mood which possessed him. He foundpleasure, too, in gazing at the exterior objects around him. All thetime he was trying to forget some thing, to escape from some idea thathaunted him; but melancholy thoughts came back, though he would sowillingly have escaped from them. He remembered suddenly how he had beentalking to the waiter, while he dined, about a recently committed murderwhich the whole town was discussing, and as he thought of it somethingstrange came over him. He was seized all at once by a violent desire,almost a temptation, against which he strove in vain.
He jumped up and walked off as fast as he could towards the “PetersburgSide.” [One of the quarters of St. Petersburg.] He had asked someone, alittle while before, to show him which was the Petersburg Side, on thebanks of the Neva. He had not gone there, however; and he knew verywell that it was of no use to go now, for he would certainly not findLebedeff’s relation at home. He had the address, but she must certainlyhave gone to Pavlofsk, or Colia would have let him know. If he were togo now, it would merely be out of curiosity, but a sudden, new idea hadcome into his head.
However, it was something to move on and know where he was going. Aminute later he was still moving on, but without knowing anything. Hecould no longer think out his new idea. He tried to take an interest inall he saw; in the sky, in the Neva. He spoke to some children he met.He felt his epileptic condition becoming more and more developed. Theevening was very close; thunder was heard some way off.
The prince was haunted all that day by the face of Lebedeff’s nephewwhom he had seen for the first time that morning, just as one is hauntedat times by some persistent musical refrain. By a curious associationof ideas, the young man always appeared as the murderer of whom Lebedeffhad spoken when introducing him to Muishkin. Yes, he had read somethingabout the murder, and that quite recently. Since he came to Russia, hehad heard many stories of this kind, and was interested in them. Hisconversation with the waiter, an hour ago, chanced to be on the subjectof this murder of the Zemarins, and the latter had agreed with him aboutit. He thought of the waiter again, and decided that he was no fool, buta steady, intelligent man: though, said he to himself, “God knowswhat he may really be; in a country with which one is unfamiliar it isdifficult to understand the people one meets.” He was beginning to havea passionate faith in the Russian soul, however, and what discoveries hehad made in the last six months, what unexpected discoveries! But everysoul is a mystery, and depths of mystery lie in the soul of a Russian.He had been intimate with Rogojin, for example, and a brotherlyfriendship had sprung up between them--yet did he really know him?What chaos and ugliness fills the world at times! What a self-satisfiedrascal is that nephew of Lebedeff’s! “But what am I thinking,” continuedthe prince to himself. “Can he really have committed that crime? Did hekill those six persons? I seem to be confusing things... how strangeit all is.... My head goes round... And Lebedeff’s daughter--howsympathetic and charming her face was as she held the child in her arms!What an innocent look and child-like laugh she had! It is curious that Ihad forgotten her until now. I expect Lebedeff adores her--and I reallybelieve, when I think of it, that as sure as two and two make four, heis fond of that nephew, too!”
Well, why should he judge them so hastily! Could he really say what theywere, after one short visit? Even Lebedeff seemed an enigma today.Did he expect to find him so? He had never seen him like that before.Lebedeff and the Comtesse du Barry! Good Heavens! If Rogojin shouldreally kill someone, it would not, at any rate, be such a senseless,chaotic affair. A knife made to a special pattern, and six people killedin a kind of delirium. But Rogojin also had a knife made to a specialpattern. Can it be that Rogojin wishes to murder anyone? The princebegan to tremble violently. “It is a crime on my part to imagineanything so base, with such cynical frankness.” His face reddened withshame at the thought; and then there came across him as in a flashthe memory of the incidents at the Pavlofsk station, and at the otherstation in the morning; and the question asked him by Rogojin about_the eyes_ and Rogojin’s cross, that he was even now wearing; and thebenediction of Rogojin’s mother; and his embrace on the darkenedstaircase--that last supreme renunciation--and now, to find himself fullof this new “idea,” staring into shop-windows, and looking round forthings--how base he was!
Despair overmastered his soul; he would not go on, he would go back tohis hotel; he even turned and went the other way; but a moment after hechanged his mind again and went on in the old direction.
