I’ll dictate to you. Now then, are you ready? Write, ‘I never condescend to bargain!’ Now put your name and the date. Let me see it. Capital! How beautifully you have written it! Thanks so much. Au revoir, prince. Wait a minute. I want to give you something for a keepsake. Come with me this way, will you? Read this. Oh! I know you haven’t read it, and that you could never be that man’s accomplice. Read it, I wish you to read it.


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


This man assures me. This man assures me, break off everything first


And what shall I tell him by way of answer?


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


Yes, your father kindly recommended me to him.


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


I’ll just get my parcel and we’ll go,


The answer—quick—the answer! What did she say? Did you give the letter? How, what? my letter? He never delivered it! I might have guessed it, oh! curse him! Of course she did not understand what I meant, naturally! Why—why—why didn’t you give her the note, you—


Excuse me; I was able to deliver it almost immediately after receiving your commission, and I gave it, too, just as you asked me to. It has come into my hands now because Aglaya Ivanovna has just returned it to me.


How? When?


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


To read? to read, and you read it?


Yes, I have just read it.


And she gave it you to read herself—herself?


Yes, herself; and you may believe me when I tell you that I would not have read it for anything without her permission.


It’s impossible, she cannot have given it to you to read! You are lying. You read it yourself!


I am telling you the truth, and believe me, I am extremely sorry that the circumstance should have made such an unpleasant impression upon you!


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


Yes, of course, she did say something!


Out with it then, damn it! Out with it at once!


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


Oh! that’s it, is it! She throws my letters out of the window, does she! Oh! and she does not condescend to bargain, while I do, eh? We shall see, we shall see! I shall pay her out for this. But how was it? how was it that you (idiot that you are), were so very confidential a couple of hours after your first meeting with these people? How was that, eh?


That is a thing I cannot undertake to explain,


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


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


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


Oh, we talked of a great many things. When first I went in we began to speak of Switzerland.


Oh, the devil take Switzerland!


Then about executions.


Executions?


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


Oh, damn the peasant girl! go on, go on!


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


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


Then I began to talk about faces, at least about the expressions of faces, and said that Aglaya Ivanovna was nearly as lovely as Nastasia Philipovna. It was then I blurted out about the portrait—


But you didn’t repeat what you heard in the study? You didn’t repeat that—eh?


No, I tell you I did not.


Then how did they—look here! Did Aglaya show my letter to the old lady?


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


But perhaps you may not have observed it, oh, you damned idiot, you! You can’t even describe what went on.


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


Do forgive me, prince! For Heaven’s sake, forgive me! You see what a miserable plight I am in, but you hardly know anything of the facts of the case as yet. If you did, I am sure you would forgive me, at least partially. Of course it was inexcusable of me, I know, but—


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


I am not going to let him go like this. The fellow has sucked everything out of me, and now he takes off his mask—there’s something more than appears, here we shall see. It shall all be as clear as water by tonight, everything!


Where’s your luggage?


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


I’ll bring it you directly. We only have a cook and one maid, so I have to help as much as I can. Varia looks after things, generally, and loses her temper over it. Gania says you have only just arrived from Switzerland?


Yes.


Is it jolly there?


Very.


Mountains?


I’ll go and get your bundle.


The maid shall bring your bed-linen directly. Have you a portmanteau?


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


There’s nothing there except this. Where did you put it?


Oh! but that’s all I have,


Ah! I thought perhaps Ferdishenko had taken it.


Don’t talk nonsense,


Oho! you can be nicer than that to me, you know—I’m not Ptitsin!


You ought to be whipped, Colia, you silly boy. If you want anything please apply to the servant. We dine at half-past four. You can take your dinner with us, or have it in your room, just as you please. Come along, Colia, don’t disturb the prince.


Is father in? Just a couple of words, prince, if you’ll excuse me. Don’t blab over there about what you may see here, or in this house as to all that about Aglaya and me, you know. Things are not altogether pleasant in this establishment—devil take it all! You’ll see. At all events keep your tongue to yourself for today.


I assure you I ‘blabbed’ a great deal less than you seem to suppose,


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


I think you might fairly remember that I was not in any way bound, I had no reason to be silent about that portrait. You never asked me not to mention it.


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


Ferdishenko,


Very well, what next?


A lodger here,


Do you wish to make acquaintance?


Ah! Got any money?


Not much.


How much?


Twenty-five roubles.


Let’s see it. How strange that it should have browned so. These twenty-five rouble notes brown in a most extraordinary way, while other notes often grow paler. Take it. I came here to warn you. In the first place, don’t lend me any money, for I shall certainly ask you to.


Very well.


Shall you pay here?


Yes, I intend to.


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


No.


Nor heard him?


No; of course not.


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


Why not?


Good-bye.


‘Tis he, ‘tis he! As though he were alive once more. I heard the familiar name—the dear familiar name—and, oh! how it reminded me of the irrevocable past—Prince Muishkin, I believe?


Exactly so.


General Ivolgin—retired and unfortunate. May I ask your Christian and generic names?


Lef Nicolaievitch.


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


My father’s name was Nicolai Lvovitch.


Lvovitch. I carried you in my arms as a baby,


Really?


Why, it’s twenty years since my father died.


