"You're very unfair to me . . . and to that unfortunate woman, of whom you just spoke so terribly, Aglaya."
"Because I know everything, everything, that's why I spoke like that! I know that, six months ago, you offered her your hand in front of everybody. Don't interrupt, you can see I'm speaking without commentaries. After that she ran away with Rogozhin; then you lived with her in some village or town, and she left you for
someone else." (Aglaya blushed terribly.) "Then she went back to Rogozhin, who loves her like . . . like a madman. Then you, who are also a very intelligent man, came galloping after her here, as soon as you learned she was back in Petersburg. Yesterday evening you rushed to her defense, and just now you saw her in a dream . . . You see, I know everything; isn't it for her, for her, that you came here?"
"Yes, for her," the prince replied softly, bowing his head sadly and pensively, and not suspecting with what flashing eyes Aglaya glanced at him, "for her, just to find out... I don't believe she can be happy with Rogozhin, though ... in short, I don't know what I could do for her here and how I could help, but I came."
He gave a start and looked at Aglaya; she was listening to him with hatred.
"If you came without knowing why, you must love her very much," she said at last.
"No," replied the prince, "no, I don't love her. Oh, if you knew with what horror I remember the time I spent with her!"
A shudder even went through his body at these words.
"Tell me everything," said Aglaya.
"There's nothing in it that you shouldn't hear. Why it is precisely you that I wanted to tell it to, and you alone—I don't know; maybe because I indeed loved you very much. This unfortunate woman is deeply convinced that she is the most fallen, the most depraved being in all the world. Oh, don't disgrace her, don't cast a stone. 24She has tormented herself all too much with the awareness of her undeserved disgrace! And what is she guilty of, oh my God! Oh, in her frenzy she cries constantly that she does not acknowledge her guilt, that she is the victim of people, the victim of a debaucher and a villain; but whatever she tells you, know that she is the first not to believe it herself and that, on the contrary, she believes with all her conscience that she herself ... is the guilty one. When I tried to dispel this darkness, her suffering reached such a degree that my heart will never be healed as long as I remember that terrible time. It's as if my heart was pierced through forever. She ran away from me, and do you know why? Precisely to prove to me alone that she is base. But the most terrible thing here is that she herself may not have known that she wanted to prove it to me alone, but ran away because inwardly she felt she absolutely had to do something disgraceful, in order to tell herself then and there: 'So now you've committed some new disgrace, that means you're a
base creature!' Oh, perhaps you won't understand this, Aglaya! You know, there may be some terrible, unnatural pleasure for her in this constant awareness of disgrace, a sort of revenge on someone. Sometimes I managed to bring her to a point where she seemed to see light around her; but she would become indignant at once and go so far as to reproach me bitterly for putting myself far above her (when it never entered my mind), and she finally told me straight out, in response to my proposal of marriage, that she asked no one for supercilious compassion, or for help, or to be 'raised up to his level.' You saw her yesterday; do you really think she's happy with that company, that it's her kind of society? You don't know how developed she is and what she can understand! She even surprised me sometimes!"
"And did you also preach her such . . . sermons?"
"Oh, no," the prince went on pensively, not noticing the tone of the question, "I was silent most of the time. I often wanted to speak, but I really didn't know what to say. You know, on certain occasions it's better not to speak at all. Oh, I loved her; oh, I loved her very much . . . but then . . . then . . . then she guessed everything."
"What did she guess?"
"That I only pitied her and ... no longer loved her."
"How do you know, maybe she really fell in love with that . . . landowner she went off with?"
"No, I know everything; she only laughed at him."
"And did she ever laugh at you?"
"N-no. She laughed out of spite; oh, she reproached me terribly then, in anger—and suffered herself! But . . . then . . . oh, don't remind me, don't remind me of it!"
He covered his face with his hands.
"And do you know that she writes me letters almost every day?"
"So it's true!" the prince cried in anxiety. "I heard it, but I still didn't want to believe it."
"Who did you hear it from?" Aglaya roused herself fearfully.
"Rogozhin told me yesterday, only not quite clearly."
"Yesterday? Yesterday morning? When yesterday? Before the music or after?"
"After, in the evening, past eleven o'clock."
"Ahh, well, if it's Rogozhin . . . And do you know what she writes to me in those letters?"
"Nothing would surprise me; she's insane."
"Here are the letters" (Aglaya took from her pocket three letters
in three envelopes and threw them down in front of the prince). "For a whole week now she's been imploring, persuading, luring me into marrying you. She . . . ah, yes, she's intelligent, though she's insane, and you say rightly that she's much more intelligent than I am . . . she writes to me that she's in love with me, that every day she looks for a chance of seeing me at least from afar. She writes that you love me, that she knows it, that she noticed it long ago, and that you spoke with her about me there. She wants to see you happy; she's sure that only I can make you happy . . . She writes so wildly . . . strangely ... I haven't shown anyone these letters, I was waiting for you. Do you know what it means? Can you guess anything?"
"It's madness; it's proof that she's insane," said the prince, and his lips trembled.
"You're not crying, are you?"
"No, Aglaya, no, I'm not crying," the prince looked at her.
"What am I to do about it? What do you advise me? I cannot keep receiving these letters!"
"Oh, let her be, I implore you!" the prince cried. "What can you do in this darkness; I'll make every effort so that she doesn't write to you anymore."
"If so, then you're a man with no heart!" cried Aglaya. "Can't you see that it's not me she's in love with, but you, you alone that she loves! Can it be that you've managed to notice everything in her, but didn't notice that? Do you know what these letters mean? It's jealousy; it's more than jealousy! She ... do you think she'll really marry Rogozhin, as she writes here in these letters? She'll kill herself the very day after we get married!"
The prince gave a start; his heart sank. But he looked at Aglaya in surprise: it was strange for him to admit that this child had long been a woman.
"God knows, Aglaya, I'd give my life to bring back her peace and make her happy, but... I can't love her now, and she knows it!"
"Sacrifice yourself, then, it suits you so well! You're such a great benefactor. And don't call me Aglaya' . . . Earlier, too, you called me simply Aglaya' . . . You must resurrect her, it's your duty, you must go away with her again to pacify and soothe her heart. Anyway, you do love her!"
"I can't sacrifice myself like that, though I did want to once and . . . maybe still want to. But I know for certainthat she'll perish with me, and that's why I'm leaving her. I was to see her tonight
at seven o'clock; maybe I won't go now. In her pride she'll never forgive me my love—and we'll both perish! It's unnatural, but everything here is unnatural. You say she loves me, but is this love? Can there be such a love, after what I've already endured? No, there's something else here, but not love!"