an utter child—a childwho probably did not even now understand some words.

“Have you always lived at home, Aglaya Ivanovna?” he asked.“I mean, have you never been to school, or college, or anything?”

“No—never—nowhere! I’ve been at home all my life,corked up in a bottle; and they expect me to be married straight out of it.What are you laughing at again? I observe that you, too, have taken to laughingat me, and range yourself on their side against me,” she added, frowningangrily. “Don’t irritate me—I’m bad enough withoutthat—I don’t know what I am doing sometimes. I am persuaded thatyou came here today in the full belief that I am in love with you, and that Iarranged this meeting because of that,” she cried, with annoyance.

“I admit I was afraid that that was the case, yesterday,” blunderedthe prince (he was rather confused), “but today I am quite convincedthat—”

“How?” cried Aglaya—and her lower lip trembled violently.“You were afraid that I—you dared to think that I—goodgracious! you suspected, perhaps, that I sent for you to come here in order tocatch you in a trap, so that they should find us here together, and make youmarry me—”

“Aglaya Ivanovna, aren’t you ashamed of saying such a thing? Howcould such a horrible idea enter your sweet, innocent heart? I am certain youdon’t believe a word of what you say, and probably you don’t evenknow what you are talking about.”

Aglaya sat with her eyes on the ground; she seemed to have alarmed even herselfby what she had said.

“No, I’m not; I’m not a bit ashamed!” she murmured.“And how do you know my heart is innocent? And how dared you send me alove-letter that time?”

“Love-letter? My letter a love-letter? That letter was the mostrespectful of letters; it went straight from my heart, at what was perhaps themost painful moment of my life! I thought of you at the time as a kind oflight. I—”

“Well, very well, very well!” she said, but quite in a differenttone. She was remorseful now, and bent forward to touch his shoulder, thoughstill trying not to look him in the face, as if the more persuasively to beghim not to be angry with her. “Very well,” she continued, lookingthoroughly ashamed of herself, “I feel that I said a very foolish thing.I only did it just to try you. Take it as unsaid, and if I offended you,forgive me. Don’t look straight at me like that, please; turn your headaway. You called it a ‘horrible idea’; I only said it to shock you.Very often I am myself afraid of saying what I intend to say, and out it comesall the same. You have just told me that you wrote that letter at the mostpainful moment of your life. I know what moment that was!” she addedsoftly, looking at the ground again.

“Oh, if you could know all!”

“I do know all!” she cried, with another burst ofindignation. “You were living in the same house as that horrible womanwith whom you ran away.” She did not blush as she said this; on thecontrary, she grew pale, and started from her seat, apparently oblivious ofwhat she did, and immediately sat down again. Her lip continued to tremble fora long time.

There was silence for a moment. The prince was taken aback by the suddenness ofthis last reply, and did not know to what he should attribute it.

“I don’t love you a bit!” she said suddenly, just as thoughthe words had exploded from her mouth.

The prince did not answer, and there was silence again. “I love GavrilaArdalionovitch,” she said, quickly; but hardly audibly, and with her headbent lower than ever.

“That is not true,” said the prince, in an equally lowvoice.

“What! I tell stories, do I? It is true! I gave him my promise a coupleof days ago on this very seat.”

The prince was startled, and reflected for a moment.

“It is not true,” he repeated, decidedly; “you have justinvented it!”

“You are wonderfully polite. You know he is greatly improved. He loves mebetter than his life. He let his hand burn before my very eyes in order toprove to me that he loved me better than his life!”

“He burned his hand!”

“Yes, believe it or not! It’s all the same to me!”

The prince sat silent once more. Aglaya did not seem to be joking; she was tooangry for that.

“What! he brought a candle with him to this place? That is, if theepisode happened here; otherwise I can’t.”

“Yes, a candle! What’s there improbable about that?”

“A whole one, and in a candlestick?”

“Yes—no—half a candle—an end, you know—no, it wasa whole candle; it’s all the same. Be quiet, can’t you! He broughta box of matches too, if you like, and then lighted the candle and held hisfinger in it for half an hour and more!—There! Can’t thatbe?”

“I saw him yesterday, and his fingers were all right!”

Aglaya suddenly burst out laughing, as simply as a child.

“Do you know why I have just told you these lies?” She appealed tothe prince, of a sudden, with the most childlike candour, and with the laughstill trembling on her lips. “Because when one tells a lie, if oneinsists on something unusual and eccentric—something too ‘out ofthe way’ for anything, you know—the more impossible the thing is,the more plausible does the lie sound. I’ve noticed this. But I managedit badly; I didn’t know how to work it.” She suddenly frowned againat this point as though at some sudden unpleasant recollection.

“If”—she began, looking seriously and even sadly athim—“if when I read you all that about the ‘poorknight,’ I wished to-to praise you for one thing—I also wished toshow you that I knew all—and did not approve of your conduct.”

“You are very unfair to me, and to that unfortunate woman of whom youspoke just now in such dreadful terms, Aglaya.”

“Because I know all, all—and that is why I speak so. I know verywell how you—half a year since—offered her your hand beforeeverybody. Don’t interrupt me. You see, I am merely stating facts withoutany comment upon them. After that she ran away with Rogojin. Then you livedwith her at some village or town, and she ran away from you.” (Aglayablushed dreadfully.) “Then she returned to Rogojin again, who loves herlike a madman. Then you—like a wise man as you are—came back hereafter her as soon as ever you heard that she had returned to Petersburg.Yesterday evening you sprang forward to protect her, and just now you dreamedabout her. You see, I know all. You did come back here for her, forher—now didn’t you?”

“Yes—for her!” said the prince softly and sadly, and bendinghis head down, quite unconscious of the fact that Aglaya was gazing at him witheyes which burned like live coals. “I came to find out something—Idon’t believe in her future happiness as Rogojin’s wife,although—in a word, I did not know how to help her or what to do forher—but I came, on the chance.”