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


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


No, sir—in the Bielomirsky; he changed into the latter shortly before his death. I was at his bedside when he died, and gave him my blessing for eternity. Your mother—


She died a few months later, from a cold,


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


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


Yes—yes—for a while, I think,


Prince, mother begs you to come to her,


As the true friend of your father, I wish to say a few words to you. I have suffered—there was a catastrophe. I suffered without a trial; I had no trial. Nina Alexandrovna my wife, is an excellent woman, so is my daughter Varvara. We have to let lodgings because we are poor—a dreadful, unheard-of come-down for us—for me, who should have been a governor-general; but we are very glad to have you, at all events. Meanwhile there is a tragedy in the house. Yes, a marriage is being arranged—a marriage between a questionable woman and a young fellow who might be a flunkey. They wish to bring this woman into the house where my wife and daughter reside, but while I live and breathe she shall never enter my doors. I shall lie at the threshold, and she shall trample me underfoot if she does. I hardly talk to Gania now, and avoid him as much as I can. I warn you of this beforehand, but you cannot fail to observe it. But you are the son of my old friend, and I hope—


Prince, be so kind as to come to me for a moment in the drawing-room,


Imagine, my dear, it turns out that I have nursed the prince on my knee in the old days.


I don’t remember any Nicolai Lvovitch. Was that your father?


Yes, but he died at Elizabethgrad, not at Tver,


So Pavlicheff told me.


No, Tver,


You knew Pavlicheff then?


Oh, yes—a wonderful fellow; but I was present myself. I gave him my blessing.


My father was just about to be tried when he died,


although I never knew of what he was accused. He died in hospital.


Oh! it was the Kolpakoff business, and of course he would have been acquitted.


Yes? Do you know that for a fact?


I should think so indeed! The court-martial came to no decision. It was a mysterious, an impossible business, one might say! Captain Larionoff, commander of the company, had died; his command was handed over to the prince for the moment. Very well. This soldier, Kolpakoff, stole some leather from one of his comrades, intending to sell it, and spent the money on drink. Well! The prince—you understand that what follows took place in the presence of the sergeant-major, and a corporal—the prince rated Kolpakoff soundly, and threatened to have him flogged. Well, Kolpakoff went back to the barracks, lay down on a camp bedstead, and in a quarter of an hour was dead: you quite understand? It was, as I said, a strange, almost impossible, affair. In due course Kolpakoff was buried; the prince wrote his report, the deceased’s name was removed from the roll. All as it should be, is it not? But exactly three months later at the inspection of the brigade, the man Kolpakoff was found in the third company of the second battalion of infantry, Novozemlianski division, just as if nothing had happened!


What?


It did not occur—it’s a mistake! Mon mari se trompe,


My dear, ‘se trompe’ is easily said. Do you remember any case at all like it? Everybody was at their wits’ end. I should be the first to say ‘qu’on se trompe,’ but unfortunately I was an eye-witness, and was also on the commission of inquiry. Everything proved that it was really he, the very same soldier Kolpakoff who had been given the usual military funeral to the sound of the drum. It is of course a most curious case—nearly an impossible one. I recognize that... but—


Father, your dinner is ready,


Very glad, I’m particularly hungry. Yes, yes, a strange coincidence—almost a psychological— Coming, coming,


You will have to excuse very much in my husband, if you stay with us, but he will not disturb you often. He dines alone. Everyone has his little peculiarities, you know, and some people perhaps have more than those who are most pointed at and laughed at. One thing I must beg of you—if my husband applies to you for payment for board and lodging, tell him that you have already paid me. Of course anything paid by you to the general would be as fully settled as if paid to me, so far as you are concerned; but I wish it to be so, if you please, for convenience’ sake. What is it, Varia?


It’s a present from herself to him, the question is to be finally decided this evening.


This evening! Then it’s all settled, of course, and there’s no hope left to us. She has anticipated her answer by the present of her portrait. Did he show it you himself?


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


Prince. I wanted to inquire whether you have known my son long? I think he said that you had only arrived today from somewhere. I did not ask about Gania out of curiosity. I wish to know how much you know about him, because he said just now that we need not stand on ceremony with you. What, exactly, does that mean?


Is it today, Gania? Is what today? Oh. I see, you are here, that explains it! Is it a disease, or what, that you can’t hold your tongue? Look here, understand once for all, prince—


I am to blame in this, Gania—no one else. It’s better so, you know, Gania—especially as, from one point of view, the matter may be considered as settled,


If it’s all settled, Gania, then of course Mr. Ptitsin is right. Don’t frown. You need not worry yourself, Gania; I shall ask you no questions. You need not tell me anything you don’t like. I assure you I have quite submitted to your will. You are still suspicious, I see, and do not believe me; but you may be quite at your ease. There shall be no more tears, nor questions—not from my side, at all events. All I wish is that you may be happy, you know that. I have submitted to my fate; but my heart will always be with you, whether we remain united, or whether we part. Of course I only answer for myself—you can hardly expect your sister—


My sister again. Look here, mother, I have already given you my word that I shall always respect you fully and absolutely, and so shall everyone else in this house, be it who it may, who shall cross this threshold. I was not at all afraid for myself, Gania, as you know well. It was not for my own sake that I have been so anxious and worried all this time! They say it is all to be settled to-day. What is to be settled? She has promised to tell me tonight at her own house whether she consents or not,


We have been silent on this subject for three weeks, and it was better so; and now I will only ask you one question. How can she give her consent and make you a present of her portrait when you do not love her? How can such a—such a—


Practised hand—eh?


I was not going to express myself so. But how could you so blind her?


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


I have said already that the moment she comes in I go out, and I shall keep my word,


Out of obstinacy You haven’t married, either, thanks to your obstinacy. Oh, you needn’t frown at me, Varvara! You can go at once for all I care; I am sick enough of your company. What, you are going to leave us are you, too?


If you are too lazy to mend your bell, you should at least wait in the hall to let people in when they rattle the bell handle. There, now, you’ve dropped my fur cloak—dummy! Now then—announce me, quick! Now then, where are you taking my cloak to? Ha, ha, ha! Are you mad? Why, what an idiot it is! Go on, do! Whom are you going to announce?


