 Part 2 Chapter 2 of The Idiot. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen. The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Translated by Eva M. Martin. Part 2 Chapter 2. It was the beginning of June, and for a whole week the weather in St. Petersburg had been magnificent. The Yepanchins had a luxurious country house at Pavlovsk, and to this spot Mrs. Yepanchin determined to proceed without further delay. In a couple of days all was ready, and the family had left town. A day or two after this removal to Pavlovsk, Prince Mushkin arrived in St. Petersburg by the morning train from Moscow. No one met him, but as he stepped out of the carriage he suddenly became aware of two strangely glowing eyes fixed upon him from among the crowd that met the train. On endeavouring to rediscover the eyes and see to whom they belonged, he could find nothing to guide him. It must have been an hallucination. But the disagreeable impression remained, and without this the prince was sad and thoughtful already, and seemed to be much preoccupied. His cab took him to a small and bad hotel near the Litynaya. Here he engaged a couple of rooms, dark and badly furnished. He washed and changed, and hurriedly left the hotel again, as though anxious to waste no time. Anyone who now saw him for the first time since he left Petersburg would judge that he had improved vastly so far as his exterior was concerned. His clothes certainly were very different. They were more fashionable, perhaps even too much so, and anyone inclined to mockery might have found something to smile at in his appearance. But what is there that people will not smile at? The prince took a cab and drove to a street near the Nativity, where he soon discovered the house he was seeking. It was a small wooden villa, and he was struck by its attractive and clean appearance. It stood in a pleasant little garden full of flowers. The windows looking on the street were open, and the sound of a voice, reading aloud or making a speech, came through them. It rose at times to a shout, and was interrupted occasionally by bursts of laughter. Prince Mishkin entered the courtyard and ascended the steps. A cook with her sleeves turned up to the elbows opened the door. The visitor asked if Mr Leberjeff was at home. He's in there, said she, pointing to the saddle. The room had a blue wallpaper, and was well almost pretentiously furnished, with its round table, its divan, and its bronze clock under a glass shade. There was a narrow pear glass against the wall, and a chandelier adorned with lustres hung by a bronze chain from the ceiling. When the prince entered, Leberjeff was standing in the middle of the room, his back to the door. He was in his shirt sleeves, on account of the extreme heat, and he seemed to have just reached the peroration of his speech, and was impressively beating his breast. His audience consisted of a youth of about fifteen years of age, with a clever face, who had a book in his hand, though he was not reading. A young lady of twenty, in deep mourning, stood near him with an infant in her arms. Another girl of thirteen, also in black, was laughing loudly, her mouth wide open. And on the sofa lay a handsome young man, with black hair and eyes, and a suspicion of beard and whiskers. He frequently interrupted the speaker, and argued with him, to the great delight of the others. Look, Jan Timofeevich, look Jan Timofeevich, here's someone to see you. Look here, a gentleman to speak to you. Well, it's not my fault. And the cook turned and went away red with anger. Lebedjev started, and at sight of the prince stood like a statue for a moment. Then he moved up to him with an ingratiating smile, but stopped short again. Prince! Excellency! he stammered. Then suddenly he ran towards the girl with the infant, a movement so unexpected by her that she staggered and fell back. But next moment he was threatening the other child, who was standing still laughing in the doorway. She screamed and ran towards the kitchen. Lebedjev stamped his foot angrily. Then, seeing the prince regarding him with amazement, he murmured apologetically, pardon to show respect. You are quite wrong, began the prince. At once, at once, in one moment, he rushed like a whirlwind from the room, and Mushkin looked inquiringly at the others. They were all laughing, and the guest joined in the chorus. He had gone to get his coat, said the boy. How annoying! exclaimed the prince. I thought, tell me, is he? You think he is drunk! cried the young man on the sofa. Not in the least. He's only had three or four small glasses, perhaps five. But what is that, the usual thing? As the prince opened his mouth to answer, he was interrupted by the girl, whose sweet face wore an expression of absolute frankness. He never drinks much in the morning. If you have come to talk business with him, do it now. It is the best time. He sometimes comes back drunk in the evening, but just now he passes the greater part of the evening in tears, and reads passages of holy scripture aloud, because our mother died five weeks ago. No doubt he ran off, because he did not know what to say to you, said the youth on the divan. I bet he is trying to cheat you, and is thinking how best to do it. Just then Lebergeff returned, having put on his coat. Five weeks, said he, wiping his eyes. Only five weeks! Poor orphans! But why wear a coat in holes, asked the girl, when your new one is hanging behind the door? Did you not see it? Oh, your tongue-dragon fly! he scolded. What a plague you are! He stumped his foot irritably, but she only laughed, and answered, Are you trying to frighten me? I'm not Tanya, you know, and I don't intend to run away. Look, you are waking Lyubochka, and she will have convulsions again. Why do you shout like that? Well, well, I won't again, said the master of the house, his anxiety getting the better of his temper. He went up to his daughter, and looked at the child in her arms, anxiously making the sign of the cross over her three times. God bless her! God bless her! he cried with emotion. This little creature is my daughter Lyuboch, addressing the prince. My wife Ilyena died at her birth, and this is my big daughter Viera, in mourning, as you see. And this, this, oh, this, pointing to the young man on the divan. Well, go on, never mind me, mocked the other. Don't be afraid. Excellency, have you read that account of the murder of the Zemarin family in the newspaper? cried Lyubochka, all of a sudden. Yes, said Mwishkin, with some surprise. Well, that is the murderer. It is he, in fact. What do you mean? asked the visitor. I am speaking allegorically, of course, but he will be the murderer of a Zemarin family in the future. He is getting ready. They all laughed, and the thought crossed the prince's mind that perhaps Lebedjev was really trifling in this way because he foresaw inconvenient questions, and wanted to gain time. He is a traitor, a conspirator, shouted Lebedjev, who seemed to have lost all control over himself. A monster, a slanderer, ought I to treat him as a nephew, the son of my sister Anestia. How do be quiet, you must be drunk. He has taken it into his head to play the lawyer-prince, and he practises speech-uffying, and is always repeating his eloquent pleadings to his children. And who do you think was his last client, an old woman who had been robbed of five hundred rubles, her all, by some rogue of a usurer, besought him to take up her case? Instead of which he defended the usurer himself, a Jew named Zidler, because this Jew promised to give him fifty rubles. It was to be fifty if I won the case, only five if I lost, interrupted Lebedjev, speaking in a low tone, a great contrast to his earlier manner. Well, naturally he came to grief. The law is not administered as it used to be, and he only got laughed at for his pains. But he was much pleased with himself in spite of that. Most learned judge, said he, picture this unhappy man, crippled by age and infirmities, who gains his living by honourable toil. Picture him, I repeat, robbed of his all, of his last mouthful. Remember, I entreat you, the words of that learned legislator. Let mercy and justice alike rule the courts of law. Now would you believe it, excellency, every morning he recites this speech to us from beginning to end, exactly as he spoke it before the magistrate. Today we have heard it for the fifth time. He was just starting again when you arrived so much, as he admired it. He is now preparing to undertake another case. I think, by the way, that you are Prince Mushkin. Collier tells me you are the cleverest man he has ever known. The cleverest in the world interrupted his uncle hastily. I do not pay much attention to that opinion, continued the young man calmly. Collier is very fond of you, but he, pointing to Lebedjev, is flattering you. I can assure you I have no intention of flattering you or anyone else, but at least you have some common sense. Well, will you judge between us? Shall we ask that Prince do act as arbitrator? He went on addressing his uncle. I am so glad you chanced to come here, Prince. I agree, said Lebedjev firmly, looking round involuntarily