and placed it on the rickety old sofa. The general meant to have said
much more, but as soon as he had stretched himself out, he turned his
face to the wall, and slept the sleep of the just.
With a grave and ceremonious air, Marfa Borisovna motioned the prince
to a chair at one of the card-tables. She seated herself opposite,
leaned her right cheek on her hand, and sat in silence, her eyes fixed
on Muishkin, now and again sighing deeply. The three children, two
little girls and a boy, Lenotchka being 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 the prince.
“Can you do something for me? I must see Nastasia Philipovna, and I
asked Ardalion Alexandrovitch just now to take me to her house, but he
has gone to sleep, as you see. Will you show me the way, for I do not
know the street? I have the address, though; it is close to the Grand
Theatre.”
“Nastasia Philipovna? She does not live there, and to tell you the
truth my father has never been to her house! It is strange that you
should have depended on him! She lives near Wladimir Street, at the
Five Corners, and it is quite close by. Will you go directly? It is
just half-past nine. I will show you the way with pleasure.”
Colia and the prince went off together. Alas! the latter had no money
to pay for a cab, so they were obliged to walk.
“I should have liked to have taken you to see Hippolyte,” said Colia.
“He is the eldest son of the lady you met just now, and was in the next
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
the circumstances in which you came... Somehow it touches me less, as
it concerns my father, while it is _his_ mother. That, of course, makes
a great difference. What is a terrible disgrace to a woman, does not
disgrace a man, at least not in the same way. Perhaps public opinion is
wrong in condemning one sex, and excusing the other. Hippolyte is an
extremely clever boy, but so prejudiced. 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 his
place I should certainly long for death. He is unhappy about his
brother and sisters, the children you saw. If it were possible, if we
only had a little money, we should leave our respective families, and
live together in a little apartment of our own. It is our dream. But,
do you know, when I was talking over your affair with him, he was
angry, and said that anyone who did not call out 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 invited you to
go and see her?”
“To tell the truth, she has not.”
“Then how do you come to be going there?” cried Colia, so much
astonished 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 she
will receive me, so much the better. If not, the matter is ended. As to
my clothes—what can I do?”
“Are you going there for some particular reason, or only as a way of
getting into her society, and that of her friends?”
“No, I have really an object in going... That is, I am going on
business it is difficult to explain, but...”
“Well, whether you go on business or not is your affair, I do not want
to know. The only important thing, in my eyes, is that you should not
be going there simply for the pleasure of spending your evening in such
company—cocottes, generals, usurers! If that were the case I should
despise and laugh at you. There are terribly few honest people here,
and hardly any whom one can respect, although people put on airs—Varia
especially! Have you noticed, prince, how many adventurers there are
nowadays? Especially here, in our dear Russia. How it has happened I
never can understand. There used 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 is probed by careless fingers.
We are for ever present at an orgy of scandalous revelations. Parents
blush when they remember their old-fashioned morality. At Moscow lately
a father was heard urging his son to stop at nothing—at nothing, mind
you!—to get money! The press seized upon the story, of course, and now
it is public property. Look at my father, the general! See what he 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 at me—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 finds excuses for money-lending, and says it is a necessity.
He talks about the economic movement, and the ebb and flow of capital;
the devil knows what he means. 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 it disgusting? And then, you would hardly
believe it, but my mother—Nina Alexandrovna—helps Hippolyte in all
sorts of ways, sends him money and clothes. 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,
that there 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 good deal of moral strength in helping people in such
circumstances.”
“Varia does it from pride, and likes showing off, and giving herself
airs. 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 it vulgar of her—but now, he is sometimes quite touched and
overcome by her kindness. 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 that
Gania does not know,” exclaimed the prince, as he considered Colia’s
last words.
“Do you know, I like you very much indeed, prince? I shall never forget
about this afternoon.”
“I like you too, Colia.”
“Listen to me! You are going to live here, are you not?” said Colia. “I
mean to get something to do directly, and earn money. Then shall 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 we must see. I
am really rather worried just now. What! are we there already? Is that
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 wish you
success; we agree so entirely that I can do so, although I do not
understand why you are here. Good-bye!” cried Colia excitedly. “Now I
will rush back and tell Hippolyte all about our plans and proposals!
But as to 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
porter will show you.”
XIII.
The prince was very nervous as he reached the outer door; but he did
his best to encourage himself with the reflection that the worst thing
that could happen to him would be that he would not be received, or,
perhaps, received, then laughed 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 he could fashion no satisfactory reply.
If only he could find an opportunity of coming close up to Nastasia
Philipovna and saying to her: “Don’t ruin yourself by marrying this
man. He does not love you, he only loves your money. He told me so
himself, and so did Aglaya Ivanovna, and I have come on purpose to warn
you”—but even that 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 and blushed. However, in spite of all
his fears and heart-quakings he went in, and asked for Nastasia
Philipovna.
Nastasia occupied a medium-sized, but distinctly tasteful, flat,
beautifully furnished and arranged. At one period of these five years
of Petersburg life, Totski had certainly not spared his expenditure
upon her. He had calculated upon her eventual love, and tried to tempt
her with a lavish outlay upon comforts and luxuries, knowing too well
how easily the heart accustoms itself to comforts, and how difficult it
is to tear one’s self away from luxuries 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. In fact, she went so far as to inform Totski
on several occasions that such was the case, which the latter gentleman
considered a very unpleasant communication indeed.
But, of late, Totski had observed many strange and original features
and characteristics in Nastasia, which he had neither known nor
reckoned upon in former times, and some of these fascinated him, even
now, in spite of the fact that all his old calculations with regard to
her were long ago cast to the winds.
A maid opened the door for the prince (Nastasia’s servants were all
females) and, to his surprise, received his request to announce him to
her mistress without any astonishment. Neither his dirty boots, nor his
wide-brimmed hat, nor his sleeveless cloak, nor his evident confusion
of manner, produced the least impression upon her. She helped him off
with his cloak, and begged him to wait a moment in the ante-room while
she announced him.
The company assembled at Nastasia Philipovna’s consisted of none but
her most intimate friends, and formed a very small party in comparison
with her usual gatherings on this anniversary.
In the first place there were present Totski, and General Epanchin.
They were both highly amiable, but both appeared to be labouring under
a half-hidden feeling of anxiety as to the result of Nastasia’s
deliberations with regard 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 to bring Varia with him; but Nastasia had not even asked
after her, though no sooner had he arrived than she had reminded him of
the episode between himself and the prince. The general, who had heard
nothing of it before, began to listen with some interest, while Gania,
drily, but with perfect candour, went through the whole history,
including the fact of his apology to the prince. He finished by
declaring that the prince was a most extraordinary man, and goodness
knows why he had been considered an idiot hitherto, for he was very far
from being one.
Nastasia listened to all this with great interest; but the conversation
soon turned to Rogojin and his visit, and this theme proved of the
greatest attraction to both Totski and the general.
Ptitsin was able to afford some particulars as to Rogojin’s conduct
since the afternoon. He declared that he had been busy finding money
for the latter ever since, and up to nine o’clock, Rogojin having
declared that he must absolutely have a hundred thousand roubles by the
evening. He added that Rogojin was drunk, of course; but that he
thought the money would be forthcoming, for the excited and intoxicated
rapture of the fellow impelled him to give any interest or premium that
was asked of him, and there were several others 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 was equally uncommunicative. The general seemed the most
anxious of all, and decidedly uneasy. The present of pearls which he
had prepared with so much joy in the morning had been accepted but
coldly, and Nastasia had smiled rather disagreeably as she took it from
him. Ferdishenko was the only person present in good spirits.
