“Impossible!” the general fired off like a pistol-shot.
Everyone was agape with astonishment again.
Ptitsyn explained, addressing his remarks chiefly to General Epanchin, that Myshkin had five months previously lost an aunt, whom he had never known personally, the elder sister of his mother and the daughter of a Moscow merchant of the third guild, called Papushin, who had died bankrupt and in poverty. But the elder brother of this Papushin, who had also died lately, had been a well-known rich merchant. His two only sons had both died in the same month a year before. The shock of their loss had led to the old man’s illness and death shortly after. He was a widower and had no heirs in the world but his niece, Myshkin’s aunt, who was quite a poor woman without a home of her own. At the time she inherited the fortune she was almost dying of dropsy, but she had at once tried to find Myshkin, putting the matter into Salazkin’s hands, and she had had time to make her will. Apparently neither Myshkin nor the doctor in whose charge he was in Switzerland had cared to wait for an official notification or to make inquiries, and the prince, with Salazkin’s letter in his pocket, had decided to set off himself.
“However, I can only tell you,” Ptitsyn concluded, addressing Myshkin, “that this is certainly true and incontestable, and everything Salazkin says to you as to the authenticity and certainly of your fortune you may take as equal to hard cash in your pocket. I congratulate you, prince! “Vbu too will perhaps come in for a million and a half — possibly more. Papushin was a very rich merchant.”
“Bravo! the last of the Myshkins!” yelled Ferdyshtchenko.
“Hurrah!” croaked Lebedyev in a drunken voice.
“And I lent him twenty-five roubles this morning, poor fellow! Ha, ha, ha! It’s a fairy tale, that’s what it is,” said the general, almost stupefied with astonishment. “Well, I congratulate you — I congratulate you.”
And he got up and went to embrace Myshkin. The others too rose and also pressed round Myshkin. Even those who had retreated behind the curtain came into the drawing-room. There was a confused hubbub of talk and exclamations, there were even clamours for champagne; every one was in fuss and excitement. For an instant they almost forgot Nastasya Filippovna and that she was, anyway, the hostess. But gradually and almost simultaneously the thought occurred to all that Myshkin had just made her an offer of marriage. So that the position struck them as three times as mad and extraordinary as before. Greatly astonished, Totsky shrugged his shoulders; he was almost the only person still sitting, the rest of the company were crowding round the table in disorder.
People asserted afterwards that it was at this moment Nastasya Filippovna went mad. She was still sitting down, and for some time looked about her with a strange and wondering gaze, as though she could not take it in and were trying to grasp what had happened. Then she suddenly turned to Myshkin and with a menacing frown stared intently at him; but that was only for a moment; perhaps she suddenly fancied that it was all a joke, a mockery. But Myshkin’s face reassured her. She pondered, then smiled again vaguely, as though not knowing why.
“Then I am really a princess,” she whispered to herself, as it were mockingly, and, chancing to look at Darya Alexeyevna, she laughed. “It’s a surprising ending. . . . I. . . didn’t expect it. . . . But why are you all standing, friends? Please sit down. Congratulate me and the prince! I think some one asked for champagne, Ferdyshtchenko, go and order it. Katya, Pasha” — she suddenly caught sight of her maids in the doorway— “come here. I am going to be married. Did you hear? To the prince. He has a million and a half; he is Prince Myshkin, and is marrying me.”
“And a good thing too, my dear; it’s high time! It’s not a chance to miss,” cried Darya Alexeyevna, tremendously moved by what had passed.
“Sit down beside me, prince,” Nastasya Filippovna went on. “That’s right. And here they are bringing the wine. Congratulate us, friends!”
“Hurrah!” shouted a number of voices.
Many of them were crowding round the wine, and among these were almost all Rogozhin’s followers. But though they shouted and were prepared to shout, yet many of them, in spite of the strangeness of the circumstances and the surroundings, realised that the situation had changed. Others were bewildered and waited mistrustfully. Many whispered to one another that this was quite an ordinary affair, that princes marry all sorts of women, even girls out of gipsy camps. Rogozhin himself stood staring, his face twisted into a fixed and puzzled smile.
“Prince, my dear fellow, think what you are doing,” General Epanchin whispered with horror, coming up sideways and pulling Myshkin by his sleeve.
Nastasya Filippovna noticed this and laughed.