at his daughter, who had come nearer, and was listening attentively to the conversation. What is it all about? asked the Prince, frowning. His head ached, and he felt sure that Lebedjev was trying to cheat him in some way, and only trying to put off the explanation that he had come for. I would tell you all the story. I am his nephew. He did speak the truth there, although he is generally telling lies. I am at the university, and have not yet finished my course. I mean to do so, and I shall, for I have a determined character. I must, however, find something to do for the present, and therefore I have got employment on the railway at twenty-four rubles a month. I admit that my uncle has helped me once or twice before. Well, I had twenty rubles in my pocket, and I gambled them away. Can you believe that I should be so low, so baseless, to lose money in that way? And the man who won it is a rogue, a rogue whom you ought not to have paid, cried Lebedjev. Yes, he is a rogue, but I was obliged to pay him, said the young man. As to his being a rogue, he is assuredly that, and I am not saying it because he beats you. He is an ex-left-tenant prince, dismissed from the service, a teacher of boxing, and one of Rogozhin's followers. They are all lounging about the pavements now that Rogozhin has turned them off. Of course, the worst of it is that knowing he was a rascal and a card-sharper, I nonetheless played bulky with him, and risked my last ruble. To tell the truth I thought to myself, if I lose, I will go to my uncle, and I am sure he will not refuse to help me. Now that was base, cowardly and base. That is so, observed Lebedjev quietly, cowardly and base. Well, wait a bit before you begin to triumph, said the nephew viciously, for the words seem to irritate him. He is delighted. I came to him here and told him everything. I acted honorably, for I did not excuse myself. I spoke most severely of my conduct, as everyone here can witness. But I must smarten myself up before I take up my new post, for I am really like a tramp. Just look at my boots. I cannot possibly appear like this, and if I am not at the bureau at the time appointed, the job will begin to someone else, and I shall have to try for another. Now I only beg for fifteen rubles, and I give my word that I will never ask him for anything again. I am also ready to promise to repay my debt in three months' time, and I will keep my word, even if I have to live on bread and water. My salary will amount to seventy-five rubles in three months. The sum I now ask, added to what I have borrowed already, will make a total of about thirty-five rubles. So you see, I shall have enough to pay him, and confound him if he wants interest, he shall have that too. Haven't I always paid back the money he lent me before? Why should he be so mean now? He grudges my having paid that lieutenant. There can be no other reason. That's the kind he is, a dog in the manger. And he won't go away!" cried Lebedyev. He has installed himself here, and here he remains. I have told you already that I will not go away until I have got what I ask. Why are you smiling, Prince? You look as if you disapproved of me. I am not smiling, but I really think you are in the wrong, somewhat," replied Mushkin reluctantly. Don't shuffle! Say plainly that you think I am quite wrong, without any somewhat. Why somewhat? I will say you are quite wrong, if you wish. If I wish, that's good, I must say. Do you think I am deceived as to the plagrant impropriety of my conduct? I am quite aware that his money is his own, and that my action is much like an attempt at extortion. But you, you don't know what life is. If people don't learn by experience, they never understand. They must be taught. My intentions are perfectly honest. On my conscience he will lose nothing, and I will pay back the money with interest, added to which he has had the moral satisfaction of seeing me disgraced. What does he want more? And what is he good for if he never helps anyone? Look what he does himself. Just ask him about his dealings with others. How he deceives people. How did he manage to buy this house? You may cut off my head if he has not let you in for something, and if he is not trying to cheat you again. You are smiling. You don't believe me. It seems to me that all this has nothing to do with your affairs, remarked the Prince. I have lain here now for three days, cried the young man without noticing, and I have seen a lot. Fancy! He suspects his daughter, that angel, that orphan, my cousin. He suspects her, and every evening he searches her room to see if she has a lover hidden in it. He comes here, too, on tiptoe, creeping softly, oh, so softly, and looks under the sofa, my bed, you know. He is mad with suspicion, and sees a thief in every corner. He runs about all night long. He was up at least seven times last night to satisfy himself that the windows and doors were barred, and a peep into the oven. That man, who appears in court for scoundrels, rushes in here in the night and prays, lying prostrate, banging his head on the ground by the half-hour. And for whom do you think he prays? Who are the sinners figuring in his drunken petitions? I have heard him with my own ears, praying for the repose of the soul of the Countess du Barry. Collier heard it, too. He is as mad as a March Hare. You hear how he slanders me, Prince, said Lebedeuf, almost beside himself with rage. I may be a drunkard, an evil doer, a thief, but at least I can say one thing for myself. He does not know how should he mock her, that he is, that when he came into the world it was I who washed him, and dressed him in his swathing-bands, for my sister Anicia had lost her husband, and was in great poverty. I was very little better off than she, but I sat up night after night with her, and nursed both mother and child. I used to go downstairs and steal wood for them from the house-porter. How often did I sing him to sleep when I was half-dead with hunger? In short, I was more than a father to him, and now, now he jeers at me. Even if I did cross myself and pray for the repose of the soul of the Countess du Barry, what does it matter? Three days ago, for the first time in my life, I read her biography in an historical dictionary. Do you know who she was? You there! addressing his nephew. Speak, do you know? Of course no one knows anything about her, but you, muttered the young man in a would-be jeering tone. She was a Countess who rose from shame to reign like a Queen. An empress wrote to her, with her own hand, as ma cher Cousine. At a Levé du Roi, one morning, do you know what a Levé du Roi was? A cardinal, a papal legate, offered to put on her stockings. The high and holy person like that looked on it as an honour. Did you know this? I see by your expression that you did not. Well, how did she die? Answer. Oh, do stop! You are too absurd. This is how she died. After all this honour and glory, after having been almost a Queen, she was guillotined by that butcher Samson. She was quite innocent, but it had to be done for the satisfaction of the fish wives of Paris. She was so terrified that she did not understand what was happening. But when Samson seized her head and pushed her under the knife with his foot, she cried out, Wait a moment, wait a moment, monsieur. Well, because of that moment of bitter suffering, perhaps the Saviour will pardon her other faults, for one cannot imagine a greater agony. As I read the story, my heart bled for her. And what does it matter to you, little worm, if I implored the divine mercy for her? Great sinner as she was, as I said my evening prayer. I might have done it, because I doubted if anyone had ever crossed himself for her sake before. It may be that in the other world she will rejoice to think that a sinner like herself has cried to heaven for the salvation of her soul. Why are you laughing? You believe nothing, atheist. And your story was not even correct. If you had listened to what I was saying, you would have heard that I did not only pray for the Contest du Barry, I said, O Lord, give rest to the soul of that great sinner, the Contest du Barry, and to all unhappy ones like her. You see, that is quite a different thing for how many sinners there are, how many women who have passed through the trials of this life are now suffering and groaning in purgatory. I prayed for you too, in spite of your insolence and impudence. Also for your fellows, as it seems that you claim to know how I pray. Oh, that's enough in all conscience. Pray for whom you choose, and the devil take them and you. We have a scholar here. You did not know that, Prince, he continued with a sneer. He reads all sorts of books and memoirs now. At any rate, your uncle has a kind heart, remarked the Prince, who really had to force himself to speak to the nephew so much that he disliked him. Oh, now you are going to praise him. He will be set up. He puts his hand on his heart, and he is delighted. I never said he was a man without heart, but he is a rascal. That's the pity of it. And then he is addicted to drink, and his mind is unhinged, like that of most people who have taken more than is