interesting. Now tell me, they generally shoot at twenty
paces, don’t they? At ten, sometimes? I suppose if at ten
they must be either wounded or killed, mustn’t they?’
‘I don’t think they often kill each other at duels.’
‘They killed Pushkin that way.’
‘That may have been an accident.’
‘Not a bit of it; it was a duel to the death, and he was
killed.’ The Idiot
647 of 1149
‘The bullet struck so low down that probably his
antagonist would never have aimed at that part of him—
people never do; he would have aimed at his chest or
head; so that probably the bullet hit him accidentally. I
have been told this by competent authorities.’
‘Well, a soldier once told me that they were always
ordered to aim at the middle of the body. So you see they
don’t aim at the chest or head; they aim lower on purpose.
I asked some officer about this afterwards, and he said it
was perfectly true.’
‘That is probably when they fire from a long distance.’
‘Can you shoot at all?’
‘No, I have never shot in my life.’
‘Can’t you even load a pistol?’
‘No! That is, I understand how it’s done, of course, but
I have never done it.’
‘Then, you don’t know how, for it is a matter that
needs practice. Now listen and learn; in the first place buy
good powder, not damp (they say it mustn’t be at all
damp, but very dry), some fine kind it is—you must ask
for PISTOL powder, not the stuff they load cannons with.
They say one makes the bullets oneself, somehow or
other. Have you got a pistol?’
‘No—and I don’t want one,’ said the prince, laughing. The Idiot
648 of 1149
‘Oh, what NONSENSE! You must buy one. French
or English are the best, they say. Then take a little
powder, about a thimbleful, or perhaps two, and pour it
into the barrel. Better put plenty. Then push in a bit of
felt (it MUST be felt, for some reason or other); you can
easily get a bit off some old mattress, or off a door; it’s
used to keep the cold out. Well, when you have pushed
the felt down, put the bullet in; do you hear now? The
bullet last and the powder first, not the other way, or the
pistol won’t shoot. What are you laughing at? I wish you
to buy a pistol and practise every day, and you must learn
to hit a mark for CERTAIN; will you?’
The prince only laughed. Aglaya stamped her foot with
annoyance.
Her serious air, however, during this conversation had
surprised him considerably. He had a feeling that he ought
to be asking her something, that there was something he
wanted to find out far more important than how to load a
pistol; but his thoughts had all scattered, and he was only
aware that she was sitting by, him, and talking to him, and
that he was looking at her; as to what she happened to be
saying to him, that did not matter in the least.
The general now appeared on the verandah, coming
from upstairs. He was on his way out, with an expression The Idiot
649 of 1149
of determination on his face, and of preoccupation and
worry also.
‘Ah! Lef Nicolaievitch, it’s you, is it? Where are you off
to now?’ he asked, oblivious of the fact that the prince had
not showed the least sign of moving. ‘Come along with
me; I want to say a word or two to you.’
‘Au revoir, then!’ said Aglaya, holding out her hand to
the prince.
It was quite dark now, and Muishkin could not see her
face clearly, but a minute or two later, when he and the
general had left the villa, he suddenly flushed up, and
squeezed his right hand tightly.
It appeared that he and the general were going in the
same direction. In spite of the lateness of the hour, the
general was hurrying away to talk to someone upon some
important subject. Meanwhile he talked incessantly but
disconnectedly to the prince, and continually brought in
the name of Lizabetha Prokofievna.
If the prince had been in a condition to pay more
attention to what the general was saying, he would have
discovered that the latter was desirous of drawing some
information out of him, or indeed of asking him some
question outright; but that he could not make up his mind
to come to the point. The Idiot
650 of 1149
Muishkin was so absent, that from the very first he
could not attend to a word the other was saying; and
when the general suddenly stopped before him with some
excited question, he was obliged to confess,
ignominiously, that he did not know in the least what he
had been talking about.
The general shrugged his shoulders.
‘How strange everyone, yourself included, has become
of late,’ said he. ‘I was telling you that I cannot in the least
understand Lizabetha Prokofievna’s ideas and agitations.
