The Idiot

by Fyodor Dostoevsky

  Ippolit, too, diverted the prince during those last days; he sent for him quite often. They lived nearby, in a small house; the little children, Ippolit’s brother and sister, were glad of the dacha, because they could at least go to the garden to escape the sick boy; but the poor captain’s widow remained entirely under his will and was wholly his victim; the prince had to separate and arbitrate between them every day, and the sick boy continued to call him his “nanny,” at the same time not daring, as it were, not to despise him for his role as conciliator. He bore a big grudge against Kolya for hardly visiting him at all, staying first with his dying father and then with his widowed mother. He finally set up as the target of his mockery the impending marriage of the prince and Nastasya Filippovna, and ended by offending the prince and making him finally lose his temper: the prince stopped visiting him. Two days later the captain’s widow came trudging in the morning and tearfully begged the prince please to come, otherwise that one would eat her alive. She added that he wanted to reveal a big secret. The prince went. Ippolit wanted to make peace, wept, and after his tears, naturally, became still more spiteful, only he was afraid to show his spite. He was very sick, and everything indicated that he would now die soon. There was no secret, except for certain extreme entreaties, breathless, so to speak, from excitement (perhaps affected), to “beware of Rogozhin.” “He’s a man who won’t give up what’s his; he’s not like you and me, Prince; if he wants to, he won’t flinch at …” etc., etc. The prince began to inquire in more detail, wanting to obtain some facts; but there were no facts, except for Ippolit’s personal feelings and impressions. To his extreme satisfaction, Ippolit ended by finally frightening the prince terribly. At first the prince did not want to answer certain particular questions of his and only smiled at his advice “to run away, even abroad; there are Russian priests everywhere, you can be married there.” But, finally, Ippolit ended with the following thought: “I’m only afraid for Aglaya Ivanovna: Rogozhin knows how much you love her; love for love; you’ve taken Nastasya Filippovna from him, he’ll kill Aglaya Ivanovna; though she’s not yours now, all the same it will be hard for you, won’t it?” He achieved his goal; the prince went away no longer himself.

  These warnings about Rogozhin came on the eve of the wedding. That same evening the prince saw Nastasya Filippovna for the last time before their marriage; but Nastasya Filippovna was unable to calm him down, and recently, on the contrary, had even increased his confusion still more. Before, that is, several days earlier, at her meetings with him, she had made every effort to divert him, and was terribly afraid of his sad look: she had even tried to sing for him; most often she told him all the funny things she could remember. The prince almost always pretended to laugh very much, and sometimes did in fact laugh at the brilliant intelligence and bright feeling with which she sometimes told a story, when she got carried away, and she often got carried away. Seeing the prince laugh, seeing the impression she made on him, she was delighted and felt proud of herself. But now her sadness and pensiveness grew with almost every hour. His opinion of Nastasya Filippovna was settled, otherwise, naturally, everything in her would now have seemed mysterious and incomprehensible. But he sincerely believed that she could still rise. He had said quite correctly to Evgeny Pavlovich that he sincerely and fully loved her, and his love for her indeed consisted in being drawn, as it were, towards some pitiful and sick child whom it was difficult and even impossible to abandon to its own will. He did not explain his feelings for her to anyone and even did not like talking about it, if it was impossible to avoid talking; and when he and Nastasya Filippovna sat together, they never discussed “feelings,” as if they had both promised not to. Anyone could take part in their ordinary, cheerful, and animated conversation. Darya Alexeevna said afterwards that she had simply admired and rejoiced looking at them all that while.

  But this view he had of the state of Nastasya Filippovna’s soul and mind delivered him in part from many other perplexities. This was now a completely different woman from the one he had known some three months earlier. He did not brood, for instance, on why she had run away from marrying him then, with tears, curses, and reproaches, but now insisted herself on a speedy marriage. “It means she’s not afraid, as she was then, that marrying her would be his unhappiness,” thought the prince. Such quickly reborn self-assurance could not, in his view, be natural to her. Nor, again, could this assurance come only from hatred of Aglaya: Nastasya Filippovna was capable of somewhat deeper feelings. Nor from fear of facing her life with Rogozhin. In short, all these reasons, together with the rest, might have had a share in it; but the clearest thing of all for him was that it was precisely what he had long suspected, and that the poor, sick soul had been unable to endure. All this, though it delivered him, in a way, from perplexities, could not give him either peace or rest all that time. Sometimes he tried not to think about anything; it did seem, in fact, that he looked upon marriage as some sort of unimportant formality; he valued his own fate much too cheaply. With regard to objections, to conversations, such as the one with Evgeny Pavlovich, here he could say decidedly nothing in reply and felt himself totally incompetent, and therefore he avoided all conversations of that sort.