good for them for years. He loves his children. Oh, I know that well enough. He respected my aunt, his late wife. And he even has a sort of affection for me. He has remembered me in his will. I shall leave you nothing, exclaimed his uncle angrily. Listen to me, Lebedief, said the Prince in a decided voice, turning his back on the young man. I know by experience that when you choose, you can be business-like. I have very little time to spare. And if you— by the way, excuse me, what is your Christian name? I have forgotten it. Timofey. And Lukia Novich. Everyone in the room began to laugh. He is telling lies, cried the nephew. Even now he cannot speak the truth. He is not called Timofey Lukia Novich, Prince, but Lukian Timofeyovich. Now, do tell us why you must needs lie about it. Lukian or Timofey, it is all the same to you, and what difference can it make to the Prince? He tells lies without the least necessity, simply by force of habit, I assure you. Is that true? said the Prince impatiently. My name really is Lukian Timofeyovich, acknowledged Lebedief, lowering his eyes and putting his hand on his heart. Well, for God's sake, what made you say the other? To humble myself, murmured Lebedief. What on earth do you mean? Oh, if only I knew where Collier was at this moment, cried the Prince, standing up as if to go. I can tell you all about Collier, said the young man. Oh, no, no! said Lebedief hurriedly. Collier spent the night here, and this morning went after his father, whom you let out of prison by paying his debts. Heaven only knows why. Yesterday the general promised to come and lodge here, but he did not appear. Most probably he slept at the hotel close by. No doubt Collier is there, unless he has gone to Pavlovsk to see the Yepanchins. He had a little money, and was intending to go there yesterday. He must be either at the hotel or at Pavlovsk. At Pavlovsk? He is at Pavlovsk undoubtedly, interrupted Lebedief. But come, let us go into the garden. We will have coffee there. And Lebedief seized the Prince's arm, and led him from the room. They went across the yard, and found themselves in a delightful little garden, with the trees already in their summer dress of green, thanks to the unusually fine weather. Lebedief invited his guest to sit down on a green seat, before a table of the same colour fixed in the earth, and took a seat facing him. In a few minutes the coffee appeared, and the Prince did not refuse it. The host kept his eyes fixed on Muishkin, with an expression of passionate servility. I knew nothing about your home before, said the Prince absently, as if he were thinking of something else. Poor orphans, began Lebedief, his face assuming a mournful air. But he stopped short, for the other looked at him inattentively, as if he had already forgotten his own remark. They waited a few minutes in silence, while Lebedief sat with his eyes fixed mournfully on the young man's face. Well, said the latter, at last rousing himself. Yes, you know why I came, Lebedief. Your letter brought me. Speak, tell me all about it. The clerk, rather confused, tried to say something, hesitated, began to speak, and again stopped. The Prince looked at him gravely. I think I understand, Lukian Timofeevich. You were not sure that I should come. You did not think I should start at the first word from you, and you merely wrote to relieve your conscience. However, you see now that I have come, and I have had enough of trickery. Give up serving, or trying to serve two masters. Rogozhin has been here these three weeks. Have you managed to sell her to him as you did before? Tell me the truth. He discovered everything, the monster himself. Don't abuse him, though I dare say you have something to complain of. He beat me. He thrashed me unmercifully, replied Lebedief vehemently. He set a dog on me in Moscow, a bloodhound, a terrible beast that chased me all down the street. You seem to take me for a child, Lebedief. Tell me, is it a fact that she left him while they were in Moscow? Yes, it is a fact, and this time let me tell you on the very eve of their marriage. It was a question of minutes when she slipped off to Petersburg. She came to me directly she arrived. Save me, Lukian, find me some refuge, and say nothing to the Prince. She is afraid of you even more than she is of him, and in that she shows her wisdom. And Lebedief slyly put his finger to his brow as he said the last words. And now it is you who have brought them together again. Excellency, how could I? How could I prevent it? That will do. I can find out for myself. Only tell me where is she now? At his house, with him. Oh no, certainly not. I am free, she says. You know how she insists on that point. I am entirely free. She repeats it over and over again. She is living in Petersburg, Skye, with my sister-in-law as I told you in my letter. She is there at this moment. Yes, unless she has gone to Pavlovsk, the fine weather may have tempted her perhaps into the country with Daria Alexeevna. I am quite free, she says. Only yesterday she boasted of her freedom to Nikolai Ardalyonovich. A bad sign! I did Lebedief smiling. Kolya goes to see her often, does he not? He is a strange boy, thoughtless and inclined to be indiscreet. Is it long since you saw her? I go to see her every day, every day. Then you were there yesterday. No, I have not been there these three last days. It is a pity you have taken too much wine, Lebedief. I want to ask you something, but all right, all right, I am not drunk," replied the clerk, preparing to listen. Tell me, how was she when you left her? She is a woman who is seeking, seeking. She seems always to be searching about, as if she had lost something. The mere idea of her coming marriage disgusts her. She looks on it as an insult. She cares as much for Hermes for a piece of orange peel, not more. Yet I am much mistaken if she does not look on him with fear and trembling. She forbids his name to be mentioned before her, and they only meet when unavoidable. He understands well enough, but it must be gone through. She is restless, mocking, deceitful, violent. Deceitful and violent? Yes, violent! I can give you a proof of it. A few days ago she tried to pull my hair, because I said something that annoyed her. I tried to soothe her by reading the apocalypse aloud. What! exclaimed the prince, thinking he had not heard a right. By reading the apocalypse, the lady has a restless imagination. She has a liking for conversation on serious subjects of any kind. In fact, they please her so much that it flutters her to discuss them. Now for fifteen years at least I have studied the apocalypse, and she agrees with me in thinking that the present is the epoch represented by the third horse, the black one whose rider holds a measure in his hand. It seems to me that everything is ruled by a measure in our century. All men are clamouring for their rights, a measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny. But added to this, men desire freedom of mind and body, a pure heart for healthy life, and all of God's good gifts. Now by pleading their rights alone, they will never attain all this, so the white horse with his rider death comes next, and is followed by hell. We talked about this matter when we met, and it impressed her very much. Do you believe all this? asked Moishkin, looking curiously at his companion. I both believe it and explain it. I am but a poor creature, beggar, an atom in the scale of humanity. Who has the least respect for Lebergev? He is a target for all the world, the butt of any fool who chooses to kick him. But in interpreting revelation, I am the equal of any one, great as he may be, such is the power of the mind and the spirit. I have made a lordly personage tremble as he sat in his armchair, only by talking to him of things concerning the spirit. Two years ago, on Easter Eve, His Excellency Neil Alexeyovich, whose subordinate I was then, wished to hear what I had to say, and sent a message by Peter Zakharich to ask me to go to his private room. They tell me you expound the prophecies relating to Antichrist, said he, when we were alone. Is that so? Yes, I answered, unhesitatingly, and I began to give some comments on the Apostles' allegorical vision. At first he smiled, but when we reached the numerical computations and correspondences, he trembled and turned pale. Then he begged me to close the book and sent me away, promising to put my name on the reward list. That took place, as I said, on the eve of Easter, and eight days later his soul returned to God. What? It is the truth. One evening, after dinner, he stumbled as he stepped out of his carriage. He fell and struck his head on the curb and died immediately. He was seventy-three years of age, and had a red face and white hair. He deluged himself with scent, and was always smiling like a child. Peter Zakharich recalled my interview with him, and said, you foretold his death. The Prince rose from his seat, and Lebedyev surprised to see his guest preparing to go so soon, remarked, you are not interested in a respectful tone. I am not very well, and my head aches. Doubtless the effect of the journey, replied