He glanced at Aglaya, who was listening with a look of hatred on her face.

“If you came without knowing why, I suppose you love her very muchindeed!” she said at last.

“No,” said the prince, “no, I do not love her. Oh! if youonly knew with what horror I recall the time I spent with her!”

A shudder seemed to sweep over his whole body at the recollection.

“Tell me about it,” said Aglaya.

“There is nothing which you might not hear. Why I should wish to tellyou, and only you, this experience of mine, I really cannot say; perhaps itreally is because I love you very much. This unhappy woman is persuaded thatshe is the most hopeless, fallen creature in the world. Oh, do not condemn her!Do not cast stones at her! She has suffered too much already in theconsciousness of her own undeserved shame.

“And she is not guilty—oh God!—Every moment she bemoans andbewails herself, and cries out that she does not admit any guilt, that she isthe victim of circumstances—the victim of a wicked libertine.

“But whatever she may say, remember that she does not believe itherself,—remember that she will believe nothing but that she is a guiltycreature.

“When I tried to rid her soul of this gloomy fallacy, she suffered soterribly that my heart will never be quite at peace so long as I can rememberthat dreadful time!—Do you know why she left me? Simply to prove to mewhat is not true—that she is base. But the worst of it is, she did notrealize herself that that was all she wanted to prove by her departure! Shewent away in response to some inner prompting to do something disgraceful, inorder that she might say to herself—‘There—you’ve donea new act of shame—you degraded creature!’

“Oh, Aglaya—perhaps you cannot understand all this. Try to realizethat in the perpetual admission of guilt she probably finds some dreadfulunnatural satisfaction—as though she were revenging herself upon someone.

“Now and then I was able to persuade her almost to see light around heragain; but she would soon fall, once more, into her old tormenting delusions,and would go so far as to reproach me for placing myself on a pedestal aboveher (I never had an idea of such a thing!), and informed me, in reply to myproposal of marriage, that she ‘did not want condescending sympathy orhelp from anybody.’ You saw her last night. You don’t suppose shecan be happy among such people as those—you cannot suppose that suchsociety is fit for her? You have no idea how well-educated she is, and what anintellect she has! She astonished me sometimes.”

“And you preached her sermons there, did you?”

“Oh no,” continued the prince thoughtfully, not noticingAglaya’s mocking tone, “I was almost always silent there. I oftenwished to speak, but I really did not know what to say. In some cases it isbest to say nothing, I think. I loved her, yes, I loved her very much indeed;but afterwards—afterwards she guessed all.”

“What did she guess?”

“That I only pitied her—and—and loved her nolonger!”

“How do you know that? How do you know that she is not really in lovewith that—that rich cad—the man she eloped with?”

“Oh no! I know she only laughs at him; she has made a fool of him allalong.”

“Has she never laughed at you?”

“No—in anger, perhaps. Oh yes! she reproached me dreadfully inanger; and suffered herself, too! But afterwards—oh! don’t remindme—don’t remind me of that!”

He hid his face in his hands.

“Are you aware that she writes to me almost every day?”

“So that is true, is it?” cried the prince, greatly agitated.“I had heard a report of it, but would not believe it.”

“Whom did you hear it from?” asked Aglaya, alarmed. “Rogojinsaid something about it yesterday, but nothing definite.”

“Yesterday! Morning or evening? Before the music or after?”

“After—it was about twelve o’clock.”

“Ah! Well, if it was Rogojin—but do you know what she writes to meabout?”

“I should not be surprised by anything. She is mad!”

“There are the letters.” (Aglaya took three letters out of herpocket and threw them down before the prince.) “For a whole week she hasbeen entreating and worrying and persuading me to marry you. She—well,she is clever, though she may be mad—much cleverer than I am, as you say.Well, she writes that she is in love with me herself, and tries to see me everyday, if only from a distance. She writes that you love me, and that she haslong known it and seen it, and that you and she talked about me—there.She wishes to see you happy, and she says that she is certain only I can ensureyou the happiness you deserve. She writes such strange, wild letters—Ihaven’t shown them to anyone. Now, do you know what all this means? Canyou guess anything?”

“It is madness—it is merely another proof of her insanity!”said the prince, and his lips trembled.

“You are crying, aren’t you?”

“No, Aglaya. No, I’m not crying.” The prince looked at her.

“Well, what am I to do? What do you advise me? I cannot go on receivingthese letters, you know.”

“Oh, let her alone, I entreat you!” cried the prince. “Whatcan you do in this dark, gloomy mystery? Let her alone, and I’ll use allmy power to prevent her writing you any more letters.”

“If so, you are a heartless man!” cried Aglaya. “As if youcan’t see that it is not myself she loves, but you, you, and only you!Surely you have not remarked everything else in her, and only not this?Do you know what these letters mean? They mean jealousy, sir—nothing butpure jealousy! She—do you think she will ever really marry this Rogojin,as she says here she will? She would take her own life the day after you and Iwere married.”

The prince shuddered; his heart seemed to freeze within him. He gazed at Aglayain wonderment; it was difficult for him to realize that this child was also awoman.

“God knows, Aglaya, that to restore her peace of mind and make her happyI would willingly give up my life. But I cannot love her, and she knowsthat.”

“Oh, make a sacrifice of yourself! That sort of thing becomes you well,you know. Why not do it? And don’t call me ‘Aglaya’; you havedone it several times lately. You are bound, it is your duty to‘raise’ her; you must go off somewhere again to soothe and pacifyher. Why, you love her, you know!”

“I cannot sacrifice myself so, though I admit I did wish to do so once.Who knows, perhaps I still wish to! But I know for certain, that if shemarried me it would be her ruin; I know this and therefore I leave her alone. Iought to go to see her today; now I shall probably not go. She is proud, shewould never forgive me the nature of the love I bear her, and we should both beruined. This may be unnatural, I don’t know; but everything seemsunnatural. You say she loves me, as if this were love! As if she couldlove me, after what I have been through! No, no, it is not love.”