Nastasia Philipovna,


And how do you know that? I have never seen you before! Go on, announce me—what’s that noise?


They are quarrelling,


Nastasia Philipovna!


At last I’ve stormed the citadel! Why do you tie up your bell? What are you looking so upset about? Introduce me, please!


Where’s your study? and where are the—the lodgers? You do take in lodgers, don’t you? Why, where are you going to squeeze lodgers in here? Don’t you use a study? Does this sort of thing pay?


Well, it is troublesome, rather, but I suppose it will ‘pay’ pretty well. We have only just begun, however—


What a face! My goodness, what a face you have on at this moment!


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


Why, are you a doctor, prince, or what? I declare you quite frightened me! Nastasia Philipovna, let me introduce this interesting character to you—though I have only known him myself since the morning.


Prince? He a Prince? Why, I took him for the footman, just now, and sent him in to announce me! Ha, ha, ha, isn’t that good!


Not bad that, not bad at all! se non è vero—


I rather think I pitched into you, too, didn’t I? Forgive me—do! Who is he, did you say? What prince? Muishkin?


He is a lodger of ours,


An idiot!


Tell me, why didn’t you put me right when I made such a dreadful mistake just now?


I was astonished, seeing you so suddenly—


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


Oho! ho, ho, ho! Now then, prince! My word, what things I would say if I had such a chance as that! My goodness, prince—go on!


So should I, in your place, I’ve no doubt! Your portrait struck me very forcibly this morning; then I was talking about you to the Epanchins; and then, in the train, before I reached Petersburg, Parfen Rogojin told me a good deal about you; and at the very moment that I opened the door to you I happened to be thinking of you, when—there you stood before me!


And how did you recognize me?


From the portrait!


What else?


I seemed to imagine you exactly as you are—I seemed to have seen you somewhere.


Where—where?


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


Bravo, prince!


Ardalion Alexandrovitch Ivolgin, an old soldier, unfortunate, and the father of this family; but happy in the hope of including in that family so exquisite—


I have heard that my son—


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


The children of the nineteenth century, and their parents—


Nastasia Philipovna, will you excuse the general for a moment? Someone is inquiring for him,


Excuse him? Oh no, I have wished to see him too long for that. Why, what business can he have? He has retired, hasn’t he? You won’t leave me, general, will you?


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


General, they say you require rest,


My dear, my dear!


Won’t you leave the room, mamma? No, Varia, I shall sit it out to the end.


Can’t you get him out of the room, somehow? Do, please. Curse that Gania!


Oh yes, I knew General Epanchin well, he and Prince Nicolai Ivanovitch Muishkin—whose son I have this day embraced after an absence of twenty years—and I, were three inseparables. Alas one is in the grave, torn to pieces by calumnies and bullets; another is now before you, still battling with calumnies and bullets—


Bullets?


Yes, here in my chest. I received them at the siege of Kars, and I feel them in bad weather now. And as to the third of our trio, Epanchin, of course after that little affair with the poodle in the railway carriage, it was all up between us.


Poodle? What was that? And in a railway carriage? Dear me,


Oh, just a silly, little occurrence, really not worth telling, about Princess Bielokonski’s governess, Miss Smith, and—oh, it is really not worth telling!


No, no, we must have it!


Yes, of course. C’est du nouveau.


Ardalion,


Papa, you are wanted!


Well, it is a silly little story, in a few words. A couple of years ago, soon after the new railway was opened, I had to go somewhere or other on business. Well, I took a first-class ticket, sat down, and began to smoke, or rather continued to smoke, for I had lighted up before. I was alone in the carriage. Smoking is not allowed, but is not prohibited either; it is half allowed—so to speak, winked at. I had the window open. Suddenly, just before the whistle, in came two ladies with a little poodle, and sat down opposite to me; not bad-looking women; one was in light blue, the other in black silk. The poodle, a beauty with a silver collar, lay on light blue’s knee. They looked haughtily about, and talked English together. I took no notice, just went on smoking. I observed that the ladies were getting angry—over my cigar, doubtless. One looked at me through her tortoise-shell eyeglass.


I took no notice, because they never said a word. If they didn’t like the cigar, why couldn’t they say so? Not a word, not a hint! Suddenly, and without the very slightest suspicion of warning, ‘light blue’ seizes my cigar from between my fingers, and, wheugh! out of the window with it! Well, on flew the train, and I sat bewildered, and the young woman, tall and fair, and rather red in the face, too red, glared at me with flashing eyes.


I didn’t say a word, but with extreme courtesy, I may say with most refined courtesy, I reached my finger and thumb over towards the poodle, took it up delicately by the nape of the neck, and chucked it out of the window, after the cigar. The train went flying on, and the poodle’s yells were lost in the distance.


Oh, you naughty man!


Bravo!


And I was right, truly right, for if cigars are forbidden in railway carriages, poodles are much more so.


Well, and what did the lady do?


She—ah, that’s where all the mischief of it lies! Without a word, as it were, of warning, she slapped me on the cheek! An extraordinary woman!


And you?


I lost my head!


Did you hit her?


No, oh no!—there was a great flare-up, but I didn’t hit her! I had to struggle a little, purely to defend myself; but the very devil was in the business. It turned out that ‘light blue’ was an Englishwoman, governess or something, at Princess Bielokonski’s, and the other woman was one of the old-maid princesses Bielokonski. Well, everybody knows what great friends the princess and Mrs. Epanchin are, so there was a pretty kettle of fish. All the Bielokonskis went into mourning for the poodle. Six princesses in tears, and the Englishwoman shrieking! Of course I wrote an apology, and called, but they would not receive either me or my apology, and the Epanchins cut me, too!