the Prince, frowning. You should go into the country, said Lebedyev timidly. The Prince seemed to be considering the suggestion. You see, I am going into the country myself in three days, with my children and belongings. The little one is delicate. She needs change of air, and during our absence this house will be done up. I am going to Pavlovsk. You are going to Pavlovsk, too, asked the Prince sharply. Everybody seems to be going there. Have you a house in that neighbourhood? I don't know of many people going to Pavlovsk, and as for the house, Ivan Petitsin has let me one of his villas rather cheaply. It is a pleasant place, lying on a hill surrounded by trees, and one can live there for a mere song. There is good music to be heard, so no wonder it is popular. I shall stay in the lodge, as to the villa itself. Have you let it? No, not exactly. Let it to me. Now this was precisely what Lebedyev had made up his mind to do in the last three minutes, not that he had any difficulty in finding a tenant. In fact, the house was occupied at present by a chance visitor, who had told Lebedyev that he would perhaps take it for the summer months. The clerk knew very well that this perhaps meant certainly, but as he thought he could make more out of a tenant like the Prince, he felt justified in speaking vaguely about the present inhabitant's intentions. This is quite a coincidence, thought he, and when the subject of price was mentioned, he made a gesture with his hand, as if to wave away a question of so little importance. Oh, wow, as you like, said Mushkin, I will think it over. You shall lose nothing. They were walking slowly across the garden. But if you—I could, stammered Lebedyev, if you please, Prince, tell you something on the subject which would interest you, I'm sure. He spoke in weedling terms and wriggled as he walked along. Mushkin stopped short. Daria Alekseyevna also has a villa at Pavlovsk. Well, a certain person is very friendly with her, and intends to visit her pretty often. Well, Aglaya Ivanovna. Oh, stop, Lebedyev, interposed Mushkin, feeling as if he had been touched on an open wound. That has nothing to do with me. I should like to know when you are going to start. The sooner the better, as far as I am concerned, for I am at a hotel. They had left the garden now, and were crossing the yard on their way to the gate. Well, leave your hotel at once and come here. Then we could all go together to Pavlovsk the day after tomorrow. I will think about it, said the Prince dreamily, and went off. The clerk stood looking after his guest, struck by his sudden absent-mindedness. He had not even remembered to say goodbye, and Lebedyev was the more surprised at the omission as he knew by experience how courteous the Prince usually was. End of Part 2, Chapter 2. Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmeyer Surrey. Part 2, Chapter 3 of The Idiot. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen. The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Translated by Eva M. Martin. Part 2, Chapter 3. It was now close on twelve o'clock. The Prince knew that if he called at the Yepanchins now, he would only find the General, and that the latter might probably carry him straight off to Pavlovsk with him, whereas there was one visit he was most anxious to make without delay. So, at the risk of missing General Yepanchin altogether, and thus postponing his visit to Pavlovsk for a day at least, the Prince decided to go and look for the house he desired to find. The visit he was about to pay was, in some respects, a risky one. He was in two minds about it, but knowing that the house was in the Garakhovaya, not far from the Sadavaya, he determined to go in that direction, and to try to make up his mind on the way. Arrived at the point where the Garakhovaya crosses the Sadavaya, he was surprised to find how excessively agitated he was. He had no idea that his heart could beat so painfully. One house in the Garakhovaya began to attract his attention long before he reached it, and the Prince remembered afterwards that he had said to himself, that is the house, I am sure of it. He came up to it quite curious to discover whether he had guessed right, and felt that he would be disagreeably impressed to find that he had actually done so. The house was a large gloomy looking structure without the slightest claim to architectural beauty, in colour a dirty green. There are a few of these old houses built towards the end of the last century still standing in that part of St. Petersburg, and showing little change from their original form and colour. They are solidly built, and are remarkable for the thickness of their walls, and for the fewness of their windows, many of which are covered by gratings. On the ground floor there is usually a money-changer's shop, and the owner lives over it. Without, as well as within, the houses seem inhospitable and mysterious, an impression which is difficult to explain unless it has something to do with the actual architectural style. These houses are almost exclusively inhabited by the merchant class. Arrived at the gate the Prince looked up at the legend over it which ran House of Rogozhin, hereditary and honourable citizen. He hesitated no longer, but opened the glazed door at the bottom of the outer stairs, and made his way up to the second story. The place was dark and gloomy looking. The walls of the stone staircase were painted a dull red. Rogozhin and his mother and brother occupied the whole of the second floor, the servant who opened the door to Mwishkin led him without taking his name through several rooms and up and down many steps until they arrived at a door where he knocked. Parfion Rogozhin opened the door himself. On seeing the Prince he became deadly white, and apparently fixed to the ground so that he was more like a marble statue than a human being. The Prince had expected some surprise, but Rogozhin evidently considered his visits an impossible and miraculous event. He stared with an expression almost of terror, and his lips twisted into a bewildered smile. Parfion, perhaps my visit is ill-timed. I can go away again if you like, said Mwishkin at last, rather embarrassed. No, no, it's all right, come in," said Parfion recollecting himself. They were evidently on quite familiar terms. In Moscow they had had many occasions of meeting. Indeed, some few of these meetings were but too vividly impressed upon their memories. They had not met now, however, for three months. The deathlike pallor, and a sort of slight convulsion about the lips, had not left Rogozhin's face. Though he welcomed his guest, he was still obviously much disturbed. As he invited the Prince to sit down near the table, the latter happened to turn towards him, and was startled by the strange expression on his face. A painful recollection flashed into his mind. He stood for a time looking straight at Rogozhin, whose eyes seemed to blaze like fire. At last Rogozhin smiled, though he still looked agitated and shaken. What are you staring at me like that for? he muttered. Sit down. The Prince took a chair. Parfion, he said, tell me honestly, did you know that I was coming to Petersburg or no? Oh, I supposed you were coming. The other replied, smiling sarcastically, and I was right in my supposition, you see. But how was I to know that you would come today? A certain strangeness and impatience in his manner impressed the Prince very forcibly. And if you had known that I was coming to-day, why be so irritated about it? He asked in quiet surprise. Why did you ask me? Because when I jumped out of the train this morning, two eyes glared at me, just as yours did a moment since. Ha! and whose eyes may they have been? said Rogozhin suspiciously. It seemed to the Prince that he was trembling. I don't know. I thought it was a hallucination. I often have hallucinations nowadays. I feel just as I did five years ago when my fits were about to come on. Well, perhaps it was a hallucination. I don't know, said Parfion. He tried to give the Prince an affectionate smile, and it seemed to the latter as though, in this smile of his, something had broken, and that he could not mend it, try as he would. Shall you go abroad again, then? he asked, and suddenly added, Do you remember when we came up in the train from Pescoff together? You and your cloak and leggings, eh? And Rogozhin burst out laughing, this time with unconcealed malice, as though he were glad that he had been able to find an opportunity for giving vent to it. Have you quite taken up your quarters here? asked the Prince. Yes, I'm at home. Where else should I go to? We haven't met for some time. Meanwhile, I have heard things about you which I should not have believed to be possible. What of that? People will say anything, said Rogozhin, dryly. At all events, you've disbanded your troop, and you are living in your own house, instead of being fast and loose about the place. That's all very good. Is this house all yours, or joint property? It is my mother's. You get to her apartments by that passage. Where's your brother? In the other wing. Is he married? Widower, why do you want to know all