“How pale you have grown!” cried Aglaya in alarm.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I haven’t slept, that’s all, andI’m rather tired. I—we certainly did talk about you, Aglaya.”

“Oh, indeed, it is true then! You could actually talk about me withher; and—and how could you have been fond of me when you had onlyseen me once?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps it was that I seemed to come upon light inthe midst of my gloom. I told you the truth when I said I did not know why Ithought of you before all others. Of course it was all a sort of dream, a dreamamidst the horrors of reality. Afterwards I began to work. I did not intend tocome back here for two or three years—”

“Then you came for her sake?” Aglaya’s voice trembled.

“Yes, I came for her sake.”

There was a moment or two of gloomy silence. Aglaya rose from her seat.

“If you say,” she began in shaky tones, “if you say that thiswoman of yours is mad—at all events I have nothing to do with her insanefancies. Kindly take these three letters, Lef Nicolaievitch, and throw themback to her, from me. And if she dares,” cried Aglaya suddenly, muchlouder than before, “if she dares so much as write me one word again,tell her I shall tell my father, and that she shall be taken to a lunaticasylum.”

The prince jumped up in alarm at Aglaya’s sudden wrath, and a mist seemedto come before his eyes.

“You cannot really feel like that! You don’t mean what you say. Itis not true,” he murmured.

“It is true, it is true,” cried Aglaya, almost besideherself with rage.

“What’s true? What’s all this? What’s true?” saidan alarmed voice just beside them.

Before them stood Lizabetha Prokofievna.

“Why, it’s true that I am going to marry Gavrila Ardalionovitch,that I love him and intend to elope with him tomorrow,” cried Aglaya,turning upon her mother. “Do you hear? Is your curiosity satisfied? Areyou pleased with what you have heard?”

Aglaya rushed away homewards with these words.

“H’m! well, you are not going away just yet, my friend, atall events,” said Lizabetha, stopping the prince. “Kindly step homewith me, and let me have a little explanation of the mystery. Nice goings on,these! I haven’t slept a wink all night as it is.”

The prince followed her.

IX.

Arrived at her house, Lizabetha Prokofievna paused in the first room. She couldgo no farther, and subsided on to a couch quite exhausted; too feeble toremember so much as to ask the prince to take a seat. This was a largereception-room, full of flowers, and with a glass door leading into the garden.

Alexandra and Adelaida came in almost immediately, and looked inquiringly atthe prince and their mother.

The girls generally rose at about nine in the morning in the country; Aglaya,of late, had been in the habit of getting up rather earlier and having a walkin the garden, but not at seven o’clock; about eight or a little laterwas her usual time.

Lizabetha Prokofievna, who really had not slept all night, rose at about eighton purpose to meet Aglaya in the garden and walk with her; but she could notfind her either in the garden or in her own room.

This agitated the old lady considerably; and she awoke her other daughters.Next, she learned from the maid that Aglaya had gone into the park before seveno’clock. The sisters made a joke of Aglaya’s last freak, and toldtheir mother that if she went into the park to look for her, Aglaya wouldprobably be very angry with her, and that she was pretty sure to be sittingreading on the green bench that she had talked of two or three days since, andabout which she had nearly quarrelled with Prince S., who did not see anythingparticularly lovely in it.

Arrived at the rendezvous of the prince and her daughter, and hearing thestrange words of the latter, Lizabetha Prokofievna had been dreadfully alarmed,for many reasons. However, now that she had dragged the prince home with her,she began to feel a little frightened at what she had undertaken. Why shouldnot Aglaya meet the prince in the park and have a talk with him, even if such ameeting should be by appointment?

“Don’t suppose, prince,” she began, bracing herself up forthe effort, “don’t suppose that I have brought you here to askquestions. After last night, I assure you, I am not so exceedingly anxious tosee you at all; I could have postponed the pleasure for a long while.”She paused.

“But at the same time you would be very glad to know how I happened tomeet Aglaya Ivanovna this morning?” The prince finished her speech forher with the utmost composure.

“Well, what then? Supposing I should like to know?” cried LizabethaProkofievna, blushing. “I’m sure I am not afraid of plain speaking.I’m not offending anyone, and I never wish to, and—”

“Pardon me, it is no offence to wish to know this; you are her mother. Wemet at the green bench this morning, punctually at seveno’clock,—according to an agreement made by Aglaya Ivanovna withmyself yesterday. She said that she wished to see me and speak to me aboutsomething important. We met and conversed for an hour about matters concerningAglaya Ivanovna herself, and that’s all.”

“Of course it is all, my friend. I don’t doubt you for amoment,” said Lizabetha Prokofievna with dignity.

“Well done, prince, capital!” cried Aglaya, who entered the room atthis moment. “Thank you for assuming that I would not demean myself withlies. Come, is that enough, mamma, or do you intend to put any morequestions?”

“You know I have never needed to blush before you, up to this day, thoughperhaps you would have been glad enough to make me,” said LizabethaProkofievna,—with majesty. “Good-bye, prince; forgive me forbothering you. I trust you will rest assured of my unalterable esteem foryou.”

The prince made his bows and retired at once. Alexandra and Adelaida smiled andwhispered to each other, while Lizabetha Prokofievna glared severely at them.“We are only laughing at the prince’s beautiful bows, mamma,”said Adelaida. “Sometimes he bows just like a meal-sack, but to-day hewas like—like Evgenie Pavlovitch!”

“It is the heart which is the best teacher of refinement anddignity, not the dancing-master,” said her mother, sententiously, anddeparted upstairs to her own room, not so much as glancing at Aglaya.