Totski himself, who had the reputation of being a capital talker, and
was usually the life and soul of these entertainments, was as silent as
any on this occasion, and sat in a state of, for him, most uncommon
perturbation.
The rest of the guests (an old tutor or schoolmaster, goodness knows
why invited; a young man, very timid, and shy and silent; a rather loud
woman of about forty, apparently an actress; and a very pretty,
well-dressed German lady who hardly said a word all the evening) not
only had no gift for enlivening the proceedings, but hardly knew what
to say for themselves when addressed. Under these 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, that she had not thought of inviting him. But her astonishment
once over, Nastasia showed such satisfaction that all prepared to greet
the prince with cordial smiles of welcome.
“Of course,” remarked General Epanchin, “he does this out of pure
innocence. It’s a little dangerous, perhaps, to encourage this sort of
freedom; but it is rather a good thing that he has arrived just at this
moment. 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, who loathed
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 the idea 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 will
repeat 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 a kind of compensation I am allowed to tell the truth, for
it is a well-known fact that only stupid people tell ‘the truth.’ Added
to this, I am a spiteful man, just because I am not clever. If I am
offended or injured I bear 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 Ivan Petrovitch Ptitsin says. (Of
course he never does so himself.) Excellency, no doubt you recollect
Kryloff’s fable, ‘The Lion and the Ass’? Well now, that’s you and I.
That fable was written precisely for us.”
“You seem to be talking nonsense again, Ferdishenko,” growled the
general.
“What is the matter, excellency? I know how to keep my place. When I
said just now that we, you and I, were the lion and the ass of
Kryloff’s fable, of course it is understood that I take the role of the
ass. Your excellency 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, but after 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 receive such
a man as I am? I quite understand. Now, could I, a Ferdishenko, be
allowed to sit shoulder to shoulder with a clever man like Afanasy
Ivanovitch? There is one explanation, only one. I am given the position
because it is so entirely inconceivable!”
But these vulgarities seemed to please Nastasia Philipovna, although
too often they were both rude and offensive. Those who wished to go to
her house were forced to put up with Ferdishenko. Possibly the latter
was not mistaken in imagining that he was received simply in order to
annoy Totski, who disliked him extremely. Gania also was often made the
butt of the jester’s sarcasms, who used this method of keeping in
Nastasia Philipovna’s good graces.
“The prince will begin by singing us a fashionable ditty,” remarked
Ferdishenko, and looked at the mistress of the house, to see what she
would say.
“I don’t think so, Ferdishenko; please be quiet,” answered Nastasia
Philipovna dryly.
“A-ah! if he is to be under special patronage, I withdraw my claws.”
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 saw you,”
she said, “and I am delighted to be able to thank you personally now,
and to express my pleasure at your resolution.”
So saying she gazed into his eyes, longing to see whether she could
make any guess as to the explanation of his motive in coming to her
house. The prince would very likely have made some reply to her kind
words, but he was so dazzled by 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 took his hand and led him towards her other guests. But
just before they reached the drawing-room door, the prince stopped her,
and hurriedly and in great agitation whispered to her:
“You are altogether perfection; even your pallor and thinness are
perfect; 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 spoil the whole
originality of the thing. I think what they say about you must be true,
that you are so original.—So you think me perfection, do you?”
“Yes.”
“H’m! Well, you may be a good reader of riddles but you are wrong
_there_, at all events. I’ll remind you of this, tonight.”
Nastasia introduced the prince to her guests, to most of whom he was
already known.
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 to herself.
“Dear me, there’s nothing so very curious about the prince dropping in,
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 he first
saw Nastasia Philipovna’s portrait, at General Epanchin’s. I remember
thinking at the time what I am now pretty sure of; and what, I may say
in passing, the prince confessed to myself.”
Gania said all this perfectly seriously, and without the slightest
appearance of 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, and there was
general laughter.
“Oh prince, prince! I never should have thought it of you;” said
General Epanchin. “And I imagined you a philosopher! Oh, you silent
fellows!”
“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,
harbour the noblest intentions,” said the old toothless schoolmaster,
most unexpectedly; he had not so much as opened his mouth before. This
remark provoked 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,
was apparently very fond of this old man, and rang the bell for more
tea to stop his coughing. It was now half-past ten o’clock.
“Gentlemen, wouldn’t you like a little champagne now?” she asked. “I
have it all ready; it will cheer us up—do now—no ceremony!”
This invitation to drink, couched, as it was, in such informal terms,
came very strangely from Nastasia Philipovna. Her usual entertainments
were not quite like 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
of mind, which became more evident each moment, and which none could
avoid noticing.
She took her glass, and vowed she would empty it three times that
evening. She was hysterical, and laughed aloud every other minute with
no apparent reason—the next moment relapsing into gloom and
thoughtfulness.
Some of her guests suspected that she must be ill; but concluded at
last that she was expecting something, for she continued to look at her
watch impatiently and 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—I feel
so cold,” replied Nastasia. She certainly had grown very pale, and
every now and then she tried to suppress a trembling in her limbs.
“Had we not better allow our hostess to retire?” asked Totski of the
general.
“Not at all, gentlemen, not at all! Your presence is absolutely
necessary to me tonight,” said Nastasia, significantly.
As most of those present were aware that this evening a certain very
important decision was to be taken, these words of Nastasia
Philipovna’s appeared to be fraught with much hidden interest. The
general and Totski exchanged looks; 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, 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.”
“What an extraordinary idea!” said the general.
“That’s the beauty of it, general!”
“It’s a funny notion,” said Totski, “and yet quite natural—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!” said the
actress.
“Did it succeed?” asked Nastasia Philipovna. “Come, let’s try it, let’s
try it; we really are not quite so jolly as we might be—let’s try it!
We may like it; it’s original, at all events!”
“Yes,” said Ferdishenko; “it’s a good idea—come along—the men begin. Of
course no one need tell a story if he prefers to be disobliging. We
must draw lots! Throw your slips of paper, gentlemen, into this 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 the rules!”
No one liked the idea much. Some smiled, some frowned; some objected,
but faintly, not wishing to oppose Nastasia’s wishes; for this new idea
seemed to be rather well received by her. She was still in an excited,
hysterical state, laughing convulsively at nothing and everything. Her
eyes were blazing, and her cheeks showed two bright red spots against
the white. The melancholy appearance of some of her guests seemed to
add to her sarcastic humour, and perhaps the very cynicism and cruelty
of the game proposed by Ferdishenko pleased her. At all events she was
attracted by the idea, and gradually her guests came round to her side;
the thing was original, at least, and might turn out to be amusing.
“And supposing it’s something that one—one can’t speak about before
ladies?” asked the timid and silent young man.
“Why, then of course, you won’t say anything about it. As if there are
not plenty of sins to your score without the need of those!” said
Ferdishenko.
“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 the
whole 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 worst action 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, after our 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,” said
Nastasia, smiling.
“But, pardon me, Mr. Ferdishenko, is it possible to make a game out of
this 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 I
stole three roubles.”
“Perhaps so; but it is hardly possible that you told it so that it
seemed like truth, or so that you were believed. And, as Gavrila
Ardalionovitch has said, the least suggestion of a falsehood takes all
point out of the game. It seems to me that sincerity, on the other
hand, is only possible if combined with a kind of bad taste that would
be utterly out of place here.”