  He noticed, however, that Nastasya Filippovna knew and understood only too well what Aglaya meant to him. She did not say anything, but he saw her “face” at those times when she occasionally caught him, in the beginning, on the point of going to the Epanchins’. When the Epanchins left, she really brightened. Unobservant and unsuspecting as the prince was, he had been worried by the thought that Nastasya Filippovna might venture upon some scandal in order to drive Aglaya out of Pavlovsk. The noise and rumble about the wedding in all the dachas was, of course, partly maintained by Nastasya Filippovna in order to annoy her rival. Since it was difficult to meet the Epanchins, Nastasya Filippovna put the prince into the carriage once and gave orders that they be driven right past the windows of their dacha. This was a terrible surprise for the prince: he realized it, as usual, when it was impossible to do anything about it and the carriage was already driving right past the windows. He did not say anything, but was ill for two days afterwards; Nastasya Filippovna did not repeat the experiment again. In the last days before the wedding she began to lapse into deep thought; she always ended by overcoming her sadness and becoming merry again, but somehow more quietly, not so noisily, not so happily merry as before, still so recently. The prince redoubled his attention. He was curious why she never spoke to him about Rogozhin. Only once, some five days before the wedding, Darya Alexeevna suddenly sent for him to come immediately, because Nastasya Filippovna was very unwell. He found her in a state resembling total madness: she was exclaiming, trembling, crying that Rogozhin was hiding in the garden, in their own house, that she had just seen him, that he was going to kill her in the night … put a knife in her! She could not calm down the whole day. But that same evening, when the prince stopped at Ippolit’s for a moment, the captain’s widow, who had just come back from town, where she had gone on some little errands of her own, told them that Rogozhin had called on her that day in her apartment in Petersburg and questioned her about Pavlovsk. When the prince asked precisely when Rogozhin had called, the captain’s widow named almost the same hour when Nastasya Filippovna had supposedly seen him that day in her garden. The matter was explained as a simple mirage; Nastasya Filippovna herself went to the captain’s widow for more detail and was extremely comforted.

  On the eve of the wedding the prince left Nastasya Filippovna in great animation: the next day’s finery had arrived from the dressmaker in Petersburg, the wedding dress, the headpiece, etc., etc. The prince had not expected that she would be so excited over the finery; he praised everything himself, and his praise made her still happier. But she let something slip: she had heard that there was indignation in town and that some scapegraces were indeed arranging a charivari, with music and all but with verses written specially for the occasion, and that it was all but approved of by th
e rest of society. And so now she precisely wanted to hold her head still higher before them, to outshine them all with the taste and wealth of her finery—“let them shout, let them whistle, if they dare!” The mere thought of it made her eyes flash. She had yet another secret thought, but she did not voice it aloud: she dreamed that Aglaya, or at least someone sent by her, would also be in the crowd, incognito, in the church, would look and see, and she was inwardly preparing herself for that. She parted from the prince, all taken up with these thoughts, at about eleven o’clock in the evening; but before it struck midnight, a messenger came running to the prince from Darya Alexeevna saying “come quickly, it’s very bad.” The prince found his fiancée locked in the bedroom, in tears, in despair, in hysterics; for a long time she refused to listen to anything they said to her through the locked door; at last she opened it, let in only the prince, locked the door after him, and fell on her knees before him. (So, at least, Darya Alexeevna reported afterwards, having managed to spy out a thing or two.)

  “What am I doing! What am I doing! What am I doing to you!” she kept exclaiming, convulsively embracing his legs.

