There was nothing, however, of love-making in his talk. His ideas were all of the most serious kind; some were even mystical and profound.
He aired his own views on various matters, some of his most private opinions and observations, many of which would have seemed rather funny, so his hearers agreed af-terwards, had they not been so well expressed.
The general liked serious subjects of conversation; but both he and Lizabetha Prokofievna felt that they were hav-ing a little too much of a good thing tonight, and as the evening advanced, they both grew more or less melancholy; but towards night, the prince fell to telling funny stories, and was always the first to burst out laughing himself, which he invariably did so joyously and simply that the rest laughed just as much at him as at his stories.
As for Aglaya, she hardly said a word all the evening; but she listened with all her ears to Lef Nicolaievitch’s talk, and
scarcely took her eyes off him.
‘She looked at him, and stared and stared, and hung on every word he said,’ said Lizabetha afterwards, to her husband, ‘and yet, tell her that she loves him, and she is fu-rious!’
‘What’s to be done? It’s fate,’ said the general, shrugging his shoulders, and, for a long while after, he continued to repeat: ‘It’s fate, it’s fate!’
We may add that to a business man like General Epanchin the present position of affairs was most unsatisfactory. He hated the uncertainty in which they had been, perforce, left. However, he decided to say no more about it, and merely to look on, and take his time and tune from Lizabetha Proko-fievna.
The happy state in which the family had spent the eve-ning, as just recorded, was not of very long duration. Next day Aglaya quarrelled with the prince again, and so she continued to behave for the next few days. For whole hours at a time she ridiculed and chaffed the wretched man, and made him almost a laughingstock.
It is true that they used to sit in the little summer-house together for an hour or two at a time, very often, but it was observed that on these occasions the prince would read the paper, or some book, aloud to Aglaya.
‘Do you know,’ Aglaya said to him once, interrupting the reading, ‘I’ve remarked that you are dreadfully badly ed-ucated. You never know anything thoroughly, if one asks you; neither anyone’s name, nor dates, nor about treaties and so on. It’s a great pity, you know!’
‘I told you I had not had much of an education,’ replied the prince.
‘How am I to respect you, if that’s the case? Read on now. No— don’t! Stop reading!’
And once more, that same evening, Aglaya mystified them all. Prince S. had returned, and Aglaya was particu-larly amiable to him, and asked a great deal after Evgenie Pavlovitch. (Muishkin had not come in as yet.)
Suddenly Prince S. hinted something about ‘a new and approaching change in the family.’ He was led to this re-mark by a communication inadvertently made to him by Lizabetha Prokofievna, that Adelaida’s marriage must be postponed a little longer, in order that the two weddings might come off together.
It is impossible to describe Aglaya’s irritation. She flared up, and said some indignant words about ‘all these silly in-sinuations.’ She added that ‘she had no intentions as yet of replacing anybody’s mistress.’
These words painfully impressed the whole party; but especially her parents. Lizabetha Prokofievna summoned a secret council of two, and insisted upon the general’s de-manding from the prince a full explanation of his relations with Nastasia Philipovna. The general argued that it was only a whim of Aglaya’s; and that, had not Prince S. unfor-tunately made that remark, which had confused the child and made her blush, she never would have said what she did; and that he was sure Aglaya knew well that anything she might have heard of the prince and Nastasia Philipovna was merely the fabrication of malicious tongues, and that
the woman was going to marry Rogojin. He insisted that the prince had nothing whatever to do with Nastasia Phili-povna, so far as any liaison was concerned; and, if the truth were to be told about it, he added, never had had.
Meanwhile nothing put the prince out, and he contin-ued to be in the seventh heaven of bliss. Of course he could not fail to observe some impatience and ill-temper in Agla-ya now and then; but he believed in something else, and nothing could now shake his conviction. Besides, Aglaya’s frowns never lasted long; they disappeared of themselves.
Perhaps he was too easy in his mind. So thought Hip-polyte, at all events, who met him in the park one day.
‘Didn’t I tell you the truth now, when I said you were in love?’ he said, coming up to Muishkin of his own accord, and stopping him.