“How subtle you are, Afanasy Ivanovitch! You astonish me,” cried
Ferdishenko. “You will remark, gentlemen, that in saying that I could
not recount the story of my theft so as to be believed, Afanasy
Ivanovitch has very ingeniously implied that I am not capable of
thieving—(it would have been bad 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, to business! Put in your slips,
ladies and gentlemen—is yours in, Mr. Totski? So—then we are all ready;
now prince, draw, please.” The prince silently put his hand into the
hat, and drew the names. Ferdishenko was first, 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 the prince
would come out first, and then the general. Well, gentlemen, I suppose
I must set a good example! What vexes me much is that I am such an
insignificant creature that it matters nothing to anybody whether I
have done bad actions or not! 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 Afanasy Ivanovitch that it is possible to
steal without being a thief?”
“Do go on, Ferdishenko, and don’t make unnecessary preface, or you’ll
never finish,” said Nastasia Philipovna. All observed how irritable and
cross she had become since her last burst of laughter; but none the
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, “and therefore
I talk too much, perhaps. Were I as witty, now, as Mr. Totski or the
general, 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 men in this world? Don’t you think we may say there does
not exist a single person so honest that he has never stolen anything
whatever in his life?”
“What a silly idea,” said the actress. “Of course it is not the case. I
have never stolen anything, for one.”
“H’m! very well, Daria Alexeyevna; you have not stolen anything—agreed.
But how about the prince, now—look how he is blushing!”
“I think you are partially right, but you exaggerate,” said the prince,
who had certainly blushed up, of a sudden, for some reason or other.
“Ferdishenko—either tell us your story, or be quiet, and mind your own
business. You exhaust all patience,” cuttingly and irritably remarked
Nastasia Philipovna.
“Immediately, immediately! As for my story, gentlemen, it is too stupid
and absurd to tell you.
“I assure you I am not a thief, and yet I have stolen; I cannot explain
why. It was at Semeon Ivanovitch Ishenka’s country house, one Sunday.
He had 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 Maria Ivanovna’s writing-table, I observed a
three-rouble note. She must have taken 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. I don’t know what possessed me to do
it, but it was done, and I went quickly back to the dining-room and
reseated myself at the dinner-table. I sat and waited there in a great
state of excitement. I talked hard, and told lots of stories, and
laughed like mad; then I joined the ladies.
“In half an hour or so the loss was discovered, and the servants were
being put under examination. Daria, the housemaid was suspected. I
exhibited the greatest interest and sympathy, and I remember that poor
Daria quite lost her head, and that I began assuring her, before
everyone, that I would guarantee her forgiveness on the part of her
mistress, if she would confess her guilt. They all stared at the girl,
and I remember a wonderful attraction in the reflection that here was I
sermonizing away, with the money in my own pocket all the while. I went
and spent the three roubles that very evening at a restaurant. I went
in and asked for a bottle of Lafite, and drank it up; I wanted to be
rid of the money.
“I did not feel much remorse either then or afterwards; but I would not
repeat the performance—believe it or not as you please. There—that’s
all.”
“Only, of course that’s not nearly your worst action,” said the
actress, with evident dislike in her face.
“That was a psychological phenomenon, not an action,” remarked Totski.
“And what about the maid?” asked Nastasia Philipovna, with undisguised
contempt.
“Oh, she was turned out next day, of course. It’s a very strict
household, there!”
“And you allowed it?”
“I should think so, rather! I was not going to return and confess next
day,” laughed Ferdishenko, who seemed a little surprised at the
disagreeable 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 expect
the 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 that glitters, you know; and because a man keeps his carriage he
need not be specially virtuous, I assure you, all sorts of people keep
carriages. And by what means?”
In a word, Ferdishenko was very angry and rapidly forgetting himself;
his whole face was drawn with passion. Strange as it may appear, he had
expected much better success for his story. These little errors of
taste on Ferdishenko’s part occurred very frequently. Nastasia trembled
with rage, and looked fixedly at him, whereupon he relapsed into
alarmed silence. He realized 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 can
play this game.”
“Then, general, it’s your turn,” continued Nastasia Philipovna, “and if
you refuse, the whole game will fall through, which will 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 Afanasy Ivanovitch to have
your turns, for I require the support of your example,” 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 confess that I
prepared a little story in anticipation of my turn.”
Nastasia smiled amiably at him; but evidently her depression and
irritability were increasing with every moment. Totski was dreadfully
alarmed to hear her promise a revelation out of her own life.
“I, like everyone else,” began the general, “have committed certain not
altogether graceful actions, so to speak, during the course of my life.
But the strangest thing of all in my case is, that I should consider
the little anecdote which I am now about to give you as a confession of
the worst of 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 know
ensigns—their blood is boiling water, their circumstances generally
penurious. Well, I had a servant Nikifor who used to do everything for
me in my quarters, economized and managed for me, and even laid hands
on anything he could find (belonging to other people), in order to
augment our household goods; but a faithful, honest fellow all the
same.
“I was strict, but just by nature. At that time we were stationed in a
small town. I was quartered at an old widow’s house, a lieutenant’s
widow of eighty years of age. She lived in a wretched little wooden
house, and had not even a servant, so poor was she.
“Her relations had all died off—her husband was dead and buried forty
years since; and a niece, who had lived with her and bullied her up to
three years ago, was dead too; so that she was quite alone.
“Well, I was precious dull with her, especially as she was so childish
that there was nothing to be got out of her. Eventually, she stole a
fowl of mine; the business is a mystery to this day; but it could have
been no one but herself. I requested to be quartered somewhere else,
and was shifted to the other end of the town, to the house of a
merchant with a large family, and a long beard, as I remember him.
Nikifor and I were delighted to go; but the old lady was not pleased at
our departure.
“Well, a day or two afterwards, when I returned from drill, Nikifor
says to 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. Nikifor
explained that the old lady refused to give it up, because, she said,
we had broken her bowl, and she must have our tureen in place of it;
she had declared that I had so arranged the matter with herself.
“This baseness on her part of course aroused my young blood to fever
heat; I jumped up, and away I flew.
“I arrived at the old woman’s house beside myself. She was sitting in a
corner all alone, leaning her face on her hand. I fell on her like a
clap of 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
thing happened. I looked at her, and she stared back with her eyes
starting out of her head, but she did not say a word. She seemed to
sway about as she sat, and looked and looked at me in the strangest
way. Well, I soon stopped swearing and looked closer at her, asked her
questions, but not a word could I get out of her. The flies were
buzzing about the room and only this sound broke the silence; 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, so that
it was some while before I actually got there. When I came in, Nikifor
met me. ‘Have you heard, sir, that our old lady is dead?’ ‘_dead_,
when?’ ‘Oh, an hour and a half ago.’ That meant nothing more nor less
than that she was dying at the moment when I pounced on her and began
abusing her.
