commission to perform, nor had he written until the following lines arrived,
with Aglaya’s letter. Aglaya took the note, and read it.
“DEAR COLIA,—Please be so kind as to give the enclosed
sealed letter to Aglaya Ivanovna. Keep well—Ever your
loving,
“Pr. L. Muishkin.”
“It seems absurd to trust a little pepper-box like you,” said Aglaya, as she
returned the note, and walked past the “pepper-box” with an expression of
great contempt.
This was more than Colia could bear. He had actually borrowed Gania’s
new green tie for the occasion, without saying why he wanted it, in order to
impress her. He was very deeply mortified.
II.
It was the beginning of June, and for a whole week the weather in St.
Petersburg had been magnificent. The Epanchins had a luxurious country-
house at Pavlofsk, [One of the fashionable summer resorts near St.
Petersburg.] and to this spot Mrs. Epanchin determined to proceed without
further delay. In a couple of days all was ready, and the family had left
town. A day or two after this removal to Pavlofsk, Prince Muishkin arrived
in St. Petersburg by the morning train from Moscow. No one met him; but,
as he stepped out of the carriage, he suddenly became aware of two
strangely glowing eyes fixed upon him from among the crowd that met the
train. On endeavouring to re-discover the eyes, and see to whom they
belonged, he could find nothing to guide him. It must have been a
hallucination. But the disagreeable impression remained, and without this,
the prince was sad and thoughtful already, and seemed to be much
preoccupied.
His cab took him to a small and bad hotel near the Litaynaya. Here he
engaged a couple of rooms, dark and badly furnished. He washed and
changed, and hurriedly left the hotel again, as though anxious to waste no
time. Anyone who now saw him for the first time since he left Petersburg
would judge that he had improved vastly so far as his exterior was
concerned. His clothes certainly were very different; they were more
fashionable, perhaps even too much so, and anyone inclined to mockery
might have found something to smile at in his appearance. But what is there
that people will not smile at?
The prince took a cab and drove to a street near the Nativity, where he
soon discovered the house he was seeking. It was a small wooden villa, and
he was struck by its attractive and clean appearance; it stood in a pleasant
little garden, full of flowers. The windows looking on the street were open,
and the sound of a voice, reading aloud or making a speech, came through
them. It rose at times to a shout, and was interrupted occasionally by bursts
of laughter.
Prince Muishkin entered the court-yard, and ascended the steps. A cook
with her sleeves turned up to the elbows opened the door. The visitor asked
if Mr. Lebedeff were at home.
“He is in there,” said she, pointing to the salon.
The room had a blue wall-paper, and was well, almost pretentiously,
furnished, with its round table, its divan, and its bronze clock under a glass
shade. There was a narrow pier-glass against the wall, and a chandelier
adorned with lustres hung by a bronze chain from the ceiling.
When the prince entered, Lebedeff was standing in the middle of the
room, his back to the door. He was in his shirt-sleeves, on account of the
extreme heat, and he seemed to have just reached the peroration of his
speech, and was impressively beating his breast.
His audience consisted of a youth of about fifteen years of age with a
clever face, who had a book in his hand, though he was not reading; a
young lady of twenty, in deep mourning, stood near him with an infant in
her arms; another girl of thirteen, also in black, was laughing loudly, her
mouth wide open; and on the sofa lay a handsome young man, with black
hair and eyes, and a suspicion of beard and whiskers. He frequently
interrupted the speaker and argued with him, to the great delight of the
others.
“Lukian Timofeyovitch! Lukian Timofeyovitch! Here’s someone to see
you! Look here!… a gentleman to speak to you!… Well, it’s not my fault!”
and the cook turned and went away red with anger.
Lebedeff started, and at sight of the prince stood like a statue for a
moment. Then he moved up to him with an ingratiating smile, but stopped
short again.
