‘Write, oh, write a letter to the Empress Josephine!’ I cried, sobbing. Napoleon started, reflected, and said, ‘You remind me of a third heart which loves me. Thank you, my friend;’ and then and there he sat down and wrote that letter to Josephine, with which Constant was sent off next day.’
‘You did a good action,’ said the prince, ‘for in the midst of his angry feelings you insinuated a kind thought into his heart.’
‘Just so, prince, just so. How well you bring out that fact! Because your own heart is good!’ cried the ecstatic old gen-tleman, and, strangely enough, real tears glistened in his eyes.’ Yes, prince, it was a wonderful spectacle. And, do you know, I all but went off to Paris, and should assuredly have shared his solitary exile with him; but, alas, our destinies were otherwise ordered! We parted, he to his island, where I am sure he thought of the weeping child who had embraced him so affectionately at parting in Moscow; and I was sent off to the cadet corps, where I found nothing but roughness and harsh discipline. Alas, my happy days were done!
‘I do not wish to deprive your mother of you, and, there-fore, I will not ask you to go with me,’ he said, the morning of his departure, ‘but I should like to do something for you.’ He was mounting his horse as he spoke. ‘Write something in my sister’s album for me,’ I said rather timidly, for he was in a state of great dejection at the moment. He turned, called for a pen, took the album. ‘How old is your sister?’ he asked, holding the pen in his hand. ‘Three years old,’ I said.
‘Ah, petite fille alors!’ and he wrote in the album:
‘Ne mentes jamais! NAPOLEON (votre ami sincere).’ ‘Such advice, and at such a moment, you must allow,
prince, was—‘
‘Yes, quite so; very remarkable.’
‘This page of the album, framed in gold, hung on the wall of my sister’s drawing-room all her life, in the most conspic-uous place, till the day of her death; where it is now, I really don’t know. Heavens! it’s two o’clock! HOW I have kept you, prince! It is really most unpardonable of me.
The general rose.
‘Oh, not in the least,’ said the prince. ‘ On the contrary, I have been so much interested, I’m really very much obliged to you.’
‘Prince,’, said the general, pressing his hand, and look-ing at him with flashing eyes, and an expression as though he were under the influence of a sudden thought which had come upon him with stunning force. ‘Prince, you are so kind, so simple-minded, that sometimes I really feel sorry for you! I gaze at you with a feeling of real affection. Oh, Heaven bless you! May your life blossom and fructify in
love. Mine is over. Forgive me, forgive me!’
He left the room quickly, covering his face with his hands.
The prince could not doubt the sincerity of his agitation. He understood, too, that the old man had left the room in-toxicated with his own success. The general belonged to that class of liars, who, in spite of their transports of lying, in-variably suspect that they are not believed. On this occasion, when he recovered from his exaltation, he would probably suspect Muishkin of pitying him, and feel insulted.
‘Have I been acting rightly in allowing him to develop such vast resources of imagination?’ the prince asked him-self. But his answer was a fit of violent laughter which lasted ten whole minutes. He tried to reproach himself for the laughing fit, but eventually concluded that he needn’t do so, since in spite of it he was truly sorry for the old man. The same evening he received a strange letter, short but decided. The general informed him that they must part for ever; that he was grateful, but that even from him he could not accept
‘signs of sympathy which were humiliating to the dignity of a man already miserable enough.’
When the prince heard that the old man had gone to Nina Alexandrovna, though, he felt almost easy on his ac-count.
We have seen, however, that the general paid a visit to Lizabetha Prokofievna and caused trouble there, the final upshot being that he frightened Mrs. Epanchin, and an-gered her by bitter hints as to his son Gania.
He had been turned out in disgrace, eventually, and this
was the cause of his bad night and quarrelsome day, which ended in his sudden departure into the street in a condition approaching insanity, as recorded before.
Colia did not understand the position. He tried severity with his father, as they stood in the street after the latter had cursed the household, hoping to bring him round that way. ‘Well, where are we to go to now, father?’ he asked. ‘You don’t want to go to the prince’s; you have quarrelled with Lebedeff; you have no money; I never have any; and here we
are in the middle of the road, in a nice sort of mess.’ ‘Better to be of a mess than in a mess! I remember making
a joke something like that at the mess in eighteen hundred and forty— forty—I forget. ‘Where is my youth, where is my golden youth?’ Who was it said that, Colia?’