“This produced a great effect upon me. I used to dream of the poor old
woman at nights. I really am not superstitious, but two days after, I
went to her funeral, and as time went on I thought more and more about
her. I said to myself, ‘This woman, this human being, lived to a great
age. She had children, a husband and family, friends and relations; her
household was busy and cheerful; she was surrounded by smiling faces;
and then suddenly they are gone, and she is left alone like a solitary
fly... like a fly, cursed with the burden of her age. At last, God
calls her to Himself. At sunset, on a lovely summer’s evening, my
little old woman passes away—a thought, you will notice, which offers
much food for reflection—and behold! instead of tears and prayers to
start her on her last journey, she has insults and jeers from 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, and even
now that I have time to look back at it calmly, I pity the poor old
thing no less. I repeat that I wonder at myself, for after all I was
not really responsible. Why did she take it into her head to die at
that moment? But the more I thought of it, the more I felt the weight
of it upon my mind; and I never got quite rid of the impression until I
put a couple of old women into an almshouse and kept them there at my
own expense. There, that’s all. I repeat I dare say I have committed
many a grievous sin in my day; but I cannot help always looking back
upon this as the worst action I have ever perpetrated.”
“H’m! and instead of a bad action, your excellency has detailed one of
your noblest deeds,” said Ferdishenko. “Ferdishenko is ‘done.’”
“Dear me, general,” said Nastasia Philipovna, absently, “I really never
imagined you had such a good heart.”
The general laughed with great satisfaction, and applied himself once
more to the champagne.
It was now Totski’s turn, and his story was awaited with great
curiosity—while all eyes turned on Nastasia Philipovna, as though
anticipating that his revelation must be connected somehow with her.
Nastasia, during the whole of his story, pulled at the lace trimming of
her sleeve, and never 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 his linen was exquisite. He had plump
white hands, and wore a magnificent diamond ring 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 action
of my life. In such circumstances there can, of course, be no doubt.
One’s conscience very soon informs one what is the proper narrative to
tell. 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 long like a stone on my heart. Some twenty years since, I paid a
visit to Platon Ordintzeff at his country-house. He had just been
elected marshal of the nobility, and had come there with his young wife
for the winter holidays. Anfisa Alexeyevna’s birthday came off just
then, too, and there were two balls arranged. At that time Dumas-fils’
beautiful work, _La Dame aux Camélias_—a novel which I consider
imperishable—had just come into fashion. In the provinces all the
ladies were in raptures over it, those who had read it, at least.
Camellias were all the fashion. Everyone inquired for them, everybody
wanted them; and a grand lot of camellias are to be got in a country
town—as you all know—and two balls to provide for!
“Poor Peter Volhofskoi was desperately in love with Anfisa Alexeyevna.
I don’t know whether there was anything—I mean I don’t know whether he
could possibly have indulged in any hope. The poor fellow was beside
himself to get her a bouquet of camellias. Countess Sotski and Sophia
Bespalova, as everyone knew, were coming with white camellia bouquets.
Anfisa wished for red ones, for effect. Well, her husband Platon was
driven desperate to find some. And the day before the ball, Anfisa’s
rival snapped up the only red camellias to be had in the place, from
under Platon’s nose, and Platon—wretched man—was done for. Now if Peter
had only been able to step in at this moment with a red bouquet, his
little hopes might have made gigantic strides. A woman’s gratitude
under such circumstances would have been boundless—but it was
practically an impossibility.
“The night before the ball I met Peter, looking radiant. ‘What is it?’
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 no children, and he and his wife are devoted to
flowers. He’s got some camellias.’ ‘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 go
away.’ ‘When shall you start?’ ‘Tomorrow morning at five o’clock.’ ‘Go
on,’ I said, ‘and good luck to you.’
“I was glad for the poor fellow, and went home. But an idea got hold of
me somehow. I don’t know how. It was nearly two in the morning. I rang
the bell and ordered the coachman to be waked up and sent to me. He
came. I gave him a tip of fifteen roubles, and told him to get the
carriage ready at once. 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, and
soon after six I was off, and at the old merchant Trepalaf’s.
“‘Camellias!’ I said, ‘father, save me, save me, let me have some
camellias!’ He was a tall, grey old man—a terrible-looking old
gentleman. ‘Not a bit of it,’ he says. ‘I won’t.’ Down I went on my
knees. ‘Don’t say so, don’t—think what you’re doing!’ I cried; ‘it’s a
matter of life and death!’ ‘If that’s the case, take them,’ says he. So
up I get, and cut such a bouquet of red camellias! He had a whole
greenhouse full of them—lovely ones. The old fellow sighs. I pull out a
hundred roubles. ‘No, no!’ says he, ‘don’t insult me that way.’ ‘Oh, if
that’s the case, give it to the village hospital,’ I say. ‘Ah,’ he
says, ‘that’s quite a different matter; that’s good of you and
generous. I’ll pay it in there for you with pleasure.’ I liked that old
fellow, Russian to the core, _de la vraie souche_. I went home in
raptures, but took another road in order to avoid Peter. Immediately on
arriving I sent up the bouquet for Anfisa to see when she awoke.
“You may imagine her ecstasy, her gratitude. The wretched Platon, who
had almost died since yesterday of the reproaches showered upon him,
wept on my shoulder. Of course poor Peter had no chance after this.
“I thought he would cut my throat at first, and went about armed ready
to meet him. But he took it differently; he fainted, and had brain
fever and convulsions. A month after, when he had hardly recovered, he
went off to the Crimea, and there he was shot.
“I assure you this business left me no peace for many a long year. Why
did I do it? I was not in love with her myself; I’m afraid it was
simply mischief—pure ‘cussedness’ on my part.
“If I hadn’t seized that bouquet from under his nose he might have been
alive now, and a happy man. He might have been successful in life, and
never have gone to fight the Turks.”
Totski ended his tale with the same dignity that had characterized its
commencement.
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 game and a
stupid one. I’ll just tell my story, as I promised, and then we’ll play
cards.”
“Yes, but let’s have the story first!” cried the general.
“Prince,” said Nastasia Philipovna, unexpectedly turning to Muishkin,
“here are my old friends, Totski and General Epanchin, who wish to
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
started and 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
seemed to lie upon his breast and suffocate him.
“N-no! don’t marry him!” he whispered at last, drawing his breath with
an effort.
“So be it, then. Gavrila Ardalionovitch,” she spoke solemnly and
forcibly, “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 agitated
tones.
Everyone in the room fidgeted in their places, and waited to see what
was coming next.
“Well, gentlemen!” she continued, gazing around in apparent
astonishment; “what do you all look so alarmed about? Why are you so
upset?”
“But—recollect, Nastasia Philipovna,” stammered Totski, “you gave a
promise, quite a free one, and—and you might have spared us this. I am
confused and bewildered, I know; but, in a word, at such a moment, and
before company, and all so-so-irregular, finishing off a game with a
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 you decide, so it shall be!’ If he
had said ‘yes,’ I should have given my consent! But he said ‘no,’ so I
refused. Here was my whole life hanging on his one word! Surely I was
serious enough?”
“The prince! What on earth has the prince got to do with it? Who the
deuce is the prince?” cried the general, who could conceal his wrath no
longer.
“The prince has this to do with it—that I see in him for the first time
in all my life, a man endowed with real truthfulness of spirit, and I
trust him. He trusted me at first sight, and I trust him!”
“It only remains for me, then, to thank Nastasia Philipovna for the
great delicacy with which she has treated me,” said Gania, as pale as
death, and with quivering lips. “That is my plain duty, of course; but
the prince—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 thousand roubles—I quite
understand you. Mr. Totski, I forgot to say, ‘Take your seventy-five
thousand roubles’—I don’t want them. I let you go free for nothing—take
your freedom! You must need it. Nine years and three months’ captivity
is enough for anybody. Tomorrow I shall start afresh—today I am a free
agent for the first time in my life.
