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“I love Aglaya Ivanovna--she knows it,--and I think she must have long known
it.”

At this moment there was a terrific bang at the front door, almost enough to
break it down. Some most unusual visitor must have arrived. Colia ran to open.
“Oh, he was very likely joking; he said it for fun.”
“And do you not live in idleness?”

“What are you making such a fuss about?” said the old lady, with annoyance. “You
are a good fellow, but very silly. One gives you a halfpenny, and you are as
grateful as though one had saved your life. You think this is praiseworthy on
your part, but it is not--it is not, indeed.”

“There are people who find satisfaction in their own touchy feelings, especially
when they have just taken the deepest offence; at such moments they feel 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 that they
have been ten times as angry as they need have been.

“What are you thinking of, my dear Nastasia?” said Daria Alexeyevna in alarm.
“What are you saying?” “You are not going mad, are you?”

“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 earlier manner.

“Oh, dear!” cried the prince, confused, trying to hurry his words out, and
growing more and more eager every moment: “I’ve gone and said another stupid
thing. I don’t know what to say. I--I didn’t mean that, you know--I--I--he
really was such a splendid man, wasn’t he?”

“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 in the old country. I’ve
grown quite out of the way of it.”
“Mamma!” cried Alexandra, significantly.
“Tell me, why didn’t you put me right when I made such a dreadful mistake just
now?” continued the latter, examining the prince from head to foot without the
slightest ceremony. She awaited the answer as though convinced that it would be
so foolish that she must inevitably fail to restrain her laughter over it.
When day dawned, two passengers in one of the third-class carriages found
themselves opposite each other. Both were young fellows, both were rather poorly
dressed, both had remarkable faces, and both were evidently anxious to start a
conversation. If they had but known why, at this particular moment, they were
both remarkable persons, they would undoubtedly have wondered at the strange
chance which had set them down opposite to one another in a third-class carriage
of the Warsaw Railway Company.
“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 a shot at me, by all means; I should
rather like it. Ha, ha, ha! I know how to load a pistol now; do you know how to
load a pistol, Keller? First, you have to buy the powder, you know; it mustn’t
be wet, and it mustn’t be that coarse stuff that they load cannons with--it must
be pistol powder. Then you pour the powder in, and get hold of a bit of felt
from some door, and then shove 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
thing wouldn’t go off! Ha, ha, ha! Isn’t that a grand reason, Keller, my friend,
eh? Do you know, my dear fellow, I really must kiss you, and embrace you, this
very moment. Ha, ha! How was it you so suddenly popped up in front of me as you
did? Come to my house as soon as you can, and we’ll have some champagne. We’ll
all get drunk! Do you know I have a dozen of champagne in Lebedeff’s cellar?
Lebedeff sold them to me the day after I arrived. I took the lot. We’ll invite
everybody! Are you going to do any sleeping tonight?”
“Do you hear, prince--do you hear that?” said Lizabetha Prokofievna, turning
towards him.
As to the girls, nothing was said openly, at all events; and probably very
little in private. They were proud damsels, and were not always perfectly
confidential even among themselves. But they understood each other thoroughly at
the first word on all occasions; very often at the first glance, so that there
was no need of much talking as a rule.
But when she had read it herself once more, it suddenly struck her that surely
that conceited boy, Colia, had not been the one chosen correspondent of the
prince all this while. She determined to ask him, and did so with an exaggerated
show of carelessness. He informed her haughtily that though he had given the
prince his permanent address when the latter left town, and had offered his
services, the prince had never before given him any commission to perform, nor
had he written until the following lines arrived, with Aglaya’s letter. Aglaya
took the note, and read it.

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

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.

“That they do _not_ know about it in the house is quite certain, the rest of
them, I mean; but you have given me an idea. Aglaya perhaps knows. She alone,
though, if anyone; for the sisters were as astonished as I was to hear her speak
so seriously. If she knows, the prince must have told her.”

“Footsteps?”

To his consternation the good people at the lodgings had not only heard nothing
of Nastasia, but all came out to look at him as if he were a marvel of some
sort. The whole family, of all ages, surrounded him, and he was begged to enter.
He guessed at once that they knew perfectly well who he was, and that yesterday
ought to have been his wedding-day; and further that they were dying to ask
about the wedding, and especially about why he should be here now, inquiring for
the woman who in all reasonable human probability might have been expected to be
with him in Pavlofsk.