She is in hysterics up there, and moans and says that we
have been ‘shamed and disgraced.’ How? Why? When?
By whom? I confess that I am very much to blame myself;
I do not conceal the fact; but the conduct, the outrageous
behaviour of this woman, must really be kept within
limits, by the police if necessary, and I am just on my way
now to talk the question over and make some
arrangements. It can all be managed quietly and gently,
even kindly, and without the slightest fuss or scandal. I
foresee that the future is pregnant with events, and that
there is much that needs explanation. There is intrigue in
the wind; but if on one side nothing is known, on the
other side nothing will be explained. If I have heard
nothing about it, nor have YOU, nor HE, nor SHE— The Idiot
651 of 1149
who HAS heard about it, I should like to know? How
CAN all this be explained except by the fact that half of it
is mirage or moonshine, or some hallucination of that
sort?’
‘SHE is insane,’ muttered the prince, suddenly
recollecting all that had passed, with a spasm of pain at his
heart.
‘I too had that idea, and I slept in peace. But now I see
that their opinion is more correct. I do not believe in the
theory of madness! The woman has no common sense; but
she is not only not insane, she is artful to a degree. Her
outburst of this evening about Evgenie’s uncle proves that
conclusively. It was VILLAINOUS, simply jesuitical, and
it was all for some special purpose.’
‘What about Evgenie’s uncle?’
‘My goodness, Lef Nicolaievitch, why, you can’t have
heard a single word I said! Look at me, I’m still trembling
all over with the dreadful shock! It is that that kept me in
town so late. Evgenie Pavlovitch’s uncle—‘
Well?’ cried the prince.
‘Shot himself this morning, at seven o’clock. A
respected, eminent old man of seventy; and exactly point
for point as she described it; a sum of money, a
considerable sum of government money, missing!’ The Idiot
652 of 1149
‘Why, how could she—‘
‘What, know of it? Ha, ha, ha! Why, there was a whole
crowd round her the moment she appeared on the scenes
here. You know what sort of people surround her
nowadays, and solicit the honour of her ‘acquaintance.’ Of
course she might easily have heard the news from
someone coming from town. All Petersburg, if not all
Pavlofsk, knows it by now. Look at the slyness of her
observation about Evgenie’s uniform! I mean, her remark
that he had retired just in time! There’s a venomous hint
for you, if you like! No, no! there’s no insanity there! Of
course I refuse to believe that Evgenie Pavlovitch could
have known beforehand of the catastrophe; that is, that at
such and such a day at seven o’clock, and all that; but he
might well have had a presentiment of the truth. And I—
all of us—Prince S. and everybody, believed that he was to
inherit a large fortune from this uncle. It’s dreadful,
horrible! Mind, I don’t suspect Evgenie of anything, be
quite clear on that point; but the thing is a little suspicious,
nevertheless. Prince S. can’t get over it. Altogether it is a
very extraordinary combination of circumstances.’
‘What suspicion attaches to Evgenie Pavlovitch?’
‘Oh, none at all! He has behaved very well indeed. I
didn’t mean to drop any sort of hint. His own fortune is The Idiot
653 of 1149
intact, I believe. Lizabetha Prokofievna, of course, refuses
to listen to anything. That’s the worst of it all, these family
catastrophes or quarrels, or whatever you like to call them.
You know, prince, you are a friend of the family, so I
don’t mind telling you; it now appears that Evgenie
Pavlovitch proposed to Aglaya a month ago, and was
refused.’
‘Impossible!’ cried the prince.
‘Why? Do you know anything about it? Look here,’
continued the general, more agitated than ever, and
trembling with excitement, ‘maybe I have been letting the
cat out of the bag too freely with you, if so, it is because
you are—that sort of man, you know! Perhaps you have
some special information?’
‘I know nothing about Evgenie Pavlovitch!’ said the
prince.