“Prince! ex-ex-excellency!” he stammered. Then suddenly he ran
towards the girl with the infant, a movement so unexpected by her that she
staggered and fell back, but next moment he was threatening the other
child, who was standing, still laughing, in the doorway. She screamed, and
ran towards the kitchen. Lebedeff stamped his foot angrily; then, seeing the
prince regarding him with amazement, he murmured apologetically
—“Pardon to show respect!… he-he!”
“You are quite wrong…” began the prince.
“At once… at once… in one moment!”
He rushed like a whirlwind from the room, and Muishkin looked
inquiringly at the others.
They were all laughing, and the guest joined in the chorus.
“He has gone to get his coat,” said the boy.
“How annoying!” exclaimed the prince. “I thought… Tell me, is he…”
“You think he is drunk?” cried the young man on the sofa. “Not in the
least. He’s only had three or four small glasses, perhaps five; but what is
that? The usual thing!”
As the prince opened his mouth to answer, he was interrupted by the girl,
whose sweet face wore an expression of absolute frankness.
“He never drinks much in the morning; if you have come to talk business
with him, do it now. It is the best time. He sometimes comes back drunk in
the evening; but just now he passes the greater part of the evening in tears,
and reads passages of Holy Scripture aloud, because our mother died five
weeks ago.”
“No doubt he ran off because he did not know what to say to you,” said
the youth on the divan. “I bet he is trying to cheat you, and is thinking how
best to do it.”
Just then Lebedeff returned, having put on his coat.
“Five weeks!” said he, wiping his eyes. “Only five weeks! Poor
orphans!”
“But why wear a coat in holes,” asked the girl, “when your new one is
hanging behind the door? Did you not see it?”
“Hold your tongue, dragon-fly!” he scolded. “What a plague you are!”
He stamped his foot irritably, but she only laughed, and answered:
“Are you trying to frighten me? I am not Tania, you know, and I don’t
intend to run away. Look, you are waking Lubotchka, and she will have
convulsions again. Why do you shout like that?”
“Well, well! I won’t again,” said the master of the house, his anxiety
getting the better of his temper. He went up to his daughter, and looked at
the child in her arms, anxiously making the sign of the cross over her three
times. “God bless her! God bless her!” he cried with emotion. “This little
creature is my daughter Luboff,” addressing the prince. “My wife, Helena,
died—at her birth; and this is my big daughter Vera, in mourning, as you
see; and this, this, oh, this,” pointing to the young man on the divan…
“Well, go on! never mind me!” mocked the other. “Don’t be afraid!”
“Excellency! Have you read that account of the murder of the Zemarin
family, in the newspaper?” cried Lebedeff, all of a sudden.
“Yes,” said Muishkin, with some surprise.
“Well, that is the murderer! It is he—in fact—”
“What do you mean?” asked the visitor.
“I am speaking allegorically, of course; but he will be the murderer of a
Zemarin family in the future. He is getting ready. …”
They all laughed, and the thought crossed the prince’s mind that perhaps
Lebedeff was really trifling in this way because he foresaw inconvenient
questions, and wanted to gain time.
“He is a traitor! a conspirator!” shouted Lebedeff, who seemed to have
lost all control over himself. “A monster! a slanderer! Ought I to treat him
as a nephew, the son of my sister Anisia?”
“Oh! do be quiet! You must be drunk! He has taken it into his head to
play the lawyer, prince, and he practices speechifying, and is always
repeating his eloquent pleadings to his children. And who do you think was
his last client? An old woman who had been robbed of five hundred
roubles, her all, by some rogue of a usurer, besought him to take up her
case, instead of which he defended the usurer himself, a Jew named Zeidler,
because this Jew promised to give him fifty roubles….”
“It was to be fifty if I won the case, only five if I lost,” interrupted
Lebedeff, speaking in a low tone, a great contrast to his earlier manner.
