The Idiot

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

himself.

  She looked suddenly, but attentively into his face, then at the window,as though thinking of something else, and then again at him.

  “Perhaps she wants to laugh at me,” thought the prince, “but no; for ifshe did she certainly would do so.”

  “Would you like some tea? I’ll order some,” she said, after a minute ortwo of silence.

  “N-no thanks, I don’t know--”

  “Don’t know! How can you not know? By-the-by, look here--if someonewere to challenge you to a duel, what should you do? I wished to ask youthis--some time ago--”

  “Why? Nobody would ever challenge me to a duel!”

  “But if they were to, would you be dreadfully frightened?”

  “I dare say I should be--much alarmed!”

  “Seriously? Then are you a coward?”

  “N-no!--I don’t think so. A coward is a man who is afraid and runs away;the man who is frightened but does not run away, is not quite a coward,” said the prince with a smile, after a moment’s thought.

  “And you wouldn’t run away?”

  “No--I don’t think I should run away,” replied the prince, laughingoutright at last at Aglaya’s questions.

  “Though I am a woman, I should certainly not run away for anything,” said Aglaya, in a slightly pained voice. “However, I see you arelaughing at me and twisting your face up as usual in order to makeyourself look more interesting. Now tell me, they generally shoot attwenty paces, don’t they? At ten, sometimes? I suppose if at ten theymust be either wounded or killed, mustn’t they?”

  “I don’t think they often kill each other at duels.”

  “They killed Pushkin that way.”

  “That may have been an accident.”

  “Not a bit of it; it was a duel to the death, and he was killed.”

  “The bullet struck so low down that probably his antagonist would neverhave aimed at that part of him--people never do; he would have aimed athis chest or head; so that probably the bullet hit him accidentally. Ihave been told this by competent authorities.”

  “Well, a soldier once told me that they were always ordered to aim atthe middle of the body. So you see they don’t aim at the chest or head;they aim lower on purpose. I asked some officer about this afterwards,and he said it was perfectly true.”

  “That is probably when they fire from a long distance.”

  “Can you shoot at all?”

  “No, I have never shot in my life.”

  “Can’t you even load a pistol?”

  “No! That is, I understand how it’s done, of course, but I have neverdone it.”

  “Then, you don’t know how, for it is a matter that needs practice. Nowlisten and learn; in the first place buy good powder, not damp (they sayit mustn’t be at all damp, but very dry), some fine kind it is--you mustask for _pistol_ powder, not the stuff they load cannons with. They sayone makes the bullets oneself, somehow or other. Have you got a pistol?”

  “No--and I don’t want one,” said the prince, laughing.

  “Oh, what _nonsense!_ You must buy one. French or English are the best,they say. Then take a little powder, about a thimbleful, or perhaps two,and pour it into the barrel. Better put plenty. Then push in a bit offelt (it _must_ be felt, for some reason or other); you can easily geta bit off some old mattress, or off a door; it’s used to keep the coldout. Well, when you have pushed the felt down, put the bullet in; do youhear now? The bullet last and the powder first, not the other way, orthe pistol won’t shoot. What are you laughing at? I wish you to buya pistol and practise every day, and you must learn to hit a mark for_certain_; will you?”

  The prince only laughed. Aglaya stamped her foot with annoyance.

  Her serious air, however, during this conversation had surprised himconsiderably. He had a feeling that he ought to be asking her something,that there was something he wanted to find out far more important thanhow to load a pistol; but his thoughts had all scattered, and he wasonly aware that she was sitting by him, and talking to him, and thathe was looking at her; as to what she happened to be saying to him, thatdid not matter in the least.

  The general now appeared on the verandah, coming from upstairs. He wason his way out, with an expression of determination on his face, and ofpreoccupation and worry also.

  “Ah! Lef Nicolaievitch, it’s you, is it? Where are you off to now?” heasked, oblivious of the fact that the prince had not showed the leastsign of moving. “Come along with me; I want to say a word or two toyou.”

  “_Au revoir_, then!” said Aglaya, holding out her hand to the prince.

  It was quite dark now, and Muishkin could not see her face clearly, buta minute or two later, when he and the general had left the villa, hesuddenly flushed up, and squeezed his right hand tightly.

