Complete Works of Fyodor Dostoyevsky

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

  At that point she stopped short, frightened at her words. But if only she had known how unjust she was to her daughter at that moment! Everything was settled in Aglaia’s mind. She too was waiting for the hour that was to decide everything, and every hint, every incautious touch dealt a deep wound to her heart.

  CHAPTER 8

  For MYSHKIN, too, that morning began under the influence of painful forebodings; they might be explained by his invalid state, but his sadness was quite indefinite, and that was what made it most distressing to him. It is true that painful, mortifying facts stood vividly before him, but his sadness went beyond everything he remembered, and the reflections that followed that memory. He realised that he could not regain his serenity alone. By degrees the conviction took root in him that something special, something decisive, would happen to him that very day. His fit of the previous evening had been a slight one. Besides depression and a certain weariness in his head and pain in his limbs, he had nothing the matter with him. His brain worked fairly accurately, though his soul was ill at ease. He got up rather late, and at once clearly recalled the previous evening. He remembered, too, though not quite distinctly, how he had been taken home half an hour after the fit. He learnt that a messenger had already been from the Epanchins to ask after his health. At half-past eleven another called to inquire and this pleased him. Vera Lebedyev was among the first to visit him and wait upon him. She burst out crying for the first minute when she saw him, but when Myshkin at once reassured her she began laughing. He was suddenly struck by the girl’s deep sympathy for him. He took her hand and kissed it. Vera flushed crimson.

  “Ach, what are you doing!” she cried, drawing her hand away in dismay. She went away quickly in strange confusion. She had time though to tell him, among other things, that her father had run off very early to see the “departed,” as he persisted in calling the general, to find out whether he had died in the night, and it was reported, so she was told, that he was at the point of death. At twelve o’clock Lebedyev himself came home, and went in to Myshkin, not merely “for a minute to inquire after his precious health,” and so on, but also to look into the cupboard. He did nothing but sigh and groan and Myshkin soon dismissed him; yet he made an attempt to question the prince about his fit the previous evening, though it was evident he knew full details about it already. After him Kolya ran in also for a minute. He really was in a hurry, and was in great and painful agitation. He began by directly and insistently begging Myshkin for an explanation of all that they had been concealing from him, asserting that he had learned almost everything the day before. He was deeply and violently distressed.

  With all possible sympathy Myshkin told him the whole story, relating the facts with absolute exactness, and it fell like a thunderbolt on the poor boy. He could not utter a word and wept in silence. Myshkin felt that this was one of those impressions which remain for ever and make a turning-point in a young life. He hastened to give him his view of the case, adding that in his opinion the old man’s death might principally be due to the horror inspired by his own action, and that not every one was capable of such a feeling. Kolya’s eyes flashed as he listened to Myshkin.

  “They’re a worthless lot — Ganya and Varya and Ptitsyn! I’m not going to quarrel with them, but our paths lie apart from this moment. Ah, prince, I’ve had so many new feelings since yesterday! It’s a lesson for me! I consider that my mother, too, is entirely my responsibility now; though she’s provided for at Varya’s, that’s not the thing ...”

  He jumped up, remembering that he was expected at home, hurriedly asked after Myshkin’s health, and listening to the answer, added in haste:

  “Isn’t there something else? I heard yesterday (though I’ve no right) ... but if you ever want a devoted servant for any purpose, here he is before you. It seems as though we’re both of us not quite happy, isn’t that so? But ... I don’t ask anything, I don’t ask ...”

  He went away, and Myshkin sank into still deeper brooding. Every one was predicting misfortune, everyone had already drawn conclusions, everyone looked at him, as though they knew something and something he did not know. “Lebedyev asks questions, Kolya directly hints at it, and Vera weeps.” At last he dismissed the subject in vexation. “It’s all mv accursed sicklv over-sensitiveness,” he thought. His face brightened when, after one o’clock he saw the Epanchins, who came to visit him “for a moment.” They really did come only for a moment. When Lizaveta Prokofyevna got up from lunch, she announced that they were all going for a walk at once, and all together. The announcement was made in the form of a command, dry, abrupt and unexplained. They all went out, that is the mother, the girls, and Prince S. Lizaveta Prokofyevna turned in a direction exactly opposite to that which they took every day. Every one understood what it meant, but every one refrained from speaking for fear of irritating Madame Epanchin, and, as though to escape from reproaches or objections, she walked in front without looking back at them. At last Adelaida observed that there was no need to race along like that and that there was no catching mamma up.