But wait. How is it that, five or six days since, I read exactly the same story in the paper, as happening between a Frenchman and an English girl? The cigar was snatched away exactly as you describe, and the poodle was chucked out of the window after it. The slapping came off, too, as in your case; and the girl’s dress was light blue!


I assure you, that exactly the same thing happened to myself!


I remembered there was some quarrel between father and Miss Smith, the Bielokonski’s governess,


How very curious, point for point the same anecdote, and happening at different ends of Europe! Even the light blue dress the same. I must really send you the paper.


You must observe, that my experience was two years earlier.


Ah! that’s it, no doubt!


Father, will you hear a word from me outside!


Ah! here he is, the Judas! How d’ye do, Gania, you old blackguard?


Yes, that’s the man!


Hallo, Gania, you blackguard! You didn’t expect Rogojin, eh? I suppose it is true, then! So that’s the end of it! Now you, sir, will you answer me or not? Now then, you— What, you here too, prince? Still in your gaiters, eh?


Excuse me, sirs, but what does all this mean? You are not in a stable, gentlemen, though you may think it—my mother and sister are present.


Yes, I see your mother and sister,


At all events, I must request you to step into the salon, and then I shall inquire—


What, he doesn’t know me! He doesn’t recognize Rogojin!


I have met you somewhere, I believe, but—


Met me somewhere, pfu! Why, it’s only three months since I lost two hundred roubles of my father’s money to you, at cards. The old fellow died before he found out. Ptitsin knows all about it. Why, I’ve only to pull out a three-rouble note and show it to you, and you’d crawl on your hands and knees to the other end of the town for it; that’s the sort of man you are. Why, I’ve come now, at this moment, to buy you up! Oh, you needn’t think that because I wear these boots I have no money. I have lots of money, my beauty,—enough to buy up you and all yours together. So I shall, if I like to! I’ll buy you up! I will! Oh, Nastasia Philipovna! don’t turn me out! Say one word, do! Are you going to marry this man, or not?


Certainly not; what are you thinking of? What could have induced you to ask such a question?


No? No? You are not going to, after all? And they told me—oh, Nastasia Philipovna—they said you had promised to marry him, him! As if you could do it!—him—pooh! I don’t mind saying it to everyone—I’d buy him off for a hundred roubles, any day pfu! Give him a thousand, or three if he likes, poor devil, and he’d cut and run the day before his wedding, and leave his bride to me! Wouldn’t you, Gania, you blackguard? You’d take three thousand, wouldn’t you? Here’s the money! Look, I’ve come on purpose to pay you off and get your receipt, formally. I said I’d buy you up, and so I will.


Get out of this, you drunken beast!


You’re right, clerk, you’re right, tipsy spirit—you’re right! Nastasia Philipovna, here are eighteen thousand roubles, and—and you shall have more—.


No—no—no!


No, you fool—you don’t know whom you are dealing with—and it appears I am a fool, too! Oh, curse it all! What a fool I was to listen to you!


Eighteen thousand roubles, for me? Why, you declare yourself a fool at once,


Forty thousand, then—forty thousand roubles instead of eighteen! Ptitsin and another have promised to find me forty thousand roubles by seven o’clock tonight. Forty thousand roubles—paid down on the nail!


Very well then, a hundred thousand! a hundred thousand! paid this very day. Ptitsin! find it for me. A good share shall stick to your fingers—come!


You are mad! You’re drunk—the police will be sent for if you don’t look out. Think where you are.


Yes, he’s boasting like a drunkard,


I do not boast! You shall have a hundred thousand, this very day. Ptitsin, get the money, you gay usurer! Take what you like for it, but get it by the evening! I’ll show that I’m in earnest!


Come, come; what’s all this?


Halloa! what’s this now? You come along with me, old fellow! You shall have as much to drink as you like.


Oh, it’s too horrible!


Surely there must be someone among all of you here who will turn this shameless creature out of the room?


That’s me, I suppose. I’m the shameless creature! Dear me, and I came—like a fool, as I am—to invite them over to my house for the evening! Look how your sister treats me, Gavrila Ardalionovitch.


What have you done?


What have I done? Where are you dragging me to? Do you wish me to beg pardon of this creature because she has come here to insult our mother and disgrace the whole household, you low, base wretch?


There’s a girl for you! Mr. Ptitsin, I congratulate you on your choice.


Enough—enough!


Are you going to cross my path for ever, damn you!


Very well—never mind about me; but I shall not allow you to strike her! Oh! how ashamed you will be of this afterwards! It’s nothing, it’s nothing!


Yes, he will be ashamed! You will be properly ashamed of yourself for having injured such a—such a sheep Prince, my dear fellow, leave this and come away with me. I’ll show you how Rogojin shows his affection for his friends.


I really think I must have seen him somewhere!


Oh, aren’t you ashamed of yourself—aren’t you ashamed? Are you really the sort of woman you are trying to represent yourself to be? Is it possible?


He guessed quite right. I am not that sort of woman,


Don’t come with me. Au revoir, till the evening—do you hear? Au revoir! Au revoir!


You’ve lost the game, Gania


You were quite right to go away! The row will rage there worse than ever now; and it’s like this every day with us—and all through that Nastasia Philipovna.


You have so many sources of trouble here, Colia,


Yes, indeed, and it is all our own fault. But I have a great friend who is much worse off even than we are. Would you like to know him?


Yes, very much. Is he one of your school-fellows?


Well, not exactly. I will tell you all about him some day.... What do you think of Nastasia Philipovna? She is beautiful, isn’t she? I had never seen her before, though I had a great wish to do so. She fascinated me. I could forgive Gania if he were to marry her for love, but for money! Oh dear! that is horrible!