“No, general! I am a princess myself now, do you hear? The prince won’t let me be insulted. Afanasy Ivanovitch, you too congratulate me. I can sit down beside your wife now everywhere. What do you think,
it’s a good bargain a husband like that? A million and a half, and a prince and an idiot into the bargain, they say. What could be better? Real life is only just beginning for me now. You are too late, Rogozhin! Take away your money; I am marrying the prince, and I am richer than you are!”
But Rogozhin had grasped the situation. There was a look of unspeakable suffering in his face. He clasped his hands and a groan broke from his breast.
“Give her up!” he shouted to Myshkin.
There was laughter.
“Give her up for you?” Darya Alexeyevna pronounced triumphantly. “He plumped the money down on the table, the lout! The prince is marrying her, but you only came in to make an upset!”
“I’ll marry her too! I’ll marry her at once, this minute! I’ll give up everything....”
“Get along! bu’re a drunkard out of a tavern. You ought to be turned out,” Darya Alexeyevna repeated indignantly.
The laughter was louder than before.
“Do you hear, prince?” said Nastasya Filippovna, turning to him. “That’s how a peasant bids for your bride!”
“He is drunk,” said Myshkin. “He loves you very much.”
“And won’t you feel ashamed afterwards that your bride almost went off with Rogozhin?”
“You were in a fever, you are in a fever now, almost delirious.”
“And won’t you feel ashamed when people tell you afterwards that your wife used to live with Totsky as his kept mistress?”
“No, I shan’t be ashamed. ... It wasn’t your doing that you were with Totsky.”
“And you will never reproach me with it?”
“Never.”
“Be careful; don’t answer for your whole life!”
“Nastasya Filippovna,” said Myshkin softly and as it were with compassion, “I told you just now that I would take your consent as an honour, and that you are doing me an honour, not I you. bu smiled at those words, and I heard people laughing about us. I may have expressed myself very absurdly and have been absurd myself, but I thought all the time that I. . . understood the meaning of honour, and I am sure I spoke the truth. You wanted to ruin yourself just now irrevocably; for you’d never have forgiven yourself for it afterwards. But you are not to blame for anything. bur life cannot be altogether ruined. What does it matter that Rogozhin did come to you and Gavril Ardalionovitch tried to deceive you? Why will you go on dwelling on it? Few people would do what you have done, I tell you that again. As for your meaning to go with Rogozhin, you were ill when you meant to do it. “Vbu are ill now, and you had much better go to bed. bu would have gone off to be a washerwoman next day; you wouldn’t have stayed with Rogozhin. “Vbu are proud, Nastasya Filippovna; but perhaps you are so unhappy as really to think yourself to blame. “Vbu want a lot of looking after, Nastasya Filippovna. I will look after you. I saw your portrait this morning and I felt as though I recognized a face that I knew. I felt as though you had called to me already. . . . I shall respect you all my life, Nastasya Filippovna.”
Myshkin finished suddenly, seeming all at once to recollect himself. He blushed,
becoming conscious of the sort of people in whose presence he was saying this.
Ptitsvn bent his head and looked on the qround,
abashed. Totsky thought to himself, “He is an idiot, but he knows that flattery is the best way to get at people; it’s instinct!” Myshkin noticed too in the corner Ganya’s eyes glaring at him, as though they would wither him up.
“There’s a kind-hearted man!” Darya Alexeyevna pronounced, much touched.
“A man of refinement, but doomed to ruin,” the general whispered in an undertone.
Totsky took his hat and was about to get up and slip away. He and the general glanced at one another, meaning to leave together.
“Thank you, prince. No one has ever talked to me like that before,” said Nastasya Filippovna. “They’ve always been trying to buy me, but no decent man has ever thought of marrying me. Did you hear, Afanasy Ivanovitch? What did you think of all the prince said? It was almost improper, don’t you think . . . Rogozhin, don’t go away yet! But you are not going, I see. Perhaps I shall come with you after all. Where did you mean to take me?”
“To Ekaterinhof,” Lebedyev reported from the corner. Rogozhin simply started and gazed open-
eyed at her, as though he could not believe his senses. He was completely stupefied, as though he had had a violent blow on the head.
“What are you thinking about, my dear? “Vbu really are ill. Have you taken leave of your senses?” cried Darya Alexeyevna, alarmed.
