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Prince S. was now no longer smiling; he gazed at the prince in bewilderment.

During the next fortnight--that is, through the early part of July--the history
of our hero was circulated in the form of strange, diverting, most
unlikely-sounding stories, which passed from mouth to mouth, through the streets
and villas adjoining those inhabited by Lebedeff, Ptitsin, Nastasia Philipovna
and the Epanchins; in fact, pretty well through the whole town and its environs.
All society--both the inhabitants of the place and those who came down of an
evening for the music--had got hold of one and the same story, in a thousand
varieties of detail--as to how a certain young prince had raised a terrible
scandal in a most respectable household, had thrown over a daughter of the
family, to whom he was engaged, and had been captured by a woman of shady
reputation whom he was determined to marry at once--breaking off all old ties
for the satisfaction of his insane idea; and, in spite of the public indignation
roused by his action, the marriage was to take place in Pavlofsk openly and
publicly, and the prince had announced his intention of going through with it
with head erect and looking the whole world in the face. The story was so
artfully adorned with scandalous details, and persons of so great eminence and
importance were apparently mixed up in it, while, at the same time, the evidence
was so circumstantial, that it was no wonder the matter gave food for plenty of
curiosity and gossip.

He gave full, satisfactory, and direct evidence on every point; and the prince’s
name was, thanks to this, not brought into the proceedings. Rogojin was very
quiet during the progress of the trial. He did not contradict his clever and
eloquent counsel, who argued that the brain fever, or inflammation of the brain,
was the cause of the crime; clearly proving that this malady had existed long
before the murder was perpetrated, and had been brought on by the sufferings of
the accused.

“Yes, that wall of Meyer’s could tell a tale if it liked. There was no spot on
its dirty surface that I did not know by heart. Accursed wall! and yet it is
dearer to me than all the Pavlofsk trees!--That is--it _would_ be dearer if it
were not all the same to me, now!

“Yes, I am afraid...” began the prince.

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

And once more, that same evening, Aglaya mystified them all. Prince S. had
returned, and Aglaya was particularly amiable to him, and asked a great deal
after Evgenie Pavlovitch. (Muishkin had not come in as yet.)
“Well, where are we to go to now, father?” he asked. “You don’t want to go to
the prince’s; you have quarrelled with Lebedeff; you have no money; I never have
any; and here we are in the middle of the road, in a nice sort of mess.”
“The fact of the matter is that all this _does_ exist, but that we know
absolutely nothing about the future life and its laws!
Keller started, gave an astonished look at the speaker, and thumped the table
with his fist. The phrase flattered the general, touched him, and pleased him
mightily. He immediately changed his tone, and started off on a long and solemn
explanation. But listen as he would, the prince could make neither head nor tail
of it.

Suddenly he became aware that General Epanchin was tapping him on the shoulder;
Ivan Petrovitch was laughing too, but still more kind and sympathizing was the
old dignitary. He took the prince by the hand and pressed it warmly; then he
patted it, and quietly urged him to recollect himself--speaking to him exactly
as he would have spoken to a little frightened child, which pleased the prince
wonderfully; and next seated him beside himself.

“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, and looked at the child in
her arms, anxiously making the sign of the cross over her three times. “God
bless her! God bless her!” he cried with emotion. “This little creature is my
daughter Luboff,” addressing the prince. “My wife, Helena, died--at her birth;
and this is my big daughter Vera, in mourning, as you see; and this, this, oh,
this,” pointing to the young man on the divan...

“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 you coming home, Ptitsin?”
Hippolyte listened to this in amazement, almost amounting to stupefaction.
Suddenly he became deadly pale and shuddered. The door opened at this point, and
in came Gania most unexpectedly.
“At the first glimpse of the rising sun, prince, I will go to bed. I told you I
would, word of honour! You shall see!” cried Hippolyte. “You think I’m not
capable of opening this packet, do you?” He glared defiantly round at the
audience in general.
“Aglaya Ivanovna...”

I.

