Complete Works of Fyodor Dostoyevsky (349 page)

For an instant they stood so, facing one another. Ganya still kept hold of her arm. Twice Varya tried with all her might to pull herself free but suddenly losing all self-control, she spat in her brother’s face.

“What a girl!” cried Nastasya Filippovna. “Bravo! Ptitsyn, I congratulate you!”

Everything danced before Ganya’s eyes, and, completely forgetting himself, he struck at his sister with all his might. He would have hit her on the face, but suddenly another hand caught Ganya’s. Myshkin stood between him and his sister.

“Don’t, that’s enough,” he brought out insistently, though he was shaking all over with violent emotion.

“Are you always going to get in my way?” roared Ganya. He let go Varya’s arm and, mad with rage, gave Myshkin a violent slap in the face with the hand thus freed.

“Ah!” cried Kolya, clasping his hands. “My God!”

Exclamations were heard on all sides. Myshkin turned pale. He looked Ganya straight in the face with strange and reproachful eyes; his lips quivered, trying to articulate something; they were twisted into a sort of strange and utterly incongruous smile.

“Well, you may ... but her... I won’t let you,” he said softly at last.

But suddenly he broke down, left Ganya, hid his face in his hands, moved away to a corner, stood with his face to the wall, and in a breaking voice said:

“Oh, how ashamed you will be of what you’ve done!”

Ganya did, indeed, stand looking utterly crushed. Kolya rushed to hug and kiss Myshkin. He was followed by Rogozhin, Varya, Ptitsyn, Nina Alexandrovna — all the party, even the general, who all crowded about Myshkin.

“Never mind, never mind,” muttered Myshkin in all directions, still with the same inconqruous smile.

“And he will regret it,” cried Rogozhin. “You will be ashamed, Ganya, that you have insulted such a . . . sheep” (he could not find another word). “Prince darling, drop them; curse them and come along. I’ll show you what a friend Rogozhin can be.”

Nastasya Filippovna too was very much impressed by Ganya’s action and Myshkin’s answer. Her usually pale and melancholy face, which had seemed all along so out of keeping with her affected laughter, was evidently stirred by a new feeling. “Vfet she still seemed unwilling to betray it and to be trying to maintain a sarcastic expression.

“I certainly have seen his face somewhere,” she said, speaking quite earnestly now, suddenly recalling her former question.

“Aren’t you ashamed? Surely you are not what you are pretending to be now? It isn’t possible!” cried Myshkin suddenly with deep and heartfelt reproach.

Nastasya Filippovna was surprised, and smiled, seeming to hide something under her smile. She looked at Ganya, rather confused, and walked out of the drawing-room. But before reaching the entry, she turned sharply, went quickly up to Nina Alexandrovna, took her hand and raised it to her lips.

“I really am not like this, he is right,” she said in a rapid eager whisper, flushing hotly; and turning around, she walked out so quickly that no one had time to realise what she had come back for. All that was seen was that she whispered something to Nina Alexandrovna and seemed to have kissed her hand. But Varya saw and heard it all, and watched her go out, wondering.

Ganya recovered himself and rushed to see Nastasya Filippovna out. But she had already gone. He overtook her on the stairs.

“Don’t come with me,” she cried to him. “Goodbye till this evening. You must come, do you hear?”

He returned, confused and dejected; a painful uncertainty weighed on his heart, more bitter than ever now. The figure of Myshkin too haunted him. . . . He was so absorbed that he scarcely noticed Rogozhin’s crew passing him and shoving against him in the doorway, as they hurried by on their way out of the flat. They were all loudly discussing something. Rogozhin walked with Ptitsyn, talking of something important and apparently urgent.

“You’ve lost the game, Ganya!” he cried, as he passed him.

Ganya looked after him uneasily.

CHAPTER 11

Myshkin went out of the drawing-room and shut himself up in his room. Kolya ran in at once to try and soothe him. The poor boy seemed unable to keep away from him now.

“You’ve done well to come away,” he said. “There will be a worse upset there now than ever. And it’s like that every day with us; it’s all on account of that Nastasya Filippovna.”

“There are so many sources of distress in your family, Kolya,” Myshkin observed.

“Yes, there are. There’s no denying it. It’s all our own fault. But I have a great friend who is even more unfortunate. Would you like to meet him?”

“Very much. Is he a comrade of yours?”

