PART II
I.
Two days after the strange conclusion to Nastasia Philipovna’s birthday
party, with the record of which we concluded the first part of this story,
Prince Muishkin hurriedly left St. Petersburg for Moscow, in order to see
after some business connected with the receipt of his unexpected fortune.
It was said that there were other reasons for his hurried departure; but as
to this, and as to his movements in Moscow, and as to his prolonged
absence from St. Petersburg, we are able to give very little information.
The prince was away for six months, and even those who were most
interested in his destiny were able to pick up very little news about him all
that while. True, certain rumours did reach his friends, but these were both
strange and rare, and each one contradicted the last.
Of course the Epanchin family was much interested in his movements,
though he had not had time to bid them farewell before his departure. The
general, however, had had an opportunity of seeing him once or twice since
the eventful evening, and had spoken very seriously with him; but though
he had seen the prince, as I say, he told his family nothing about the
circumstance. In fact, for a month or so after his departure it was considered
not the thing to mention the prince’s name in the Epanchin household. Only
Mrs. Epanchin, at the commencement of this period, had announced that
she had been “cruelly mistaken in the prince!” and a day or two after, she
had added, evidently alluding to him, but not mentioning his name, that it
was an unalterable characteristic of hers to be mistaken in people. Then
once more, ten days later, after some passage of arms with one of her
daughters, she had remarked sententiously. “We have had enough of
mistakes. I shall be more careful in future!” However, it was impossible to
avoid remarking that there was some sense of oppression in the household
—something unspoken, but felt; something strained. All the members of the
family wore frowning looks. The general was unusually busy; his family
hardly ever saw him.
As to the girls, nothing was said openly, at all events; and probably very
little in private. They were proud damsels, and were not always perfectly
confidential even among themselves. But they understood each other
thoroughly at the first word on all occasions; very often at the first glance,
so that there was no need of much talking as a rule.
One fact, at least, would have been perfectly plain to an outsider, had any
such person been on the spot; and that was, that the prince had made a very
considerable impression upon the family, in spite of the fact that he had but
once been inside the house, and then only for a short time. Of course, if
analyzed, this impression might have proved to be nothing more than a
feeling of curiosity; but be it what it might, there it undoubtedly was.
Little by little, the rumours spread about town became lost in a maze of
uncertainty. It was said that some foolish young prince, name unknown, had
suddenly come into possession of a gigantic fortune, and had married a
French ballet dancer. This was contradicted, and the rumour circulated that
it was a young merchant who had come into the enormous fortune and
married the great ballet dancer, and that at the wedding the drunken young
fool had burned seventy thousand roubles at a candle out of pure bravado.
However, all these rumours soon died down, to which circumstance
certain facts largely contributed. For instance, the whole of the Rogojin
troop had departed, with him at their head, for Moscow. This was exactly a
week after a dreadful orgy at the Ekaterinhof gardens, where Nastasia
Philipovna had been present. It became known that after this orgy Nastasia
Philipovna had entirely disappeared, and that she had since been traced to
Moscow; so that the exodus of the Rogojin band was found consistent with
this report.
There were rumours current as to Gania, too; but circumstances soon
contradicted these. He had fallen seriously ill, and his illness precluded his
appearance in society, and even at business, for over a month. As soon as he
had recovered, however, he threw up his situation in the public company
under General Epanchin’s direction, for some unknown reason, and the post
was given to another. He never went near the Epanchins’ house at all, and
was exceedingly irritable and depressed.
Varvara Ardalionovna married Ptitsin this winter, and it was said that the
fact of Gania’s retirement from business was the ultimate cause of the
marriage, since Gania was now not only unable to support his family, but
even required help himself.
We may mention that Gania was no longer mentioned in the Epanchin
household any more than the prince was; but that a certain circumstance in
connection with the fatal evening at Nastasia’s house became known to the
general, and, in fact, to all the family the very next day. This fact was that
Gania had come home that night, but had refused to go to bed. He had
awaited the prince’s return from Ekaterinhof with feverish impatience.
On the latter’s arrival, at six in the morning, Gania had gone to him in his
room, bringing with him the singed packet of money, which he had insisted
that the prince should return to Nastasia Philipovna without delay. It was
said that when Gania entered the prince’s room, he came with anything but
friendly feelings, and in a condition of despair and misery; but that after a
short conversation, he had stayed on for a couple of hours with him,
sobbing continuously and bitterly the whole time. They had parted upon
terms of cordial friendship.