“She sprang forward and stood still in front of the reptile as if she had been
turned to stone. The beast stopped too, but its tail and claws still moved
about. I believe animals are incapable of feeling supernatural fright--if I have
been rightly informed,--but at this moment there appeared to me to be something
more than ordinary about Norma’s terror, as though it must be supernatural; and
as though she felt, just as I did myself, that this reptile was connected with
some mysterious secret, some fatal omen.

A fortnight had passed since the events recorded in the last chapter, and the
position of the actors in our story had become so changed that it is almost
impossible for us to continue the tale without some few explanations. Yet we
feel that we ought to limit ourselves to the simple record of facts, without
much attempt at explanation, for a very patent reason: because we ourselves have
the greatest possible difficulty in accounting for the facts to be recorded.
Such a statement on our part may appear strange to the reader. How is anyone to
tell a story which he cannot understand himself? In order to keep clear of a
false position, we had perhaps better give an example of what we mean; and
probably the intelligent reader will soon understand the difficulty. More
especially are we inclined to take this course since the example will constitute
a distinct march forward of our story, and will not hinder the progress of the
events remaining to be recorded.
“No.”
So saying, Rogojin crossed the road.

“‘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.

“I have long sought the honour and opportunity of meeting you--much-esteemed Lef
Nicolaievitch,” he murmured, pressing the prince’s hand very hard, almost
painfully so; “long--very long.”

“I shall just say two words to him, that’s all,” said her mother, silencing all
objection by her manner; she was evidently seriously put out. “You see, prince,
it is all secrets with us, just now--all secrets. 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 candour and open-heartedness. There is a
marriage being talked of, and I don’t like this marriage--”

“I hardly knew him; he is much changed, and for the better!”

“Lvovitch,” repeated the general without the slightest haste, and with perfect
confidence, just as though he had not committed himself the least in the world,
but merely made a little slip of the tongue. He sat down, and taking the
prince’s hand, drew him to a seat next to himself.
“Just two words: have you any means at all? Or perhaps you may be intending to
undertake some sort of employment? Excuse my questioning you, but--”

“Quite so, nonsense! Ha, ha, ha! dear me! He did amuse me, did the general! We
went off on the hot scent to Wilkin’s together, you know; but I must first
observe that the general was even more thunderstruck than I myself this morning,
when I awoke him after discovering the theft; so much so that his very face
changed--he grew red and then pale, and at length flew into a paroxysm of such
noble wrath that I assure you I was quite surprised! He is a most
generous-hearted man! He tells lies by the thousands, I know, but it is merely a
weakness; he is a man of the highest feelings; a simple-minded man too, 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 coat and bared his
breast. ‘Search me,’ he says, ‘you searched Keller; why don’t you search me too?
It is only fair!’ says he. And all the while his legs and hands were trembling
with anger, and he as white as a sheet all over! So I said to him, ‘Nonsense,
general; if anybody but yourself had said that to me, I’d have taken my head, my
own head, and put it on a large dish and carried it round to anyone who
suspected you; and I should have said: “There, you see that head? It’s my head,
and I’ll go bail with that head for him! Yes, and walk through the fire for him,
too.” There,’ says I, ‘that’s how I’d answer for you, general!’ Then he embraced
me, in the middle of the street, and hugged 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,’ says he. Oh, he’s a man of sentiment, that! He went on to tell
me a story of how he had been accused, or suspected, of stealing five hundred
thousand roubles once, as a young man; and how, the very next day, he had rushed
into a burning, blazing house and saved the very count who suspected him, and
Nina Alexandrovna (who was then a young girl), from a fiery death. The count
embraced him, and that was how he came to marry Nina Alexandrovna, he said. As
for the money, it was found among the ruins next day in an English iron box with
a secret lock; it had got under the floor somehow, and if it had not been for
the fire it would never have been found! The whole thing is, of course, an
absolute fabrication, though when he spoke of Nina Alexandrovna he wept! She’s a
grand woman, is Nina Alexandrovna, though she is very angry with me!”

