The Idiot (Vintage Classics)

by Fyodor Dostoevsky

  “She just looks at him, can’t take her eyes away; hangs on his every little word; snatches at it, snatches at it!” Lizaveta Prokofyevna said later to her husband. “But tell her she loves him, and God save us all!”

  “No help for it—it’s fate!” the general shrugged his shoulders and for a long time went on repeating this little phrase that had caught his fancy. We shall add that, as a practical man, he also found much in the present state of all these things that displeased him greatly—above all the indefiniteness of the situation; but for the time being he also decided to keep silent and look … into Lizaveta Prokofyevna’s eyes.

  The family’s joyful mood did not last long. The very next day Aglaya again quarreled with the prince, and so it went on incessantly, during all the days that followed. She would spend hours at a time making fun of the prince and all but turning him into a buffoon. True, they sometimes spent an hour or two sitting in the garden, in the gazebo, but it was noticed that at those times the prince almost always read the newspapers or some book to Aglaya.

  “You know,” Aglaya once said to him, interrupting the newspaper, “I’ve noticed that you are terribly uneducated; you don’t know anything properly, if somebody asks you: neither precisely who, nor in what year, nor in what article. You’re quite pathetic.”

  “I told you that I have little learning,” the prince replied.

  “What do you amount to after that? How can I respect you after that? Keep reading; or, no, stop reading, there’s no need to.”

  And again that same evening there was a glimpse of something very mysterious on her part. Prince Shch. returned. Aglaya was very nice to him, asked many questions about Evgeny Pavlovich. (Prince Lev Nikolaevich had not arrived yet.) Suddenly Prince Shch. somehow permitted himself to allude to “the near and new change in the family,” in response to a few words that Lizaveta Prokofyevna let drop about possibly having to postpone Adelaida’s wedding again, so as to have both weddings take place together. It was impossible even to imagine how Aglaya flared up at “all these stupid suppositions”; and, among other things, the words escaped her that “she still had no intention of replacing anyone’s mistresses.”

  These words struck everyone, but the parents most of all. Lizaveta Prokofyevna, in a secret consultation with her husband, insisted on having a decisive talk with the prince concerning Nastasya Filippovna.

  Ivan Fyodorovich swore that it was all only an “outburst,” which came from Aglaya’s “modesty”; that if Prince Shch. had not begun speaking about the wedding, there would have been no such outburst, because Aglaya herself knew, knew for certain, that it was all the slander of unkind people and that Nastasya Filippovna was going to marry Rogozhin; that the prince counted for nothing at all here, not only in any liaison; and even never had counted, if the whole truth were to be told.

  But all the same the prince was not embarrassed by anything and went on being blissful. Oh, of course, he, too, sometimes noticed something dark and impatient, as it were, in Aglaya’s eyes; but he believed more in something else, and the darkness vanished of itself. Once having believed, he could no longer be shaken by anything. Perhaps he was all too calm; so, at least, it seemed to Ippolit, who once chanced to meet him in the park.

  “Well, wasn’t it the truth I told you then, that you were in love?” he began, going up to the prince himself and stopping him. The latter gave him his hand and congratulated him on “looking well.” The sick boy did seem cheerful, as is often the case with consumptives.

  His purpose in going up to the prince was to say something sarcastic about his happy look, but he got thrown off at once and started talking about himself. He began to complain, complained much and long and rather incoherently.

  “You wouldn’t believe,” he concluded, “the degree to which they are all irritable, petty, egoistic, vainglorious, ordinary; would you believe, they took me in only on the condition that I should die as soon as possible, and now everybody’s furious that I don’t die and, on the contrary, feel better. A comedy! I’ll bet you don’t believe me!”

  The prince did not want to object.

  “I sometimes even think of moving back to your place,” Ippolit added casually. “So you, however, do not consider them capable of receiving a person with the notion that he should die without fail and as soon as possible?”

  “I thought they invited you with something else in mind.”