“Did you really think I meant it?” laughed Nastasya Filippovna, jumping up from the sofa. “Ruin a child like that? That’s more in Afanasy Ivanovitch’s line: he is fond of children! Come along, Rogozhin! Get your money ready! Never mind about wanting to marry me, let me have the money all the same. Perhaps I shan’t marry you after all. “fou thought if you married me, you’d keep your money? A likely idea! I am a shameless hussy! I’ve been Totsky’s concubine. . . . “Vbu ought to marry Aglaia Epanchin now, prince, instead of Nastasya Filippovna, or you’ll have Ferdyshtchenko pointing the finger of scorn at you! “Vbu may not be afraid, but I shall be afraid of ruining you, and of your reproaching me with it afterwards. As for your saying that I am doing you an honour, Totsky knows all about that. And you’ve just missed Aglaia Epanchin, Ganya, do you know? If you hadn’t haggled with her, she would have married you. “Vbu are all like that; you should make your choice once for all — disreputable women or respectable ones! Or you are sure to get mixed. ... I say, the general is staring; his mouth is open.”
“This is Sodom — Sodom!” said the general, shrugging his shoulders.
He too got up from the sofa. Every one stood up again. Nastasya Filippovna seemed in a perfect frenzy.
“Is it possible?” moaned Myshkin, wringing his hands.
“Did you think I meant it? I am proud myself, perhaps, although I am a shameless hussy. bu called me perfection this evening; a fine sort of perfection who, simply to boast of trampling on a million and a princedom, is going into the gutter! What sort of wife should I make you after that? Afanasy Ivanovitch, I really have flung away a million, you know! How could you think I should be glad to marry Ganya for the sake of your seventy-five thousand? bu can take back your seventy-five thousand, Afanasy Ivanovitch. You didn’t rise to a hundred; Rogozhin has cut you out. I’ll comfort Ganya myself! I’ve thought how to. But now I want some fun,
I’m a street wench! I’ve been ten years in prison, now I’m going to enjoy myself. Come, Rogozhin, get ready, let’s go!”
“Let’s go!” roared Rogozhin, almost frantic with delight. “Hey, you, wine! Ough!”
“Have plenty of wine ready, I want to drink. And will there be music?”
“Yes, yes. Don’t go near her!” cried Rogozhin frantically, seeing Darya Alexeyevna approaching Nastasya Filippovna. “She is mine! It’s all mine! My queen! It’s the end!”
He was gasping with joy. He walked round Nastasya Filippovna, shouting to every one, “Don’t come near her!” His whole retinue had by now flocked into the drawing-room. Some were drinking, some were shouting and laughing, all were in the greatest excitement and completely at their ease. Ferdyshtchenko began trying to fraternise with them. General Epanchin and Totsky again attempted to effect a hasty retreat. Ganya too had his hat in his hand, but he stood in silence and still seemed unable to tear himself away from the scene before him.
“Don’t come near her!” cried Roqozhin.
“Why are you bellowing?” Nastasya Filippovna laughed at him. “I am still the mistress here; if I like, I can still kick you out. I haven’t taken your money yet, there it lies still; give it here, the whole bundle! Is there a hundred thousand in that bundle? Ough, how nasty! What’s the matter with you, Darya Alexeyevna? Would you have had me ruin him?” — she pointed to Myshkin. “How can he be married? He wants a nurse to look after him. The general there will be his nurse; see how he is hanging upon him! Look, prince, your betrothed takes the money because she is a low woman, and you wanted to marry her! But why are you crying? Are you sorry? “Vbu ought to laugh as I do.” — Nastasya Filippovna went on, though there were two large tears glistening on her cheeks.— “Trust to time; it will all pass! Better to think twice now than after. . . . But why are you all crying? Here’s Katya crying too! What’s the matter with you, Katya dear? I’ll leave a lot to you and Pasha, I’ve settled it already; and now good-bye! I’ve made an honest girl like you wait on a low creature like me. ... It’s better so, prince, it’s really better; you’d have despised me later on, and we should not have been happy. Don’t swear, I don’t believe it! And how stupid it would have been! .. . No, better part as friends, or no good would have come of it, for I am something of a dreamer myself, you know. Haven’t I dreamed of you myself? You are right, I dreamed of you long ago, when I lived five years all alone in his country home. I used to think and dream, think and dream, and I was always imagining some one like you, kind, good and honest, and so stupid that he would come forward all of a sudden and say, ‘bu are not to blame, Nastasya Filippovna, and I adore you.’ I used to dream like that, till I nearly went out of my mind. . . . And then this man would come, stay two months in the year, bringing shame, dishonour, corruption, degradation, and go away. So that a thousand times I wanted to fling myself into the pond, but I was a poor creature, I hadn’t the courage; and now ... Rogozhin, are you ready?”