“And you have it still?”

“Oh, there is no reason, of course, and I suppose there is nothing in common
between us, or very little; for if I am Prince Muishkin, and your wife happens
to be a member of my house, that can hardly be called a ‘reason.’ I quite
understand that. And yet that was my whole motive for coming. You see I have not
been in Russia for four years, and knew very little about anything when I left.
I had been very ill for a long time, and I feel now the need of a few good
friends. In fact, I have a certain question upon which I much need advice, and
do not know whom to go to for it. I thought of your family when I was passing
through Berlin. ‘They are almost relations,’ 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 they are kind people;’ and I have heard that you are very kind people!”
“Ah!” cried Hippolyte, turning towards Evgenie Pavlovitch, and looking at him
with a queer sort of curiosity. “Hurrah!” cried Lebedeff, in a drunken voice.
“Hurrah for the last of the Muishkins!”
He had gone to the front door, and was kept waiting a long while before anyone
came. At last the door of old Mrs. Rogojin’s flat was opened, and an aged
servant appeared.
“In the first place, that is a considerable admission, and in the second place,
one of the above was a peasant, and the other two were both landed proprietors!”

“As much as usual, prince--why?”

The words burst involuntarily from every mouth. All present started up in
bewildered excitement; all surrounded her; all had listened uneasily to her
wild, disconnected sentences. All felt that something had happened, something
had gone very far wrong indeed, but no one could make head or tail of the
matter.
“All this is mere jealousy--it is some malady of yours, Parfen! You exaggerate
everything,” said the prince, excessively agitated. “What are you doing?”

“However, within three weeks my determination was taken, owing to a very strange
circumstance.

“Gania, I have an idea. I wish to recompense you--why should you lose all?
Rogojin, would he crawl for three roubles as far as the Vassiliostrof?”

“It was a princely action!” sneered Hippolyte.

“You are crying, aren’t you?”
The prince’s body slipped convulsively down the steps till it rested at the
bottom. Very soon, in five minutes or so, he was discovered, and a crowd
collected around him.
“Come to Aglaya--quick, quick!”

Nastasia Philipovna, who up to now had been walking along as though she had not
noticed the Epanchin party, suddenly turned her head in their direction, as
though she had just observed Evgenie Pavlovitch sitting there for the first
time.

“Oh, don’t apologize. No, I don’t think I have either talents or special
abilities of any kind; on the contrary. I have always been an invalid and unable
to learn much. As for bread, I should think--” “But what right had you?” said
Hippolyte in a very strange tone.
“One point in your favour is that you seem to have a child-like mind, and
extreme truthfulness,” said the prince at last. “Do you know that that atones
for much?”

He gazed at Totski and the general with no apparent confusion, and with very
little curiosity. But when he observed that the prince was seated beside
Nastasia Philipovna, he could not take his eyes off him for a long while, and
was 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 a more or
less delirious condition; for not to speak of the excitements of the day, he had
spent the night before in the train, and had not slept more than a wink for
forty-eight hours.

“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 the best of
men... and then... then...”

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

Alexandra, however, found it difficult to keep absolute silence on the subject.
Long since holding, as she did, the post of “confidential adviser to mamma,” she
was now perpetually called in council, and asked her opinion, and especially her
assistance, in order to recollect “how on earth all this happened?” Why did no
one see it? Why did no one say anything about it? What did all that wretched
“poor knight” joke mean? Why was she, Lizabetha Prokofievna, driven to think,
and foresee, and worry for everybody, while they all sucked their thumbs, and
counted the crows in the garden, and did nothing? At first, Alexandra had been
very careful, and had merely replied that perhaps her father’s remark was not so
far out: that, in the eyes of the world, probably the choice of the prince as a
husband for one of the Epanchin girls would be considered a very wise one.
Warming up, however, she added that the prince was by no means a fool, and never
had been; and that as to “place in the world,” no one knew what the position of
a respectable person in Russia would imply in a few years--whether it would
depend on successes in the government service, on the old system, or what.