When the prince reached home, about nine o’clock, he found Vera Lebedeffand the maid on the verandah. They were both busy trying to tidy up the placeafter last night’s disorderly party.

“Thank goodness, we’ve just managed to finish it before you camein!” said Vera, joyfully.

“Good-morning! My head whirls so; I didn’t sleep all night. Ishould like to have a nap now.”

“Here, on the verandah? Very well, I’ll tell them all not to comeand wake you. Papa has gone out somewhere.”

The servant left the room. Vera was about to follow her, but returned andapproached the prince with a preoccupied air.

“Prince!” she said, “have pity on that poor boy; don’tturn him out today.”

“Not for the world; he shall do just as he likes.”

“He won’t do any harm now; and—and don’t be too severewith him.”

“Oh dear no! Why—”

“And—and you won’t laugh at him? That’s thechief thing.”

“Oh no! Never.”

“How foolish I am to speak of such things to a man like you,” saidVera, blushing. “Though you do look tired,” she added, halfturning away, “your eyes are so splendid at this moment—so full ofhappiness.”

“Really?” asked the prince, gleefully, and he laughed in delight.

But Vera, simple-minded little girl that she was (just like a boy, in fact),here became dreadfully confused, of a sudden, and ran hastily out of the room,laughing and blushing.

“What a dear little thing she is,” thought the prince, andimmediately forgot all about her.

He walked to the far end of the verandah, where the sofa stood, with a table infront of it. Here he sat down and covered his face with his hands, and soremained for ten minutes. Suddenly he put his hand in his coat-pocket andhurriedly produced three letters.

But the door opened again, and out came Colia.

The prince actually felt glad that he had been interrupted,—and mightreturn the letters to his pocket. He was glad of the respite.

“Well,” said Colia, plunging in medias res, as he alwaysdid, “here’s a go! What do you think of Hippolyte now? Don’trespect him any longer, eh?”

“Why not? But look here, Colia, I’m tired; besides, the subject istoo melancholy to begin upon again. How is he, though?”

“Asleep—he’ll sleep for a couple of hours yet. I quiteunderstand—you haven’t slept—you walked about the park, Iknow. Agitation—excitement—all that sort of thing—quitenatural, too!”

“How do you know I walked in the park and didn’t sleep athome?”

“Vera just told me. She tried to persuade me not to come, but Icouldn’t help myself, just for one minute. I have been having my turn atthe bedside for the last two hours; Kostia Lebedeff is there now. Burdovsky hasgone. Now, lie down, prince, make yourself comfortable, and sleep well!I’m awfully impressed, you know.”

“Naturally, all this—”

“No, no, I mean with the ‘explanation,’ especially that partof it where he talks about Providence and a future life. There is a giganticthought there.”

The prince gazed affectionately at Colia, who, of course, had come in solelyfor the purpose of talking about this “gigantic thought.”

“But it is not any one particular thought, only; it is the generalcircumstances of the case. If Voltaire had written this now, or Rousseau, Ishould have just read it and thought it remarkable, but should not have been soimpressed by it. But a man who knows for certain that he has but tenminutes to live and can talk likethat—why—it’s—it’s pride, that is! It isreally a most extraordinary, exalted assertion of personal dignity,it’s—it’s defiant! What a gigantic strength ofwill, eh? And to accuse a fellow like that of not putting in the cap onpurpose; it’s base and mean! You know he deceived us last night, thecunning rascal. I never packed his bag for him, and I never saw his pistol. Hepacked it himself. But he put me off my guard like that, you see. Vera says youare going to let him stay on; I swear there’s no danger, especially as weare always with him.”

“Who was by him at night?”

“I, and Burdovsky, and Kostia Lebedeff. Keller stayed a little while, andthen went over to Lebedeff’s to sleep. Ferdishenko slept atLebedeff’s, too; but he went away at seven o’clock. My father isalways at Lebedeff’s; but he has gone out just now. I dare say Lebedeffwill be coming in here directly; he has been looking for you; I don’tknow what he wants. Shall we let him in or not, if you are asleep? I’mgoing to have a nap, too. By-the-by, such a curious thing happened. Burdovskywoke me at seven, and I met my father just outside the room, so drunk, hedidn’t even know me. He stood before me like a log, and when he recoveredhimself, asked hurriedly how Hippolyte was. ‘Yes,’ he said, when Itold him, ‘that’s all very well, but I really came to warnyou that you must be very careful what you say before Ferdishenko.’ Doyou follow me, prince?”

“Yes. Is it really so? However, it’s all the same to us, ofcourse.”

“Of course it is; we are not a secret society; and that being the case,it is all the more curious that the general should have been on his way to wakeme up in order to tell me this.”

“Ferdishenko has gone, you say?”

“Yes, he went at seven o’clock. He came into the room on his wayout; I was watching just then. He said he was going to spend ‘the rest ofthe night’ at Wilkin’s; there’s a tipsy fellow, a friend ofhis, of that name. Well, I’m off. Oh, here’s Lebedeff himself! Theprince wants to go to sleep, Lukian Timofeyovitch, so you may just go awayagain.”

“One moment, my dear prince, just one. I must absolutely speak to youabout something which is most grave,” said Lebedeff, mysteriously andsolemnly, entering the room with a bow and looking extremely important. He hadbut just returned, and carried his hat in his hand. He looked preoccupied andmost unusually dignified.

The prince begged him to take a chair.

“I hear you have called twice; I suppose you are still worried aboutyesterday’s affair.”

“What, about that boy, you mean? Oh dear no, yesterday my ideas were alittle—well—mixed. Today, I assure you, I shall not oppose in theslightest degree any suggestions it may please you to make.”

“What’s up with you this morning, Lebedeff? You look so importantand dignified, and you choose your words so carefully,” said the prince,smiling.

“Nicolai Ardalionovitch!” said Lebedeff, in a most amiable tone ofvoice, addressing the boy. “As I have a communication to make to theprince which concerns only myself—”

“Of course, of course, not my affair. All right,” said Colia, andaway he went.

