truth. The sight of the portrait face alone had filled his
heart full of the agony of real sympathy; and this feeling of
sympathy, nay, of actual SUFFERING, for her, had never
left his heart since that hour, and was still in full force. Oh
yes, and more powerful than ever!
But the prince was not satisfied with what he had said
to Rogojin. Only at this moment, when she suddenly
made her appearance before him, did he realize to the full The Idiot
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the exact emotion which she called up in him, and which
he had not described correctly to Rogojin.
And, indeed, there were no words in which he could
have expressed his horror, yes, HORROR, for he was
now fully convinced from his own private knowledge of
her, that the woman was mad.
If, loving a woman above everything in the world, or
at least having a foretaste of the possibility of such love for
her, one were suddenly to behold her on a chain, behind
bars and under the lash of a keeper, one would feel
something like what the poor prince now felt.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Aglaya, in a whisper, giving
his sleeve a little tug.
He turned his head towards her and glanced at her
black and (for some reason) flashing eyes, tried to smile,
and then, apparently forgetting her in an instant, turned to
the right once more, and continued to watch the startling
apparition before him.
Nastasia Philipovna was at this moment passing the
young ladies’ chairs.
Evgenie Pavlovitch continued some apparently
extremely funny and interesting anecdote to Alexandra,
speaking quickly and with much animation. The prince The Idiot
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remembered that at this moment Aglaya remarked in a
half-whisper:
‘WHAT a—‘
She did not finish her indefinite sentence; she restrained
herself in a moment; but it was enough.
Nastasia Philipovna, who up to now had been walking
along as though she had not noticed the Epanchin party,
suddenly turned her head in their direction, as though she
had just observed Evgenie Pavlovitch sitting there for the
first time.
‘Why, I declare, here he is!’ she cried, stopping
suddenly. ‘The man one can’t find with all one’s
messengers sent about the place, sitting just under one’s
nose, exactly where one never thought of looking! I
thought you were sure to be at your uncle’s by this time.’
Evgenie Pavlovitch flushed up and looked angrily at
Nastasia Philipovna, then turned his back on her.
‘What I don’t you know about it yet? He doesn’t
know—imagine that! Why, he’s shot himself. Your uncle
shot himself this very morning. I was told at two this
afternoon. Half the town must know it by now. They say
there are three hundred and fifty thousand roubles,
government money, missing; some say five hundred
thousand. And I was under the impression that he would The Idiot
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leave you a fortune! He’s whistled it all away. A most
depraved old gentleman, really! Well, ta, ta!—bonne
chance! Surely you intend to be off there, don’t you? Ha,
ha! You’ve retired from the army in good time, I see!
Plain clothes! Well done, sly rogue! Nonsense! I see—you
knew it all before—I dare say you knew all about it
yesterday-"
Although the impudence of this attack, this public
proclamation of intimacy, as it were, was doubtless
premeditated, and had its special object, yet Evgenie
Pavlovitch at first seemed to intend to make no show of
observing either his tormentor or her words. But
Nastasia’s communication struck him with the force of a
thunderclap. On hearing of his uncle’s death he suddenly
grew as white as a sheet, and turned towards his
informant.
At this moment, Lizabetha Prokofievna rose swiftly
from her seat, beckoned her companions, and left the
place almost at a run.
Only the prince stopped behind for a moment, as
though in indecision; and Evgenie Pavlovitch lingered
too, for he had not collected his scattered wits. But the
Epanchins had not had time to get more than twenty
paces away when a scandalous episode occurred. The The Idiot
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young officer, Evgenie Pavlovitch’s friend who had been
conversing with Aglaya, said aloud in a great state of
indignation:
‘She ought to be whipped—that’s the only way to deal
with creatures like that—she ought to be whipped!’
This gentleman was a confidant of Evgenie’s, and had
doubtless heard of the carriage episode.
Nastasia turned to him. Her eyes flashed; she rushed up
to a young man standing near, whom she did not know in
the least, but who happened to have in his hand a thin
cane. Seizing this from him, she brought it with all her
force across the face of her insulter.