‘It was Gogol, in Dead Souls, father,’ cried Colia, glancing at him in some alarm.
‘Dead Souls,’ yes, of course, dead. When I die, Colia, you must engrave on my tomb:
‘Here lies a Dead Soul, Shame pursues me.’ ‘Who said that, Colia?’
‘I don’t know, father.’
‘There was no Eropegoff? Eroshka Eropegoff?’ he cried, suddenly, stopping in the road in a frenzy. ‘No Eropegoff! And my own son to say it! Eropegoff was in the place of a brother to me for eleven months. I fought a duel for him. He was married afterwards, and then killed on the field of battle. The bullet struck the cross on my breast and glanced off straight into his temple. ‘I’ll never forget you,’ he cried, and expired. I served my country well and honestly, Colia,
but shame, shame has pursued me! You and Nina will come to my grave, Colia; poor Nina, I always used to call her Nina in the old days, and how she loved…. Nina, Nina, oh, Nina. What have I ever done to deserve your forgiveness and long-suffering? Oh, Colia, your mother has an angelic spirit, an angelic spirit, Colia!’
‘I know that, father. Look here, dear old father, come back home! Let’s go back to mother. Look, she ran after us when we came out. What have you stopped her for, just as though you didn’t take in what I said? Why are you crying, father?’ Poor Colia cried himself, and kissed the old man’s
hands
‘You kiss my hands, MINE?’
‘Yes, yes, yours, yours! What is there to surprise anyone in that? Come, come, you mustn’t go on like this, crying in the middle of the road; and you a general too, a military man! Come, let’s go back.’
‘God bless you, dear boy, for being respectful to a dis-graced man. Yes, to a poor disgraced old fellow, your father. You shall have such a son yourself; le roi de Rome. Oh, curs-es on this house!’
‘Come, come, what does all this mean?’ cried Colia be-side himself at last. ‘What is it? What has happened to you? Why don’t you wish to come back home? Why have you gone out of your mind, like this?’
‘I’ll explain it, I’ll explain all to you. Don’t shout! You shall hear. Le roi de Rome. Oh, I am sad, I am melancholy!
‘Nurse, where is your tomb?’’ ‘Who said that, Colia?’
‘I don’t know, I don’t know who said it. Come home at once; come on! I’ll punch Gania’s head myself, if you like— only come. Oh, where are you off to again?’ The general was dragging him away towards the door a house near. He sat down on the step, still holding Colia by the hand.
‘Bend down—bend down your ear. I’ll tell you all—dis-grace—bend down, I’ll tell you in your ear.’
‘What are you dreaming of?’ said poor, frightened Colia, stooping down towards the old man, all the same.
‘Le roi de Rome,’ whispered the general, trembling all over.
‘What? What DO you mean? What roi de Rome?’
‘I-I,’ the general continued to whisper, clinging more and more tightly to the boy’s shoulder. ‘I—wish—to tell you— all—MariaMaria Petrovna—Su—Su—Su…….’
Colia broke loose, seized his father by the shoulders, and stared into his eyes with frenzied gaze. The old man had grown livid— his lips were shaking, convulsions were pass-ing over his features. Suddenly he leant over and began to sink slowly into Colia’s arms.
‘He’s got a stroke!’ cried Colia, loudly, realizing what was the matter at last.
V
IN point of fact, Varia had rather exaggerated the certain-ty of her news as to the prince’s betrothal to Aglaya. Very
likely, with the perspicacity of her sex, she gave out as an accomplished fact what she felt was pretty sure to become a fact in a few days. Perhaps she could not resist the satisfac-tion of pouring one last drop of bitterness into her brother Gania’s cup, in spite of her love for him. At all events, she had been unable to obtain any definite news from the Ep-anchin girls—the most she could get out of them being hints and surmises, and so on. Perhaps Aglaya’s sisters had mere-ly been pumping Varia for news while pretending to impart information; or perhaps, again, they had