  “Now then,” said Lizaveta Prokofyevna, turning suddenly, “we’re just passing his door. Whatever Aglaia may think, and whatever may happen afterwards, he is not a stranger, and what’s more, now he’s in trouble and ill. I shall go to see him anyhow. If any care to come too, they can, if not you can go on. The way is open.”

  They all went in, of course. Myshkin very properly hastened to beg forgiveness once more for the vase and ... the scene.

  “Oh, that’s no matter,” answered Lizaveta Prokofyevna. “I don’t mind about the vase, I mind about you. So now you’re aware yourself that there was a scene last night, that’s how it is ‘the morning after.’ But it’s all of no consequence, for every one sees now that one mustn’t be hard on you. Good-bye for the present though. If you feel strong enough, go for a little walk and then have a nap — that’s my advice. And if you feel disposed, come in as usual. Be sure, once for all, that whatever happens, whatever may come you’ll always be our friend, mine anyway. I can answer for myself...”

  All accepted this challenge, and confirmed their mother’s sentiments. They went out, but in this simple-hearted haste to say something kind and encouraging there lay hid a great deal that was cruel, of which Lizaveta Prokofyevna had no suspicion. In the words “as usual” and “mine at least” — there was again an ominous note. Myshkin began to think of Aglaia. It is true that she had given him a wonderful smile on going in and again on taking leave, but she had not uttered a word, even when the others had all made their protestations of friendship, though she had looked intently at him once or twice. Her face was paler than usual, as though she had slept badly that night. Myshkin made up his mind that he would certainly go to them that evening “as usual” and he looked feverishly at his watch. Vera came in just three minutes after the Epanchins had gone.

  “Aglaia Ivanovna gave me a message for you just now, in secret, Lyov Nikolayevitch,” she said.

  Myshkin positively trembled.

  “A note?”

  “No, a message. She had hardly time for that, even. She begs you earnestly not to be away from home for one minute all to-day, up till seven o’clock this evening, or till nine o’clock, I couldn’t quite hear.”

  “But why so? What does it mean?”

  “I know nothing about it. Only she was very earnest that I should give you the message.”

  “Did she say’very earnest’?”

  “No, she didn’t say that. She just managed to turn round and speak, as I luckily ran up to her myself. But I could see from her face whether she was in earnest over it. She looked at me so that she made my heart stop beating....”

  After asking a few more questions Myshkin was more agitated than ever, though he succeeded in learning nothing more. When he was left alone, he lay down on the sofa and fell to musing again.

  “Perhaps they have a visitor there till nine o’clock and she’s afraid I may do something silly before visitors again,” he th
ought at last, and began again impatiently waiting for evening and looking at his watch. But the mystery was solved long before the evening, and the solution also was brought by a visitor, and took the form of a new and agonising mystery.

  Just half an hour after the Epanchins’ visit, Ippolit came in to him, so tired and exhausted that, entering without uttering a word, he literally fell, almost unconscious, into an easy chair, and instantly broke into an insufferable cough. He coughed till the blood came. His eyes glittered and there were hectic flushes on his cheeks. Myshkin murmured something to him, but Ippolit made no reply, and for a long time could only motion to Myshkin to let him alone. At last he came to himself.

  “I’m going!” he pronounced, with an effort at last, and with a husky voice.

  “I’ll go with you if you like,” said Myshkin, getting up from his seat and suddenly stopping short, as he recalled that he had been forbidden to leave the house.

  Ippolit laughed.

  “I’m not going away from you,” he went on, continually gasping and coughing, “on the contrary, I found it necessary to come to you and about something important ... but for which I would not have disturbed you. I’m going over yonder, and this time I believe I really am going. It’s all up! I haven’t come for sympathy, believe me ... I lay down at ten o’clock to-day meaning not to get up again till the time came. But you see I changed my mind and got up once more to come to you ... so you see I had to.”

