Rogojin began to wander—muttering disconnectedly; then he took to
shouting and laughing. The prince stretched out a trembling hand and gently
stroked his hair and his cheeks—he could do nothing more. His legs
trembled again and he seemed to have lost the use of them. A new sensation
came over him, filling his heart and soul with infinite anguish.
Meanwhile the daylight grew full and strong; and at last the prince lay
down, as though overcome by despair, and laid his face against the white,
motionless face of Rogojin. His tears flowed on to Rogojin’s cheek, though
he was perhaps not aware of them himself.
At all events when, after many hours, the door was opened and people
thronged in, they found the murderer unconscious and in a raging fever. The
prince was sitting by him, motionless, and each time that the sick man gave
a laugh, or a shout, he hastened to pass his own trembling hand over his
companion’s hair and cheeks, as though trying to soothe and quiet him. But
alas! he understood nothing of what was said to him, and recognized none
of those who surrounded him.
If Schneider himself had arrived then and seen his former pupil and
patient, remembering the prince’s condition during the first year in
Switzerland, he would have flung up his hands, despairingly, and cried, as
he did then:
“An idiot!”
XII.
When the widow hurried away to Pavlofsk, she went straight to Daria
Alexeyevna’s house, and telling all she knew, threw her into a state of great
alarm. Both ladies decided to communicate at once with Lebedeff, who, as
the friend and landlord of the prince, was also much agitated. Vera Lebedeff
told all she knew, and by Lebedeff’s advice it was decided that all three
should go to Petersburg as quickly as possible, in order to avert “what might
so easily happen.”
This is how it came about that at eleven o’clock next morning Rogojin’s
flat was opened by the police in the presence of Lebedeff, the two ladies,
and Rogojin’s own brother, who lived in the wing.
The evidence of the porter went further than anything else towards the
success of Lebedeff in gaining the assistance of the police. He declared that
he had seen Rogojin return to the house last night, accompanied by a friend,
and that both had gone upstairs very secretly and cautiously. After this there
was no hesitation about breaking open the door, since it could not be got
open in any other way.
Rogojin suffered from brain fever for two months. When he recovered
from the attack he was at once brought up on trial for murder.
He gave full, satisfactory, and direct evidence on every point; and the
prince’s name was, thanks to this, not brought into the proceedings. Rogojin
was very quiet during the progress of the trial. He did not contradict his
clever and eloquent counsel, who argued that the brain fever, or
inflammation of the brain, was the cause of the crime; clearly proving that
this malady had existed long before the murder was perpetrated, and had
been brought on by the sufferings of the accused.
But Rogojin added no words of his own in confirmation of this view, and
as before, he recounted with marvellous exactness the details of his crime.
He was convicted, but with extenuating circumstances, and condemned to
hard labour in Siberia for fifteen years. He heard his sentence grimly,
silently, and thoughtfully. His colossal fortune, with the exception of the
comparatively small portion wasted in the first wanton period of his
inheritance, went to his brother, to the great satisfaction of the latter.
The old lady, Rogojin’s mother, is still alive, and remembers her
favourite son Parfen sometimes, but not clearly. God spared her the
knowledge of this dreadful calamity which had overtaken her house.
Lebedeff, Keller, Gania, Ptitsin, and many other friends of ours continue
to live as before. There is scarcely any change in them, so that there is no
need to tell of their subsequent doings.
Hippolyte died in great agitation, and rather sooner than he expected,
about a fortnight after Nastasia Philipovna’s death. Colia was much affected
by these events, and drew nearer to his mother in heart and sympathy. Nina
Alexandrovna is anxious, because he is “thoughtful beyond his years,” but
he will, we think, make a useful and active man.
The prince’s further fate was more or less decided by Colia, who
selected, out of all the persons he had met during the last six or seven
months, Evgenie Pavlovitch, as friend and confidant. To him he made over
all that he knew as to the events above recorded, and as to the present
condition of the prince. He was not far wrong in his choice. Evgenie
Pavlovitch took the deepest interest in the fate of the unfortunate “idiot,”
and, thanks to his influence, the prince found himself once more with Dr.
Schneider, in Switzerland.
Evgenie Pavlovitch, who went abroad at this time, intending to live a
long while on the continent, being, as he often said, quite superfluous in
Russia, visits his sick friend at Schneider’s every few months.
