“What of it?” muttered Myshkin. “If you won’t forqive him, he’ll die without vour forqiveness. . . .
Now he has come here for the sake of the trees.”
“Oh, for my part I forgive him everything; you can tell him so.”
“That’s not the way to take it,” Myshkin answered softly and, as it were, reluctantly, looking atone spot on the floor and not raising his eyes. “You ought to be ready to receive his forgiveness too.”
“How do I come in? What wrong have I done him?”
“If you don’t understand, then . . . But you do understand; he wanted … to bless you all then and to receive your blessing, that was all.”
“Dear prince,” Prince S. hastened to interpose somewhat apprehensively, exchanging glances with some of the others, “it’s not easy to reach paradise on earth, but you reckon on finding it; paradise is a difficult matter, prince, much more difficult than it seems to your good heart. We had better drop the subject, or else we may all feel uncomfortable too and then …”
“Let’s go and hear the band,” said Lizaveta Prokofyevna sharply, getting up from her place angrily.
The others followed her example.
Chapter 2
All at once Myshkin went up to “Vfevgeny Pavlovitch. “Yevgeny Pavlovitch,” he said with strange heat, seizing his hand, “believe that I look upon you as the best and most honourable of men in spite of everything. Be sure of that….”
“Vfevgeny Pavlovitch positively drew back a step with surprise. For a moment he was struggling with an irresistible desire to laugh, but looking closer he saw that Myshkin seemed not himself, or at least was in a peculiar state of mind.
“I don’t mind betting, prince,” he cried, “that you didn’t mean to say that, nor perhaps to speak to me at all. But what’s the matter with you? Are you feeling ill?”
“That may be, that may well be. And you were very clever to notice that perhaps it was not you I meant to address.”
He said this with a strange and even absurd smile; but, seeming suddenly excited, he cried:
“Don’t remind me of my conduct three days ago! I’ve been very much ashamed for the last three days. … I know that I was to blame….”
“But… but what have you done so dreadful?”
“I see that you are perhaps more ashamed of me than any one, “Vfevgeny Pavlovitch. You are blushing; that’s the sign of a good heart. I’m going away directly, you may be sure of that.”
“What’s the matter with him? Do his fits begin like this?” Lizaveta Prokofyevna asked Kolya in alarm.
“Don’t be uneasy, Lizaveta Prokofyevna. I’m not in a fit, and I’m just going. I know that I am . . . afflicted. I’ve been ill for twenty-four years, from my birth till I was twenty-four years old. \bu must take what I say as from a sick man now. I’m going directly — directly. \bu may be sure of that. I’m not ashamed; for it would be strange to be ashamed of that, wouldn’t it? But I’m out of place in society. … I’m not speaking from wounded vanity. . . . I’ve been reflecting during these three days and I’ve made up my mind that I
ought to explain things sincerely and honourably to you at the first opportunity. There are ideas, very great ideas, of which I ought not to begin to speak, because I should be sure to make every one laugh. Prince S. has warned me of that very thing just now. . . . My gestures are unsuitable. I’ve no right sense of proportion. My words are incongruous, not befitting the subject, and that’s a degradation for those ideas. And so I have no right. . . . Besides, I’m morbidly sensitive. … I am certain that no one would hurt my feelings in this house, and that I am more loved here than I deserve. But I know (I know for certain) that twenty years’ illness must leave traces, so that it’s impossible not to laugh at me … sometimes…. It is so, isn’t it?”
He looked about him as though expecting an answer.
All were standing in painful perplexity at this unexpected, morbid, and in any case apparently causeless, outbreak. But this outbreak gave rise to a strange episode.
“But why are you saying that here?” cried Aglaia suddenly. “Why do you say it to them? Them! Them!”
She seemed to be stirred to the hiqhest pitch of indignation. Her eyes flashed fire. Myshkin stood facing her, dumb and speechless, and he suddenly turned pale.
“There’s not one person here who is worth such words,” Aglaia burst out. “There’s no one here, no one, who is worth your little finger, nor your mind, nor your heart! “Vbu are more honourable than any of them, nobler, better, kinder, cleverer than any of them! Some of them are not worthy to stoop to pick up the handkerchief you have just dropped. . . . Why do you humble yourself and put yourself below them? Why do you distort everything in yourself? Why have you no pride?”