Yes, your brother does not attract me much.


I am not surprised at that. After what you... But I do hate that way of looking at things! Because some fool, or a rogue pretending to be a fool, strikes a man, that man is to be dishonoured for his whole life, unless he wipes out the disgrace with blood, or makes his assailant beg forgiveness on his knees! I think that so very absurd and tyrannical. Lermontoff’s Bal Masque is based on that idea—a stupid and unnatural one, in my opinion; but he was hardly more than a child when he wrote it. I like your sister very much. Did you see how she spat in Gania’s face! Varia is afraid of no one. But you did not follow her example, and yet I am sure it was not through cowardice. Here she comes! Speak of a wolf and you see his tail! I felt sure that she would come. She is very generous, though of course she has her faults.


This is not the place for you. Go to father. Is he plaguing you, prince?


Not in the least; on the contrary, he interests me.


Scolding as usual, Varia! It is the worst thing about her. After all, I believe father may have started off with Rogojin. No doubt he is sorry now. Perhaps I had better go and see what he is doing,


Thank God, I have got mother away, and put her to bed without another scene! Gania is worried—and ashamed—not without reason! What a spectacle! I have come to thank you once more, prince, and to ask you if you knew Nastasia Philipovna before?


No, I have never known her.


Then what did you mean, when you said straight out to her that she was not really ‘like that’? You guessed right, I fancy. It is quite possible she was not herself at the moment, though I cannot fathom her meaning. Evidently she meant to hurt and insult us. I have heard curious tales about her before now, but if she came to invite us to her house, why did she behave so to my mother? Ptitsin knows her very well; he says he could not understand her today. With Rogojin, too! No one with a spark of self-respect could have talked like that in the house of her... Mother is extremely vexed on your account, too...


That is nothing!


But how meek she was when you spoke to her!


Meek! What do you mean?


You told her it was a shame for her to behave so, and her manner changed at once; she was like another person. You have some influence over her, prince,


Prince. I was a blackguard. Forgive me! Oh, come, forgive me, forgive me! If you like, I’ll kiss your hand. There!


I never, never thought you were like that. I thought you—you weren’t capable of—


Of what? Apologizing, eh? And where on earth did I get the idea that you were an idiot? You always observe what other people pass by unnoticed; one could talk sense to you, but—


Here is another to whom you should apologize,


No, no! they are all enemies! I’ve tried them often enough, believe me,


But if I beg you to make it up?


And you’ll go to Nastasia Philipovna’s this evening—


If you insist: but, judge for yourself, can I go, ought I to go?


But she is not that sort of woman, I tell you! She was only acting.


I know that—I know that; but what a part to play! And think what she must take you for, Gania! I know she kissed mother’s hand, and all that, but she laughed at you, all the same. All this is not good enough for seventy-five thousand roubles, my dear boy. You are capable of honourable feelings still, and that’s why I am talking to you so. Oh! do take care what you are doing! Don’t you know yourself that it will end badly, Gania?


There, they are all like that, just as if I do not know all about it much better than they do.


If you know it so well, why do you choose all this worry for the sake of the seventy-five thousand, which, you confess, does not cover it?


I didn’t mean that, but while we are upon the subject, let me hear your opinion. Is all this worry worth seventy-five thousand or not?


Certainly not.


Of course! And it would be a disgrace to marry so, eh?


A great disgrace.


Oh, well, then you may know that I shall certainly do it, now. I shall certainly marry her. I was not quite sure of myself before, but now I am. Don’t say a word: I know what you want to tell me—


No. I was only going to say that what surprises me most of all is your extraordinary confidence.


How so? What in?


That Nastasia Philipovna will accept you, and that the question is as good as settled; and secondly, that even if she did, you would be able to pocket the money. Of course, I know very little about it, but that’s my view. When a man marries for money it often happens that the wife keeps the money in her own hands.


Of course, you don’t know all; but, I assure you, you needn’t be afraid, it won’t be like that in our case. There are circumstances. And as to her answer to me, there’s no doubt about that. Why should you suppose she will refuse me?


Oh, I only judge by what I see. Varvara Ardalionovna said just now—


Oh she—they don’t know anything about it! Nastasia was only chaffing Rogojin. I was alarmed at first, but I have thought better of it now; she was simply laughing at him. She looks on me as a fool because I show that I meant her money, and doesn’t realize that there are other men who would deceive her in far worse fashion. I’m not going to pretend anything, and you’ll see she’ll marry me, all right. If she likes to live quietly, so she shall; but if she gives me any of her nonsense, I shall leave her at once, but I shall keep the money. I’m not going to look a fool; that’s the first thing, not to look a fool.


But Nastasia Philipovna seems to me to be such a sensible woman, and, as such, why should she run blindly into this business? That’s what puzzles me so,


You don’t know all, you see; I tell you there are things—and besides, I’m sure that she is persuaded that I love her to distraction, and I give you my word I have a strong suspicion that she loves me, too—in her own way, of course. She thinks she will be able to make a sort of slave of me all my life; but I shall prepare a little surprise for her. I don’t know whether I ought to be confidential with you, prince; but, I assure you, you are the only decent fellow I have come across. I have not spoken so sincerely as I am doing at this moment for years. There are uncommonly few honest people about, prince; there isn’t one honester than Ptitsin, he’s the best of the lot. Are you laughing? You don’t know, perhaps, that blackguards like honest people, and being one myself I like you. Why am I a blackguard? Tell me honestly, now. They all call me a blackguard because of her, and I have got into the way of thinking myself one. That’s what is so bad about the business.