this? The Prince looked at him, but said nothing. He had suddenly relaxed into musing, and had probably not heard the question at all. Rogozhin did not insist upon an answer, and there was silence for a few moments. I guessed which was your house from a hundred yards off, said the Prince at last. Why so? I don't quite know. Your house has the aspect of yourself and all your family. It bears the stamp of the Rogozhin life. But ask me why I think so, and I can tell you nothing. It is nonsense, of course. I am nervous about this kind of thing troubling me so much. I had never before imagined what sort of house you would live in, and yet no sooner did I set my eyes on this one than I said to myself that it must be yours. Really, said Rogozhin vaguely, not taking in what the Prince meant by his rather obscure remarks. The room they were now sitting in was a large one, lofty but dark, well furnished, principally with writing tables and desks covered with papers and books. A wide sofa covered with red Morocco evidently served Rogozhin for a bed. On the table beside which the Prince had been invited to seat himself lay some books. One containing a marker where the reader had left off was a volume of Solovius' history. Some oil paintings in worn gilded frames hung on the walls, but it was impossible to make out what subjects they represented so blackened where they buy smoke and age. One, a life-sized portrait attracted the Prince's attention. It showed a man of about fifty wearing a long riding-coat of German cut. He had two medals on his breast. His beard was white, short and thin. His face yellow and wrinkled, with a sly, suspicious expression in the eyes. "'That is your father, is it not?' asked the Prince. "'Yes, it is,' replied Rogozhin, with an unpleasant smile, as if he had expected his guest to ask the question and then to make some disagreeable remark. Was he one of the old believers? No, he went to church, but to tell the truth he really preferred the old religion. This was his study and is now mine. Why did you ask if he were an old believer? "'Are you going to be married here?' "'Yes,' replied Rogozhin, starting at the unexpected question. "'Soon. You know yourself it does not depend on me. Parfion, I am not your enemy, and I do not intend to oppose your intentions in any way. I repeat this to you now, just as I said it to you once before, on a very similar occasion. When you were arranging for your projected marriage in Moscow, I did not interfere with you. You know I did not. That first time she fled to me from you, from the very altar almost, and begged me to save her from you. Afterwards she ran away from me again, and you found her and arranged your marriage with her once more. And now I hear she has run away from you and come to Petersburg. Is it true? Lebedyev wrote me to this effect, and that's why I came here. But you had once more arranged matters with Nastasya Philipovna. I only learned last night in the train from a friend of yours, Zaleshroff, if you wish to know." I confess I came here with an object. I wished to persuade Nastasya to go abroad for her health. She requires it. Both mind and body need a change badly. I did not intend to take her abroad myself. I was going to arrange for her to go without me. Now, I tell you honestly, Parfion, if it is true that all is made up between you, I will not so much as set eyes upon her, and I will never even come to see you again. You know quite well that I am telling the truth, because I have always been frank with you. I have never concealed my own opinion from you. I have always told you that I consider a marriage between you and her would be ruined to her. You would also be ruined, and perhaps even more hopelessly. If this marriage were to be broken off again, I admit I should be greatly pleased, but at the same time I have not the slightest intention of trying to part you. You may be quite easy in your mind, and you need not suspect me. You know yourself whether I was ever really your rival or not, even when she ran away and came to me. There, you are laughing at me. I know why you laugh. It is perfectly true that we lived apart from one another all the time, in different towns. I told you before that I did not love her with love, but with pity. You said then that you understood me. Did you really understand me or not? What hatred there is in your eyes at this moment. I came to relieve your mind, because you are dear to me also. I love you very much, Parfion, and now I shall go away, and never come back again. Goodbye." The prince rose. Stay a little, said Parfion, not leaving his chair and resting his head on his right hand. I haven't seen you for a long time. The prince sat down again, both with silent for a few moments. When you are not with me, I hate you, Lyov Nikolayevitch. I have loathed you every day of these three months since I last saw you. By heaven I have, said Drogogin. I could have poisoned you at any minute. Now you have been with me but a quarter of an hour, and all my malice seems to have melted away, and you are as dear to me as ever. Stay here a little longer. When I am with you, you trust me. But as soon as my back is turned, you suspect me, said the prince, smiling, and trying to hide his emotion. I trust your voice when I hear you speak. I quite understand that you and I cannot be put on a level, of course. Why did you add that? There, now you are cross again, said the prince, wondering. We were not asked, you see. We were made different, with different tastes and feelings, without being consulted. You say you love her with pity. I have no pity for her. She hates me, that's the plain truth of the matter. I dream of her every night, and always that she is laughing at me with another man. And so she does laugh at me. She thinks no more of marrying me than if she were changing her shoe. Would you believe it? I haven't seen her for five days, and I daren't go near her. She asks me what I come for, as if she were not content with having disgraced me. Disgraced you? How? Just as though you didn't know. Why, she ran away from me and went to you. You admitted it yourself, just now. But surely you do not believe that she—that she did not disgrace me at Moscow with that officer? I know for certain she did, after having fixed our marriage day herself. Impossible, cried the prince. I know it for a fact, replied Drogogin with conviction. It is not like her, you say. My friend, that's absurd. Perhaps such an act would horrify her if she were with you. But it is quite different where I am concerned. She looks on me as vermin. Her affair with Keller was simply to make a laughing stock of me. You don't know what a fool she made of me in Moscow. And the money I spent over her. The money! The money! And you can marry her now, Parfion. What will come of it all? said the prince with dread in his voice. Drogogin gazed back gloomily, and with a terrible expression in his eyes, but said nothing. I haven't been to see her for five days, he repeated after a slight pause. I'm afraid of being turned out. She says she's still her own mistress, and may turn me off altogether and go abroad. She told me this herself. He said with a peculiar glance at Mushkin. I think she often does it merely to frighten me. She is always laughing at me for some reason or other. But at other time she's angry and won't say a word, and that's what I'm afraid of. I took her ashore one day, the like of which she might never have seen, although she did live in luxury, and she gave it away to her maid, Katya. Sometimes when I can keep away no longer, I still passed the house on the sly, and once I watched her at the gate till dawn. I thought something was going on, and she saw me from the window. She asked me what I should do if I found she had deceived me. I said, you know well enough. What did she know? cried the Prince. How was I to tell? replied Raghavjin with an angry laugh. I did my best to catch her tripping in Moscow, but did not succeed. However, I caught hold of her one day, and said, You are engaged to be married into a respectable family, and you know what sort of woman you are. That's the sort of woman you are, I said. You told her that? Yes. Well, go on. She said, I wouldn't even have you for a footman now, much less for a husband. I shan't leave the house, I said, so it doesn't matter. Then I shall call somebody and have you kicked out, she cried. So then I rushed at her and beat her till she was bruised all over. Impossible! cried the Prince aghast. I tell you it's true, said Raghavjin quietly, but with eyes ablaze with passion. Then for a day and a half I neither slept nor ate nor drank, and would not leave her. I knelt at her feet. I shall die here, I said, if you don't forgive me. And if you have me turned out, I shall drown myself. Because what should I be without you now? She was like a madwoman all that day. Now she would cry. Now she would threaten me with a knife. Now she would abuse me. She called in Zalaev and Keller, and showed me to them, shamed me in their presence. Let's all go to the theatre, she said, and leave him here if he won't go. It's not my business. They'll give you some