  The prince stayed for a whole hour with her; we do not know what they talked about. According to Darya Alexeevna, they parted after an hour, reconciled and happy. The prince sent once more that night to inquire, but Nastasya Filippovna was already asleep. In the morning, before she woke up, two more messengers came to Darya Alexeevna’s from the prince, and a third was instructed to tell him that “Nastasya Filippovna is now surrounded by a whole swarm of dressmakers and hairdressers from Petersburg, that there was no trace of yesterday’s mood, that she was occupied as only such a beauty could be occupied with dressing for her wedding, and that now, precisely at that moment, an extraordinary congress was being held about precisely which of the diamonds to wear and how to wear them.” The prince was completely set at ease.

  The whole following story about this wedding was told by knowledgeable people in the following way and seems to be correct:

  The wedding was set for eight o’clock in the evening; Nastasya Filippovna was ready by seven. From six o’clock on, crowds of idlers gradually began to gather around Lebedev’s dacha, but more especially near Darya Alexeevna’s house; after seven o’clock the church also began to fill up. Vera Lebedev and Kolya were terribly afraid for the prince; however, they were very busy at home: they were responsible for the reception and refreshments in the prince’s rooms. However, almost no real gathering was planned after the wedding; besides the necessary persons present at the church ceremony, Lebedev had invited the Ptitsyns, Ganya, the doctor with an Anna on his neck, and Darya Alexeevna. When the curious prince asked Lebedev why he had decided to invite the doctor, “almost a total stranger,” Lebedev answered self-contentedly: “An order on his neck, a respectable man, for appearances, sir”—and made the prince laugh. Keller and Burdovsky, in tailcoats and gloves, looked very proper; only Keller still worried the prince and his own backers slightly by his open propensity for battle and the very hostile look he gave the idlers who were gathering around the house. Finally, at half-past seven, the prince set out for the church in a carriage. We will note, incidentally, that he himself purposely did not want to leave out any of the usual habits and customs; everything was done publicly, obviously, openly, and “as it should be.” In the church, having somehow passed through the crowd, to the ceaseless whispers and exclamations of the public, under the guidance of Keller, who cast menacing looks to right and left, the prince hid for a time in the sanctuary, while Keller went to fetch the bride, where he found the crowd at the porch of Darya Alexeevna’s house not only two or three times denser than at the prince’s, but perhaps even three times more uninhibited. Going up to the porch, he heard such exclamations that he could not restrain himself and was just about to turn to the public with the intention of delivering an appropriate speech, but fortunately he was stopped by Burdovsky and Darya Alexeevna herself, who ran out to the porch; they seized him and took him inside by force. Keller was annoyed and hurried. Nastasya Filippovna stood up, glanced once more in the mirror, observed with a “crooked” smile, as Keller reported later, that she was “pale as a corpse,” bowed piously before the icon, and went out to the porch. A buzz of voices greeted her appearance. True, in the first moment there was laughter, applause, almost whistling; but after a moment other voices were heard:

  “What a beauty!” someone shouted in the crowd.

  “She’s not the first and she’s not the last!”

  “Marriage covers up everything, fools!”

  “No, go and find another beauty like that! Hurrah!” the nearest ones shouted.

  “A princess! I’d sell my soul for such a princess!” some clerk shouted. “ ‘A life for one night with me!…’ ”50

  Nastasya Filippovna indeed came out white as a sheet; but her large black eyes flashed at the crowd like burning coals; it was this gaze that the crowd could not bear; indignation turned into enthusiastic shouts. The door of the carriage was already open, Keller had already offered the bride his arm, when she suddenly gave a cry and threw herself off the porch straight into the mass of people. All who were accompanying her froze in amazement, the crowd parted before her, and Rogozhin suddenly appeared five or six steps from the porch. It was his gaze that Nastasya Filippovna had caught in the crowd. She rushed to him like a madwoman and seized him by both hands.

  “Save me! Take me away! Wherever you like, now!”

  Rogozhin almost picked her up in his arms and all but carried her to the carriage. Then, in an instant, he took a hundred-rouble note from his wallet and gave it to the driver.

  “To the station, and another hundred roubles if you make the train!”