“I love that boy for his perception,” said Lebedeff, looking afterhim. “My dear prince,” he continued, “I have had a terriblemisfortune, either last night or early this morning. I cannot tell the exacttime.”

“What is it?”

“I have lost four hundred roubles out of my side pocket! They’regone!” said Lebedeff, with a sour smile.

“You’ve lost four hundred roubles? Oh! I’m sorry forthat.”

“Yes, it is serious for a poor man who lives by his toil.”

“Of course, of course! How was it?”

“Oh, the wine is to blame, of course. I confess to you, prince, as Iwould to Providence itself. Yesterday I received four hundred roubles from adebtor at about five in the afternoon, and came down here by train. I had mypurse in my pocket. When I changed, I put the money into the pocket of my plainclothes, intending to keep it by me, as I expected to have an applicant for itin the evening.”

“It’s true then, Lebedeff, that you advertise to lend money on goldor silver articles?”

“Yes, through an agent. My own name doesn’t appear. I have a largefamily, you see, and at a small percentage—”

“Quite so, quite so. I only asked for information—excuse thequestion. Go on.”

“Well, meanwhile that sick boy was brought here, and those guests camein, and we had tea, and—well, we made merry—to my ruin! Hearing ofyour birthday afterwards, and excited with the circumstances of the evening, Iran upstairs and changed my plain clothes once more for my uniform [CivilService clerks in Russia wear uniform.]—you must have noticed I had myuniform on all the evening? Well, I forgot the money in the pocket of my oldcoat—you know when God will ruin a man he first of all bereaves him ofhis senses—and it was only this morning at half-past seven that I woke upand grabbed at my coat pocket, first thing. The pocket was empty—thepurse gone, and not a trace to be found!”

“Dear me! This is very unpleasant!”

“Unpleasant! Indeed it is. You have found a very appropriateexpression,” said Lebedeff, politely, but with sarcasm.

“But what’s to be done? It’s a serious matter,” saidthe prince, thoughtfully. “Don’t you think you may have dropped itout of your pocket whilst intoxicated?”

“Certainly. Anything is possible when one is intoxicated, as you neatlyexpress it, prince. But consider—if I, intoxicated or not, dropped anobject out of my pocket on to the ground, that object ought to remain on theground. Where is the object, then?”

“Didn’t you put it away in some drawer, perhaps?”

“I’ve looked everywhere, and turned out everything.”

“I confess this disturbs me a good deal. Someone must have picked it up,then.”

“Or taken it out of my pocket—two alternatives.”

“It is very distressing, because who—? That’s thequestion!”

“Most undoubtedly, excellent prince, you have hit it—that is thevery question. How wonderfully you express the exact situation in a fewwords!”

“Come, come, Lebedeff, no sarcasm! It’s a serious—”

“Sarcasm!” cried Lebedeff, wringing his hands. “All right,all right, I’m not angry. I’m only put out about this. Whom do yoususpect?”

“That is a very difficult and complicated question. I cannot suspect theservant, for she was in the kitchen the whole evening, nor do I suspect any ofmy children.”

“I should think not. Go on.”

“Then it must be one of the guests.”

“Is such a thing possible?”

“Absolutely and utterly impossible—and yet, so it must be. But onething I am sure of, if it be a theft, it was committed, not in the evening whenwe were all together, but either at night or early in the morning; therefore,by one of those who slept here. Burdovsky and Colia I except, of course. Theydid not even come into my room.”

“Yes, or even if they had! But who did sleep with you?”

“Four of us, including myself, in two rooms. The general, myself, Keller,and Ferdishenko. One of us four it must have been. I don’t suspectmyself, though such cases have been known.”

“Oh! do go on, Lebedeff! Don’t drag it out so.”

“Well, there are three left, then—Keller firstly. He is a drunkardto begin with, and a liberal (in the sense of other people’s pockets),otherwise with more of the ancient knight about him than of the modern liberal.He was with the sick man at first, but came over afterwards because there wasno place to lie down in the room and the floor was so hard.”

“You suspect him?”

“I did suspect him. When I woke up at half-past seven and tore myhair in despair for my loss and carelessness, I awoke the general, who wassleeping the sleep of innocence near me. Taking into consideration the suddendisappearance of Ferdishenko, which was suspicious in itself, we decided tosearch Keller, who was lying there sleeping like a top. Well, we searched hisclothes thoroughly, and not a farthing did we find; in fact, his pockets allhad holes in them. We found a dirty handkerchief, and a love-letter from somescullery-maid. The general decided that he was innocent. We awoke him forfurther inquiries, and had the greatest difficulty in making him understandwhat was up. He opened his mouth and stared—he looked so stupid and soabsurdly innocent. It wasn’t Keller.”

“Oh, I’m so glad!” said the prince, joyfully. “I was soafraid.”

“Afraid! Then you had some grounds for supposing he might be theculprit?” said Lebedeff, frowning.

“Oh no—not a bit! It was foolish of me to say I was afraid!Don’t repeat it please, Lebedeff, don’t tell anyone I saidthat!”

“My dear prince! your words lie in the lowest depth of my heart—itis their tomb!” said Lebedeff, solemnly, pressing his hat to the regionof his heart.

“Thanks; very well. Then I suppose it’s Ferdishenko; that is, Imean, you suspect Ferdishenko?”

“Whom else?” said Lebedeff, softly, gazing intently into the princes face.

“Of course—quite so, whom else? But what are the proofs?”

“We have evidence. In the first place, his mysterious disappearance atseven o’clock, or even earlier.”

“I know, Colia told me that he had said he was off to—I forget thename, some friend of his, to finish the night.”

“H’m! then Colia has spoken to you already?”

“Not about the theft.”

