The reason for their anxiety soon became apparent. From that very side entrance to the Vauxhall, near which the prince and all the Epanchin party were seated, there suddenly appeared quite a large knot of persons, at least a dozen.
Heading this little band walked three ladies, two of whom were remarkably lovely; and there was nothing sur-prising in the fact that they should have had a large troop of admirers following in their wake.
But there was something in the appearance of both the ladies and their admirers which was peculiar, quite differ-ent for that of the rest of the public assembled around the orchestra.
Nearly everyone observed the little band advancing, and all pretended not to see or notice them, except a few young
fellows who exchanged glances and smiled, saying some-thing to one another in whispers.
It was impossible to avoid noticing them, however, in re-ality, for they made their presence only too conspicuous by laughing and talking loudly. It was to be supposed that some of them were more than half drunk, although they were well enough dressed, some even particularly well. There were one or two, however, who were very strange-looking creatures, with flushed faces and extraordinary clothes; some were military men; not all were quite young; one or two were middle-aged gentlemen of decidedly disagreeable appearance, men who are avoided in society like the plague, decked out in large gold studs and rings, and magnificently
‘got up,’ generally.
Among our suburban resorts there are some which enjoy a specially high reputation for respectability and fashion; but the most careful individual is not absolutely exempt from the danger of a tile falling suddenly upon his head from his neighbour’s roof.
Such a tile was about to descend upon the elegant and decorous public now assembled to hear the music.
In order to pass from the Vauxhall to the band-stand, the visitor has to descend two or three steps. Just at these steps the group paused, as though it feared to proceed fur-ther; but very quickly one of the three ladies, who formed its apex, stepped forward into the charmed circle, followed by two members of her suite.
One of these was a middle-aged man of very respectable appearance, but with the stamp of parvenu upon him, a
man whom nobody knew, and who evidently knew nobody. The other follower was younger and far less respectable-looking.
No one else followed the eccentric lady; but as she de-scended the steps she did not even look behind her, as though it were absolutely the same to her whether anyone were following or not. She laughed and talked loudly, how-ever, just as before. She was dressed with great taste, but with rather more magnificence than was needed for the oc-casion, perhaps.
She walked past the orchestra, to where an open carriage was waiting, near the road.
The prince had not seen HER for more than three months. All these days since his arrival from Petersburg he had intended to pay her a visit, but some mysterious presen-timent had restrained him. He could not picture to himself what impression this meeting with her would make upon him, though he had often tried to imagine it, with fear and trembling. One fact was quite certain, and that was that the meeting would be painful.
Several times during the last six months he had recalled the effect which the first sight of this face had had upon him, when he only saw its portrait. He recollected well that even the portrait face had left but too painful an impression.
That month in the provinces, when he had seen this woman nearly every day, had affected him so deeply that he could not now look back upon it calmly. In the very look of this woman there was something which tortured him. In conversation with Rogojin he had attributed this sensa-
tion to pity—immeasurable pity, and this was the truth. The sight of the portrait face alone had filled his heart full of the agony of real sympathy; and this feeling of sympathy, nay, of actual SUFFERING, for her, had never left his heart since that hour, and was still in full force. Oh yes, and more powerful than ever!
But the prince was not satisfied with what he had said to Rogojin. Only at this moment, when she suddenly made her appearance before him, did he realize to the full the exact emotion which she called up in him, and which he had not described correctly to Rogojin.
And, indeed, there were no words in which he could have expressed his horror, yes, HORROR, for he was now fully convinced from his own private knowledge of her, that the woman was mad.
If, loving a woman above everything in the world, or at least having a foretaste of the possibility of such love for her, one were suddenly to behold her on a chain, behind bars and under the lash of a keeper, one would feel something like what the poor prince now felt.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Aglaya, in a whisper, giving his sleeve a little tug.