The Epanchins heard about this, as well as about the episode at Nastasia
Philipovna’s. It was strange, perhaps, that the facts should become so
quickly, and fairly accurately, known. As far as Gania was concerned, it
might have been supposed that the news had come through Varvara
Ardalionovna, who had suddenly become a frequent visitor of the Epanchin
girls, greatly to their mother’s surprise. But though Varvara had seen fit, for
some reason, to make friends with them, it was not likely that she would
have talked to them about her brother. She had plenty of pride, in spite of
the fact that in thus acting she was seeking intimacy with people who had
practically shown her brother the door. She and the Epanchin girls had been
acquainted in childhood, although of late they had met but rarely. Even now
Varvara hardly ever appeared in the drawing-room, but would slip in by a
back way. Lizabetha Prokofievna, who disliked Varvara, although she had a
great respect for her mother, was much annoyed by this sudden intimacy,
and put it down to the general “contrariness” of her daughters, who were
“always on the lookout for some new way of opposing her.” Nevertheless,
Varvara continued her visits.
A month after Muishkin’s departure, Mrs. Epanchin received a letter
from her old friend Princess Bielokonski (who had lately left for Moscow),
which letter put her into the greatest good humour. She did not divulge its
contents either to her daughters or the general, but her conduct towards the
former became affectionate in the extreme. She even made some sort of
confession to them, but they were unable to understand what it was about.
She actually relaxed towards the general a little—he had been long
disgraced—and though she managed to quarrel with them all the next day,
yet she soon came round, and from her general behaviour it was to be
concluded that she had had good news of some sort, which she would like,
but could not make up her mind, to disclose.
However, a week later she received another letter from the same source,
and at last resolved to speak.
She solemnly announced that she had heard from old Princess
Bielokonski, who had given her most comforting news about “that queer
young prince.” Her friend had hunted him up, and found that all was going
well with him. He had since called in person upon her, making an extremely
favourable impression, for the princess had received him each day since,
and had introduced him into several good houses.
The girls could see that their mother concealed a great deal from them,
and left out large pieces of the letter in reading it to them.
However, the ice was broken, and it suddenly became possible to
mention the prince’s name again. And again it became evident how very
strong was the impression the young man had made in the household by his
one visit there. Mrs. Epanchin was surprised at the effect which the news
from Moscow had upon the girls, and they were no less surprised that after
solemnly remarking that her most striking characteristic was “being
mistaken in people” she should have troubled to obtain for the prince the
favour and protection of so powerful an old lady as the Princess
Bielokonski. As soon as the ice was thus broken, the general lost no time in
showing that he, too, took the greatest interest in the subject. He admitted
that he was interested, but said that it was merely in the business side of the
question. It appeared that, in the interests of the prince, he had made
arrangements in Moscow for a careful watch to be kept upon the prince’s
business affairs, and especially upon Salaskin. All that had been said as to
the prince being an undoubted heir to a fortune turned out to be perfectly
true; but the fortune proved to be much smaller than was at first reported.
The estate was considerably encumbered with debts; creditors turned up on
all sides, and the prince, in spite of all advice and entreaty, insisted upon
managing all matters of claim himself—which, of course, meant satisfying
everybody all round, although half the claims were absolutely fraudulent.
Mrs. Epanchin confirmed all this. She said the princess had written to
much the same effect, and added that there was no curing a fool. But it was
plain, from her expression of face, how strongly she approved of this
particular young fool’s doings. In conclusion, the general observed that his
wife took as great an interest in the prince as though he were her own son;
and that she had commenced to be especially affectionate towards Aglaya
was a self-evident fact.
All this caused the general to look grave and important. But, alas! this
agreeable state of affairs very soon changed once more.
A couple of weeks went by, and suddenly the general and his wife were
once more gloomy and silent, and the ice was as firm as ever. The fact was,
the general, who had heard first, how Nastasia Philipovna had fled to
Moscow and had been discovered there by Rogojin; that she had then
disappeared once more, and been found again by Rogojin, and how after
that she had almost promised to marry him, now received news that she had
once more disappeared, almost on the very day fixed for her wedding,
flying somewhere into the interior of Russia this time, and that Prince
Muishkin had left all his affairs in the hands of Salaskin and disappeared
also—but whether he was with Nastasia, or had only set off in search of her,
was unknown.