“General, you must take your pearls back, too—give them to your
wife—here they are! Tomorrow I shall leave this flat altogether, and
then there’ll be no more of these pleasant little social gatherings,
ladies and 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
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.
At this moment there was a furious ring at the bell, and a great knock
at the door—exactly similar to the one which had startled the company
at Gania’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 is
about to happen.”
So saying, she reseated herself; a strange smile played on her lips.
She sat quite 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. “There is a whole
collection of men come—all tipsy—and want to see you. They say that
‘it’s Rogojin, and she knows all about it.’”
“It’s all right, Katia, let them all in at once.”
“Surely not _all_, ma’am? They seem so disorderly—it’s dreadful to see
them.”
“Yes _all_, Katia, all—every one of them. Let them in, or they’ll come
in whether you like or no. Listen! what a noise they are making!
Perhaps you are offended, gentlemen, that I should receive such guests
in your presence? I am very sorry, and ask your forgiveness, but it
cannot be helped—and I should be very grateful if you could all stay
and witness this 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 by Nastasia Philipovna, and that there was no use in
trying to stop her now—for she was little short of insane.
Besides, they were naturally inquisitive to see what was to happen.
There was nobody who would be likely to feel much alarm. There were but
two ladies present; one of whom was the lively actress, who was not
easily frightened, and the other the silent German beauty who, it
turned out, did not understand a word of Russian, and seemed to be as
stupid as she was lovely.
Her acquaintances invited her to their “At Homes” because she was so
decorative. She was exhibited to their guests like a valuable picture,
or vase, or statue, or firescreen. As for the men, Ptitsin was one of
Rogojin’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 a pillory. 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 her friends, seemed, he nearly wept, and
trembled with fright: but he would rather have died than leave Nastasia
Philipovna at such a crisis, for he loved her as if she were his own
granddaughter. Afanasy Ivanovitch greatly disliked having anything to
do with the affair, but he was too much interested to leave, in spite
of the mad turn things had taken; and a few words that had dropped from
the lips of Nastasia puzzled him so much, that he felt he could not go
without an explanation. He resolved therefore, to see it out, and to
adopt the attitude of silent spectator, as most suited to his dignity.
General Epanchin alone determined to depart. He was annoyed at the
manner in which his gift had been returned, as though he had
condescended, under the influence of passion, to place himself on a
level with Ptitsin and Ferdishenko, his self-respect and sense of duty
now returned together with a consciousness of what was due to his
social rank and official importance. In short, he plainly showed his
conviction that a man in his position could have nothing to do with
Rogojin and his companions. But Nastasia interrupted him at his first
words.
“Ah, general!” she cried, “I was forgetting! If I had only foreseen
this unpleasantness! I won’t insist on keeping you against your will,
although I should have liked you to be beside me now. In any case, I am
most grateful to you for your visit, and flattering attention... but if
you are afraid...”
“Excuse me, Nastasia Philipovna,” interrupted the general, with
chivalric generosity. “To whom are you speaking? I have remained until
now simply because of my devotion to you, and as for danger, I am only
afraid that the carpets may be ruined, and the furniture smashed!...
You should shut the door on the lot, in my opinion. But I confess that
I am extremely curious to see how it ends.”
“Rogojin!” announced Ferdishenko.
“What do you think about it?” said the general in a low voice to
Totski. “Is she mad? I mean mad in the medical sense of the word ....
eh?”
“I’ve always said she was predisposed to it,” whispered Afanasy
Ivanovitch slyly. “Perhaps it is a fever!”
Since their visit to Gania’s home, Rogojin’s followers had been
increased by two new recruits—a dissolute old man, the hero of some
ancient scandal, and a retired sub-lieutenant. A laughable story was
told of the former. He possessed, it was said, a set of false teeth,
and one day when he wanted money for a drinking orgy, he pawned them,
and was never able to reclaim them! The officer appeared to be a rival
of the gentleman who was so proud of his fists. He was known to none of
Rogojin’s followers, but as they 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 days of his prosperity he
had given away as much as fifteen roubles at a time. The rivals seemed
more than a little jealous of one another. The athlete appeared injured
at the admission of the “beggar” into the company. By nature taciturn,
he now merely growled occasionally like a bear, and glared
contemptuously upon the “beggar,” who, being somewhat of a man of the
world, and a diplomatist, tried to insinuate himself into the bear’s
good graces. He was a much smaller man than the athlete, and doubtless
was conscious that he must tread warily. Gently and without argument he
alluded to the advantages of the English style in boxing, and showed
himself a firm believer in Western institutions. The athlete’s lips
curled disdainfully, and without honouring his adversary with a formal
denial, he exhibited, as if by accident, that peculiarly Russian
object—an enormous fist, clenched, muscular, and covered with red
hairs! The sight of this pre-eminently national attribute was enough to
convince anybody, without words, that it was a serious matter 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 to Nastasia in view all day, and had done his best to prevent his
followers from drinking too much. He was sober himself, but the
excitement of this chaotic day—the strangest day of his life—had
affected him so that he was in 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 an agony of anxiety and a fever of suspense. His lieutenants had
worked so hard from five o’clock until eleven, that they actually had
collected a hundred thousand roubles for him, but at such terrific
expense, that the rate of interest was only mentioned among them in
whispers and with bated breath.
As before, Rogojin walked in advance of his troop, who followed him
with mingled self-assertion and timidity. They were specially
frightened of Nastasia Philipovna herself, for some reason.
Many of them expected to be thrown downstairs at once, without further
ceremony, the elegant and irresistible Zaleshoff among them. But the
party led by the athlete, without openly showing their hostile
intentions, silently nursed contempt and even hatred for Nastasia
Philipovna, and marched into her house 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, not unmixed with alarm. So many
things were entirely new to their experience—the choice furniture, the
pictures, the great statue of Venus. They followed their chief into the
salon, however, with a kind of impudent curiosity. There, the sight of
General Epanchin among the guests, caused many of them to beat a hasty
retreat into the adjoining room, the “boxer” and “beggar” being among
the first to go. A few only, of whom Lebedeff made one, stood their
ground; he had contrived to walk side by side with Rogojin, for he
quite understood the importance of a man who had a fortune of a million
odd roubles, and who at this moment carried a hundred thousand in his
hand. It may be added that the whole company, not excepting Lebedeff,
had the vaguest idea of the extent of their powers, and of how far they
could safely go. At some moments Lebedeff was sure that right was on
their side; at others he tried uneasily to remember various cheering
and reassuring 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 his heart was beating painfully. So he stood, gazing
intently, but timidly, for a few seconds. Suddenly, as though bereft of
his senses, he moved forward, staggering helplessly, towards the table.
On his way he collided against Ptitsin’s chair, and put his dirty foot
on the lace skirt of the silent lady’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 had carried with him into the drawing-room. This was a paper
packet, some six or seven 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
though awaiting his sentence.
His costume was the same as it had been in the morning, except for a
new silk handkerchief round his neck, bright green and red, fastened
with a huge diamond pin, and an enormous diamond ring on his dirty
forefinger.
Lebedeff stood two or three paces behind his chief; and the rest of the
band waited about near the door.
The two maid-servants were both peeping in, frightened and amazed at
this unusual and disorderly scene.
“What is that?” asked Nastasia Philipovna, gazing intently at Rogojin,
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, sit down,
please—take that chair. I shall have something to say to you presently.