  “It grieves me to look at you. bu’d better have sent for me instead of troubling to come here.”

  “Well, that’s enough. You’ve expressed your regret and enough to satisfy the requirements of politeness. ... But I forgot: how are you yourself?”

  “I’m all right. Yesterday I was ... not quite ...”

  “I know, I know, the Chinese vase had the worst of it. I’m sorry I wasn’t there! I’ve come about something. In the first place, I’ve had the pleasure today of seeing Gavril Ardalionovitch at a tryst with Aglaia Ivanovna on the green seat. I was astonished to see how stupid a man can look. I remarked upon it to Aglaia Ivanovna, when Gavril Ardalionovitch had gone. . . . You seem not to be surprised at anything, prince,” he added, looking mistrustfully at Myshkin’s calm face. “To be surprised at nothing, they say, is a sign of great intelligence. To my mind, it might quite as well be a sign of great stupidity . . . But I don’t mean that for you, excuse me ... I am very unfortunate in my expressions to-day.”

  “I knew yesterday that Gavril Ardalionovitch ...”

  Myshkin broke off, obviously confused, though Ippolit was annoyed at his not being surprised.

  “You knew it! That’s something new! But don’t tell me about it. . . . “Vbu weren’t a witness of the interview to-day, I suppose?”

  “You saw that I was not there, since you were there yourself.”

  “Oh, you may have been sitting behind a bush somewhere. But I’m glad, for your sake, of course, for I was beginning to think that Gavril Ardalionovitch — was the favourite.”

  “I beg you not to speak of this to me, Ippolit, and in such terms.”

  “Especially since you know all about it already.”

  “You are mistaken, I know hardly anything about it, and Aglaia Ivanovna knows for a fact that I know nothing about it. I knew nothing about their meeting, really. bu say there’s been a meeting between them? Very well then, let us leave the subject....”

  “But how’s this? One minute you know, the next you don’t. You say, ‘very well and let us leave it.’ But look here, don’t be so trustful! Especially if you don’t know anything about it. bu are trustful because you don’t know anything about it. And do you know what those two, the brother and sister, are scheming for? Perhaps you suspect that? Very well, very well, I’ll drop it,” he added, noticing an impatient gesture from Myshkin. “Well, I’ve come about my own affairs and I want to . . . explain about it. Damn it all, one can’t die without explanations. It’s awful how much I explain. Do you care to hear?”

  “Speak, I’m listening.”

  “But I’m changing my opinion again, though, I’ll begin with Ganya, all the same. Would you believe it that I had an appointment at the green seat to-day, too? I don’t want to tell a lie, though. I insisted on an interview myself, I begged for it, I promised to reveal a secret. I don’t know whether I came too early (I believe I really was early), but I had no sooner sat down beside Aglaia Ivanovna, when I saw Gavril Ardalionovitch and Varvara Ardalionovna coming along, arm in arm, as though they were out for a walk. They both seemed very much amazed at meeting me. It was so unexpected that they were quite taken aback. Aglaia Ivanovna flushed crimson, and you may not believe it, but she was rather disconcerted, whether because I was there or simply at the sight of Gavril Ardalionovitch — you know what a beauty he is — anyway she turned crimson, and ended it all in a second, very absurdly. She got up, answered Gavril Ardalionovitch’s bow, and Varvara Ardalionovna’s ingratiating smile, and suddenly rapped out: ‘I’ve only come to express in person my pleasure at your sincere and friendly feelings, and if I am in need of them, believe me . . .’ Then she turned awav and the two went off — I don’t know whether like fools or in triumph — Ganya, of course, a fool. He couldn’t make out a word, and turned as red as a lobster (he has an extraordinary expression of face sometimes). But Varvara Ardalionovna seemed to understand that they must make their escape as quickly as possible, and that this was quite enough from Aglaia Ivanovna, and she drew her brother away. She’s cleverer than he is and I’ve no doubt she’s triumphant now. I came to Aglaia Ivanovna to make arrangements about a meeting with Nastasya Filippovna.”