tea, Parfion Semionovich, while I'm away. For you must be hungry. She came back from the theatre alone. Those cowards wouldn't come, she said. They are afraid of you, and try to frighten me too. He won't go away as he came, they said. He'll cut your throat. See if he doesn't. Now I shall go to my bedroom, and I shall not even lock my door. Just to show you how much I am afraid of you. You must be shown that once for all. Did you have tea? No, I said, and I don't intend to. You are playing off your pride against your stomach. That sort of heroism doesn't sit well on you, she said. With that she did as she had said she would. She went to bed, and did not lock her door. In the morning she came out. Are you quite mad, she said sharply, while you'll die of hunger like this? Forgive me, I said. No, I won't, and I won't marry you. I've said it. Surely you haven't sat in this chair all night without sleeping. I didn't sleep, I said. How sensible of you! And are you going to have no breakfast or dinner today? I told you I wouldn't. Forgive me. You've no idea how unbecoming this sort of thing is to you, she said. It's like putting a saddle on a cow's back. Do you think you are frightening me? My word, what a dreadful thing that you should sit here and eat no food. How terribly frightened I am! She wasn't angry long, and didn't seem to resent my offence at all. I was surprised, for she is a vindictive, resentful woman. But then I thought perhaps she despised me too much to feel any resentment against me. And that's the truth. She came up to me and said, Do you know who the Pope of Rome is? I've heard of him, I said. I suppose you've read the universal history, Parifion Semionovich, haven't you? She asked. I've learned nothing at all, I said. Then I'll lend it to you to read. You must know there was a Roman Pope once, and he was very angry with a certain emperor. So the emperor came and neither ate nor drank, but knelt before the Pope's palace till he should be forgiven. And what sort of vows do you think that the emperor was making during all those days on his knees? Stop, I'll read it to you. Then she read me a lot of verses, where it said that the emperor spent all the time vowing vengeance against the Pope. You don't mean to say you don't approve of the poem Parifion Semionovich, she says. All you have read out is perfectly true, say I. Says she. You admit it's true, do you? And you are making vows to yourself that if I marry you you will remind me of all this and take it out of me. I don't know, I say, perhaps I was thinking like that, and perhaps I was not. I'm not thinking of anything just now. What are your thoughts, then? I'm thinking that when you rise from your chair and go past me, I watch you and follow you with my eyes. If your dress does but rustle, my heart sinks. If you leave the room I remember every little word and action and what your voice sounded like and what you said. I thought of nothing all last night, but sat here listening to your sleeping breath, and heard you move a little, twice. And as for your attack upon me, she says, I suppose you never once thought of that. Perhaps I did think of it, and perhaps not, I say. And what if I don't either forgive you or marry you? I tell you I shall go and drown myself. Hmm! she said, and then relapsed into silence. Then she got angry and went out. I suppose you'd murder me before you drowned yourself, though. She cried as she left the room. An hour later she came to me again, looking melancholy. I will marry you, Parfion Semionovich, she says, not because I'm frightened of you, but because it's all the same to me how I ruin myself. And how can I do it better? Sit down, they'll bring you some dinner directly. And if I do marry you, I'll be a faithful wife to you, you need not doubt that. Then she thought a bit, and said, At all events you are not a flunky. At first I thought you were no better than a flunky. And she arranged the wedding, and fixed the day straight away on the spot. Then in another week she had run away again, and came here to Lebedyev's. And when I found her here, she said to me, I'm not going to renounce you altogether, but I wish to put off the wedding a bit longer yet, just as long as I like, for I'm still my own mistress, so you may wait, if you like. That's how the matter stands between us now. What do you think of all this, Lyovnikolayevitch? What do you think of it yourself? replied the Prince, looking sadly at Rogozhin. As if I couldn't think anything about it! He was about to say more, but stopped in despair. The Prince rose again as if he would leave. At all events I shall not interfere with you, he murmured, as though making answer to some secret thought of his own. I'll tell you what, replied Rogozhin, and his eyes flashed fire. I can't understand your yielding her to me like this. I don't understand it. Have you given up loving her altogether? At first you suffered badly. I know it. I saw it. Besides, why did you come post-haste after us? Out of pity, eh? His mouth curved in a mocking smile. Do you think I am deceiving you? asked the Prince. No, I trust you, but I can't understand. It seems to me that your pity is greater than my love. A hungry longing to speak his mind out seemed to flash in the man's eyes, combined with an intense anger. Your love is mingled with hatred, and therefore, when your love passes, there will be the greater misery, said the Prince. I tell you this, Parfion, what, that I'll cut her throat, you mean? The Prince shuddered. You'll hate her afterwards for all your present love, and for all the torment you are suffering on her account now. What seems to me the most extraordinary thing is that she can again consent to marry you, after all that has passed between you. When I heard the news yesterday, I could hardly bring myself to believe it. Why, she has run twice from you, from the very altar rails, as it were. She must have some presentiment of evil. What can she want with you now? Your money? Nonsense! Besides, I should think you must have made a fairly large hole in your fortune already. Surely it is not because she is so very anxious to find a husband. She could find many a one besides yourself. Anyone would be better than you, because you will murder her. And I feel sure she must know that, but too well by now. Is it because you love her so passionately? Indeed, that may be it. I have heard that there are women who want just that kind of love. But still, the prince paused reflectively. What are you grinning at my father's portrait again for? Asked Rogojin suddenly. He was carefully observing every change in the expression of the prince's face. I smiled, because the idea came into my head that if it were not for this unhappy passion of yours, you might have, and would have, become just such a man as your father, and that very quickly too. You'd have settled down in this house of yours with some silent and obedient wife. You'd have spoken rarely, trusted no one, he did no one, he did no one, and thought of nothing but making money. Laugh away, she said exactly the same, almost word for word, when she saw my father's portrait. It's remarkable how entirely you and she are at one nowadays. What has she been here? asked the prince with curiosity. Yes, she looked long at the portrait and asked all about my father. You'd be just such another, she said at last, and laughed. You have such strong passions, Parfion, she said, that they'd have taken you to Siberia in no time if you had not, luckily, intelligence as well, for you have a good deal of intelligence. She said this, believe it or not, the first time I ever heard anything of that sort from her. You'd soon have thrown up all this rowdyism that you indulge in now, and you'd have settled down to quiet, steady money-making, because you have little education, and here you'd have stayed just like your father before you, and you'd have loved your money so that you'd amass not two million, like him, but ten million, and you'd have died of hunger on your money bags to finish up with, for you carry everything to extremes. There, that's exactly word for word, as she said it to me. She never talked to me like that before. She always talks nonsense and laughs when she's with me. We went all over this old house together. I shall change all this, I said, or else I'll buy a new house for the wedding. No, no, she said. Don't touch anything. Leave it all as it is. I shall live with your mother when I marry you. I took her to see my mother, and she was as respectful and kind as though she were her own daughter. Mother has been almost demented ever since father died. She's an old woman. She sits and bows from her chair to every one she sees. If you left her alone and didn't feed her for three days, I don't believe she would notice it. Well, I took her hand, and I said, Give your blessing to this lady, mother. She's going to be my wife. So Nastasia kissed mother's hand with great feeling. She must have suffered terribly, hasn't she? She said. She saw this book lying here before me. What? Have you begun to read Russian history? She asked. She told me once in Moscow, you know, that I had better get Soloviev's