I for one shall never think you a blackguard again. I confess I had a poor opinion of you at first, but I have been so joyfully surprised about you just now; it’s a good lesson for me. I shall never judge again without a thorough trial. I see now that you are not only not a blackguard, but are not even quite spoiled. I see that you are quite an ordinary man, not original in the least degree, but rather weak.


Has my father asked you for money?


No.


Don’t give it to him if he does. Fancy, he was a decent, respectable man once! He was received in the best society; he was not always the liar he is now. Of course, wine is at the bottom of it all; but he is a good deal worse than an innocent liar now. Do you know that he keeps a mistress? I can’t understand how mother is so long-suffering. Did he tell you the story of the siege of Kars? Or perhaps the one about his grey horse that talked? He loves to enlarge on these absurd histories. Why are you looking at me like that?


I am surprised to see you laugh in that way, like a child. You came to make friends with me again just now, and you said, ‘I will kiss your hand, if you like,’ just as a child would have said it. And then, all at once you are talking of this mad project—of these seventy-five thousand roubles! It all seems so absurd and impossible.


Well, what conclusion have you reached?


That you are rushing madly into the undertaking, and that you would do well to think it over again. It is more than possible that Varvara Ardalionovna is right.


Ah! now you begin to moralize! I know that I am only a child, very well. That is proved by my having this conversation with you. It is not for money only, prince, that I am rushing into this affair. If I reckoned on that I should certainly be deceived, for I am still too weak in mind and character. I am obeying a passion, an impulse perhaps, because I have but one aim, one that overmasters all else. You imagine that once I am in possession of these seventy-five thousand roubles, I shall rush to buy a carriage... No, I shall go on wearing the old overcoat I have worn for three years, and I shall give up my club. I shall follow the example of men who have made their fortunes. When Ptitsin was seventeen he slept in the street, he sold pen-knives, and began with a copeck; now he has sixty thousand roubles, but to get them, what has he not done? Well, I shall be spared such a hard beginning, and shall start with a little capital. In fifteen years people will say, ‘Look, that’s Ivolgin, the king of the Jews!’ You say that I have no originality. Now mark this, prince—there is nothing so offensive to a man of our time and race than to be told that he is wanting in originality, that he is weak in character, has no particular talent, and is, in short, an ordinary person. You have not even done me the honour of looking upon me as a rogue. Do you know, I could have knocked you down for that just now! You wounded me more cruelly than Epanchin, who thinks me capable of selling him my wife! Observe, it was a perfectly gratuitous idea on his part, seeing there has never been any discussion of it between us! This has exasperated me, and I am determined to make a fortune! I will do it! Once I am rich, I shall be a genius, an extremely original man. One of the vilest and most hateful things connected with money is that it can buy even talent; and will do so as long as the world lasts. You will say that this is childish—or romantic. Well, that will be all the better for me, but the thing shall be done. I will carry it through. He laughs most, who laughs last. Why does Epanchin insult me? Simply because, socially, I am a nobody. However, enough for the present. Colia has put his nose in to tell us dinner is ready, twice. I’m dining out. I shall come and talk to you now and then; you shall be comfortable enough with us. They are sure to make you one of the family. I think you and I will either be great friends or enemies. Look here now, supposing I had kissed your hand just now, as I offered to do in all sincerity, should I have hated you for it afterwards?


Certainly, but not always. You would not have been able to keep it up, and would have ended by forgiving me,


Oho, how careful one has to be with you, prince! Haven’t you put a drop of poison in that remark now, eh? By the way—ha, ha, ha!—I forgot to ask, was I right in believing that you were a good deal struck yourself with Nastasia Philipovna.


Ye-yes.


Are you in love with her?


N-no.


And yet you flush up as red as a rosebud! Come—it’s all right. I’m not going to laugh at you. Do you know she is a very virtuous woman? Believe it or not, as you like. You think she and Totski—not a bit of it, not a bit of it! Not for ever so long! Au revoir!


I don’t want any dinner, thanks, Colia. I had too good a lunch at General Epanchin’s.


It’s only a couple of yards. He’s sitting there over his bottle—and how they can give him credit, I cannot understand. Don’t tell mother I brought you the note, prince; I have sworn not to do it a thousand times, but I’m always so sorry for him. Don’t stand on ceremony, give him some trifle, and let that end it.


Come along, Colia, I want to see your father. I have an idea. I have not got a ten-rouble note, but here is a twenty-five. Change it and give me back the fifteen, or I shall be left without a farthing myself.


Oh, of course, of course; and you quite understand that I—


Yes; and I have another request to make, general. Have you ever been at Nastasia Philipovna’s?


I? I? Do you mean me? Often, my friend, often! I only pretended I had not in order to avoid a painful subject. You saw today, you were a witness, that I did all that a kind, an indulgent father could do. Now a father of altogether another type shall step into the scene. You shall see; the old soldier shall lay bare this intrigue, or a shameless woman will force her way into a respectable and noble family.


Yes, quite so. I wished to ask you whether you could show me the way to Nastasia Philipovna’s tonight. I must go; I have business with her; I was not invited but I was introduced. Anyhow I am ready to trespass the laws of propriety if only I can get in somehow or other.


My dear young friend, you have hit on my very idea. It was not for this rubbish I asked you to come over here it was to invite your alliance in the campaign against Nastasia Philipovna tonight. How well it sounds, ‘General Ivolgin and Prince Muishkin.’ That’ll fetch her, I think, eh? Capital! We’ll go at nine; there’s time yet.


Where does she live?


Oh, a long way off, near the Great Theatre, just in the square there—It won’t be a large party.