He turned his head towards her and glanced at her black and (for some reason) flashing eyes, tried to smile, and then, apparently forgetting her in an instant, turned to the right once more, and continued to watch the startling apparition before him.
Nastasia Philipovna was at this moment passing the young ladies’ chairs.
Evgenie Pavlovitch continued some apparently extreme-ly funny and interesting anecdote to Alexandra, speaking quickly and with much animation. The prince remembered that at this moment Aglaya remarked in a half-whisper:
‘WHAT a—‘
She did not finish her indefinite sentence; she restrained herself in a moment; but it was enough.
Nastasia Philipovna, who up to now had been walking along as though she had not noticed the Epanchin party, suddenly turned her head in their direction, as though she had just observed Evgenie Pavlovitch sitting there for the first time.
‘Why, I declare, here he is!’ she cried, stopping suddenly. ‘The man one can’t find with all one’s messengers sent about
the place, sitting just under one’s nose, exactly where one never thought of looking! I thought you were sure to be at your uncle’s by this time.’
Evgenie Pavlovitch flushed up and looked angrily at Nas-tasia Philipovna, then turned his back on her.
‘What I don’t you know about it yet? He doesn’t know— imagine that! Why, he’s shot himself. Your uncle shot himself this very morning. I was told at two this afternoon. Half the town must know it by now. They say there are three hundred and fifty thousand roubles, government money, missing; some say five hundred thousand. And I was un-der the impression that he would leave you a fortune! He’s whistled it all away. A most depraved old gentleman, real-ly! Well, ta, ta!—bonne chance! Surely you intend to be off there, don’t you? Ha, ha! You’ve retired from the army in
good time, I see! Plain clothes! Well done, sly rogue! Non-sense! I see—you knew it all before—I dare say you knew all about it yesterday-”
Although the impudence of this attack, this public proclamation of intimacy, as it were, was doubtless premed-itated, and had its special object, yet Evgenie Pavlovitch at first seemed to intend to make no show of observing either his tormentor or her words. But Nastasia’s communication struck him with the force of a thunderclap. On hearing of his uncle’s death he suddenly grew as white as a sheet, and turned towards his informant.
At this moment, Lizabetha Prokofievna rose swiftly from her seat, beckoned her companions, and left the place al-most at a run.
Only the prince stopped behind for a moment, as though in indecision; and Evgenie Pavlovitch lingered too, for he had not collected his scattered wits. But the Epanchins had not had time to get more than twenty paces away when a scandalous episode occurred. The young oficer, Evgenie Pavlovitch’s friend who had been conversing with Aglaya, said aloud in a great state of indignation:
‘She ought to be whipped—that’s the only way to deal with creatures like that—she ought to be whipped!’
This gentleman was a confidant of Evgenie’s, and had doubtless heard of the carriage episode.
Nastasia turned to him. Her eyes flashed; she rushed up to a young man standing near, whom she did not know in the least, but who happened to have in his hand a thin cane. Seizing this from him, she brought it with all her force
across the face of her insulter.
All this occurred, of course, in one instant of time.
The young oficer, forgetting himself, sprang towards her. Nastasia’s followers were not by her at the moment (the elderly gentleman having disappeared altogether, and the younger man simply standing aside and roaring with laughter).
In another moment, of course, the police would have been on the spot, and it would have gone hard with Nasta-sia Philipovna had not unexpected aid appeared.
Muishkin, who was but a couple of steps away, had time to spring forward and seize the oficer’s arms from behind.
The oficer, tearing himself from the prince’s grasp, pushed him so violently backwards that he staggered a few steps and then subsided into a chair.
But there were other defenders for Nastasia on the spot by this time. The gentleman known as the ‘boxer’ now con-fronted the enraged oficer.
‘Keller is my name, sir; ex-lieutenant,’ he said, very loud. ‘If you will accept me as champion of the fair sex, I am at your disposal. English boxing has no secrets from me. I sympathize with you for the insult you have received, but
I can’t permit you to raise your