Russian history and read it, because I knew nothing. That's good, she said. You go on like that, reading books. I'll make you a list myself of the books you ought to read first, shall I? She had never once spoken to me like this before. It was the first time I felt I could breathe before her like a living creature. I'm very, very glad to hear of this, Parfion, said the Prince with real feeling. Who knows? Maybe God will yet bring you near to one another. Never, never! cried Rogozin excitedly. Look here, Parfion, if you love her so much, surely you must be anxious to earn her respect. And if you do so wish, surely you may hope to. I said just now that I considered it extraordinary that she could still be ready to marry you. Well, though I cannot yet understand it, I feel sure she must have some good reason, or she wouldn't do it. She is sure of your love. But besides that, she must attribute something else to you, some good qualities, otherwise the thing would not be. What you have just said confirms my words. You say yourself that she found it possible to speak to you quite differently from her usual manner. You are suspicious, you know, and jealous. Therefore, when anything annoying happens to you, you exaggerate its significance. Of course, of course, she does not think so ill of you as you say. Why, if she did, she would simply be walking to death by drowning, or by the knife, with her eyes wide open when she married you. It is impossible, as if anybody would go to their death deliberately. Rogojin listened to the Prince's excited words with a bitter smile. His conviction was apparently unalterable. How dreadfully you look at me, Parfion, said the Prince, with a feeling of dread. Water, or the knife, said the latter, and last. That's exactly why she is going to marry me, because she knows for certain that the knife awaits her. Prince, can it be that you don't even yet see what's at the root of it all? I don't understand you. Perhaps he really doesn't understand me. They do say that you are a… you know what? She loves another. There, you can understand that much. Just as I love her, exactly so she loves another man. And that other man is… do you know who? It's you. There, you didn't know that, eh? I. You. You. She has loved you ever since that day, her birthday. Only she thinks she cannot marry you, because it would be the ruin of you. Everybody knows what sort of a woman I am, she says. She told me all this herself, to my very face. She's afraid of disgracing and ruining you, she says. But it doesn't matter about me. She can marry me, all right. Notice how much consideration she shows for me. But why did she run away to me, and then again from me to… from you to me? That's nothing. Why, she always acts as though she were in a delirium nowadays. Either she says, come on, I'll marry you. Let's have the wedding quickly, and fixes the day, and seems in a hurry for it. And when it begins to come near, she feels frightened. Or else some other idea gets into her head. Goodness knows, you've seen her, you know how she goes on, laughing, and crying, and raving. There's nothing extraordinary about her having run away from you. She ran away because she found out how dearly she loved you. She could not bear to be near you. You said just now that I had found her at Moscow, when she ran away from you. I didn't do anything of the sort. She came to me herself, straight from you. Name the day, I'm ready, she said. Let's have some champagne, and go and hear the gypsies sing. I'd tell you she'd have thrown herself into the water long ago if it were not for me. She doesn't do it because I am, perhaps, even more dreadful to her than the water. She's marrying me out of spite. If she marries me, I'd tell you it will be for spite. But how do you—how can you—began the prince gazing with dread and horror at Rogorjin? Why don't you finish your sentence? Shall I tell you what you were thinking to yourself just then? You were thinking, how can she marry him after this? How can it possibly be permitted? Oh, I know what you were thinking about. I didn't come here for that purpose, Parfion. That was not in my mind. That may be. Perhaps you didn't come with the idea, but the idea is certainly there now. Well, that's enough. What are you upset about? Didn't you really know it all before? You astonish me. All this is mere jealousy. It is some malady of yours, Parfion. You exaggerate everything," said the prince, excessively agitated. What are you doing? Let go of it," said Parfion, seizing from the prince's hand a knife which the latter had at that moment taken up from the table, where it lay beside the history. Parfion replaced it where it had been. I seemed to know it. I felt it when I was coming back to Petersburg," continued the prince. I did not want to come. I wished to forget all this—to uproot it from my memory altogether. Well, good-bye. What is the matter? He had absently taken up the knife a second time, and again Rogozhin snatched it from his hand and threw it down on the table. It was a plain-looking knife with a bone handle, a blade about eight inches long, and broad in proportion. It did not clasp. Seeing that the prince was considerably struck by the fact that he had twice seized this knife out of his hand, Rogozhin caught it up with some irritation, put it inside the book, and threw the latter across to another table. Do you cut your pages with it, or what? asked Mushkin, still rather absently, as they were unable to throw off a deep preoccupation into which the conversation had thrown him. Yes. It's a garden knife, isn't it? Yes, can't one cut pages with a garden knife. It's quite new. Oh, what of that? Can't I buy a new knife, if I like? shouted Rogozhin furiously, his irritation growing with every word. The prince shuddered and gazed fixedly at Parfion. Suddenly he burst out laughing. Why, what an idea! he said. I didn't mean to ask you any of these questions. I was thinking of something quite different. But my head is heavy, and I seem so absent-minded nowadays. Well, goodbye. I can't remember what I wanted to say. Goodbye. Not that way, said Rogozhin. There, I've forgotten that, too. This way. Come along. I'll show you. End of Part 2, Chapter 3 Part 2, Chapter 4 of the Idiot. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson. The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Translated by Eva M. Martin. Part 2, Chapter 4 They passed through the same rooms which the prince had traversed on his arrival. In the largest there were pictures on the walls, portraits and landscapes of little interest. Over the door, however, there was one of strange and rather striking shape. It was six or seven feet in length, and not more than a foot in height. It represented the saviour just taken from the cross. The prince glanced at it, but took no further notice. He moved on hastily, as though anxious to get out of the house. But Rogozhin suddenly stopped underneath the picture. My father picked up all these pictures, very cheap at auctions, and so on, he said. They are all rubbish, except the one over the door, and that is valuable. A man offered five hundred rubles for its last week. Yes, that's a copy of a hullbine, said the prince, looking at it again. And a good copy, too, as far as I am able to judge. I saw the picture abroad and could not forget it. What's the matter? Rogozhin had dropped the subject of the picture and walked on. Of course, his strange frame of mind was sufficient to account for his conduct, but still it seemed queer to the prince that he should so abruptly drop a conversation commenced by himself. Rogozhin did not take any notice of his question. Leofnikolayevich said Rogozhin after a pause, during which the two walked along a little further. I have long wished to ask you, do you believe in God? How strangely you speak, and how odd you look, said the other involuntarily. I like looking at that picture, but at Rogozhin not noticing apparently that the prince had not answered his question. That picture, that picture, cried Mushkin, struck by a sudden idea. Why, a man's faith might be ruined by looking at that picture. So it is, said Rogozhin unexpectedly. They had now reached the front door. The prince stopped. How, he said, what do you mean? I was half joking, and you took me up quite seriously. Why do you ask me whether I believe in God? Oh, no particular reason. I meant to ask you before. Many people are unbelievers nowadays, especially Russians, I've been told. You ought to know you've lived abroad. Rogozhin laughed bitterly, as he said these words, and opening the door held it for the prince to pass out. Mushkin looked surprised, but went out. The other followed him as far as the landing of the outer stairs, and shut the door behind him. They both now stood facing one another, as though oblivious of where they were, or what they had to do next. Well, goodbye, said the prince, holding out his hand. Goodbye, said Rogozhin, pressing it hard, but quite mechanically. The prince made one step forward, and then turned round. As to faith, he said, smiling, and evidently unwilling to leave Rogozhin in this state. As to faith, I had