Lizabetha Prokofievna received confirmatory news from the princess—
and alas, two months after the prince’s first departure from St. Petersburg,
darkness and mystery once more enveloped his whereabouts and actions,
and in the Epanchin family the ice of silence once more formed over the
subject. Varia, however, informed the girls of what had happened, she
having received the news from Ptitsin, who generally knew more than most
people.
To make an end, we may say that there were many changes in the
Epanchin household in the spring, so that it was not difficult to forget the
prince, who sent no news of himself.
The Epanchin family had at last made up their minds to spend the
summer abroad, all except the general, who could not waste time in
“travelling for enjoyment,” of course. This arrangement was brought about
by the persistence of the girls, who insisted that they were never allowed to
go abroad because their parents were too anxious to marry them off.
Perhaps their parents had at last come to the conclusion that husbands might
be found abroad, and that a summer’s travel might bear fruit. The marriage
between Alexandra and Totski had been broken off. Since the prince’s
departure from St. Petersburg no more had been said about it; the subject
had been dropped without ceremony, much to the joy of Mrs. General, who,
announced that she was “ready to cross herself with both hands” in
gratitude for the escape. The general, however, regretted Totski for a long
while. “Such a fortune!” he sighed, “and such a good, easy-going fellow!”
After a time it became known that Totski had married a French marquise,
and was to be carried off by her to Paris, and then to Brittany.
“Oh, well,” thought the general, “he’s lost to us for good, now.”
So the Epanchins prepared to depart for the summer.
But now another circumstance occurred, which changed all the plans
once more, and again the intended journey was put off, much to the delight
of the general and his spouse.
A certain Prince S—— arrived in St. Petersburg from Moscow, an
eminent and honourable young man. He was one of those active persons
who always find some good work with which to employ themselves.
Without forcing himself upon the public notice, modest and unobtrusive,
this young prince was concerned with much that happened in the world in
general.
He had served, at first, in one of the civil departments, had then attended
to matters connected with the local government of provincial towns, and
had of late been a corresponding member of several important scientific
societies. He was a man of excellent family and solid means, about thirty-
five years of age.
Prince S—— made the acquaintance of the general’s family, and
Adelaida, the second girl, made a great impression upon him. Towards the
spring he proposed to her, and she accepted him. The general and his wife
were delighted. The journey abroad was put off, and the wedding was fixed
for a day not very distant.
The trip abroad might have been enjoyed later on by Mrs. Epanchin and
her two remaining daughters, but for another circumstance.
It so happened that Prince S—— introduced a distant relation of his own
into the Epanchin family—one Evgenie Pavlovitch, a young officer of
about twenty-eight years of age, whose conquests among the ladies in
Moscow had been proverbial. This young gentleman no sooner set eyes on
Aglaya than he became a frequent visitor at the house. He was witty, well-
educated, and extremely wealthy, as the general very soon discovered. His
past reputation was the only thing against him.
Nothing was said; there were not even any hints dropped; but still, it
seemed better to the parents to say nothing more about going abroad this
season, at all events. Aglaya herself perhaps was of a different opinion.
All this happened just before the second appearance of our hero upon the
scene.
By this time, to judge from appearances, poor Prince Muishkin had been
quite forgotten in St. Petersburg. If he had appeared suddenly among his
acquaintances, he would have been received as one from the skies; but we
must just glance at one more fact before we conclude this preface.
Colia Ivolgin, for some time after the prince’s departure, continued his
old life. That is, he went to school, looked after his father, helped Varia in
the house, and ran her errands, and went frequently to see his friend,
Hippolyte.
The lodgers had disappeared very quickly—Ferdishenko soon after the
events at Nastasia Philipovna’s, while the prince went to Moscow, as we
know. Gania and his mother went to live with Varia and Ptitsin immediately
after the latter’s wedding, while the general was housed in a debtor’s prison
by reason of certain IOU’s given to the captain’s widow under the
impression that they would never be formally used against him. This unkind
action much surprised poor Ardalion Alexandrovitch, the victim, as he
called himself, of an “unbounded trust in the nobility of the human heart.”