“Nastasia Philipovna!” lamented Lebedeff again, straining towards the fireplace;
but Rogojin dragged him away, and pushed him to the rear once more.

“I suppose you have felt that in your own case,” said Aglaya.

“All the while I was in their house I felt sure that somewhere beneath the floor
there was hidden away some dreadful corpse, wrapped in oil-cloth, perhaps buried
there by his father, who knows? Just as in the Moscow case. I could have shown
you the very spot!

“That picture! That picture!” cried Muishkin, struck by a sudden idea. “Why, a
man’s faith might be ruined by looking at that picture!”

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

A great deal of sympathy was expressed; a considerable amount of advice was
volunteered; Ivan Petrovitch expressed his opinion that the young man was “a
Slavophile, or something of that sort”; but that it was not a dangerous
development. The old dignitary said nothing.
“Hey! that’s it! You stumped up your money for nothing, and we believe in those
fellows, here!” remarked the black-haired individual, sarcastically.
“Yes, through an agent. My own name doesn’t appear. I have a large family, you
see, and at a small percentage--”

“And this is my son--my own son--whom I--oh, gracious Heaven! Eropegoff--Eroshka
Eropegoff didn’t exist!”

“How do you mean--applaud?”

“The repugnance to what must ensue almost immediately, and the uncertainty, were
dreadful, he said; but worst of all was the idea, ‘What should 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 every minute of it, so as
to waste not a single instant!’ He said that this thought weighed so upon him
and became such a terrible burden upon his brain that he could not bear it, and
wished they would shoot him quickly and have done with it.”

“And how do _you_ know that he left two million and a half of roubles?” asked
Rogojin, disdainfully, and not deigning so much as to look at the other.
“However, it’s true enough that my father died a month ago, and that here am I
returning from Pskoff, a month after, with hardly a boot to my foot. They’ve
treated me like a dog! I’ve been ill of fever at Pskoff the whole time, and not
a line, nor farthing of money, have I received from my mother or my confounded
brother!” At length, however, just as the visitors were on the point of
departing, Prince S. seemed suddenly to recollect himself. “Oh yes, by-the-by,”
he said, “do you happen to know, my dear Lef Nicolaievitch, who that lady was
who called out to Evgenie Pavlovitch last night, from the carriage?” The prince
asked a few more questions, and though he learned nothing else, he became more
and more agitated. “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 I am convinced that they ought to be clearly explained once for all....” A
movement of impatience was noticed in his audience as he resumed: “I merely wish
to state, for the information of all concerned, that the reason for Mr.
Pavlicheff’s interest in your mother, Mr. Burdovsky, was simply that she 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 have proofs
that this circumstance is almost, if not quite, forgotten. I may add that when
your mother was about ten years old, Pavlicheff took her under his care, gave
her a good education, and later, a considerable dowry. His relations were
alarmed, and feared he might go so far as to marry her, but she gave her hand to
a young land-surveyor named Burdovsky when she reached the age of twenty. I can
even say definitely that it was a marriage of affection. After his wedding your
father gave up his occupation as land-surveyor, and with his wife’s dowry of
fifteen thousand roubles went in for commercial speculations. As he had had no
experience, he was cheated on all sides, and took to drink in order to forget
his troubles. He shortened his life by his excesses, and eight years after his
marriage he died. Your mother says herself that she was left in the direst
poverty, and would have died of starvation had it not been for Pavlicheff, who
generously allowed her a yearly pension of six hundred roubles. Many people
recall his extreme fondness for you as a little boy. Your mother confirms this,
and agrees with others in thinking that he loved 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 Andreevitch had a partiality for unfortunates of every
kind, especially children. In my opinion 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 Pavlicheff was of you,--it was thanks to him you went to school,
and also had the advantage of special teachers--his relations and servants grew
to believe that you were his son, and that your father had been betrayed by his
wife. I may point out that this idea was only accredited generally during the
last years of Pavlicheff’s life, when his next-of-kin were trembling about the
succession, when the earlier story was quite forgotten, and when all opportunity
for discovering the truth had seemingly passed away. No doubt you, Mr.
Burdovsky, heard this conjecture, and did not hesitate to accept it as true. I
have had the honour of making your mother’s acquaintance, and I find that she
knows all about these reports. What she does not know is that you, her son,
should have listened to them so complaisantly. I found your respected mother at
Pskoff, ill and in deep poverty, as she has been ever since the death of your
benefactor. She told me with tears of gratitude how you had supported her; she
expects much of you, and believes fervently in your future success...”
It was true enough that everybody was laughing, the prince among them.