four curious conversations in two days, a week or so ago. One morning I met a man in the train, and made acquaintance with him at once. I had often heard of him as a very learned man, but an atheist. I was very glad of the opportunity of conversing with so eminent and clever a person. He doesn't believe in God, and he talked a good deal about it, but all the while it appeared to me that he was speaking outside the subject. And it has always struck me, both in speaking to such men and in reading their books, that they do not seem really to be touching on that at all, though on the surface they may appear to do so. I told him this, but I dare say I did not clearly express what I meant, for he could not understand me. That same evening I stopped at a small provincial hotel, and it so happened that a dreadful murder had been committed there the night before, and everybody was talking about it. Two peasants, elderly men and old friends, had had tea together there the night before, and were to occupy the same bedroom. They were not drunk, but one of them had noticed for the first time that his friend possessed a silver watch which he was wearing on a chain. He was by no means a thief, and was, as peasants go, a rich man. But this watch so fascinated him that he could not restrain himself. He took a knife, and when his friend turned his back, he came up softly behind, raised his eyes to heaven, crossed himself, and saying earnestly, God forgive me for Christ's sake, he cut his friend's throat like a sheep, and took the watch. Raghazin roared with laughter. He laughed as though he were in a sort of fit. It was strange to see him laughing so after the somber mood he had been in just before. Oh, I'd like that! That beats anything! He cried convulsively, panting for breath. One is an absolute unbeliever. The other is such a thoroughgoing believer that he murders his friend to the tune of a prayer. Oh, Prince, Prince, that's too good for anything. You can't have invented it. It's the best thing I've heard. Next morning I went out for a stroll through the town, continued the Prince, so soon as Raghazin was a little quieter, though his laughter still burst out at intervals, and soon observed a drunken-looking soldier staggering about the pavement. He came up to me and said, By my silver cross, sir, you shall have it for four pence. It's real silver. I looked, and there he held a cross, just taken from his own neck evidently, a large tin one made after the Byzantine pattern. I fished out four pence, and put his cross on my own neck, and could see by his face that he was as pleased as he could be at the thought that he had succeeded in cheating a foolish gentleman, and away he went to drink the value of his cross. At that time everything that I saw made a tremendous impression upon me. I had understood nothing about Russia before, and had only vague and fantastic memories of it. So I thought, I will wait a while before I condemn this Judas. Only God knows what may be hidden in the hearts of drunkards. Well, I went homewards, and near the hotel I came across a poor woman carrying a child, a baby of some six weeks old. The mother was quite a girl herself. The baby was smiling up at her for the first time in its life, just at that moment, and while I watched the woman, she suddenly crossed herself. Oh, so devoutly! What is it, my good woman? I asked her. I was never but asking questions then. Exactly as is a mother's joy when her baby smiles for the first time into her eyes, so is God's joy when one of his children turns and prays to him for the first time with all his heart. This is what the poor woman said to me, almost word for word, and such a deep, refined, truly religious thought it was, a thought in which the whole essence of Christianity was expressed in one flash. That is the recognition of God as our Father, and of God's joy in men as his own children, which is the chief idea of Christ. She was a simple countrywoman, a mother, it's true, and perhaps, who knows, she may have been the wife of the drunken soldier. Listen, Parfion, you put a question to me just now. This is my reply. The essence of religious feeling has nothing to do with reason, or atheism, or crime, or acts of any kind. It has nothing to do with these things, and never had. There is something besides all this, something which the arguments of the atheists can never touch. But the principal thing, and the conclusion of my argument, is that this is most clearly seen in the heart of a Russian. This is a conviction which I have gained while I have been in this Russia of ours. Yes, Parfion, there is work to be done. There is work to be done in this Russian world. Remember what talks we used to have in Moscow? And I never wished to come here at all, and I never thought to meet you like this, Parfion. Well, well, good-bye, good-bye, God be with you. He turned and went downstairs. Ljofnikolayevich cried Parfion before he had reached the next landing. Have you got that cross you bought from the soldier with you? Yes, I have, and the prince stopped again. Show it to me, will you? A new fancy, the prince reflected, and then mounted the stairs once more. He pulled out the cross without taking it off his neck. Give it to me, said Parfion. Why, do you—the prince would rather have kept this particular cross. I'll wear it, and you shall have mine. I'll take it off at once. You wish to exchange crosses? Very well, Parfion, if that's the case, I'm glad enough. That makes us brothers, you know. The prince took off his tin cross, Parfion his gold one, and the exchange was made. Parfion was silent. With sad surprise the prince observed that the look of distrust, the bitter, ironical smile, had still not altogether left his newly adopted brother's face. At moments, at all events, it showed itself but too plainly. At last Rogojin took the prince's hand, and stood so for some moments, as though he could not make up his mind. Then he drew him along, murmuring almost inaudibly. Come! They stopped on the landing, and rang the bell at a door opposite to Parfion's own lodging. A woman opened to them, and bowed low to Parfion, who asked her some questions hurriedly, but did not wait to hear her answer. He led the prince on through several dark, cold-looking rooms, spotlessly clean, with white covers over all the furniture. Without the ceremony of knocking, Parfion entered a small apartment, furnished like a drawing-room, but with a polished mahogany partition dividing one half of it from what was probably a bedroom. In one corner of this room sat an old woman in an armed chair, close to the stove. She did not look very old, and her face was a pleasant round one, but she was white-haired, and as one could detect at the first glance, quite in her second childhood. She wore a black woolen dress, with a black handkerchief round her neck and shoulders, and a white cap with black ribbons. Her feet were raised on a footstool. Beside her sat another old woman, also dressed in mourning, and silently knitting a stocking. This was evidently a companion. They both looked as though they never broke the silence. The first old woman, so soon as she saw Rogargin and the prince, smiled and bowed courteously several times, in token of her gratification at their visit. Mother! said Rogargin, kissing her hand. Here is my great friend, Prince Mushkin. We have exchanged crosses. He was like a real brother to me at Moscow at one time, and did a great deal for me. Bless him, mother, as you would bless your own son. Wait a moment. Let me arrange your hands for you. But the old lady, before Parfion had time to touch her, raised her right hand, and with three fingers held up, devoutly made the sign of the cross three times over the prince. She then nodded her head kindly at him once more. There, come along, Lyov Nikolaevich. That's all I brought you here for, said Rogargin. When they reached the stairs again, he added, she understood nothing of what I said to her, and did not know what I wanted her to do, and yet she blessed you. That show she wished to do so herself. Well, good-bye, it's time you went, and I must go, too. He opened his own door. Well, let me at least embrace you, and say good-bye, you strange fellow, cried the prince, looking with gentle reproach at Rogargin, and advancing towards him. But the latter had hardly raised his arms when he dropped them again. He could not make up his mind to it. He turned away from the prince in order to avoid looking at him. He could not embrace him. Don't be afraid, he muttered indistinctly. Though I have taken your cross, I shall not murder you for your watch. So saying, he laughed suddenly, and strangely. Then in a moment his face became transfigured. He grew deadly white. His lips trembled. His eyes burned like fire. He stretched out his arms, and held the prince tightly to him, and said in a strangled voice, Well, take her. It's fate. She's yours. I surrender her. Remember Rogargin. And pushing the prince from him without looking back at him, he hurriedly entered his own flat, and banged the door. End of Part 2, Chapter 4 Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere, Surrey