“Mercy on us! Who could have expected this?” cried Lizaveta Prokofyevna, throwing up her hands.
“The poor knight.’ Hurrah!” cried Kolya, enchanted.
“Be silent! . . . How dare they insult me in your house!” cried Aglaia, suddenly flying out at her mother. She was by now in that hysterical state when no line is drawn and no check regarded. “Why do you all torture me, every one of you? Why have they been pestering me for the last three days on your account, prince? Nothing will induce me to marry you! Let me tell you that I never will on any consideration. Understand that. As though one could marry an absurd creature like you! Look at yourself in the looking-glass, what do you look like standing there? Why, why do they tease me and say I’m going to marry you? You ought to know that. You are in the plot with them too!”
“No one has ever teased you about it,” muttered Adelaida in alarm.
“No one has ever thought of such a thing. No one has said a word about it!” cried Alexandra.
“Who has been teasing her? When has she been teased? Who can have said such a thing? Is she raving?” Lizaveta Prokofyevna addressed the room, quivering with anger.
“Every one has been talking about it, every one, for the last three days! I will never, never marry him!”
As she cried this, Aglaia burst into bitter tears, hiding her face in her handkerchief, and sank into a chair.
“But he hasn’t even …”
“I haven’t asked you, Aglaia Ivanovna,” broke suddenly from Myshkin.
“Wha-a-t?” Lizaveta Prokofyevna brought out in indignation, amazement and horror. “What’s that?”
She could not believe her ears.
“I meant to say … I meant to say,” faltered Myshkin, “I only wanted to explain to Aglaia Ivanovna … to have the honour to make clear to her that I had no intention … to have the honour of asking for her hand … at anytime. It’s not my fault — it’s not my fault indeed, Aglaia Ivanovna. I’ve never wanted to, it never entered my head. I never shall want to, you’ll see that for yourself. Be sure of that. Some spiteful person must have slandered me to you. Don’t worry about it!”
As he said this, he went up to Aglaia.
She removed the handkerchief with which she was covering her face, stole a hasty glance at his panic-stricken countenance, took in the meaning of his words, and went off into a sudden fit of laughter in his face, such gay and irresistible laughter, such droll and mocking laughter that Adelaida could not contain herself, especially when she too looked at Myshkin. She rushed up to her sister, embraced her, and broke into the same irresistible school-girlish and merry laughter. Looking at them, Myshkin too began to smile, and with a joyful and happy expression repeated:
“Well, that’s all right! That’s all right!”
At that point Alexandra too gave way and laughed heartily. It seemed as though the three girls would never stop laughing.
“Ah, the mad things!” muttered Lizaveta Prokofyevna. “First they frighten one, and then …”
But Prince S. was laughing too, and so was “Vfevgeny Pavlovitch. Kolya laughed with stopping, and Myshkin laughed also looking at them all.
“Let’s go for a walk — let’s go for a walk!” cried Adelaida. “All of us, and the prince must go with us. There’s no need for you to go away, you dear person. Isn’t he a dear, Aglaia? Isn’t he, mother? What’s more, I must, I must kiss him and embrace him for . . . for his explanation to Aglaia just now. Maman dear, will you let me kiss him? Aglaia, let me kiss your prince,” cried the mischievous girl; and she actually skipped up to the prince and kissed him on the forehead.
He snatched her hands, squeezed them so tightly that Adelaida almost cried out, looked at her with infinite gladness, and quickly raised her hand to his lips and kissed it three times.
“Come along!” Aglaia called to them. “Prince, you shall escort me. May he, maman, after refusing me? “Vbu’ve refused me for good, haven’t you, prince? That’s not the way to offer your arm to a lady. Don’t you know how to give your arm to a lady? That’s right. Come along, we’ll lead the way. Would you like us to go on ahead, tete-a-tete?”
She talked incessantly, still laughing spasmodically.
“Thank God — thank God!” repeated Lizaveta Prokofyevna, though she did not know herself what she was