“Well, let me get my hat, at least.”

He lifted the curtain, paused--and turned to the prince. “Go in,” he said,
motioning him to pass behind the curtain. Muishkin went in.
“Oh, I don’t know what this means” cried Ivan Fedorovitch, transported with
indignation.
“I don’t believe it! It’s impossible! What object could they have?” He jumped up
from his chair in his excitement.
The prince took a step forward--then another--and paused. He stood and stared
for a minute or two.

“Oh-h-h! I’m sorry for that. I thought you were. I wonder why I always thought
so--but at all events you’ll help me, won’t you? Because I’ve chosen you, you
know.”

Colia was right; the Epanchin ladies were only a few steps behind him. As they
approached the terrace other visitors appeared from Lebedeff’s side of the
house--the Ptitsins, Gania, and Ardalion Alexandrovitch.

“Oh no! Never.”

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

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

“Well, _au revoir!_ Did you observe that he ‘willed’ a copy of his confession to
Aglaya Ivanovna?”

“Oh, I was told. Of course I don’t altogether believe it. I am very sorry that I
should have had to say this, because I assure you I don’t believe it myself; it
is all nonsense, of course. It was stupid of me to say anything about it.”

Princess Bielokonski, as she drove away on this eventful evening, took occasion
to say to Lizabetha Prokofievna:

“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 know better. 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! Be patient!”
“I’ve heard so. Well, we’ll leave that question just now. Why am I a
scandal-monger? Why did she call me a scandal-monger? And mind, _after_ she had
heard every word I had to tell her, and had asked all sorts of questions
besides--but such is the way of women. For _her_ sake I entered into relations
with Rogojin--an interesting man! At _her_ request I arranged a personal
interview between herself and Nastasia Philipovna. Could she have been angry
because I hinted that she was enjoying Nastasia Philipovna’s ‘leavings’? Why, I
have been impressing it upon her all this while for her own good. Two letters
have I written her in that strain, and I began straight off today about its
being humiliating for her. Besides, the word ‘leavings’ is not my invention. At
all events, they all used it at Gania’s, and she used it herself. So why am I a
scandal-monger? I see--I see you are tremendously amused, at this moment!
Probably you are laughing at me and fitting those silly lines to my case--

“Let him go on reading at all costs!” ordered Lizabetha Prokofievna, evidently
preserving her composure by a desperate effort. “Prince, if the reading is
stopped, you and I will quarrel.”

“Quite so, but don’t be in such a hurry! For since it has been the part of these
three men, and only these three, to say something absolutely their own, not
borrowed, so by this very fact these three men become really national. If any
Russian shall have done or said anything really and absolutely original, he is
to be called national from that moment, though he may not be able to talk the
Russian language; still he is a national Russian. I consider that an axiom. But
we were not speaking of literature; we began by discussing the socialists. Very
well then, I insist that there does not exist one single Russian socialist.
There does not, and there has never existed such a one, because all socialists
are derived from the two classes--the landed proprietors, and the seminarists.
All our eminent socialists are merely old liberals of the class of landed
proprietors, men who were liberals in the days of serfdom. Why do you laugh?
Give me their books, give me their studies, their memoirs, and though I am not a
literary critic, yet I will prove as clear as day that every chapter and every
word of their writings has been the work of a former landed proprietor of the
old school. You’ll find that all their raptures, all their generous transports
are proprietary, all their woes and their tears, proprietary; all proprietary or
seminarist! You are laughing again, and you, prince, are smiling too. Don’t you
agree with me?”

“Marie Alexandrovna is not at home,” said she, staring hard at the general. “She
has gone to her mother’s, with Alexandra Michailovna.”

He turned and went downstairs.

“He’s asleep! You were asleep,” she said, with contemptuous surprise.
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.
And Afanasy Ivanovitch heaved a deep sigh.

“Why, he wears an ‘order,’ and it looks so well!”

It was the first time they had met since the encounter on the staircase at the
hotel.

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