She paused a moment as though getting breath, or trying to master her feeling of
annoyance. “To the twelfth century, and those immediately preceding and
following it. We are told by historians that widespread famines occurred in
those days every two or three years, and such was the condition of things that
men actually had recourse to cannibalism, in secret, of course. One of these
cannibals, who had reached a good age, declared of his own free will that during
the course of his long and miserable life he had personally killed and eaten, in
the most profound secrecy, sixty monks, not to mention several children; the
number of the latter he thought was about six, an insignificant total when
compared with the enormous mass of ecclesiastics consumed by him. As to adults,
laymen that is to say, he had never touched them.”

“H’m! very well, Daria Alexeyevna; you have not stolen anything--agreed. But how
about the prince, now--look how he is blushing!”

“You have slept seven or perhaps eight minutes,” said Evgenie Pavlovitch.

“Yes, I have,” and the prince stopped again.

“I should tell it to no one but yourself, prince, and I only name it now as a
help to my soul’s evolution. When I die, that secret will die with me! But,
excellency, if you knew, if you only had the least idea, how difficult it 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 it will be quite
easy.’ Exactly what one has not got! Can you picture that to yourself? I got
angry at last, and said, ‘I suppose you would accept emeralds?’ ‘Certainly, we
accept emeralds with pleasure. Yes!’ ‘Well, that’s all right,’ said I. ‘Go to
the devil, you den of thieves!’ And with that I seized my hat, and walked out.”

“Ah! that’s it, no doubt!”

“Do you know the Rogojins?” asked his questioner, abruptly.
“Really, prince, I hardly expected after--after all our friendly
intercourse--and you see, Lizabetha Prokofievna--”

“Oh, I like that! That beats anything!” he cried convulsively, panting for
breath. “One is an absolute unbeliever; the other is such a thorough-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 have invented it. It’s the best thing
I’ve heard!”

“I don’t torment him, prince, I don’t indeed!” cried Lebedeff, hotly. “I love
him, my dear sir, I esteem him; and believe it or not, I love him all the better
for this business, yes--and value him more.”

“Never come near my house again!” cried Mrs. Epanchin, pale with rage. “Don’t
let me see as much as a _shadow_ of you about the place! Do you hear?”

The prince turned and came back, more confused than ever. When she burst out
laughing, 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 as pale as
death; but now the red blood had rushed back to his cheeks in a torrent.

“But who else _could_ it be, my very dear prince?” repeated Lebedeff, as sweet
as sugar again. “If you don’t wish me to suspect Mr. Burdovsky?”
“He won’t shoot himself; the boy is only playing the fool,” said General
Ivolgin, suddenly and unexpectedly, with indignation.
II.

“We demand, we demand, we demand, we do not beseech,” spluttered Burdovsky, red
as a lobster.

“Yes, I brought him down from town just after you had left the house.”

“Were you to blame, or not?”

He would have borne anything from her rather than this visit. But one thing
seemed to him quite clear--her visit now, and the present of her portrait on
this particular day, pointed out plainly enough which way she intended to make
her decision!

“Exactly, exactly! That is a true thought!” cried the prince. “From ennui, from
our ennui but not from satiety! Oh, no, you are wrong there! Say from _thirst_
if you like; the thirst of fever! And please do not suppose that this is so
small a matter that we may have a laugh at it and dismiss it; we must be able to
foresee our disasters and arm against them. We Russians no sooner arrive at the
brink of the water, and realize that we are really at the brink, than we are so
delighted with the outlook that in we plunge and swim to the farthest point we
can see. Why is this? You say you are surprised at Pavlicheff’s action; you
ascribe it to madness, to kindness of heart, and what not, but it is not so.

“Imagine, my dear,” cried the general, “it turns out that I have nursed the
prince on my knee in the old days.” His wife looked searchingly at him, and
glanced at the prince, but said nothing. The prince rose and followed her; but
hardly had they reached the drawing-room, and Nina Alexandrovna had begun to
talk hurriedly, when in came the general. She immediately relapsed into silence.
The master of the house may have observed this, but at all events he did not
take any notice of it; he was in high good humour.