The prince gave him his hand and congratulated him upon ‘looking so well.’
Hippolyte himself seemed to be hopeful about his state of health, as is often the case with consumptives.
He had approached the prince with the intention of talk-ing sarcastically about his happy expression of face, but very soon forgot his intention and began to talk about himself. He began complaining about everything, disconnectedly and endlessly, as was his wont.
‘You wouldn’t believe,’ he concluded, ‘how irritating they all are there. They are such wretchedly small, vain, egotisti-cal, COMMONPLACE people! Would you believe it, they invited me there under the express condition that I should die quickly, and they are all as wild as possible with me for
not having died yet, and for being, on the contrary, a good deal better! Isn’t it a comedy? I don’t mind betting that you don’t believe me!’
The prince said nothing.
‘I sometimes think of coming over to you again,’ said Hippolyte, carelessly. ‘So you DON’T think them capable of inviting a man on the condition that he is to look sharp and die?’
‘I certainly thought they invited you with quite other views.’
‘Ho, ho! you are not nearly so simple as they try to make you out! This is not the time for it, or I would tell you a thing or two about that beauty, Gania, and his hopes. You are being undermined, pitilessly undermined, and—and it is really melancholy to see you so calm about it. But alas! it’s your nature—you can’t help it!’
‘My word! what a thing to be melancholy about! Why, do you think I should be any happier if I were to feel disturbed about the excavations you tell me of?’
‘It is better to be unhappy and know the worst, than to be happy in a fool’s paradise! I suppose you don’t believe that you have a rival in that quarter?’
‘Your insinuations as to rivalry are rather cynical, Hip-polyte. I’m sorry to say I have no right to answer you! As for Gania, I put it to you, CAN any man have a happy mind af-ter passing through what he has had to suffer? I think that is the best way to look at it. He will change yet, he has lots of time before him, and life is rich; besides—besides…’ the prince hesitated. ‘As to being undermined, I don’t know
what in the world you are driving at, Hippolyte. I think we had better drop the subject!’
‘Very well, we’ll drop it for a while. You can’t look at any-thing but in your exalted, generous way. You must put out your finger and touch a thing before you’ll believe it, eh? Ha! ha! ha! I suppose you despise me dreadfully, prince, eh? What do you think?’
‘Why? Because you have suffered more than we have?’ ‘No; because I am unworthy of my sufferings, if you
like!’
‘Whoever CAN suffer is worthy to suffer, I should think. Aglaya Ivanovna wished to see you, after she had read your confession, but—‘
‘She postponed the pleasure—I see—I quite understand!’ said Hippolyte, hurriedly, as though he wished to banish the subject. ‘I hear—they tell me—that you read her all that nonsense aloud? Stupid @ bosh it was—written in delirium. And I can’t understand how anyone can be so I won’t say CRUEL, because the word would be humiliating to myself, but we’ll say childishly vain and revengeful, as to RE-PROACH me with this confession, and use it as a weapon against me. Don’t be afraid, I’m not referring to yourself.’
‘Oh, but I’m sorry you repudiate the confession, Hip-polyte—it is sincere; and, do you know, even the absurd parts of it—and these are many’ (here Hippolyte frowned savagely) ‘are, as it were, redeemed by suffering—for it must have cost you something to admit what you there say—great torture, perhaps, for all I know. Your motive must have been a very noble one all through. Whatever may have ap-
peared to the contrary, I give you my word, I see this more plainly every day. I do not judge you; I merely say this to have it off my mind, and I am only sorry that I did not say it all THEN—‘
Hippolyte flushed hotly. He had thought at first that the prince was ‘humbugging’ him; but on looking at his face he saw that he was absolutely serious, and had no thought of any deception. Hippolyte beamed with gratification.
‘And yet I must die,’ he said, and almost added: ‘a man like me @
‘And imagine how that Gania annoys me! He has de-veloped the idea —or pretends to believe—that in all probability three or four others who heard my confession will die before I do. There’s an idea for you—and all this by way of CONSOLING me! Ha! ha! ha! In the first