Why, here he was on the Petersburg Side already, quite close to thehouse! Where was his “idea”? He was marching along without it now. Yes,his malady was coming back, it was clear enough; all this gloom andheaviness, all these “ideas,” were nothing more nor less than a fitcoming on; perhaps he would have a fit this very day.
But just now all the gloom and darkness had fled, his heart felt full ofjoy and hope, there was no such thing as doubt. And yes, he hadn’tseen her for so long; he really must see her. He wished he could meetRogojin; he would take his hand, and they would go to her together. Hisheart was pure, he was no rival of Parfen’s. Tomorrow, he would goand tell him that he had seen her. Why, he had only come for the solepurpose of seeing her, all the way from Moscow! Perhaps she might behere still, who knows? She might not have gone away to Pavlofsk yet.
Yes, all this must be put straight and above-board, there must be nomore passionate renouncements, such as Rogojin’s. It must all be clearas day. Cannot Rogojin’s soul bear the light? He said he did not loveher with sympathy and pity; true, he added that “your pity is greaterthan my love,” but he was not quite fair on himself there. Kin! Rogojinreading a book--wasn’t that sympathy beginning? Did it not show that hecomprehended his relations with her? And his story of waiting day andnight for her forgiveness? That didn’t look quite like passion alone.
And as to her face, could it inspire nothing but passion? Could herface inspire passion at all now? Oh, it inspired suffering, grief,overwhelming grief of the soul! A poignant, agonizing memory swept overthe prince’s heart.
Yes, agonizing. He remembered how he had suffered that first day when hethought he observed in her the symptoms of madness. He had almost falleninto despair. How could he have lost his hold upon her when she ran awayfrom him to Rogojin? He ought to have run after her himself, rather thanwait for news as he had done. Can Rogojin have failed to observe, upto now, that she is mad? Rogojin attributes her strangeness to othercauses, to passion! What insane jealousy! What was it he had hinted atin that suggestion of his? The prince suddenly blushed, and shuddered tohis very heart.
But why recall all this? There was insanity on both sides. For him, theprince, to love this woman with passion, was unthinkable. It would becruel and inhuman. Yes. Rogojin is not fair to himself; he has a largeheart; he has aptitude for sympathy. When he learns the truth, and findswhat a pitiable being is this injured, broken, half-insane creature, hewill forgive her all the torment she has caused him. He will become herslave, her brother, her friend. Compassion will teach even Rogojin,it will show him how to reason. Compassion is the chief law of humanexistence. Oh, how guilty he felt towards Rogojin! And, for a few warm,hasty words spoken in Moscow, Parfen had called him “brother,” whilehe--but no, this was delirium! It would all come right! That gloomyParfen had implied that his faith was waning; he must suffer dreadfully.He said he liked to look at that picture; it was not that he likedit, but he felt the need of looking at it. Rogojin was not merely apassionate soul; he was a fighter. He was fighting for the restorationof his dying faith. He must have something to hold on to and believe,and someone to believe in. What a strange picture that of Holbein’s is!Why, this is the street, and here’s the house, No. 16.
The prince rang the bell, and asked for Nastasia Philipovna. The lady ofthe house came out, and stated that Nastasia had gone to stay with DariaAlexeyevna at Pavlofsk, and might be there some days.
Madame Filisoff was a little woman of forty, with a cunning face, andcrafty, piercing eyes. When, with an air of mystery, she asked hervisitor’s name, he re
fused at first to answer, but in a moment hechanged his mind, and left strict instructions that it should be givento Nastasia Philipovna. The urgency of his request seemed to impressMadame Filisoff, and she put on a knowing expression, as if to say, “Youneed not be afraid, I quite understand.” The prince’s name evidentlywas a great surprise to her. He stood and looked absently at her for amoment, then turned, and took the road back to his hotel. But he wentaway not as he came. A great change had suddenly come over him. He wentblindly forward; his knees shook under him; he was tormented by “ideas”;his lips were blue, and trembled with a feeble, meaningless smile. Hisdemon was upon him once more.
What had happened to him? Why was his brow clammy with drops ofmoisture, his knees shaking beneath him, and his soul oppressed with acold gloom? Was it because he had just seen these dreadful eyes again?Why, he had left the Summer Garden on purpose to see them; that had beenhis “idea.” He had wished to assure himself that he would see them
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