“He does not know of it; I have kept it a secret. Very well, Ferdishenkowent off to Wilkin’s. That is not so curious in itself, but here theevidence opens out further. He left his address, you see, when he went. Nowprince, consider, why did he leave his address? Why do you suppose he went outof his way to tell Colia that he had gone to Wilkin’s? Who cared to knowthat he was going to Wilkin’s? No, no! prince, this is finesse,thieves’ finesse! This is as good as saying, ‘There, how can I be athief when I leave my address? I’m not concealing my movements as a thiefwould.’ Do you understand, prince?”

“Oh yes, but that is not enough.”

“Second proof. The scent turns out to be false, and the address given isa sham. An hour after—that is at about eight, I went to Wilkin’smyself, and there was no trace of Ferdishenko. The maid did tell me, certainly,that an hour or so since someone had been hammering at the door, and hadsmashed the bell; she said she would not open the door because she didn’twant to wake her master; probably she was too lazy to get up herself. Suchphenomena are met with occasionally!”

“But is that all your evidence? It is not enough!”

“Well, prince, whom are we to suspect, then? Consider!” saidLebedeff with almost servile amiability, smiling at the prince. There was alook of cunning in his eyes, however.

“You should search your room and all the cupboards again,” said theprince, after a moment or two of silent reflection.

“But I have done so, my dear prince!” said Lebedeff, more sweetlythan ever.

“H’m! why must you needs go up and change your coat likethat?” asked the prince, banging the table with his fist, in annoyance.

“Oh, don’t be so worried on my account, prince! I assure you I amnot worth it! At least, not I alone. But I see you are suffering on behalf ofthe criminal too, for wretched Ferdishenko, in fact!”

“Of course you have given me a disagreeable enough thing to thinkabout,” said the prince, irritably, “but what are you going to do,since you are so sure it was Ferdishenko?”

“But who else could it be, my very dear prince?” repeatedLebedeff, as sweet as sugar again. “If you don’t wish me to suspectMr. Burdovsky?”

“Of course not.”

“Nor the general? Ha, ha, ha!”

“Nonsense!” said the prince, angrily, turning round upon him.

“Quite so, nonsense! Ha, ha, ha! dear me! He did amuse me, did thegeneral! We went off on the hot scent to Wilkin’s together, you know; butI must first observe that the general was even more thunderstruck than I myselfthis morning, when I awoke him after discovering the theft; so much so that hisvery face changed—he grew red and then pale, and at length flew into aparoxysm of such noble wrath that I assure you I was quite surprised! He is amost generous-hearted man! He tells lies by the thousands, I know, but it ismerely a weakness; he is a man of the highest feelings; a simple-minded mantoo, and a man who carries the conviction of innocence in his very appearance.I love that man, sir; I may have told you so before; it is a weakness of mine.Well—he suddenly stopped in the middle of the road, opened out his coatand bared his breast. ‘Search me,’ he says, ‘you searchedKeller; why don’t you search me too? It is only fair!’ says he. Andall the while his legs and hands were trembling with anger, and he as white asa sheet all over! So I said to him, ‘Nonsense, general; if anybody butyourself had said that to me, I’d have taken my head, my own head, andput it on a large dish and carried it round to anyone who suspected you; and Ishould have said: “There, you see that head? It’s my head, andI’ll go bail with that head for him! Yes, and walk through the fire forhim, too.” There,’ says I, ‘that’s how I’d answerfor you, general!’ Then he embraced me, in the middle of the street, andhugged me so tight (crying over me all the while) that I coughed fit to choke!‘You are the one friend left to me amid all my misfortunes,’ sayshe. Oh, he’s a man of sentiment, that! He went on to tell me a story ofhow he had been accused, or suspected, of stealing five hundred thousandroubles once, as a young man; and how, the very next day, he had rushed into aburning, blazing house and saved the very count who suspected him, and NinaAlexandrovna (who was then a young girl), from a fiery death. The countembraced him, and that was how he came to marry Nina Alexandrovna, he said. Asfor the money, it was found among the ruins next day in an English iron boxwith a secret lock; it had got under the floor somehow, and if it had not beenfor the fire it would never have been found! The whole thing is, of course, anabsolute fabrication, though when he spoke of Nina Alexandrovna he wept!She’s a grand woman, is Nina Alexandrovna, though she is very angry withme!”

“Are you acquainted with her?”

“Well, hardly at all. I wish I were, if only for the sake of justifyingmyself in her eyes. Nina Alexandrovna has a grudge against me for, as shethinks, encouraging her husband in drinking; whereas in reality I not only donot encourage him, but I actually keep him out of harm’s way, and out ofbad company. Besides, he’s my friend, prince, so that I shall not losesight of him, again. Where he goes, I go. He’s quite given up visitingthe captain’s widow, though sometimes he thinks sadly of her, especiallyin the morning, when he’s putting on his boots. I don’t know whyit’s at that time. But he has no money, and it’s no use his goingto see her without. Has he borrowed any money from you, prince?”

“No, he has not.”

“Ah, he’s ashamed to! He meant to ask you, I know, for hesaid so. I suppose he thinks that as you gave him some once (you remember), youwould probably refuse if he asked you again.”

“Do you ever give him money?”

“Prince! Money! Why I would give that man not only my money, but my verylife, if he wanted it. Well, perhaps that’s exaggeration; not life,we’ll say, but some illness, a boil or a bad cough, or anything of thatsort, I would stand with pleasure, for his sake; for I consider him a great manfallen—money, indeed!”

“H’m, then you do give him money?”

“N-no, I have never given him money, and he knows well that I will nevergive him any; because I am anxious to keep him out of intemperate ways. He isgoing to town with me now; for you must know I am off to Petersburg afterFerdishenko, while the scent is hot; I’m certain he is there. I shall letthe general go one way, while I go the other; we have so arranged matters inorder to pop out upon Ferdishenko, you see, from different sides. But I amgoing to follow that naughty old general and catch him, I know where, at acertain widow’s house; for I think it will be a good lesson, to put himto shame by catching him with the widow.”