‘Nor do I! They always try to bury me underground
when there’s anything going on; they don’t seem to reflect
that it is unpleasant to a man to be treated so! I won’t
stand it! We have just had a terrible scene!—mind, I speak
to you as I would to my own son! Aglaya laughs at her
mother. Her sisters guessed about Evgenie having
proposed and been rejected, and told Lizabetha. The Idiot
654 of 1149
‘I tell you, my dear fellow, Aglaya is such an
extraordinary, such a self-willed, fantastical little creature,
you wouldn’t believe it! Every high quality, every brilliant
trait of heart and mind, are to be found in her, and, with it
all, so much caprice and mockery, such wild fancies—
indeed, a little devil! She has just been laughing at her
mother to her very face, and at her sisters, and at Prince S.,
and everybody—and of course she always laughs at me!
You know I love the child—I love her even when she
laughs at me, and I believe the wild little creature has a
special fondness for me for that very reason. She is fonder
of me than any of the others. I dare swear she has had a
good laugh at YOU before now! You were having a quiet
talk just now, I observed, after all the thunder and
lightning upstairs. She was sitting with you just as though
there had been no row at all.’
The prince blushed painfully in the darkness, and
closed his right hand tightly, but he said nothing.
‘My dear good Prince Lef Nicolaievitch,’ began the
general again, suddenly, ‘both I and Lizabetha
Prokofievna—(who has begun to respect you once more,
and me through you, goodness knows why!)— we both
love you very sincerely, and esteem you, in spite of any
appearances to the contrary. But you’ll admit what a riddle The Idiot
655 of 1149
it must have been for us when that calm, cold, little
spitfire, Aglaya—(for she stood up to her mother and
answered her questions with inexpressible contempt, and
mine still more so, because, like a fool, I thought it my
duty to assert myself as head of the family)—when Aglaya
stood up of a sudden and informed us that ‘that
madwoman’ (strangely enough, she used exactly the same
expression as you did) ‘has taken it into her head to marry
me to Prince Lef Nicolaievitch, and therefore is doing her
best to choke Evgenie Pavlovitch off, and rid the house of
him.’ That’s what she said. She would not give the
slightest explanation; she burst out laughing, banged the
door, and went away. We all stood there with our mouths
open. Well, I was told afterwards of your little passage
with Aglaya this afternoon, and-and—dear prince—you
are a good, sensible fellow, don’t be angry if I speak out—
she is laughing at you, my boy! She is enjoying herself like
a child, at your expense, and therefore, since she is a child,
don’t be angry with her, and don’t think anything of it. I
assure you, she is simply making a fool of you, just as she
does with one and all of us out of pure lack of something
better to do. Well—good-bye! You know our feelings,
don’t you—our sincere feelings for yourself? They are
unalterable, you know, dear boy, under all circumstances, The Idiot
656 of 1149
but— Well, here we part; I must go down to the right.
Rarely have I sat so uncomfortably in my saddle, as they
say, as I now sit. And people talk of the charms of a
country holiday!’
Left to himself at the cross-roads, the prince glanced
around him, quickly crossed the road towards the lighted
window of a neighbouring house, and unfolded a tiny
scrap of paper which he had held clasped in his right hand
during the whole of his conversation with the general.
He read the note in the uncertain rays that fell from the
window. It was as follows:
‘Tomorrow morning, I shall be at the green bench in
the park at seven, and shall wait there for you. I have
made up my mind to speak to you about a most important
matter which closely concerns yourself.
‘P.S.—I trust that you will not show this note to
anyone. Though I am ashamed of giving you such
instructions, I feel that I must do so, considering what you
are. I therefore write the words, and blush for your simple
character.
‘P.P.S.—It is the same green bench that I showed you
before. There! aren’t you ashamed of yourself? I felt that it
was necessary to repeat even that information.’ The Idiot
657 of 1149
The note was written and folded anyhow, evidently in
a great hurry, and probably just before Aglaya had come
down to the verandah.
In inexpressible agitation, amounting almost to fear, the
prince slipped quickly away from the window, away from
the light, like a frightened thief, but as he did so he
collided violently with some gentleman who seemed to
spring from the earth at his feet.
‘I was watching for you, prince,’ said the individual.
‘Is that you, Keller?’ said the prince, in surprise.
‘Yes, I’ve been looking for you. I waited for you at the
Epanchins’ house, but of course I could not come in. I
dogged you from behind as you walked along with the