“Yes, almost like a comrade. I’ll tell you all about it afterwards. . . . But Nastasya Filippovna is handsome, don’t you think? I’ve never seen her before, though I’ve tried hard to. I was simply dazzled. I’d forgive Ganya everything, if he were in love with her. But why is he taking money? That’s what’s horrid.”

“Yes, I don’t much like your brother.”

“Well, I should think not! As if you could, after. . . But you know I can’t endure those ideas. Some madman, or fool, or scoundrel in a fit of madness, gives you a slap in the face and a man is disgraced for life, and cannot wipe out the insult except in blood, unless the other man goes down on his knees and asks his pardon. In my opinion it’s absurd and it’s tyranny. Lermontov’s drama, The Masquerade, is based on that, and I think it’s stupid. Or rather, I mean, not natural. But he wrote it almost in his childhood.”

“I liked your sister very much.”

“The way she spat in Ganya’s mug! She is a plucky one. But you didn’t spit at him, and lam sure it was not for want of pluck. But here she is — speak of the devil ... I knew she’d come. She is generous, though she has faults.”

“You’ve no business here,” said Varya, pouncing on him first of all. “Go to father. Is he bothering you, prince?”

“Not at all, quite the contrary.”

“Now then, elder sister, you are off! That’s the worst of her. And, by the way, I thought that father’d be sure to go off with Rogozhin. He is penitent now, I expect. I must see what he is about, I suppose,” added Kolya, going out.

“Thank God, I got mother away and put her to bed, and there was no fresh trouble! Ganya is ashamed and very depressed. And he may well be. What a lesson! . . . I’ve come to thank you again and to ask you, did you know Nastasya Filippovna before?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Then what made you tell her to her face that she was ‘not like this’? And you seem to have guessed right. I believe she really isn’t. I can’t make her out, though. Of course her object was to insult us, that’s clear. I’ve heard a great deal that’s queer about her before. But if she came to invite us, how could she behave like that to mother? Ptitsyn knows her well. He says he would hardly have known her to-day. And with Roqozhin! It’s impossible for any one with self-

respect to talk like that in the house of one’s . . . Mother too is very worried about you.”

“Never mind that!” said Myshkin, with a gesture of his hand.

“And how was it she obeyed you ...?”

“In what way?”

“You told her she ought to be ashamed and she changed at once. \bu have an influence over her, prince,” added Varya, with a faint smile.

The door opened and to their great surprise Ganya entered. He did not even hesitate at the sight of Varya. For a moment he stood in the doorway, then resolutely went up to Myshkin.

“Prince, I behaved like a scoundrel. Forgive me, my dearfellow,” he said suddenly with strong feeling.

There was a look of great pain in his face. Myshkin looked at him in wonder and did not answer at once.

“Come, forgive me — forgive me!” Ganya urged impatiently. “I am ready to kiss your hand, if you like.”

Myshkin was greatly impressed and put both his arms round Ganya without speaking. They kissed each other with sincere feeling.

“I had no idea — no idea you were like this,” said Myshkin at last, drawing a deep breath. “I thought you were ... incapable of it.”

“Owning my fault? . . . And what made me think this morning you were an idiot! You notice what other people never see. One could talk to you, but . . . better not talk at all.”

“Here is some one whose pardon you ought to ask too,” said Myshkin, pointing to Varya.

“No, they are all my enemies. \bu may be sure, prince, I’ve made many attempts. There’s no true forgiveness from them,” broke hotly from Ganya.

And he turned away from Varya.

“Yes, I will forgive you!” said Varya suddenly.

“And will you go to Nastasya Filippovna’s tonight?”

“Yes, I will if you wish it; but you had better judge for yourself whether it’s not out of the question for me to go now.”

“She is not like this, you know. \bu see what riddles she sets us. It’s her tricks.”

And Ganya laughed viciously.

“I know for myself that she is not like this and that this is all her tricks. But what does she mean?

Besides, Ganya, think what does she take you for, herself? She may have kissed mother’s hand, this may all be some sort of trickery; but you know she was laughing at you all the same. It’s not worth seventy-five thousand, it really isn’t, brother! You are still capable of honourable feelings, that’s why I speak to you. Don’t you go either. Be on your guard! It can’t end well.”

Saying this, Varya, much excited, went quickly out of the room.

“That’s how they all are,” said Ganya, smiling. “And can they suppose I don’t know that myself? Why, I know much more than they do.”

So saying, Ganya sat down on the sofa, evidently disposed to prolong his visit.