  “With Nastasya Filippovna,” cried Myshkin.

  “Aha! You seem to be losing your indifference and beginning to be surprised. I’m glad that you’re ready to be like a human being at last. I’ll comfort you for that. This is what comes of serving a young lady of lofty soul. I got a slap in the face from her to-day.”

  “Morally speaking?” Myshkin could not help asking.

  “Yes, not physically. I don’t think anyone would raise a hand against a creature like me, even a woman would not strike me now. Even Ganya wouldn’t strike me! Though I did think he was going to fly at me at one time yesterday. ... I’ll bet you anything I know what you’re thinking about now. “Vbu’re thinking, ‘he mustn’t be beaten of course, but he might be smothered with a pillow or a wet cloth in his sleep — in fact one ought to. . . .’ It’s written on your face that you’re thinking that at this very second.”

  “I’ve never thought of such a thing,” Myshkin answered with disgust.

  “I don’t know, I dreamt last night that I was smothered with a wet cloth by ... a man. . . . I’ll tell you who it was — Rogozhin! What do you think? Could a man be smothered with a wet cloth?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’ve heard that it can be done. Very well, we’ll drop it. Come, why am I a slanderer? Why did she accuse me of being a slanderer to-day? And take note, it was after she’d heard every word I had to say, and questioned me, too. .. . But that’s just like a woman! For her sake I’ve got into communication with Rogozhin, an interesting person. In her interests I have arranged a personal interview with Nastasya Filippovna for her. Was it because I wounded her vanity by hinting that she enjoyed Nastasya Filippovna’s ‘leavings’? Yes, I did try to impress that upon her all the time in her interest, I don’t deny it. I wrote her two letters in that strain, and to-day for the third time, at our interview ... I began by telling her that it was humiliating for her. . . . Though the word ‘leavings’ wasn’t mine, but some one else’s. At Ganya’s, anyway, everybody was saying it, and indeed she repeated it herself. So how can she call me a slanderer? I see, I see, it’s very amusing for you to look at me now, and I bet you’re applying those stupid verses to me:

  ‘And on the gloom of my declining hour Perchance the farewell smile of love may shine.’

  “Ha-ha-ha!” He went off into an hysterical laugh. “Mark,” he gasped t
hrough a fit of coughing, “what a fellow Ganya is, he talks about ‘leavings’ and what does he want to take advantage of himself now!”

  For a long while Myshkin was silent. He was horrorstruck.

  “You spoke of an interview with Nastasya Filippovna,” he murmured at last.

  “Hey, are you really unaware that Aglaia Ivanovna is going to meet Nastasya Filippovna to-day? And that for that purpose Nastasya Filippovna has been brought, through Rogozhin, from Petersburg, at an invitation of Aglaia Ivanovna and by my efforts, is now staying with Rogozhin, where she stayed before, very near you, in the house of that woman . .. Darya Alexeyevna ... a very dubious lady, a friend of hers, and to that very doubtful house Aglaia Ivanovna is going to-day to have a friendly conversation with Nastasya Filippovna, and to decide various problems. They want to work at arithmetic. Didn’t you know it? Honour bright?”

  “That’s incredible!”

  “Well, that’s all right if it’s incredible. But how could you know? Though this is such a place, if a fly buzzes every one knows of it. But I’ve warned you, and you may be grateful to me. Well, till we meet again — in the next world probably. But another thing: though I have been a cad to you, because . . . why should I be a loser? Kindly tell me that? For your advantage, eh? I’ve dedicated my ‘Confession’ to her (you didn’t know that?). And how she received it too, ha-ha! But anyway I’ve not behaved like a cad to her, I’ve not done her any harm; but she’s put me to shame and snubbed me . . . though I’ve done you no harm either. If I did refer to ‘leavings’ and things of that sort, still I am telling you the day and the hour and the address of their meeting, and I’ve let you into the whole game . . . from resentment of course, not from generosity. Good-bye, I’m as talkative as a stammerer or a consumptive. Mind you take steps at once, if you deserve to be called a man. The interview is to take place this evening, that’s the truth.”

  Ippolit went towards the door, but Myshkin called after him and he stopped in the doorway.