All this occurred, of course, in one instant of time.
The young officer, forgetting himself, sprang towards
her. Nastasia’s followers were not by her at the moment
(the elderly gentleman having disappeared altogether, and
the younger man simply standing aside and roaring with
laughter).
In another moment, of course, the police would have
been on the spot, and it would have gone hard with
Nastasia Philipovna had not unexpected aid appeared.
Muishkin, who was but a couple of steps away, had
time to spring forward and seize the officer’s arms from
behind. The Idiot
639 of 1149
The officer, tearing himself from the prince’s grasp,
pushed him so violently backwards that he staggered a few
steps and then subsided into a chair.
But there were other defenders for Nastasia on the spot
by this time. The gentleman known as the ‘boxer’ now
confronted the enraged officer.
‘Keller is my name, sir; ex-lieutenant,’ he said, very
loud. ‘If you will accept me as champion of the fair sex, I
am at your disposal. English boxing has no secrets from
me. I sympathize with you for the insult you have
received, but I can’t permit you to raise your hand against
a woman in public. If you prefer to meet me—as would
be more fitting to your rank—in some other manner, of
course you understand me, captain.’
But the young officer had recovered himself, and was
no longer listening. At this moment Rogojin appeared,
elbowing through the crowd; he took Nastasia’s hand,
drew it through his arm, and quickly led her away. He
appeared to be terribly excited; he was trembling all over,
and was as pale as a corpse. As he carried Nastasia off, he
turned and grinned horribly in the officer’s face, and with
low malice observed:
‘Tfu! look what the fellow got! Look at the blood on
his cheek! Ha, ha!’ The Idiot
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Recollecting himself, however, and seeing at a glance
the sort of people he had to deal with, the officer turned
his back on both his opponents, and courteously, but
concealing his face with his handkerchief, approached the
prince, who was now rising from the chair into which he
had fallen.
‘Prince Muishkin, I believe? The gentleman to whom I
had the honour of being introduced?’
‘She is mad, insane—I assure you, she is mad,’ replied
the prince in trembling tones, holding out both his hands
mechanically towards the officer.
‘I cannot boast of any such knowledge, of course, but I
wished to know your name.’
He bowed and retired without waiting for an answer.
Five seconds after the disappearance of the last actor in
this scene, the police arrived. The whole episode had not
lasted more than a couple of minutes. Some of the
spectators had risen from their places, and departed
altogether; some merely exchanged their seats for others a
little further off; some were delighted with the occurrence,
and talked and laughed over it for a long time.
In a word, the incident closed as such incidents do, and
the band began to play again. The prince walked away
after the Epanchin party. Had he thought of looking The Idiot
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round to the left after he had been pushed so
unceremoniously into the chair, he would have observed
Aglaya standing some twenty yards away. She had stayed
to watch the scandalous scene in spite of her mother’s and
sisters’ anxious cries to her to come away.
Prince S. ran up to her and persuaded her, at last, to
come home with them.
Lizabetha Prokofievna saw that she returned in such a
state of agitation that it was doubtful whether she had even
heard their calls. But only a couple of minutes later, when
they had reached the park, Aglaya suddenly remarked, in
her usual calm, indifferent voice:
‘I wanted to see how the farce would end.’ The Idiot
642 of 1149
III
THE occurrence at the Vauxhall had filled both
mother and daughters with something like horror. In their
excitement Lizabetha Prokofievna and the girls were
nearly running all the way home.
In her opinion there was so much disclosed and laid
bare by the episode, that, in spite of the chaotic condition
of her mind, she was able to feel more or less decided on
certain points which, up to now, had been in a cloudy
condition.
However, one and all of the party realized that
something important had happened, and that, perhaps
fortunately enough, something which had hitherto been
enveloped in the obscurity of guess-work had now begun
to come forth a little from the mists. In spite of Prince S.’s
assurances and explanations, Evgenie Pavlovitch’s real
character and position were at last coming to light. He was
publicly convicted of intimacy with ‘that creature.’ So
thought Lizabetha Prokofievna and her two elder
daughters.