“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 two entered the
verandah. “We know all about that! You’ve only to whistle and they come up in
shoals!” he continued, almost angrily. He was doubtless thinking of his own late
experiences with his boon companions.

A fortnight had passed since the events recorded in the last chapter, and the
position of the actors in our story had become so changed that it is almost
impossible for us to continue the tale without some few explanations. Yet we
feel that we ought to limit ourselves to the simple record of facts, without
much attempt at explanation, for a very patent reason: because we ourselves have
the greatest possible difficulty in accounting for the facts to be recorded.
Such a statement on our part may appear strange to the reader. How is anyone to
tell a story which he cannot understand himself? In order to keep clear of a
false position, we had perhaps better give an example of what we mean; and
probably the intelligent reader will soon understand the difficulty. More
especially are we inclined to take this course since the example will constitute
a distinct march forward of our story, and will not hinder the progress of the
events remaining to be recorded.

“Forgive me, it’s a schoolboy expression. I won’t do it again. I know quite
well, I see it, that you are anxious on my account (now, don’t be angry), and it
makes me very happy to see it. You wouldn’t believe how frightened I am of
misbehaving somehow, and how glad I am of your instructions. But all this panic
is simply nonsense, you know, Aglaya! I give you my word it is; I am so pleased
that you are such a child, such a dear good child. How _charming_ you can be if
you like, Aglaya.”

“Good Lord, he’s off again!” said Princess Bielokonski, impatiently.

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

So ended Aglaya; and, to look at her, it was difficult, indeed, to judge whether
she was joking or in earnest.
Aglaya blushed with pleasure. All these changes in her expression came about so
naturally and so rapidly--they delighted the prince; he watched her, and
laughed.

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 she ended by
hiding it in her table drawer, with a very strange, ironical smile upon her
lips.

“Again, I repeat, I cannot be blamed because I am unable to understand that
which it is not given to mankind to fathom. Why am I to be judged because I
could not comprehend the Will and Laws of Providence? No, we had better drop
religion.

“Not quite, esteemed prince,” replied Lebedeff, with some acerbity. “I confess I
thought of doing you the service of handing the letter over to yourself, but I
decided that it would pay me better to deliver it up to the noble lady
aforesaid, as I had informed her of everything hitherto by anonymous letters; so
when I sent her up a note from myself, with the letter, you know, in order to
fix a meeting for eight o’clock this morning, I signed it ‘your secret
correspondent.’ They let me in at once--very quickly--by the back door, and the
noble lady received me.”

The prince thought, too, that he looked vexed and annoyed, and not nearly so
friendly towards himself as he had been earlier in the night.

She was astonished and vexed, and her disappointment pleased Colia immensely. Of
course he could have undeceived her before she started, but the mischievous boy
had been careful not to do that, foreseeing the probably laughable disgust that
she would experience when she found her dear friend, the prince, in good health.
Colia was indelicate enough to voice the delight he felt at his success in
managing to annoy Lizabetha Prokofievna, with whom, in spite of their really
amicable relations, he was constantly sparring.

“Why? do you--”

“Duel! You’ve come to talk about a duel, too!” The prince burst out laughing, to
the great astonishment of Keller. He laughed unrestrainedly, and Keller, who had
been on pins and needles, and in a fever of excitement to offer himself as
“second,” was very near being offended.

“I suppose you’ll say there is nothing national about our literature either?”
said Alexandra.

“I am not surprised at that. After what you... But I do hate that way of looking
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 he wipes out the
disgrace with blood, or makes his assailant beg forgiveness on his knees! I
think that so very absurd and tyrannical. Lermontoff’s Bal Masque 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--I,” the general continued to whisper, clinging more and more tightly to the
boy’s shoulder. “I--wish--to tell you--all--Maria--Maria
Petrovna--Su--Su--Su.......”

Gania’s irritation increased with every word he uttered, as he walked up and
down the room. These conversations always touched the family sores before long.