“Well! naturally he came to grief: the law is not administered as it used to
be, and he only got laughed at for his pains. But he was much pleased with
himself in spite of that. ‘Most learned judge!’ said he, ‘picture this unhappy
man, crippled by age and infirmities, who gains his living by honourable
toil—picture him, I repeat, robbed of his all, of his last mouthful;
remember, I entreat you, the words of that learned legislator, “Let mercy
and justice alike rule the courts of law.”’ Now, would you believe it,
excellency, every morning he recites this speech to us from beginning to
end, exactly as he spoke it before the magistrate. To-day we have heard it
for the fifth time. He was just starting again when you arrived, so much
does he admire it. He is now preparing to undertake another case. I think,
by the way, that you are Prince Muishkin? Colia tells me you are the
cleverest man he has ever known….”
“The cleverest in the world,” interrupted his uncle hastily.
“I do not pay much attention to that opinion,” continued the young man
calmly. “Colia is very fond of you, but he,” pointing to Lebedeff, “is
flattering you. I can assure you I have no intention of flattering you, or
anyone else, but at least you have some common-sense. Well, will you
judge between us? Shall we ask the prince to act as arbitrator?” he went on,
addressing his uncle.
“I am so glad you chanced to come here, prince.”
“I agree,” said Lebedeff, firmly, looking round involuntarily at his
daughter, who had come nearer, and was listening attentively to the
conversation.
“What is it all about?” asked the prince, frowning. His head ached, and
he felt sure that Lebedeff was trying to cheat him in some way, and only
talking to put off the explanation that he had come for.
“I will tell you all the story. I am his nephew; he did speak the truth there,
although he is generally telling lies. I am at the University, and have not yet
finished my course. I mean to do so, and I shall, for I have a determined
character. I must, however, find something to do for the present, and
therefore I have got employment on the railway at twenty-four roubles a
month. I admit that my uncle has helped me once or twice before. Well, I
had twenty roubles in my pocket, and I gambled them away. Can you
believe that I should be so low, so base, as to lose money in that way?”
“And the man who won it is a rogue, a rogue whom you ought not to
have paid!” cried Lebedeff.
“Yes, he is a rogue, but I was obliged to pay him,” said the young man.
“As to his being a rogue, he is assuredly that, and I am not saying it because
he beat you. He is an ex-lieutenant, prince, dismissed from the service, a
teacher of boxing, and one of Rogojin’s followers. They are all lounging
about the pavements now that Rogojin has turned them off. Of course, the
worst of it is that, knowing he was a rascal, and a card-sharper, I none the
less played palki with him, and risked my last rouble. To tell the truth, I
thought to myself, ‘If I lose, I will go to my uncle, and I am sure he will not
refuse to help me.’ Now that was base—cowardly and base!”
“That is so,” observed Lebedeff quietly; “cowardly and base.”
“Well, wait a bit, before you begin to triumph,” said the nephew
viciously; for the words seemed to irritate him. “He is delighted! I came to
him here and told him everything: I acted honourably, for I did not excuse
myself. I spoke most severely of my conduct, as everyone here can witness.
But I must smarten myself up before I take up my new post, for I am really
like a tramp. Just look at my boots! I cannot possibly appear like this, and if
I am not at the bureau at the time appointed, the job will be given to
someone else; and I shall have to try for another. Now I only beg for fifteen
roubles, and I give my word that I will never ask him for anything again. I
am also ready to promise to repay my debt in three months’ time, and I will
keep my word, even if I have to live on bread and water. My salary will
amount to seventy-five roubles in three months. The sum I now ask, added
to what I have borrowed already, will make a total of about thirty-five
roubles, so you see I shall have enough to pay him and confound him! if he
wants interest, he shall have that, too! Haven’t I always paid back the
money he lent me before? Why should he be so mean now? He grudges my
having paid that lieutenant; there can be no other reason! That’s the kind he
is—a dog in the manger!”
“And he won’t go away!” cried Lebedeff. “He has installed himself here,
and here he remains!”
“I have told you already, that I will not go away until I have got what I
ask. Why are you smiling, prince? You look as if you disapproved of me.”