“Oh, Lebedeff, don’t, don’t make any scandal about it!”said the prince, much agitated, and speaking in a low voice.

“Not for the world, not for the world! I merely wish to make him ashamedof himself. Oh, prince, great though this misfortune be to myself, I cannothelp thinking of his morals! I have a great favour to ask of you, esteemedprince; I confess that it is the chief object of my visit. You know theIvolgins, you have even lived in their house; so if you would lend me yourhelp, honoured prince, in the general’s own interest and for hisgood.”

Lebedeff clasped his hands in supplication.

“What help do you want from me? You may be certain that I am most anxiousto understand you, Lebedeff.”

“I felt sure of that, or I should not have come to you. We might manageit with the help of Nina Alexandrovna, so that he might be closely watched inhis own house. Unfortunately I am not on terms... otherwise... but NicolaiArdalionovitch, who adores you with all his youthful soul, might help,too.”

“No, no! Heaven forbid that we should bring Nina Alexandrovna into thisbusiness! Or Colia, either. But perhaps I have not yet quite understood you,Lebedeff?”

Lebedeff made an impatient movement.

“But there is nothing to understand! Sympathy and tenderness, that isall—that is all our poor invalid requires! You will permit me to considerhim an invalid?”

“Yes, it shows delicacy and intelligence on your part.”

“I will explain my idea by a practical example, to make it clearer. Youknow the sort of man he is. At present his only failing is that he is crazyabout that captain’s widow, and he cannot go to her without money, and Imean to catch him at her house today—for his own good; but supposing itwas not only the widow, but that he had committed a real crime, or at leastsome very dishonourable action (of which he is, of course, incapable), I repeatthat even in that case, if he were treated with what I may call generoustenderness, one could get at the whole truth, for he is very soft-hearted!Believe me, he would betray himself before five days were out; he would burstinto tears, and make a clean breast of the matter; especially if managed withtact, and if you and his family watched his every step, so to speak. Oh, mydear prince,” Lebedeff added most emphatically, “I do notpositively assert that he has... I am ready, as the saying is, to shed my lastdrop of blood for him this instant; but you will admit that debauchery,drunkenness, and the captain’s widow, all these together may lead himvery far.”

“I am, of course, quite ready to add my efforts to yours in such acase,” said the prince, rising; “but I confess, Lebedeff, that I amterribly perplexed. Tell me, do you still think... plainly, you say yourselfthat you suspect Mr. Ferdishenko?”

Lebedeff clasped his hands once more.

“Why, who else could I possibly suspect? Who else, most outspokenprince?” he replied, with an unctuous smile.

Muishkin frowned, and rose from his seat.

“You see, Lebedeff, a mistake here would be a dreadful thing. ThisFerdishenko, I would not say a word against him, of course; but, who knows?Perhaps it really was he? I mean he really does seem to be a more likely manthan... than any other.”

Lebedeff strained his eyes and ears to take in what the prince was saying. Thelatter was frowning more and more, and walking excitedly up and down, tryingnot to look at Lebedeff.

“You see,” he said, “I was given to understand thatFerdishenko was that sort of man,—that one can’t say everythingbefore him. One has to take care not to say too much, you understand? I saythis to prove that he really is, so to speak, more likely to have done thisthan anyone else, eh? You understand? The important thing is, not to make amistake.”

“And who told you this about Ferdishenko?”

“Oh, I was told. Of course I don’t altogether believe it. I am verysorry that I should have had to say this, because I assure you I don’tbelieve it myself; it is all nonsense, of course. It was stupid of me to sayanything about it.”

“You see, it is very important, it is most important to know where yougot this report from,” said Lebedeff, excitedly. He had risen from hisseat, and was trying to keep step with the prince, running after him, up anddown. “Because look here, prince, I don’t mind telling you now thatas we were going along to Wilkin’s this morning, after telling me whatyou know about the fire, and saving the count and all that, the general waspleased to drop certain hints to the same effect about Ferdishenko, but sovaguely and clumsily that I thought better to put a few questions to him on thematter, with the result that I found the whole thing was an invention of hisexcellency’s own mind. Of course, he only lies with the best intentions;still, he lies. But, such being the case, where could you have heard the samereport? It was the inspiration of the moment with him, you understand, so whocould have told you? It is an important question, you see!”

“It was Colia told me, and his father told him at about six thismorning. They met at the threshold, when Colia was leaving the room forsomething or other.” The prince told Lebedeff all that Colia had madeknown to himself, in detail.

“There now, that’s what we may call scent!” saidLebedeff, rubbing his hands and laughing silently. “I thought it must beso, you see. The general interrupted his innocent slumbers, at sixo’clock, in order to go and wake his beloved son, and warn him of thedreadful danger of companionship with Ferdishenko. Dear me! what a dreadfullydangerous man Ferdishenko must be, and what touching paternal solicitude, onthe part of his excellency, ha! ha! ha!”

“Listen, Lebedeff,” began the prince, quite overwhelmed;“do act quietly—don’t make a scandal, Lebedeff, I askyou—I entreat you! No one must know—no one, mind! In thatcase only, I will help you.”

“Be assured, most honourable, most worthy of princes—be assuredthat the whole matter shall be buried within my heart!” cried Lebedeff,in a paroxysm of exaltation. “I’d give every drop of my blood...Illustrious prince, I am a poor wretch in soul and spirit, but ask the veriestscoundrel whether he would prefer to deal with one like himself, or with anoble-hearted man like you, and there is no doubt as to his choice! He’llanswer that he prefers the noble-hearted man—and there you have thetriumph of virtue! Au revoir, honoured prince! You and Itogether—softly! softly!”

X.