Do you see those brightly-lighted windows? Many of my old comrades-in-arms live about here, and I, who served longer, and suffered more than any of them, am walking on foot to the house of a woman of rather questionable reputation! A man, look you, who has thirteen bullets on his breast!... You don’t believe it? Well, I can assure you it was entirely on my account that Pirogoff telegraphed to Paris, and left Sebastopol at the greatest risk during the siege. Nelaton, the Tuileries surgeon, demanded a safe conduct, in the name of science, into the besieged city in order to attend my wounds. The government knows all about it. ‘That’s the Ivolgin with thirteen bullets in him!’ That’s how they speak of me.... Do you see that house, prince? One of my old friends lives on the first floor, with his large family. In this and five other houses, three overlooking Nevsky, two in the Morskaya, are all that remain of my personal friends. Nina Alexandrovna gave them up long ago, but I keep in touch with them still... I may say I find refreshment in this little coterie, in thus meeting my old acquaintances and subordinates, who worship me still, in spite of all. General Sokolovitch (by the way, I have not called on him lately, or seen Anna Fedorovna)... You know, my dear prince, when a person does not receive company himself, he gives up going to other people’s houses involuntarily. And yet... well... you look as if you didn’t believe me.... Well now, why should I not present the son of my old friend and companion to this delightful family—General Ivolgin and Prince Muishkin? You will see a lovely girl—what am I saying—a lovely girl? No, indeed, two, three! Ornaments of this city and of society: beauty, education, culture—the woman question—poetry—everything! Added to which is the fact that each one will have a dot of at least eighty thousand roubles. No bad thing, eh?... In a word I absolutely must introduce you to them: it is a duty, an obligation. General Ivolgin and Prince Muishkin. Tableau! At once? Now? You must have forgotten... No, I have forgotten nothing. Come! This is the house—up this magnificent staircase. I am surprised not to see the porter, but .... it is a holiday... and the man has gone off... Drunken fool! Why have they not got rid of him? Sokolovitch owes all the happiness he has had in the service and in his private life to me, and me alone, but... here we are.


You have made a mistake, general. Koulakoff... Koulakoff means nothing. This is Sokolovitch’s flat, and I am ringing at his door.... What do I care for Koulakoff?... Here comes someone to open. What a pity! What a pity! It’s just my luck! When your master and mistress return, my man, tell them that General Ivolgin and Prince Muishkin desired to present themselves, and that they were extremely sorry, excessively grieved... Alexandra Michailovna out, too! How disappointing! Would you believe it, I am always so unfortunate! May I most respectfully ask you to present my compliments to Alexandra Michailovna, and remind her... tell her, that with my whole heart I wish for her what she wished for herself on Thursday evening, while she was listening to Chopin’s Ballade. She will remember. I wish it with all sincerity. General Ivolgin and Prince Muishkin! You know I am a bit of a poet. Have you noticed it? The poetic soul, you know. But after all... after all I believe we made a mistake this time! I remember that the Sokolovitch’s live in another house, and what is more, they are just now in Moscow. Yes, I certainly was at fault. However, it is of no consequence.


Just tell me, may I count still on your assistance? Or shall I go on alone to see Nastasia Philipovna?


Count on my assistance? Go alone? How can you ask me that question, when it is a matter on which the fate of my family so largely depends? You don’t know Ivolgin, my friend. To trust Ivolgin is to trust a rock; that’s how the first squadron I commanded spoke of me. ‘Depend upon Ivolgin,’ said they all, ‘he is as steady as a rock.’ But, excuse me, I must just call at a house on our way, a house where I have found consolation and help in all my trials for years.


You are going home?


No... I wish... to visit Madame Terentieff, the widow of Captain Terentieff, my old subordinate and friend. She helps me to keep up my courage, and to bear the trials of my domestic life, and as I have an extra burden on my mind today...


It seems to me, that I was foolish to trouble you just now. However, at present you... Good-bye!


Indeed, you must not go away like that, young man, you must not! My friend here is a widow, the mother of a family; her words come straight from her heart, and find an echo in mine. A visit to her is merely an affair of a few minutes; I am quite at home in her house. I will have a wash, and dress, and then we can drive to the Grand Theatre. Make up your mind to spend the evening with me.... We are just there—that’s the house... Why, Colia! you here! Well, is Marfa Borisovna at home or have you only just come?


Oh no! I have been here a long while. I am keeping Hippolyte company. He is worse, and has been in bed all day. I came down to buy some cards. Marfa Borisovna expects you. But what a state you are in, father! Well, let us go in. You intend to introduce the prince?


Yes, my boy. I wish to present him: General Ivolgin and Prince Muishkin! But what’s the matter?... what?... How is Marfa Borisovna?


You know, father, you would have done much better not to come at all! She is ready to eat you up! You have not shown yourself since the day before yesterday and she is expecting the money. Why did you promise her any? You are always the same! Well, now you will have to get out of it as best you can.


I will wait here. I should like to surprise her. ....


There he is, that wicked, mean wretch! I knew it was he! My heart misgave me!


Come, let us go in—it’s all right,


Are you not ashamed? Are you not ashamed? You barbarian! You tyrant! You have robbed me of all I possessed—you have sucked my bones to the marrow. How long shall I be your victim? Shameless, dishonourable man!


Marfa Borisovna! Marfa Borisovna! Here is... the Prince Muishkin! General Ivolgin and Prince Muishkin,


Would you believe, would you believe that that man has not even spared my orphan children? He has stolen everything I possessed, sold everything, pawned everything; he has left me nothing—nothing! What am I to do with your IOU’s, you cunning, unscrupulous rogue? Answer, devourer! answer, heart of stone! How shall I feed my orphans? with what shall I nourish them? And now he has come, he is drunk! He can scarcely stand. How, oh how, have I offended the Almighty, that He should bring this curse upon me! Answer, you worthless villain, answer!