When he signed those notes of hand he never dreamt that they would be a
source of future trouble. The event showed that he was mistaken. “Trust in
anyone after this! Have the least confidence in man or woman!” he cried in
bitter tones, as he sat with his new friends in prison, and recounted to them
his favourite stories of the siege of Kars, and the resuscitated soldier. On the
whole, he accommodated himself very well to his new position. Ptitsin and
Varia declared that he was in the right place, and Gania was of the same
opinion. The only person who deplored his fate was poor Nina
Alexandrovna, who wept bitter tears over him, to the great surprise of her
household, and, though always in feeble health, made a point of going to
see him as often as possible.
Since the general’s “mishap,” as Colia called it, and the marriage of his
sister, the boy had quietly possessed himself of far more freedom. His
relations saw little of him, for he rarely slept at home. He made many new
friends; and was moreover, a frequent visitor at the debtor’s prison, to
which he invariably accompanied his mother. Varia, who used to be always
correcting him, never spoke to him now on the subject of his frequent
absences, and the whole household was surprised to see Gania, in spite of
his depression, on quite friendly terms with his brother. This was something
new, for Gania had been wont to look upon Colia as a kind of errand-boy,
treating him with contempt, threatening to “pull his ears,” and in general
driving him almost wild with irritation. It seemed now that Gania really
needed his brother, and the latter, for his part, felt as if he could forgive
Gania much since he had returned the hundred thousand roubles offered to
him by Nastasia Philipovna. Three months after the departure of the prince,
the Ivolgin family discovered that Colia had made acquaintance with the
Epanchins, and was on very friendly terms with the daughters. Varia heard
of it first, though Colia had not asked her to introduce him. Little by little
the family grew quite fond of him. Madame Epanchin at first looked on him
with disdain, and received him coldly, but in a short time he grew to please
her, because, as she said, he “was candid and no flatterer”—a very true
description. From the first he put himself on an equality with his new
friends, and though he sometimes read newspapers and books to the
mistress of the house, it was simply because he liked to be useful.
One day, however, he and Lizabetha Prokofievna quarrelled seriously
about the “woman question,” in the course of a lively discussion on that
burning subject. He told her that she was a tyrant, and that he would never
set foot in her house again. It may seem incredible, but a day or two after,
Madame Epanchin sent a servant with a note begging him to return, and
Colia, without standing on his dignity, did so at once.
Aglaya was the only one of the family whose good graces he could not
gain, and who always spoke to him haughtily, but it so happened that the
boy one day succeeded in giving the proud maiden a surprise.
It was about Easter, when, taking advantage of a momentary tête-à-tête
Colia handed Aglaya a letter, remarking that he “had orders to deliver it to
her privately.” She stared at him in amazement, but he did not wait to hear
what she had to say, and went out. Aglaya broke the seal, and read as
follows:
“Once you did me the honour of giving me your confidence.
Perhaps you have quite forgotten me now! How is it that I
am writing to you? I do not know; but I am conscious of an
irresistible desire to remind you of my existence, especially
you. How many times I have needed all three of you; but
only you have dwelt always in my mind’s eye. I need you—I
need you very much. I will not write about myself. I have
nothing to tell you. But I long for you to be happy. Are you
happy? That is all I wished to say to you—Your brother,
“Pr. L. Muishkin.”
On reading this short and disconnected note, Aglaya suddenly blushed all
over, and became very thoughtful.
It would be difficult to describe her thoughts at that moment. One of
them was, “Shall I show it to anyone?” But she was ashamed to show it. So
she ended by hiding it in her table drawer, with a very strange, ironical
smile upon her lips.
Next day, she took it out, and put it into a large book, as she usually did
with papers which she wanted to be able to find easily. She laughed when,
about a week later, she happened to notice the name of the book, and saw
that it was Don Quixote, but it would be difficult to say exactly why.
I cannot say, either, whether she showed the letter to her sisters.
But when she had read it herself once more, it suddenly struck her that
surely that conceited boy, Colia, had not been the one chosen correspondent
of the prince all this while. She determined to ask him, and did so with an
exaggerated show of carelessness. He informed her haughtily that though he
had given the prince his permanent address when the latter left town, and
had offered his services, the prince had never before given him any