The prince understood at last why he shivered with dread every time he thoughtof the three letters in his pocket, and why he had put off reading them untilthe evening.

When he fell into a heavy sleep on the sofa on the verandah, without having hadthe courage to open a single one of the three envelopes, he again dreamed apainful dream, and once more that poor, “sinful” woman appeared tohim. Again she gazed at him with tears sparkling on her long lashes, andbeckoned him after her; and again he awoke, as before, with the picture of herface haunting him.

He longed to get up and go to her at once—but he could not. Atlength, almost in despair, he unfolded the letters, and began to read them.

These letters, too, were like a dream. We sometimes have strange, impossibledreams, contrary to all the laws of nature. When we awake we remember them andwonder at their strangeness. You remember, perhaps, that you were in fullpossession of your reason during this succession of fantastic images; even thatyou acted with extraordinary logic and cunning while surrounded by murdererswho hid their intentions and made great demonstrations of friendship, whilewaiting for an opportunity to cut your throat. You remember how you escapedthem by some ingenious stratagem; then you doubted if they were reallydeceived, or whether they were only pretending not to know your hiding-place;then you thought of another plan and hoodwinked them once again. You rememberall this quite clearly, but how is it that your reason calmly accepted all themanifest absurdities and impossibilities that crowded into your dream? One ofthe murderers suddenly changed into a woman before your very eyes; then thewoman was transformed into a hideous, cunning little dwarf; and you believedit, and accepted it all almost as a matter of course—while at the sametime your intelligence seemed unusually keen, and accomplished miracles ofcunning, sagacity, and logic! Why is it that when you awake to the world ofrealities you nearly always feel, sometimes very vividly, that the vanisheddream has carried with it some enigma which you have failed to solve? You smileat the extravagance of your dream, and yet you feel that this tissue ofabsurdity contained some real idea, something that belongs to your truelife,—something that exists, and has always existed, in your heart. Yousearch your dream for some prophecy that you were expecting. It has left a deepimpression upon you, joyful or cruel, but what it means, or what has beenpredicted to you in it, you can neither understand nor remember.

The reading of these letters produced some such effect upon the prince. Hefelt, before he even opened the envelopes, that the very fact of theirexistence was like a nightmare. How could she ever have made up her mind towrite to her? he asked himself. How could she write about that at all? And howcould such a wild idea have entered her head? And yet, the strangest part ofthe matter was, that while he read the letters, he himself almost believed inthe possibility, and even in the justification, of the idea he had thought sowild. Of course it was a mad dream, a nightmare, and yet there was somethingcruelly real about it. For hours he was haunted by what he had read. Severalpassages returned again and again to his mind, and as he brooded over them, hefelt inclined to say to himself that he had foreseen and known all that waswritten here; it even seemed to him that he had read the whole of this sometime or other, long, long ago; and all that had tormented and grieved him up tonow was to be found in these old, long since read, letters.

“When you open this letter” (so the first began), “look firstat the signature. The signature will tell you all, so that I need explainnothing, nor attempt to justify myself. Were I in any way on a footing withyou, you might be offended at my audacity; but who am I, and who are you? Weare at such extremes, and I am so far removed from you, that I could not offendyou if I wished to do so.”

Farther on, in another place, she wrote: “Do not consider my words as thesickly ecstasies of a diseased mind, but you are, in myopinion—perfection! I have seen you—I see you every day. I do notjudge you; I have not weighed you in the scales of Reason and found youPerfection—it is simply an article of faith. But I must confess one sinagainst you—I love you. One should not love perfection. One should onlylook on it as perfection—yet I am in love with you. Though loveequalizes, do not fear. I have not lowered you to my level, even in my mostsecret thoughts. I have written ‘Do not fear,’ as if you couldfear. I would kiss your footprints if I could; but, oh! I am not putting myselfon a level with you!—Look at the signature—quick, look at thesignature!”

“However, observe” (she wrote in another of the letters),“that although I couple you with him, yet I have not once asked youwhether you love him. He fell in love with you, though he saw you but once. Hespoke of you as of ‘the light.’ These are his own words—Iheard him use them. But I understood without his saying it that you were allthat light is to him. I lived near him for a whole month, and I understood thenthat you, too, must love him. I think of you and him as one.”

“What was the matter yesterday?” (she wrote on another sheet).“I passed by you, and you seemed to me to blush. Perhaps it wasonly my fancy. If I were to bring you to the most loathsome den, and show youthe revelation of undisguised vice—you should not blush. You can neverfeel the sense of personal affront. You may hate all who are mean, or base, orunworthy—but not for yourself—only for those whom they wrong. Noone can wrong you. Do you know, I think you ought to love me—foryou are the same in my eyes as in his—you are as light. An angel cannothate, perhaps cannot love, either. I often ask myself—is it possible tolove everybody? Indeed it is not; it is not in nature. Abstract love ofhumanity is nearly always love of self. But you are different. You cannot helploving all, since you can compare with none, and are above all personal offenceor anger. Oh! how bitter it would be to me to know that you felt anger or shameon my account, for that would be your fall—you would become comparable atonce with such as me.

“Yesterday, after seeing you, I went home and thought out a picture.

“Artists always draw the Saviour as an actor in one of the Gospelstories. I should do differently. I should represent Christ alone—thedisciples did leave Him alone occasionally. I should paint one little childleft with Him. This child has been playing about near Him, and had probablyjust been telling the Saviour something in its pretty baby prattle. Christ hadlistened to it, but was now musing—one hand reposing on the child’sbright head. His eyes have a far-away expression. Thought, great as theUniverse, is in them—His face is sad. The little one leans its elbow uponChrist’s knee, and with its cheek resting on its hand, gazes up at Him,pondering as children sometimes do ponder. The sun is setting. There you havemy picture.

“You are innocent—and in your innocence lies all yourperfection—oh, remember that! What is my passion to y