  And he jumped into the carriage after Nastasya Filippovna and closed the door. The driver did not hesitate a moment and whipped up the horses. Afterwards Keller blamed the unexpectedness of it all: “Another second and I’d have found what to do, I wouldn’t have let it happen!” he explained as he recounted the adventure. He and Burdovsky jumped into another carriage that happened to be there and set off in pursuit, but he changed his mind on the way, thinking that “it’s too late in any case! You can’t bring her back by force!”

  “And the prince wouldn’t want that!” the shaken Burdovsky decided.

  Rogozhin and Nastasya Filippovna came galloping up to the station in time. Getting out of the carriage, Rogozhin, as he was about to board the train, managed to stop a girl passing by in an old but decent dark mantilla and with a foulard kerchief thrown over her head.

  “How’s about fifty roubles for your mantilla!” he suddenly held the money out to the girl. Before she had time to be surprised, before she tried to understand, he had already put the fifty-rouble note into her hand, taken off the mantilla and foulard, and thrown it all over Nastasya Filippovna’s shoulders and head. Her much too magnificent finery struck the eye, it would have attracted attention on the train, and only later did the girl understand why her worthless old rag had been bought at such profit for her.

  The buzz about the adventure reached the church with extraordinary speed. As Keller was making his way to the prince, a host of people totally unknown to him ran up to ask him questions. There was loud talk, a shaking of heads, even laughter; no one left the church, they all waited to see how the groom would take the news. He blanched, but took the news quietly, saying barely audibly: “I was afraid; but all the same I didn’t think it would be that …”—and then, after some silence, added: “However … in her condition … it’s completely in the order of things.” Such a reaction Keller himself later called “unexampled philosophy.” The prince left the church looking calm and brisk; so at least many noticed and reported afterwards. It seemed he wanted very much to get home and be left alone as quickly as possible; but that he was not allowed to do. He was followed into his rooms by some of the invited people, Ptitsyn and Gavrila Ardalionovich among others, and with them the doctor, who also showed no intention of leaving. Besid
es that, the whole house was literally besieged by the idle public. While still on the terrace, the prince heard Keller and Lebedev get into a fierce argument with some completely unknown but decent-looking people, who wanted at all costs to enter the terrace. The prince went up to the arguers, asked what it was about, and, politely pushing Lebedev and Keller aside, delicately addressed a gray-haired and stocky gentleman, who was standing on the porch steps at the head of several other aspirants, and invited him to do him the honor of favoring him with his visit. The gentleman became embarrassed but nevertheless went in; and after him a second, a third. Out of all the crowd, some seven or eight persons were found who did go in, trying to do it as casually as possible; but no more volunteers turned up, and soon the same crowd began to denounce the parvenus. The visitors were seated, a conversation began, tea was served—and all that extremely decently, modestly, to the slight surprise of the visitors. There were, of course, several attempts to liven up the conversation and lead it to an “appropriate” theme; several immodest questions were asked, several “daring” observations were made. The prince answered everyone so simply and affably, and at the same time with such dignity, such trust in his guests’ decency, that the immodest questions faded away of themselves. The conversation gradually began to turn almost serious. One gentleman, seizing on a word, suddenly swore in extreme indignation that he would not sell his estate, whatever happened; that, on the contrary, he would wait and bide his time, and that “enterprises are better than money”; “that, my dear sir, is what my economic system consists in, if you care to know, sir.” As he was addressing the prince, the prince warmly praised him, though Lebedev whispered in his ear that this gentleman did not have a penny to his name and had never had any estate. Almost an hour went by, the tea was finished, and after tea the guests finally felt ashamed to stay longer. The doctor and the gray-haired gentleman warmly took leave of the prince; and everyone else also took their leave warmly and noisily. Wishes and opinions were expressed, such as that “there was nothing to grieve about, and perhaps it was all the better this way,” etc. True, there were attempts to ask for champagne, but the older guests stopped the younger ones. When they were all gone, Keller leaned over to Lebedev and said: “You and I would start shouting, fighting, disgrace ourselves, get the police involved; and here he’s got himself some new friends, and what friends! I know them!” Lebedev, who was already “loaded,” sighed and said: “Hidden from the wise and clever, and revealed unto babes,51 I said that about him before, but now I’ll add that God has preserved the babe himself, saved him from the abyss, he and all his saints!”