At these last words a tittering came from Ferdyshchenko and Lebedev, and even the general produced some sort of grunt to himself in great displeasure. Ptitsyn and Totsky could not help smiling, but restrained themselves. The rest simply gaped in amazement.
"... But maybe we won't be poor, but very rich, Nastasya Filippovna," the prince went on in the same timid voice. "I don't know for certain, however, and it's too bad that up to now I haven't been able to find anything out for the whole day, but in Switzerland I received a letter from Moscow, from a certain Mr. Salazkin, and he informs me that I may have inherited a very large fortune. Here is the letter . . ."
The prince actually took a letter from his pocket.
"Maybe he's raving?" muttered the general. "This is a real madhouse!"
"I believe you said, Prince, that this letter to you is from Salazkin?" asked Ptitsyn. "He is a very well-known man in his circle, a very well-known solicitor, and if it is indeed he who has informed you, you may fully believe it. Fortunately, I know his handwriting, because I've recently had dealings with him ... If you will let me have a look, I may be able to tell you something."
With a trembling hand, the prince silently gave him the letter.
"But what is it, what is it?" the general roused himself up, looking at them all like a half-wit. "Can it be an inheritance?"
They all turned their eyes to Ptitsyn, who was reading the letter. The general curiosity received a new and extraordinary jolt. Ferdyshchenko could not sit still; Rogozhin looked perplexed and, in terrible anxiety, turned his gaze now to the prince, now to Ptitsyn.
Darya Alexeevna sat in expectation as if on pins and needles. Even Lebedev could not help himself, left his corner, and, bending double, began peering at the letter over Ptitsyn's shoulder, with the look of a man who is afraid he may get a whack for it.
XVI
It's a sure thing," Ptitsyn announced at last, folding the letter and handing it back to the prince. "Without any trouble, according to the incontestable will of your aunt, you have come into an extremely large fortune."
"It can't be!" the general exclaimed, as if firing a shot.
Again everyone gaped.
Ptitsyn explained, mainly addressing Ivan Fyodorovich, that the prince's aunt, whom he had never known personally, had died five months ago. She was the older sister of the prince's mother, the daughter of a Moscow merchant of the third guild, Papushin, who had died in poverty and bankruptcy. But the older brother of this Papushin, also recently deceased, was a well-known rich merchant. About a year ago, his only two sons died almost in the same month. This so shocked the old man that soon afterwards he himself fell ill and died. He was a widower and had no heirs at all except for the prince's aunt, his niece, a very poor woman, who lived as a sponger in someone else's house. When she received the inheritance, this aunt was already nearly dead from dropsy, but she at once began searching for the prince, charging Salazkin with the task, and managed to have her will drawn up. Apparently, neither the prince nor the doctor he lived with in Switzerland wanted to wait for any official announcements or make inquiries, and the prince, with Salazkin's letter in his pocket, decided to set off in person . . .
"I can tell you only one thing," Ptitsyn concluded, addressing the prince, "that all this must be incontestable and correct, and all that Salazkin writes to you about the incontestability and legality of your case you may take as pure money in your pocket. Congratulations, Prince! You, too, may get a million and a half, or possibly even more. Papushin was a very rich merchant."
"That's the last Prince Myshkin for you!" shouted Ferdyshchenko.
"Hurrah!" Lebedev wheezed in a drunken little voice.
"And there I go lending the poor fellow twenty-five roubles today, ha, ha, ha! It's a phantasmagoria, and nothing else!" said the general, all but stunned with amazement. "Well, congratulations, congratulations!" and, getting up from his seat, he went over to embrace the prince. After him, the others began to get up and also made for the prince. Even those who had retreated behind the door curtain began to emerge in the drawing room. Muffled talk, exclamations, even calls for champagne arose; all began pushing, jostling. For a moment they nearly forgot Nastasya Filippovna and that she was after all the hostess of her party. But it graduallly dawned on everyone at almost the same time that the prince had just proposed to her. The matter thus looked three times more mad and extraordinary than before. Deeply amazed, Totsky shrugged his shoulders; he was almost the only one to remain seated, while the rest crowded around the table in disorder. Everyone asserted afterwards that it was also from this moment that Nastasya Filippovna went crazy. She sat there and for some time looked around at them all with a sort of strange, astonished gaze, as if she could not understand and was trying to figure something out. Then she suddenly turned to the prince and, with a menacing scowl, studied him intently; but this lasted only a moment; perhaps it had suddenly occurred to her that it might all be a joke, a mockery; but the prince's look reassured her at once. She became pensive, then smiled again, as if not clearly realizing why . . .
"So I really am a princess!" she whispered to herself as if mockingly and, happening to glance at Darya Alexeevna, she laughed. "An unexpected denouement . . . I . . . was expecting something else. But why are you all standing, ladies and gentlemen, please be seated, congratulate me and the prince! I think someone asked for champagne; Ferdyshchenko, go and order some. Katya, Pasha," she suddenly saw her maids at the door, "come here, I'm getting married, have you heard? The prince, he's come into a million and a half, he's Prince Myshkin, and he's taking me!"
"And God be with you, darling, it's high time! Don't miss it!" cried Darya Alexeevna, deeply shaken by what had happened.
"Sit down beside me, Prince," Nastasya Filippovna went on, "that's right, and here comes the wine, congratulate us, ladies and gentlemen!"
"Hurrah!" cried a multitude of voices. Many crowded around the wine, among them almost all of Rogozhin's people. But though they shouted and were ready to shout, many of them, despite all
the strangeness of the circumstances and the surroundings, sensed that the décor was changing. Others were perplexed and waited mistrustfully. And many whispered among themselves that it was a most ordinary affair, that princes marry all kinds of women, and even take gypsy women from their camps. Rogozhin himself stood and stared, his face twisted into a fixed, bewildered smile.
"Prince, dear heart, come to your senses!" the general whispered in horror, approaching from the side and tugging at the prince's sleeve.
Nastasya Filippovna noticed it and laughed loudly.
"No, General! I'm a princess myself now, you heard it—the prince won't let anyone offend me! Afanasy Ivanovich, congratulate me; now I'll be able to sit next to your wife anywhere; it's useful to have such a husband, don't you think? A million and a half, and a prince, and, they say, an idiot to boot, what could be better? Only now does real life begin! You're too late, Rogozhin! Take your packet away, I'm marrying the prince, and I'm richer than you are!"
But Rogozhin grasped what was going on. Inexpressible suffering was reflected in his face. He clasped his hands and a groan burst from his breast.
"Give her up!" he cried to the prince.
There was laughter all around.