Who are all these with you? The same party? Let them come in and sit
down. There’s room on that sofa, there are some chairs and there’s
another 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 to their distance from Nastasia.
Rogojin took the chair offered him, but he did not sit long; he soon
stood up again, and did not reseat himself. Little by little he began
to look around him and discern the other guests. Seeing Gania, he
smiled venomously and muttered to himself, “Look at that!”
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.
“This, gentlemen, is a hundred thousand roubles,” said Nastasia
Philipovna, addressing the company in general, “here, in this dirty
parcel. This afternoon Rogojin yelled, like a madman, that he would
bring me a hundred 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; then he 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, at Gania’s. I had gone to pay his
mother a visit—my future family, you know! And his sister said to my
very face, surely somebody will turn this shameless creature out. After
which she spat in her brother Gania’s face—a girl of character, that!”
“Nastasia Philipovna!” began the general, reproachfully. He was
beginning to put his own interpretation on the affair.
“Well, what, general? Not quite good form, eh? Oh, nonsense! Here have
I been sitting in my box at the French theatre for the last five years
like a statue of inaccessible virtue, and kept out of the way of all
admirers, like a silly little idiot! Now, there’s this man, who comes
and pays down his hundred thousand on the table, before you all, in
spite of my five years of innocence and proud virtue, and I dare be
sworn he has his sledge outside waiting to carry me off. He values me
at a hundred thousand! I see you are still angry with me, Gania! Why,
surely you never really wished to take _me_ into your family? _me_,
Rogojin’s mistress! What did the prince say just now?”
“I never said you were Rogojin’s mistress—you are _not!_” 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 away and rest! Of
course you would never go with this wretched fellow, in spite of his
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 it
were my business, I’d soon clear them all out!”
The actress was a kind-hearted woman, and highly impressionable. She
was very angry now.
“Don’t be cross, Daria Alexeyevna!” laughed Nastasia. “I was not angry
when I spoke; I wasn’t reproaching Gania. I don’t know how it was that
I ever could have indulged the whim of entering 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 to see 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 you knew the
general was going to give me, on the very eve of her marriage? And
Rogojin! Why, in your own house and before your own brother and sister,
he bargained with me! Yet you could come here and expect to be
betrothed to me before you left the house! You almost brought your
sister, too. Surely what Rogojin said about you is not really true:
that you would crawl all the way to the other end of the town, on hands
and knees, for three roubles?”
“Yes, he would!” said Rogojin, quietly, but with an air of absolute
conviction.
“H’m! and he receives a good salary, I’m told. Well, what should you
get but disgrace and misery if you took a wife you hated into your
family (for I know very well that you do hate me)? No, no! I believe
now that a man like you would murder anyone for money—sharpen a razor
and come up behind his best friend and cut his throat like a sheep—I’ve
read of such people. Everyone seems money-mad nowadays. No, no! I may
be shameless, but you are far worse. I don’t say a word about that
other—”
“Nastasia Philipovna, is this really you? You, once so refined and
delicate of speech. Oh, what a tongue! What dreadful things you are
saying,” cried the general, wringing his hands in real grief.
“I am intoxicated, general. I am having a day out, you know—it’s my
birthday! I have long looked forward to this happy occasion. Daria
Alexeyevna, you see that nosegay-man, that Monsieur aux Camelias,
sitting there laughing at us?”
“I am not laughing, Nastasia Philipovna; I am only listening with all
my attention,” 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 find me 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, and considered I was quite
justified.
“You say, take the hundred thousand and kick that man out. It is true,
it is an abominable business, as you say. I might have married long
ago, not Gania—Oh, no!—but that would have been abominable too.
“Would you believe it, I had some thoughts of marrying Totski, four
years ago! I meant mischief, I confess—but I could have had him, I give
you my word; he asked me himself. But I thought, no! it’s not
worthwhile to take such advantage of him. No! I had better go on to the
streets, or accept Rogojin, or become a washerwoman or something—for I
have nothing of my own, you know. I shall go away and leave everything
behind, to the last rag—he shall have it all back. And who would take
me without anything? Ask Gania, there, whether he would. Why, even
Ferdishenko wouldn’t have me!”
“No, Ferdishenko would not; he is a candid fellow, Nastasia
Philipovna,” said that worthy. “But the prince would. You sit here
making complaints, but just look at the prince. I’ve been observing him
for 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
and piercing, gaze.
“Here’s another alternative for me,” said Nastasia, turning once 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 about him
may be true—that he’s an—we know what. And what shall you live on, if
you are really so madly in love with Rogojin’s mistress, that you are
ready to marry her—eh?”
“I take you as a good, honest woman, Nastasia Philipovna—not as
Rogojin’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 all
nonsense. 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 air of a man absolutely sure of the truth of his words.
“I know nothing, Nastasia Philipovna. I have seen nothing. You are
right so far; but I consider that you would be honouring me, and not I
you. I am a nobody. You have suffered, you have passed through hell and
emerged pure, and that 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 thousand roubles, 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. Nastasia Philipovna, I love
you! I would die for you. I shall never let any man say one word
against you, Nastasia Philipovna! and if we are poor, I can work for
both.”
As the prince spoke these last words a titter was heard from
Ferdishenko; Lebedeff laughed too. The general grunted with irritation;
Ptitsin and Totski barely restrained their smiles. The rest all sat
listening, open-mouthed with wonder.
“But perhaps we shall not be poor; we may be very rich, Nastasia
Philipovna,” continued the prince, in the same timid, quivering tones.
“I don’t know for certain, and I’m sorry to say I haven’t had an
opportunity of finding out all day; but I received a letter from
Moscow, while I was in Switzerland, from a Mr. Salaskin, and he
acquaints me with the fact that I am entitled to a very large
inheritance. This letter—”
The prince pulled a letter out of his pocket.
“Is he raving?” said the general. “Are we really in a mad-house?”
There was silence for a moment. Then Ptitsin spoke.
“I think you said, prince, that your letter was from Salaskin? Salaskin
is a very eminent man, indeed, in his own world; he is a wonderfully
clever solicitor, and if he really tells you this, I think you may be
pretty sure that he is right. It so happens, luckily, that I know his
handwriting, for I have lately had business with him. If you would
allow me to see it, I should perhaps be 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 the
prince’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. Lebedeff could not stand it. He crept up and read over
Ptitsin’s shoulder, with the air of a naughty boy who expects a box on
the ear every moment for his indiscretion.
XVI.
“It’s good business,” said Ptitsin, at last, folding the letter and
handing it back to the prince. “You will receive, without the slightest
trouble, by the last will and testament of your aunt, a very large sum
of money indeed.”
“Impossible!” cried the general, starting up as if he had been shot.
Ptitsin explained, for the benefit of the company, that the prince’s
aunt had died five months since. He had never known her, but she was
his mother’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 been an eminent and very rich merchant. A year since it
had so happened that his only two sons had both died within the same
month. This sad event had so affected the old man that he, too, had
died very shortly after. He was a widower, and had no relations left,
excepting the prince’s aunt, a poor woman living on charity, who was
herself at the point of death from dropsy; but who had time, before she
died, to set Salaskin to work to find her nephew, and to make her will
bequeathing her newly-acquired fortune to him.