“I am not smiling, but I really think you are in the wrong, somewhat,”
replied Muishkin, reluctantly.
“Don’t shuffle! Say plainly that you think that I am quite wrong, without
any ‘somewhat’! Why ‘somewhat’?”
“I will say you are quite wrong, if you wish.”
“If I wish! That’s good, I must say! Do you think I am deceived as to the
flagrant impropriety of my conduct? I am quite aware that his money is his
own, and that my action—is much like an attempt at extortion. But you-you
don’t know what life is! If people don’t learn by experience, they never
understand. They must be taught. My intentions are perfectly honest; on my
conscience he will lose nothing, and I will pay back the money with
interest. Added to which he has had the moral satisfaction of seeing me
disgraced. What does he want more? and what is he good for if he never
helps anyone? Look what he does himself! just ask him about his dealings
with others, how he deceives people! How did he manage to buy this
house? You may cut off my head if he has not let you in for something—
and if he is not trying to cheat you again. You are smiling. You don’t believe
me?”
“It seems to me that all this has nothing to do with your affairs,”
remarked the prince.
“I have lain here now for three days,” cried the young man without
noticing, “and I have seen a lot! Fancy! he suspects his daughter, that angel,
that orphan, my cousin—he suspects her, and every evening he searches her
room, to see if she has a lover hidden in it! He comes here too on tiptoe,
creeping softly—oh, so softly—and looks under the sofa—my bed, you
know. He is mad with suspicion, and sees a thief in every corner. He runs
about all night long; he was up at least seven times last night, to satisfy
himself that the windows and doors were barred, and to peep into the oven.
That man who appears in court for scoundrels, rushes in here in the night
and prays, lying prostrate, banging his head on the ground by the half-hour
—and for whom do you think he prays? Who are the sinners figuring in his
drunken petitions? I have heard him with my own ears praying for the
repose of the soul of the Countess du Barry! Colia heard it too. He is as mad
as a March hare!”
“You hear how he slanders me, prince,” said Lebedeff, almost beside
himself with rage. “I may be a drunkard, an evil-doer, a thief, but at least I
can say one thing for myself. He does not know—how should he, mocker
that he is?—that when he came into the world it was I who washed him,
and dressed him in his swathing-bands, for my sister Anisia had lost her
husband, and was in great poverty. I was very little better off than she, but I
sat up night after night with her, and nursed both mother and child; I used to
go downstairs and steal wood for them from the house-porter. How often
did I sing him to sleep when I was half dead with hunger! In short, I was
more than a father to him, and now—now he jeers at me! Even if I did cross
myself, and pray for the repose of the soul of the Comtesse du Barry, what
does it matter? Three days ago, for the first time in my life, I read her
biography in an historical dictionary. Do you know who she was? You
there!” addressing his nephew. “Speak! do you know?”
“Of course no one knows anything about her but you,” muttered the
young man in a would-be jeering tone.
“She was a Countess who rose from shame to reign like a Queen. An
Empress wrote to her, with her own hand, as ‘Ma chère cousine.’ At a lever-
du-roi one morning (do you know what a lever-du-roi was?)—a Cardinal, a
Papal legate, offered to put on her stockings; a high and holy person like
that looked on it as an honour! Did you know this? I see by your expression
that you did not! Well, how did she die? Answer!”
“Oh! do stop—you are too absurd!”
“This is how she died. After all this honour and glory, after having been
almost a Queen, she was guillotined by that butcher, Samson. She was quite
innocent, but it had to be done, for the satisfaction of the fishwives of Paris.
She was so terrified, that she did not understand what was happening. But
when Samson seized her head, and pushed her under the knife with his foot,
she cried out: ‘Wait a moment! wait a moment, monsieur!’ Well, because of
that moment of bitter suffering, perhaps the Saviour will pardon her other
faults, for one cannot imagine a greater agony. As I read the story my heart
bled for her. And what does it matter to you, little worm, if I implored the
Divine mercy for her, great sinner as she was, as I said my evening prayer?