“Ready! Don’t come near her!”
“Ready!” shouted several voices.
“The troikas are waiting with bells!”
Nastasya Filippovna snatched up the bundle of notes.
“Ganya, an idea has occurred to me. I want to compensate you, for why should you lose everything? Rogozhin, would he crawl on all fours to the other end of Petersburg for three roubles?”
“He would.”
“Then listen, Ganya; I want to see into your soul for the last time. bu have been torturing me for three months past, now it’s my turn. You see this roll, there are a hundred thousand roubles in it! I’m just going to throw it into the fire, before every one, all are witnesses. As soon as the fire has got it all alight, put your hands into the fire, only without gloves, with your bare hands and turn back your sleeves, and pull the bundle out of the fire. If you can pull it out, it’s yours, the whole hundred thousand. bu’ll only burn your fingers a little — but it’s a hundred thousand, think of it! It won’t take long to pull out. And I shall admire your spirit, seeing how you put your hands into the fire for my money. All are witnesses that the bundle shall be yours. And if you don’t, then it will burn; I won’t let any one touch it. Stand away! Every one stand back! It’s my money! It’s my wages for a night with Rogozhin. Is it my money, Rogozhin?”
“Yours, my joy! Yours, my queen!”
“Then all stand back, I may do what I like! Don’t interfere! Ferdyshtchenko, make up the fire!”
“Nastasya Filippovna, I can’t raise my hands to it,” answered Ferdyshtchenko, dumbfounded.
“Ech!” cried Nastasya Filippovna.
She snatched up the tongs, separated two smouldering chunks of wood, and as soon as the fire flared up, she flung the bundle into it.
There was an outcry from all the party; many even crossed themselves.
“She’s gone out of her mind! She is mad!” they shouted.
“Oughtn’t we . . . oughtn’t we ... to tie her up?” the general whispered to Ptitsyn, “or send for the . . . She is mad, isn’t she, isn’t she?”
“N-no, perhaps it isn’t quite madness,” Ptitsyn whispered, trembling and white as a handkerchief, unable to take his eyes off the smouldering roll of notes.
“She is mad! She’s mad, isn’t she?” the general persisted to Totsky.
“As I told you, she is a woman of glaring effects,” muttered Afanasy Ivanovitch, also somewhat pale.
“But come, you know, it’s a hundred thousand!”
“Good heavens!” was heard on all sides. Every one crowded round the fireplace, everyone pressed forward to see, every one exclaimed. Some even jumped on chairs to look over each other’s heads. Darya Alexeyevna whisked away into the other room and whispered in alarm with Katya and Pasha. The beautiful German had fled.
“Madam! Royal lady! Omnipotent lady!” wailed Lebedyev, crawling on his knees in front of Nastasya Filippovna, stretching out his hands to the fire. “A hundred thousand — a hundred thousand! I saw the notes myself, they were rolled up before me. Lady! Gracious lady! Tell me to pick them out! I’ll get right in, I’ll put my grey head in! . . . My wife is sick and bedridden; I’ve thirteen children, all orphans; I buried my father last week, he had nothing to eat, Nastasya Filippovna!”
And he tried to get to the fire.
“Get away!” cried Nastasya Filippovna, shoving him off. “All stand back! Ganya, why are you standing still? Don’t be shy, pick it out! It’s your luck!”
But Ganya had suffered too much that day and was not ready for this last unexpected ordeal. The crowd parted in front of him and he remained face to face with Nastasya Filippovna, three steps from her. She was standing close by the fire, waiting, with intent, glowing eyes fixed upon him. Ganya stood in his evening dress with his arms folded and his gloves and hat in his hand, gazing mutely at the fire. A frenzied smile strayed on his chalk-white face. It is true that he couldn’t take his eyes off the fire, off the smouldering roll of notes; but something new seemed to have risen up in his soul: he seemed to have vowed to endure the ordeal. He did not move from his place. In a few instants it became clear to everyone that he was not going to touch the notes.
Complete Works of Fyodor Dostoyevsky Page 284