Here are twenty-five roubles, Marfa Borisovna... it is all that I can give... and I owe even these to the prince’s generosity—my noble friend. I have been cruelly deceived. Such is... life... Now... Excuse me, I am very weak. I am faint; excuse me! Lenotchka... a cushion... my dear!


I am very glad indeed to have met you here, Colia. 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. I should have liked to have taken you to see Hippolyte. 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? 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,


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? 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. 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.


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! 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.


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


Of course,


Especially as he asked himself,


What’s that got to do with it?


Why, he must pay toll for his entrance,


H’m! Prince Muishkin is not Ferdishenko,


Oh general, spare Ferdishenko! 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,


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,


The prince will begin by singing us a fashionable ditty,


I don’t think so, Ferdishenko; please be quiet. I was so sorry to have forgotten to ask you to come, when I saw you, and I am delighted to be able to thank you personally now, and to express my pleasure at your resolution.


Don’t apologize, 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.


Dear me, there’s nothing so very curious about the prince dropping in, after all,


It’s quite a clear case. 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.


I did not confess anything to you. I only answered your question.


Bravo! That’s frank, at any rate!


Oh prince, prince! I never should have thought it of you; 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,


Gentlemen, wouldn’t you like a little champagne now? I have it all ready; it will cheer us up—do now—no ceremony!


You seem to be a little feverish tonight,


Yes; I feel quite ill. I have been obliged to put on this shawl—I feel so cold,


Had we not better allow our hostess to retire?


Not at all, gentlemen, not at all! Your presence is absolutely necessary to me tonight,


Let’s play at some game!


I know a new and most delightful game,


What is it?


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!


That’s the beauty of it, general!


It’s a funny notion, and yet quite natural—it’s only a new way of boasting.


Why, it would be a game to cry over—not to laugh at!


Did it succeed? 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, 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!


And supposing it’s something that one—one can’t speak about before ladies?


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!


But I really don’t know which of my actions is the worst,


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,


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, 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? You don’t really mean us to play this game.


Whoever is afraid of wolves had better not go into the wood,


But, pardon me, Mr. Ferdishenko, is it possible to make a game out of this kind of thing? 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 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. Oh, dear! oh, dear! 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,


I have no wit, Nastasia Philipovna, 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. 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,


Ferdishenko—either tell us your story, or be quiet, and mind your own business. You exhaust all patience,


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,


That was a psychological phenomenon, not an action,


And what about the maid? Oh, she was turned out next day, of course. It’s a very strict household, there!


I should think so, rather! I was not going to return and confess next day,


How mean you were!


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?


Had we not better end this game?


It’s my turn, but I plead exemption,


You don’t care to oblige us?


I cannot, I assure you. I confess I do not understand how anyone can play this game.


Then, general, it’s your turn, 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,


Oh, if you put it in that way, 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. I, like everyone else, 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. Ferdishenko is ‘done.’


Dear me, general, I really never imagined you had such a good heart.


What simplifies the duty before me considerably, in my opinion, 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! father, save me, save me, let me have some camellias!


Not a bit of it. I won’t.


Don’t say so, don’t—think what you’re doing! it’s a matter of life and death!


If that’s the case, take them. No, no! don’t insult me that way.


Oh, if that’s the case, give it to the village hospital,


Ah, that’s quite a different matter; that’s good of you and generous. I’ll pay it in there for you with pleasure.


cussedness


You were right, Totski, 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!


Prince, 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.


Marry whom?


Gavrila Ardalionovitch Ivolgin,


N-no! don’t marry him!


So be it, then. Gavrila Ardalionovitch, 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!


But—recollect, Nastasia Philipovna, 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?


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. 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. 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.


Ah, ah! here’s the climax at last, at half-past twelve! Sit down, gentlemen, I beg you. Something is about to happen.


Goodness knows what it means, ma’am. 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.


Ah, general! 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. 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! What do you think about it? Is she mad? I mean mad in the medical sense of the word .... eh?


I’ve always said she was predisposed to it. Perhaps it is a fever!


What is that?


A hundred thousand,


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?


Look at that!


This, gentlemen, is a hundred thousand roubles, 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!


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!


Nastasia Philipovna, dear soul! 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!


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!


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


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,


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. But the prince would. You sit here making complaints, but just look at the prince. I’ve been observing him for a long while.


Is that true?


Quite true,


You’ll take me as I am, with nothing?


I will, Nastasia Philipovna.


Here’s a pretty business! However, it might have been expected of him.


Here’s another alternative for me, 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.


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. But perhaps we shall not be poor; we may be very rich, Nastasia Philipovna. 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—


Is he raving? Are we really in a mad-house?


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.


It’s good business,


You will receive, without the slightest trouble, by the last will and testament of your aunt, a very large sum of money indeed.


Impossible!


Hurrah! 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. Well, I congratulate you, I congratulate you!


So I am really a princess, 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, 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!


Prince, my dear fellow, do remember what you are about,


No, no, general! 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.


Surrender her, for God’s sake!


What? Surrender her to you? 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. You ought to be kicked out of the place.


Do you hear, prince? Do you hear how this moujik of a fellow goes on bargaining for your bride?


He is drunk, 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. 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,


That’s a kind-hearted man, if you like,


A refined man, but—lost,


Thank you, prince; no one has ever spoken to me like that before. 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,


What are you thinking of, my dear Nastasia? What are you saying? You are not going mad, are you?


You thought I should accept this good child’s invitation to ruin him, did you? 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,


I am very proud, in spite of what I am. 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! Hey! all of you fellows! Wine! Round with it! Fill the glasses! Get away! Get away, she’s mine, everything’s mine! She’s a queen, get away!


Get out, keep your distance!