I might have done it because I doubted if anyone had ever crossed himself
for her sake before. It may be that in the other world she will rejoice to
think that a sinner like herself has cried to heaven for the salvation of her
soul. Why are you laughing? You believe nothing, atheist! And your story
was not even correct! If you had listened to what I was saying, you would
have heard that I did not only pray for the Comtesse du Barry. I said, ‘Oh
Lord! give rest to the soul of that great sinner, the Comtesse du Barry, and
to all unhappy ones like her.’ You see that is quite a different thing, for how
many sinners there are, how many women, who have passed through the
trials of this life, are now suffering and groaning in purgatory! I prayed for
you, too, in spite of your insolence and impudence, also for your fellows, as
it seems that you claim to know how I pray…”
“Oh! that’s enough in all conscience! Pray for whom you choose, and the
devil take them and you! We have a scholar here; you did not know that,
prince?” he continued, with a sneer. “He reads all sorts of books and
memoirs now.”
“At any rate, your uncle has a kind heart,” remarked the prince, who
really had to force himself to speak to the nephew, so much did he dislike
him.
“Oh, now you are going to praise him! He will be set up! He puts his
hand on his heart, and he is delighted! I never said he was a man without
heart, but he is a rascal—that’s the pity of it. And then, he is addicted to
drink, and his mind is unhinged, like that of most people who have taken
more than is good for them for years. He loves his children—oh, I know
that well enough! He respected my aunt, his late wife… and he even has a
sort of affection for me. He has remembered me in his will.”
“I shall leave you nothing!” exclaimed his uncle angrily.
“Listen to me, Lebedeff,” said the prince in a decided voice, turning his
back on the young man. “I know by experience that when you choose, you
can be business-like… I have very little time to spare, and if you… By the
way—excuse me—what is your Christian name? I have forgotten it.”
“Ti-Ti-Timofey.”
“And?”
“Lukianovitch.”
Everyone in the room began to laugh.
“He is telling lies!” cried the nephew. “Even now he cannot speak the
truth. He is not called Timofey Lukianovitch, prince, but Lukian
Timofeyovitch. Now do tell us why you must needs lie about it? Lukian or
Timofey, it is all the same to you, and what difference can it make to the
prince? He tells lies without the least necessity, simply by force of habit, I
assure you.”
“Is that true?” said the prince impatiently.
“My name really is Lukian Timofeyovitch,” acknowledged Lebedeff,
lowering his eyes, and putting his hand on his heart.
“Well, for God’s sake, what made you say the other?”
“To humble myself,” murmured Lebedeff.
“What on earth do you mean? Oh I if only I knew where Colia was at this
moment!” cried the prince, standing up, as if to go.
“I can tell you all about Colia,” said the young man
“Oh! no, no!” said Lebedeff, hurriedly.
“Colia spent the night here, and this morning went after his father, whom
you let out of prison by paying his debts—Heaven only knows why!
Yesterday the general promised to come and lodge here, but he did not
appear. Most probably he slept at the hotel close by. No doubt Colia is
there, unless he has gone to Pavlofsk to see the Epanchins. He had a little
money, and was intending to go there yesterday. He must be either at the
hotel or at Pavlofsk.”
“At Pavlofsk! He is at Pavlofsk, undoubtedly!” interrupted Lebedeff….
“But come—let us go into the garden—we will have coffee there….” And
Lebedeff seized the prince’s arm, and led him from the room. They went
across the yard, and found themselves in a delightful little garden with the
trees already in their summer dress of green, thanks to the unusually fine
weather. Lebedeff invited his guest to sit down on a green seat before a
table of the same colour fixed in the earth, and took a seat facing him. In a
few minutes the coffee appeared, and the prince did not refuse it. The host
kept his eyes fixed on Muishkin, with an expression of passionate servility.
“I knew nothing about your home before,” said the prince absently, as if
he were thinking of something else.