“I don’t know, father.”
“I wish to work, somehow or other.”
“Better not read it now,” said the prince, putting his hand on the packet.
“Why did you add that?--There! Now you are cross again,” said the prince,
wondering.

“Well, when we tried it we were a party of people, like this, for instance; and
somebody proposed that each of us, without leaving his place at the table,
should relate something about himself. It had to be something that he really and
honestly considered the very worst action he had ever committed in his life. But
he was to be honest--that was the chief point! He wasn’t to be allowed to lie.”

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 three times
over the prince. She then nodded her head kindly at him once more.
“You will only excite him more,” he said. “He has nowhere else to go to--he’ll
be back here in half an hour. I’ve talked it all over with Colia; let him play
the fool a bit, it will do him good.”
“You found it? Thank God for that!”

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

“No, I tell you I did _not_.”

“If you were there yourself you must have known that I was _not_ there!”

He longed to get up and go to her at once--but he _could not_. At length, almost
in despair, he unfolded the letters, and began to read them.

“Have you quite taken up your quarters here?” asked the prince

“Well?”
At that moment Gania, accompanied by Ptitsin, came out to the terrace. From an
adjoining room came a noise of angry voices, and General Ivolgin, in loud tones,
seemed to be trying to shout them down. Colia rushed off at once to investigate
the cause of the uproar. “Idiot!” “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 only talking to put off the explanation that he had come for.
There were several rumours afloat, before long, which upset Totski’s equanimity
a good deal, but we will not now stop to describe them; merely mentioning an
instance or two. One was that Nastasia had entered into close and secret
relations with the Epanchin girls--a most unlikely rumour; another was that
Nastasia had long satisfied herself of the fact that Gania was merely marrying
her for money, and that his nature was gloomy and greedy, impatient and selfish,
to an extraordinary degree; and that although he had been keen enough in his
desire to achieve a conquest before, yet since the two friends had agreed to
exploit his passion for their own purposes, it was clear enough that he had
begun to consider the whole thing a nuisance and a nightmare. This idea was,
that if Rogojin were in Petersburg, though he might hide for a time, yet he was
quite sure to come to him--the prince--before long, with either good or evil
intentions, but probably with the same intention as on that other occasion. At
all events, if Rogojin were to come at all he would be sure to seek the prince
here--he had no other town address--perhaps in this same corridor; he might well
seek him here if he needed him. And perhaps he did need him. This idea seemed
quite natural to the prince, though he could not have explained why he should so
suddenly have become necessary to Rogojin. Rogojin would not come if all were
well with him, that was part of the thought; he would come if all were not well;
and certainly, undoubtedly, all would not be well with him. The prince could not
bear this new idea; he took his hat and rushed out towards the street. It was
almost dark in the passage. “Listen,” she began again; “I have long waited to
tell you all this, ever since the time when you sent me that letter--even before
that. Half of what I have to say you heard yesterday. I consider you the most
honest and upright of men--more honest and upright than any other man; and if
anybody says that your mind is--is sometimes affected, you know--it is unfair. I
always say so and uphold it, because even if your surface mind be a little
affected (of course you will not feel angry with me for talking so--I am
speaking from a higher point of view) yet your real mind is far better than all
theirs put together. Such a mind as they have never even _dreamed_ of; because
really, there are _two_ minds--the kind that matters, and the kind that doesn’t
matter. Isn’t it so?”

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

It was clear that she had been merely passing through the room from door to
door, and had not had the remotest notion that she would meet anyone.

Muishkin began to despair. He could not imagine how he had been so foolish as to
trust this man. He only wanted one thing, and that was to get to Nastasia
Philipovna’s, even at the cost of a certain amount of impropriety. But now the
scandal threatened to be more than he had bargained for. By this time Ardalion
Alexandrovitch was quite intoxicated, and he kept his companion listening while
he discoursed eloquently and pathetically on subjects of all kinds, interspersed
with torrents of recrimination against the members of his family. He insisted
that all his troubles were caused by their bad conduct, and time alone would put
an end to them.