It appeared that neither the prince, nor the doctor with whom he lived
in Switzerland, had thought of waiting for further communications; but
the prince had 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 authenticity of this
matter. Anything that Salaskin writes you as regards your
unquestionable right to this inheritance, you may look upon as so much
money in your pocket. I congratulate you, prince; you may receive a
million and a half of roubles, perhaps more; I don’t know. All I _do_
know is that Paparchin was a very rich merchant indeed.”
“Hurrah!” cried Lebedeff, in a drunken voice. “Hurrah for the last of
the Muishkins!”
“My goodness me! and I gave him twenty-five roubles this morning as
though he were a beggar,” blurted out the general, half senseless with
amazement. “Well, I congratulate you, I congratulate you!” And the
general rose from his seat and solemnly embraced the prince. All came
forward with congratulations; even those of Rogojin’s party who had
retreated into the next room, now crept softly back to look on. For the
moment even Nastasia Philipovna was forgotten.
But gradually the consciousness crept back into the minds of each one
present that 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 left sitting at this time; the others had thronged round the
table in disorder, and were all talking at once.
It was generally agreed, afterwards, in recalling that evening, that
from this moment Nastasia Philipovna seemed entirely to lose her
senses. She continued to sit still in her place, looking around at her
guests with a strange, bewildered expression, 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 this was a jest, but
his face seemed to reassure her. She reflected, and smiled again,
vaguely.
“So I am really a princess,” she whispered to herself, ironically, and
glancing accidentally at Daria Alexeyevna’s face, she burst out
laughing.
“Ha, ha, ha!” she cried, “this is an unexpected climax, after all. 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
order some more champagne, will you? Katia, Pasha,” she added suddenly,
seeing the servants at the door, “come here! I’m going to be married,
did you hear? To the prince. He has a million and a half of roubles; he
is Prince Muishkin, and has asked me to marry him. Here, prince, come
and sit by me; and here comes the wine. Now then, ladies and gentlemen,
where are your congratulations?”
“Hurrah!” cried a number of voices. A rush was made for the wine by
Rogojin’s followers, though, even among them, there seemed some sort of
realization that the situation had changed. Rogojin stood and looked
on, with an incredulous smile, screwing up one side of his mouth.
“Prince, my dear fellow, do remember what you are about,” said the
general, 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 am the
princess now, you know. The prince won’t let you insult me. Afanasy
Ivanovitch, why don’t you congratulate me? I shall be able to sit at
table with your new wife, now. Aha! you see what I gain by marrying a
prince! A million and a half, and a prince, and an idiot into the
bargain, they say. What better 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’m going to marry the prince; I’m
richer than you are now.”
But Rogojin understood how things were tending, at last. An
inexpressibly painful expression came over his face. He wrung his
hands; a groan made its way up 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 prince wishes to
marry her, and you—”
“So do I, so do I! This moment, if I could! I’d give every farthing I
have to do it.”
“You drunken moujik,” said Daria Alexeyevna, once more. “You ought to
be kicked out of the place.”
The laughter became louder than ever.
“Do you hear, prince?” said Nastasia Philipovna. “Do you hear how this
moujik of a fellow goes on bargaining for your bride?”
“He is drunk,” said the prince, quietly, “and he loves you very much.”
“Won’t you be ashamed, afterwards, to reflect that your wife very
nearly ran away with Rogojin?”
“Oh, you were raving, you were in a fever; you are still half
delirious.”
“And won’t you be ashamed when they tell you, afterwards, that your
wife lived at Totski’s expense so many years?”
“No; I shall not be ashamed of that. You did not so live by your own
will.”
“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 deep emotion,
“I said before that I shall esteem your consent to be my wife as a
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 us laughed as well; I heard them. Very likely I expressed
myself funnily, and I may have looked funny, but, for all that, I
believe I understand where honour lies, and what I said was but the
literal truth. You were about to ruin yourself just now, irrevocably;
you would never have forgiven yourself for so doing afterwards; and
yet, you are absolutely blameless. It is impossible that your life
should be altogether ruined at your age. What matter that Rogojin came
bargaining here, and that Gavrila Ardalionovitch would have deceived
you if he could? Why do you continually remind us of these facts? I
assure you once more that very few could find it in them to act as you
have acted this day. As for your wish to go with Rogojin, that was
simply the idea of a delirious and suffering brain. You are still quite
feverish; you ought to be in bed, not here. You know quite well that if
you had gone with Rogojin, you would have become a washer-woman next
day, rather than stay with him. You are proud, Nastasia Philipovna, and
perhaps you have really suffered so much that you imagine yourself to
be a desperately guilty woman. You require a great deal of petting and
looking after, Nastasia Philipovna, and I will do this. I saw your
portrait this morning, and it seemed quite a familiar face to me; it
seemed to me that the portrait-face was calling to me for help. I—I
shall respect you all my life, Nastasia Philipovna,” concluded the
prince, as though suddenly recollecting himself, and blushing to think
of the sort of company before whom he had said all this.
Ptitsin bowed his head and looked at the ground, overcome by a mixture
of feelings. Totski muttered to himself: “He may be an idiot, but he
knows that flattery is the best road to success here.”
The prince observed Gania’s eyes flashing at him, as though they would
gladly annihilate him then and there.
“That’s a kind-hearted man, if you like,” said Daria Alexeyevna, 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, before
this; and not a single respectable man has ever proposed to marry me.
Do you hear, Afanasy Ivanovitch? What do _you_ think of what the prince
has just been saying? It was almost immodest, wasn’t it? You, Rogojin,
wait a moment, 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
though from a blow on the head.
“What are you thinking of, my dear Nastasia?” said Daria Alexeyevna in
alarm. “What are you saying?” “You are not going mad, are you?”
Nastasia Philipovna burst out laughing and jumped up from the sofa.
“You thought I should accept this good child’s invitation to ruin him,
did you?” she cried. “That’s Totski’s way, not mine. 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 the money at all
events. Come! I may not marry you, either. I don’t know. I suppose 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 fellow
Ferdishenko will always be pointing the finger of scorn at you. You
aren’t afraid, I know; but I should always be afraid that I had ruined
you, and that you would reproach me for it. As for what you say about
my doing you honour by marrying you—well, Totski can tell you all about
that. You had your eye on Aglaya, Gania, you know you had; and you
might have married her if you had not come bargaining. You are all like
this. You should choose, once for all, between disreputable women, and
respectable ones, or you are sure to get mixed. Look at the general,
how he’s staring at me!”
“This is too horrible,” said the general, starting to his feet. All
were standing up now. Nastasia was absolutely beside herself.
“I am very proud, in spite of what I am,” she continued. “You called me
‘perfection’ just now, prince. A nice sort of perfection to throw up a
prince and a million and a half of roubles in order to be able to boast
of the fact afterwards! What sort of a wife should I make for you,
after all I have said? Afanasy Ivanovitch, do you observe I have really
and truly thrown away a million of roubles? And you thought that I
should consider your wretched seventy-five thousand, with Gania thrown
in for a husband, a paradise of bliss! Take your seventy-five thousand
back, sir; you did not reach the hundred thousand. Rogojin cut a better
dash than you did. I’ll console Gania myself; I have an idea about
that. But now I must be off! I’ve been in prison for ten years. I’m
free at last! Well, Rogojin, what are you waiting 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 Alexeyevna was
approaching to protest against Nastasia’s conduct. “Get away, she’s
mine, everything’s mine! She’s a queen, get away!”
He was panting with ecstasy. He walked round and round Nastasia
Philipovna and told everybody to “keep their distance.”