“Poor orphans,” began Lebedeff, his face assuming a mournful air, but he
stopped short, for the other looked at him inattentively, as if he had already
forgotten his own remark. They waited a few minutes in silence, while
Lebedeff sat with his eyes fixed mournfully on the young man’s face.
“Well!” said the latter, at last rousing himself. “Ah! yes! You know why I
came, Lebedeff. Your letter brought me. Speak! Tell me all about it.”
The clerk, rather confused, tried to say something, hesitated, began to
speak, and again stopped. The prince looked at him gravely.
“I think I understand, Lukian Timofeyovitch: you were not sure that I
should come. You did not think I should start at the first word from you, and
you merely wrote to relieve your conscience. However, you see now that I
have come, and I have had enough of trickery. Give up serving, or trying to
serve, two masters. Rogojin has been here these three weeks. Have you
managed to sell her to him as you did before? Tell me the truth.”
“He discovered everything, the monster… himself……”
“Don’t abuse him; though I dare say you have something to complain
of….”
“He beat me, he thrashed me unmercifully!” replied Lebedeff
vehemently. “He set a dog on me in Moscow, a bloodhound, a terrible beast
that chased me all down the street.”
“You seem to take me for a child, Lebedeff. Tell me, is it a fact that she
left him while they were in Moscow?”
“Yes, it is a fact, and this time, let me tell you, on the very eve of their
marriage! It was a question of minutes when she slipped off to Petersburg.
She came to me directly she arrived—‘Save me, Lukian! find me some
refuge, and say nothing to the prince!’ She is afraid of you, even more than
she is of him, and in that she shows her wisdom!” And Lebedeff slily put
his finger to his brow as he said the last words.
“And now it is you who have brought them together again?”
“Excellency, how could I, how could I prevent it?”
“That will do. I can find out for myself. Only tell me, where is she now?
At his house? With him?”
“Oh no! Certainly not! ‘I am free,’ she says; you know how she insists on
that point. ‘I am entirely free.’ She repeats it over and over again. She is
living in Petersburgskaia, with my sister-in-law, as I told you in my letter.”
“She is there at this moment?”
“Yes, unless she has gone to Pavlofsk: the fine weather may have
tempted her, perhaps, into the country, with Daria Alexeyevna. ‘I am quite
free,’ she says. Only yesterday she boasted of her freedom to Nicolai
Ardalionovitch—a bad sign,” added Lebedeff, smiling.
“Colia goes to see her often, does he not?”
“He is a strange boy, thoughtless, and inclined to be indiscreet.”
“Is it long since you saw her?”
“I go to see her every day, every day.”
“Then you were there yesterday?”
“N-no: I have not been these three last days.”
“It is a pity you have taken too much wine, Lebedeff I want to ask you
something… but…”
“All right! all right! I am not drunk,” replied the clerk, preparing to
listen.
“Tell me, how was she when you left her?”
“She is a woman who is seeking…”
“Seeking?”
“She seems always to be searching about, as if she had lost something.
The mere idea of her coming marriage disgusts her; she looks on it as an
insult. She cares as much for him as for a piece of orange-peel—not more.
Yet I am much mistaken if she does not look on him with fear and
trembling. She forbids his name to be mentioned before her, and they only
meet when unavoidable. He understands, well enough! But it must be gone
through. She is restless, mocking, deceitful, violent….”
“Deceitful and violent?”
“Yes, violent. I can give you a proof of it. A few days ago she tried to pull
my hair because I said something that annoyed her. I tried to soothe her by
reading the Apocalypse aloud.”
“What?” exclaimed the prince, thinking he had not heard aright.
“By reading the Apocalypse. The lady has a restless imagination, he-he!