But the real upshot of the business was that the number
of riddles to be solved was augmented. The two girls, The Idiot
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though rather irritated at their mother’s exaggerated alarm
and haste to depart from the scene, had been unwilling to
worry her at first with questions.
Besides, they could not help thinking that their sister
Aglaya probably knew more about the whole matter than
both they and their mother put together.
Prince S. looked as black as night, and was silent and
moody. Mrs. Epanchin did not say a word to him all the
way home, and he did not seem to observe the fact.
Adelaida tried to pump him a little by asking, ‘who was
the uncle they were talking about, and what was it that
had happened in Petersburg?’ But he had merely muttered
something disconnected about ‘making inquiries,’ and that
‘of course it was all nonsense.’ ‘Oh, of course,’ replied
Adelaida, and asked no more questions. Aglaya, too, was
very quiet; and the only remark she made on the way
home was that they were ‘walking much too fast to be
pleasant.’
Once she turned and observed the prince hurrying after
them. Noticing his anxiety to catch them up, she smiled
ironically, and then looked back no more. At length, just
as they neared the house, General Epanchin came out and
met them; he had only just arrived from town. The Idiot
644 of 1149
His first word was to inquire after Evgenie Pavlovitch.
But Lizabetha stalked past him, and neither looked at him
nor answered his question.
He immediately judged from the faces of his daughters
and Prince S. that there was a thunderstorm brewing, and
he himself already bore evidences of unusual perturbation
of mind.
He immediately button-holed Prince S., and standing
at the front door, engaged in a whispered conversation
with him. By the troubled aspect of both of them, when
they entered the house, and approached Mrs. Epanchin, it
was evident that they had been discussing very disturbing
news.
Little by little the family gathered together upstairs in
Lizabetha Prokofievna’s apartments, and Prince Muishkin
found himself alone on the verandah when he arrived. He
settled himself in a corner and sat waiting, though he
knew not what he expected. It never struck him that he
had better go away, with all this disturbance in the house.
He seemed to have forgotten all the world, and to be
ready to sit on where he was for years on end. From
upstairs he caught sounds of excited conversation every
now and then. The Idiot
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He could not say how long he sat there. It grew late
and became quite dark.
Suddenly Aglaya entered the verandah. She seemed to
be quite calm, though a little pale.
Observing the prince, whom she evidently did not
expect to see there, alone in the corner, she smiled, and
approached him:
‘What are you doing there?’ she asked.
The prince muttered something, blushed, and jumped
up; but Aglaya immediately sat down beside him; so he
reseated himself.
She looked suddenly, but attentively into his face, then
at the window, as though thinking of something else, and
then again at him.
‘Perhaps she wants to laugh at me,’ thought the prince,
‘but no; for if she did she certainly would do so.’
‘Would you like some tea? I’ll order some,’ she said,
after a minute or two of silence.
‘N-no thanks, I don’t know—‘
‘Don’t know! How can you not know? By-the-by,
look here—if someone were to challenge you to a duel,
what should you do? I wished to ask you this—some time
ago—‘
‘Why? Nobody would ever challenge me to a duel!’ The Idiot
646 of 1149
‘But if they were to, would you be dreadfully
frightened?’
‘I dare say I should be—much alarmed!’
‘Seriously? Then are you a coward?’
‘N-no!—I don’t think so. A coward is a man who is
afraid and runs away; the man who is frightened but does
not run away, is not quite a coward,’ said the prince with
a smile, after a moment’s thought.
‘And you wouldn’t run away?’
‘No—I don’t think I should run away,’ replied the
prince, laughing outright at last at Aglaya’s questions.
‘Though I am a woman, I should certainly not run
away for anything,’ said Aglaya, in a slightly pained voice.
‘However, I see you are laughing at me and twisting your
face up as usual in order to make yourself look more