All the Rogojin company were now collected in the drawing-room; some
were drinking, 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 Totski again made an attempt to go. Gania, too
stood hat in hand ready to go; but seemed 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 I haven’t taken your money yet;
there it all is on the table. Here, give me over that packet! Is there
a hundred thousand roubles in that one packet? Pfu! what abominable
stuff it looks! Oh! nonsense, Daria Alexeyevna; you surely did not
expect me to ruin _him?_” (indicating the prince). “Fancy him nursing
me! Why, he needs a nurse himself! The general, there, will be his
nurse now, you’ll see. Here, prince, look here! Your bride is accepting
money. What a disreputable woman she must be! And you wished to marry
her! What are 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 tears rolling down Nastasia’s own cheeks.) “It’s far better
to think 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 and Pasha 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’s better so, prince, it is indeed. You’d begin to despise me
afterwards—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 dreamer
myself, and I used to dream of you once. Very often during those five
years down at his estate I used to dream and think, and I always
imagined just such a good, 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 went mad; and then this fellow here would
come down. He would stay a couple of months 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 did not 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. “The troikas [Sledges
drawn by three horses abreast.] are at the door, bells and all.”
Nastasia Philipovna seized the packet of bank-notes.
“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?”
“Oh, wouldn’t he just!”
“Well, look here, Gania. I wish to look into your heart once more, for
the last time. You’ve worried me for the last three months—now it’s my
turn. Do you see this packet? It contains a hundred thousand roubles.
Now, I’m going to throw it into the fire, here—before all these
witnesses. As soon as the fire catches hold of it, you put your hands
into the fire and pick it out—without gloves, you know. You must have
bare hands, and you must turn your sleeves up. Pull it out, I say, and
it’s all yours. You may burn your fingers a little, of course; but then
it’s a hundred thousand roubles, remember—it won’t take you long to lay
hold of it and snatch it out. I shall so much admire you if you put
your hands into the fire for my money. All here present may be
witnesses that the whole packet of money is yours if you get it out. If
you don’t get it out, it shall burn. I will let no one else come;
away—get away, all of you—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 my own—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 raking a
couple of logs together. No sooner did a tongue of flame burst out than
she threw 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 general of 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, who was
as white as his handkerchief, and trembling like a leaf. He could not
take his eyes off the smouldering packet.
“She’s mad surely, isn’t she?” the general appealed to Totski.
“I told you she wasn’t an ordinary woman,” replied the latter, who was
as pale as anyone.
“Oh, but, positively, you know—a hundred thousand roubles!”
“Goodness gracious! good heavens!” came from all quarters of the room.
All now crowded round the fire and thronged to see what was going on;
everyone lamented and gave vent to exclamations of horror and woe. Some
jumped up on chairs in order to get a better view. Daria Alexeyevna ran
into the next room and whispered excitedly to Katia and Pasha. The
beautiful German disappeared altogether.
“My lady! my sovereign!” lamented Lebedeff, falling on his knees before
Nastasia Philipovna, and stretching out his hands towards the fire;
“it’s a hundred thousand roubles, it is indeed, I packed it up myself,
I saw the money! My queen, let me get into the fire after it—say the
word—I’ll put my whole grey head into the fire for it! I have a poor
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 of you! Gania,
what are you standing there for? Don’t stand on ceremony. Put in 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 was not prepared for this last, quite unexpected trial.
The crowd parted on each side of him and he was left face to face with
Nastasia Philipovna, three paces from her. She stood by the fire and
waited, with her intent gaze fixed upon him.
Gania stood before her, in his evening clothes, holding his white
gloves and hat in his hand, speechless and motionless, with arms folded
and eyes fixed on the fire.
A silly, meaningless smile played on his white, death-like lips. He
could not take his eyes off the smouldering packet; but it appeared
that something new had come to birth in his soul—as though he were
vowing to himself that he would bear this trial. He did not move from
his place. In a few seconds it became evident to all that he did not
intend to rescue the money.
“Hey! look at it, it’ll burn in another minute or two!” cried Nastasia
Philipovna. “You’ll hang yourself afterwards, you know, if it does! I’m
not joking.”
The fire, choked between a couple of smouldering pieces of wood, had
died down for the first few moments after the packet was thrown upon
it. But a little tongue of fire now began to lick the paper from below,
and soon, gathering courage, mounted the sides of the parcel, and crept
around it. In another moment, the whole of it burst into flames, and
the exclamations of woe and horror were redoubled.
“Nastasia Philipovna!” lamented Lebedeff again, straining towards the
fireplace; but Rogojin dragged him away, and pushed him to the rear
once more.
The whole of Rogojin’s being was concentrated in one rapturous gaze of
ecstasy. He could not take his eyes off Nastasia. He stood drinking her
in, as it 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’s the 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 beside
himself with ecstasy.
The prince watched the whole scene, silent and dejected.
“I’ll pull it out with my teeth for one thousand,” said Ferdishenko.
“So would I,” said another, from behind, “with pleasure. Devil take the
thing!” he added, in a tempest of despair, “it will all be burnt up in
a minute—It’s burning, it’s burning!”
“It’s burning, it’s burning!” cried all, thronging nearer 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 the door. But he had not gone a couple of steps when he tottered
and fell to the ground.
“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
evident that the contents were hardly touched. The packet had been
wrapped in a threefold covering of newspaper, and the notes were safe.
All breathed more freely.
“Some dirty little thousand or so may be touched,” said Lebedeff,
immensely relieved, “but there’s very little harm done, after all.”
“It’s all his—the whole packet is for him, do you hear—all of you?”
cried Nastasia Philipovna, placing the packet by the side of Gania. “He
restrained himself, and didn’t go after it; so his self-respect is
greater than his thirst for money. All right—he’ll come to directly—he
must have the packet or he’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. I give it to him, fully conscious of my action,
as recompense for—well, for anything 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 the
entrance-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
you going to? And on your birthday, too!” cried the four girls, crying
over her and kissing her hands.
“I am going out into the world, Katia; perhaps I shall be a laundress.
I don’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
into the troikas, all the bells tinkling a merry accompaniment the
while. The general 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 she is. I am
speaking to you like a father.”
The prince glanced at him, but said nothing. He shook himself free, and
rushed on downstairs.
The general was just in time to see the prince take the first sledge he
could get, 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 some new thoughts, and some new hopes and calculations
developing in his brain, and with the pearls in his pocket, for he had
not forgotten to bring them along with 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 a ruined woman. Mad!
mad! However, the prince is not for Nastasia Philipovna now,—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 among
the Japanese?” said Ptitsin. “The offended party there, they say,
marches off to his insulter and says to him, ‘You insulted me, so I
have come to rip myself open before your eyes;’ and with these words he
does actually rip his stomach open before his enemy, and considers,
doubtless, that he is having all possible and necessary satisfaction
and revenge. There are strange 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 have observed,
my dear Ptitsin, that I did all I possibly could. I could do no more
than I did. And you must admit that there are some rare qualities in
this woman. I felt I could not speak in that Bedlam, or I should have
been tempted to cry out, when she reproached me, that she herself was
my best justification. Such a woman could make anyone forget all
reason—everything! Even that moujik, Rogojin, you saw, brought her a
hundred thousand roubles! Of course, all that happened tonight was
ephemeral, fantastic, unseemly—yet it lacked neither colour nor
originality. My God! What might not have been made of such a character
combined with such beauty! Yet in spite of all efforts—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.