“If you know it yourself,” asked Myshkin rather timidly, “how can you have chosen such misery, knowing it really is not worth seventy-five thousand?”

“I am not talking of that,” muttered Ganya. “But tell me, by the way, what do you think — I want to know your opinion particularly — is such ‘misery worth seventy-five thousand, or no?”

“I don’t think it’s worth it.”

“Oh, I knew you’d say that! And is such a marriage shameful?”

“Very shameful.”

“Well, let me tell you that I am going to marry her, and there’s no doubt about it now. I was hesitating a little while ago, but there’s no doubt now. Don’t speak! I know what you want to say.”

“I was not going to say what you think. I am greatly surprised at your immense confidence.”

“In what? What confidence?”

“Why, that Nastasya Filippovna is sure to marry you and that the matter is settled, and secondly, that if she does marry you, the seventy-five thousand will come into your pocket. But of course there’s a great deal in it I know nothing about.”

Ganya moved nearer to Myshkin.

“Certainly, you don’t know all,” he said. “Why else should I put on such chains?”

“I think it often happens that people marry for money and the money remains with the wife.”

“N-no, that won’t be so with us. . . . In this case there are . . . there are circumstances,” muttered Ganya, musing uneasily. “But as for her answer, there is no doubt about that,” he added quickly. “What makes vou think that she’ll refuse me?”

“I know nothing about it except what I’ve seen; and what Varvara Ardalionovna said just now...”

“Ah! That was nonsense. They don’t know what else to say. She was laughing at Rogozhin, you may take my word for that. I saw it; that was obvious; at first I was frightened, but now I see through it. Or is it the way she behaved to mother, father and Varya?”

“And to you too.”

“Well, perhaps; but that’s only a feminine paying off of old scores, nothing else. She is a fearfully irritable, touchy and vain woman. Like some clerk who has been passed over in the service. She wanted to show herself and all her contempt for them ... and for me too. That’s true, I don’t deny it.... And yet she will marry me, all the same. \bu don’t know what queer antics human vanity will lead to. You see, she looks on me as a scoundrel because I take her, another man’s mistress, so openly for her money, and doesn’t know that other men would have taken her in after a more scoundrelly fashion than I, would have stuck to her and begun pouring out liberal and progressive ideas to her, dragging in the woman question; and she would have gone into their snares

like a thread into the needle. They would have made the vain little fool believe (and so easily) that she was espoused only ‘for her noble heart and her misfortune,’ though it would have been for moneyjust the same. I don’t find favour because I don’t care to sham; and that’s what I ought to do. But what is she doing herself? Isn’t it just the same? So what right has she to despise me and to get up games like these? Because I show some pride and won’t give in. Oh well, we shall see!”

“Can you have loved her till this happened?”

“I did love her at first. But that’s enough. There are women who are good for nothing but mistresses. I don’t say that she has been my mistress. If she’ll behave quietly, I’ll behave quietly; but if she’s mutinous, I shall abandon her at once and take the money with me. I don’t want to be ridiculous; above all, I don’t want to be ridiculous.”

“I keep fancying Nastasya Filippovna is clever,” observed Myshkin cautiously. “Why should she go into the trap when she sees beforehand what misery it will mean for her? You see, she might marry some one else. That’s what’s so surprising to me.”

“Well, there are reasons. \bu don’t know everything, prince. ... It’s .. . Besides, she is persuaded that I love her to madness, I assure you. Moreover, I strongly suspect that she loves me too after her own fashion — like the saying, you know, ‘whom I love I chastise.’ She will look on me as a knave all her life (and perhaps that’s what she wants), and yet she’ll love me in her own way. She is preparing herself for that, it’s her character. She is a very Russian woman, I tell you. But I’ve got a little surprise in store for her. That scene with Varya just now happened accidentally, but it’s to my advantage; she’s seen my attachment now and convinced herself of it and of my being ready to break all ties for her sake. So I am not such a fool, you may be sure. By the way, you don’t imagine I am usually such a gossip, do you? Perhaps I really am doing wrong in confiding in you, dear prince. But it’s because you are the first honourable man I’ve come across, that I pounced on you. Don’t think I say that as a joke. You are not angry for what happened just now, are you? This is the first time for the last two years, perhaps, that I have spoken from my heart. There are terribly few honest people here; none more honest than Ptitsyn. I believe you are laughing, aren’t you?