But Dr. Schneider frowns ever more and more and shakes his head; he
hints that the brain is fatally injured; he does not as yet declare that his
patient is incurable, but he allows himself to express the gravest fears.
Evgenie takes this much to heart, and he has a heart, as is proved by the
fact that he receives and even answers letters from Colia. But besides this,
another trait in his character has become apparent, and as it is a good trait
we will make haste to reveal it. After each visit to Schneider’s
establishment, Evgenie Pavlovitch writes another letter, besides that to
Colia, giving the most minute particulars concerning the invalid’s condition.
In these letters is to be detected, and in each one more than the last, a
growing feeling of friendship and sympathy.
The individual who corresponds thus with Evgenie Pavlovitch, and who
engages so much of his attention and respect, is Vera Lebedeff. We have
never been able to discover clearly how such relations sprang up. Of course
the root of them was in the events which we have already recorded, and
which so filled Vera with grief on the prince’s account that she fell seriously
ill. But exactly how the acquaintance and friendship came about, we cannot
say.
We have spoken of these letters chiefly because in them is often to be
found some news of the Epanchin family, and of Aglaya in particular.
Evgenie Pavlovitch wrote of her from Paris, that after a short and sudden
attachment to a certain Polish count, an exile, she had suddenly married
him, quite against the wishes of her parents, though they had eventually
given their consent through fear of a terrible scandal. Then, after a six
months’ silence, Evgenie Pavlovitch informed his correspondent, in a long
letter, full of detail, that while paying his last visit to Dr. Schneider’s
establishment, he had there come across the whole Epanchin family
(excepting the general, who had remained in St. Petersburg) and Prince S.
The meeting was a strange one. They all received Evgenie Pavlovitch with
effusive delight; Adelaida and Alexandra were deeply grateful to him for his
“angelic kindness to the unhappy prince.”
Lizabetha Prokofievna, when she saw poor Muishkin, in his enfeebled
and humiliated condition, had wept bitterly. Apparently all was forgiven
him.
Prince S. had made a few just and sensible remarks. It seemed to Evgenie
Pavlovitch that there was not yet perfect harmony between Adelaida and her
fiance, but he thought that in time the impulsive young girl would let
herself be guided by his reason and experience. Besides, the recent events
that had befallen her family had given Adelaida much to think about,
especially the sad experiences of her younger sister. Within six months,
everything that the family had dreaded from the marriage with the Polish
count had come to pass. He turned out to be neither count nor exile—at
least, in the political sense of the word—but had had to leave his native land
owing to some rather dubious affair of the past. It was his noble patriotism,
of which he made a great display, that had rendered him so interesting in
Aglaya’s eyes. She was so fascinated that, even before marrying him, she
joined a committee that had been organized abroad to work for the
restoration of Poland; and further, she visited the confessional of a
celebrated Jesuit priest, who made an absolute fanatic of her. The supposed
fortune of the count had dwindled to a mere nothing, although he had given
almost irrefutable evidence of its existence to Lizabetha Prokofievna and
Prince S.
Besides this, before they had been married half a year, the count and his
friend the priest managed to bring about a quarrel between Aglaya and her
family, so that it was now several months since they had seen her. In a
word, there was a great deal to say; but Mrs. Epanchin, and her daughters,
and even Prince S., were still so much distressed by Aglaya’s latest
infatuations and adventures, that they did not care to talk of them, though
they must have known that Evgenie knew much of the story already.
Poor Lizabetha Prokofievna was most anxious to get home, and,
according to Evgenie’s account, she criticized everything foreign with much
hostility.
“They can’t bake bread anywhere, decently; and they all freeze in their
houses, during winter, like a lot of mice in a cellar. At all events, I’ve had a
good Russian cry over this poor fellow,” she added, pointing to the prince,
who had not recognized her in the slightest degree. “So enough of this
nonsense; it’s time we faced the truth. All this continental life, all this
Europe of yours, and all the trash about ‘going abroad’ is simply foolery,
and it is mere foolery on our part to come. Remember what I say, my friend;
you’ll live to agree with me yourself.”
So spoke the good lady, almost angrily, as she took leave of Evgenie
Pavlovitch.