She has a liking for conversation on serious subjects, of any kind; in fact
they please her so much, that it flatters her to discuss them. Now for fifteen
years at least I have studied the Apocalypse, and she agrees with me in
thinking that the present is the epoch represented by the third horse, the
black one whose rider holds a measure in his hand. It seems to me that
everything is ruled by measure in our century; all men are clamouring for
their rights; ‘a measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley
for a penny.’ But, added to this, men desire freedom of mind and body, a
pure heart, a healthy life, and all God’s good gifts. Now by pleading their
rights alone, they will never attain all this, so the white horse, with his rider
Death, comes next, and is followed by Hell. We talked about this matter
when we met, and it impressed her very much.”
“Do you believe all this?” asked Muishkin, looking curiously at his
companion.
“I both believe it and explain it. I am but a poor creature, a beggar, an
atom in the scale of humanity. Who has the least respect for Lebedeff? He is
a target for all the world, the butt of any fool who chooses to kick him. But
in interpreting revelation I am the equal of anyone, great as he may be!
Such is the power of the mind and the spirit. I have made a lordly personage
tremble, as he sat in his armchair… only by talking to him of things
concerning the spirit. Two years ago, on Easter Eve, His Excellency Nil
Alexeyovitch, whose subordinate I was then, wished to hear what I had to
say, and sent a message by Peter Zakkaritch to ask me to go to his private
room. ‘They tell me you expound the prophecies relating to Antichrist,’ said
he, when we were alone. ‘Is that so?’ ‘Yes,’ I answered unhesitatingly, and I
began to give some comments on the Apostle’s allegorical vision. At first he
smiled, but when we reached the numerical computations and
correspondences, he trembled, and turned pale. Then he begged me to close
the book, and sent me away, promising to put my name on the reward list.
That took place as I said on the eve of Easter, and eight days later his soul
returned to God.”
“What?”
“It is the truth. One evening after dinner he stumbled as he stepped out of
his carriage. He fell, and struck his head on the curb, and died immediately.
He was seventy-three years of age, and had a red face, and white hair; he
deluged himself with scent, and was always smiling like a child. Peter
Zakkaritch recalled my interview with him, and said, ‘you foretold his
death.’”
The prince rose from his seat, and Lebedeff, surprised to see his guest
preparing to go so soon, remarked: “You are not interested?” in a respectful
tone.
“I am not very well, and my head aches. Doubtless the effect of the
journey,” replied the prince, frowning.
“You should go into the country,” said Lebedeff timidly.
The prince seemed to be considering the suggestion.
“You see, I am going into the country myself in three days, with my
children and belongings. The little one is delicate; she needs change of air;
and during our absence this house will be done up. I am going to Pavlofsk.”
“You are going to Pavlofsk too?” asked the prince sharply. “Everybody
seems to be going there. Have you a house in that neighbourhood?”
“I don’t know of many people going to Pavlofsk, and as for the house,
Ivan Ptitsin has let me one of his villas rather cheaply. It is a pleasant place,
lying on a hill surrounded by trees, and one can live there for a mere song.
There is good music to be heard, so no wonder it is popular. I shall stay in
the lodge. As to the villa itself…”
“Have you let it?”
“N-no—not exactly.”
“Let it to me,” said the prince.
Now this was precisely what Lebedeff had made up his mind to do in the
last three minutes. Not that he had any difficulty in finding a tenant; in fact
the house was occupied at present by a chance visitor, who had told
Lebedeff that he would perhaps take it for the summer months. The clerk
knew very well that this “perhaps” meant “certainly,” but as he thought he
could make more out of a tenant like the prince, he felt justified in speaking
vaguely about the present inhabitant’s intentions. “This is quite a
coincidence,” thought he, and when the subject of price was mentioned, he
made a gesture with his hand, as if to waive away a question of so little
importance.
“Oh well, as you like!” said Muishkin. “I will think it over. You shall lose
nothing!”
They were walking slowly across the garden.
“But if you… I could…” stammered Lebedeff, “if… if you please, prince,
tell you something on the subject which would interest you, I am sure.” He
spoke in wheedling tones, and wriggled as he walked along.
Muishkin stopped short.