  It appeared that he and the general were going in the same direction. Inspite of the lateness of the hour, the general was hurrying away to talkto someone upon some important subject. Meanwhile he talked incessantlybut disconnectedly to the prince, and continually brought in the name ofLizabetha Prokofievna.

  If the prince had been in a condition to pay more attention to whatthe general was saying, he would have discovered that the latter wasdesirous of drawing some information out of him, or indeed of asking himsome question outright; but that he could not make up his mind to cometo the point.

  Muishkin was so absent, that from the very first he could not attendto a word the other was saying; and when the general suddenly stoppedbefore him with some excited question, he was obliged to confess,ignominiously, that he did not know in the least what he had beentalking about.

  The general shrugged his shoulders.

  “How strange everyone, yourself included, has become of late,” saidhe. “I was telling you that I cannot in the least understand LizabethaProkofievna’s ideas and agitations. She is in hysterics up there, andmoans and says that we have been ‘shamed and disgraced.’ How? Why? When?By whom? I confess that I am very much to blame myself; I do not concealthe fact; but the conduct, the outrageous behaviour of this woman, mustreally be kept within limits, by the police if necessary, and I am juston my way now to talk the question over and make some arrangements.It can all be managed quietly and gently, even kindly, and without theslightest fuss or scandal. I foresee that the future is pregnant withevents, and that there is much that needs explanation. There is intriguein the wind; but if on one side nothing is known, on the other sidenothing will be explained. If I have heard nothing about it, nor have_you_, nor _he_, nor _she_--who _has_ heard about it, I should like toknow? How _can_ all this be explained except by the fact that half ofit is mirage or moonshine, or some hallucination of that sort?”

  “_She_ is insane,” muttered the prince, suddenly recollecting all that hadpassed, with a spasm of pain at his heart.

  “I too had that idea, and I slept in peace. But now I see that theiropinion is more correct. I do not believe in the theory of madness! Thewoman has no common sense; but she is not only not insane, she is artfulto a degree. Her outburst of this evening about Evgenie’s uncle provesthat conclusively. It was _villainous_, simply jesuitical, and it was allfor some special purpose.”

  “What about Evgenie’s uncle?”

  “My goodness, Lef Nicolaievitch, why, you can’t have heard a singleword I said! Look at me, I’m still trembling all over with the dreadfulshock! It is that that kept me in town so late. Evgenie Pavlovitch’suncle--”

  “Well?” cried the prince.

  “Shot himself this morning, at seven o’clock. A respected, eminent oldman of seventy; and exactly point for point as she described it; a sumof money, a considerable sum of government money, missing!”

  “Why, how could she--”

  “What, know of it? Ha, ha, ha! Why, there was a whole crowd round herthe moment she appeared on the scenes here. You know what sort of peoplesurround her nowadays, and solicit the honour of her ‘acquaintance.’Of course she might easily have heard the news from someone coming fromtown. All Petersburg, if
not all Pavlofsk, knows it by now. Look at theslyness of her observation about Evgenie’s uniform! I mean, her remarkthat he had retired just in time! There’s a venomous hint for you,if you like! No, no! there’s no insanity there! Of course I refuseto believe that Evgenie Pavlovitch could have known beforehand of thecatastrophe; that is, that at such and such a day at seven o’clock, andall that; but he might well have had a presentiment of the truth. AndI--all of us--Prince S. and everybody, believed that he was to inherita large fortune from this uncle. It’s dreadful, horrible! Mind, I don’tsuspect Evgenie of anything, be quite clear on that point; but thething is a little suspicious, nevertheless. Prince S. can’t get over it.Altogether it is a very extraordinary combination of circumstances.”

  “What suspicion attaches to Evgenie Pavlovitch?”

  “Oh, none at all! He has behaved very well indeed. I didn’t mean todrop any sort of hint. His own fortune is intact, I believe. LizabethaProkofievna, of course, refuses to listen to anything. That’s the worstof it all, these family catastrophes or quarrels, or whatever you liketo call them. You know, prince, you are a friend of the family, so Idon’t mind telling