  “Aha! No, you’re not at all as simple as they recommend you to be! Now’s not the time, or I’d reveal to you a thing or two about that Ganechka and his hopes. You’re being undermined, Prince, pitilessly undermined, and … it’s even a pity you’re so calm. But alas—you couldn’t be otherwise!”

  “What a thing to be pitied for!” laughed the prince. “So in your opinion I’d be happier if I worried more?”

  “It’s better to be unhappy, but to know, than to be happy and live … as a fool. It seems you don’t believe in the least that you have a rival and … on that side?”

  “Your words about rivalry are slightly cynical, Ippolit; I’m sorry I don’t have the right to answer you. As for Gavrila Ardalionovich, you must agree that he can’t remain calm after all he has lost, if you know his affairs at least in part. It seems to me that it’s better to look at it from that point of view. He still has time to change; he has a long life ahead of him, and life is rich … but anyhow … anyhow,” the prince was suddenly at a loss, “as for the undermining … I don’t even understand what you’re talking about; it’s better if we drop this conversation, Ippolit.”

  “We’ll drop it for a time; besides, it’s impossible to do without the noble pose on your part. Yes, Prince, you’ll have to touch it with your own finger in order to stop believing again, ha, ha!25 And, what do you think, do you despise me very much now?”

  “What for? For having suffered and for suffering more than we?”

  “No, but for being unworthy of my suffering.”

  “If someone can suffer more, it means he’s worthy of suffering more. Aglaya Ivanovna wanted to see you, when she read your ‘Confession,’ but …”

  “She’s putting it off … it’s impossible for her, I understand, I understand …” Ippolit interrupted, as if trying to divert the conversation quickly. “By the way, they say you read all that galimatias to her out loud; it was truly written and … done in delirium. And I don’t understand the extent to which one must be—I won’t say cruel (that would be humiliating to me), but childishly vain and vengeful, to reproach me with that ‘Confession’ and use it against me as a weapon! Don’t worry, I’m not saying that with regard to you …”

  “But I’m sorry that you reject that notebook, Ippolit; it’s sincere, and you know that even its ridiculous sides, and it has many” (Ippolit winced deeply), “are redeemed by suffering, because to admit them was also suffering and … perhaps took great courage. The thought that moved you certainly had a noble basis, however it may seem. The further it goes, the more clearly I see it, I swear to you. I’m not judging you, I’m saying it in order to speak my whole mind, and I’m sorry I was silent then …”

  Ippolit flushed. The thought occurred to him that the prince was pretending and trying to catch him; but, peering into his face, he could not help believing in his sincerity; his face brightened.

  “And here I have to die all the same!” he said, and nearly added: “such a man as I!” “And imagine how your Ganechka plagues me; he thought up, in the guise of an objection, that of those who listened to my notebook, three or four might die before me! I like that! He thinks it’s a consolation, ha, ha! First of all, they haven’t died yet; and even if those people all died off, what sort of consolation would it be, you’ll agree! He judges by himself; however, he goes further still, he now simply abuses me, saying that a respectable man dies silently in such cases, and that the whole thing was only egoism on my part! I like that! No, but what egoism on his part! What a refinement or, better to say, at the same time what an ox-like crudeness of their egoism, which
all the same they are in no way able to notice in themselves!… Have you read, Prince, about a certain death, of a certain Stepan Glebov, in the eighteenth century? I read it by chance yesterday …”

  “What Stepan Glebov?”

  “He was impaled under Peter.”26

  “Ah, my God, I do know! He spent fifteen hours on the stake, in the freezing cold, in his fur coat, and died with extreme magnanimity; of course, I read that … but what of it?”

  “God grants such deaths to some people, but not to us! Maybe you think I’m incapable of dying the way Glebov did?”

  “Oh, not at all,” the prince was embarrassed, “I only wanted to say that you … I mean, that it’s not that you wouldn’t be like Glebov, but … that you … that then you’d sooner be like …”

  “I can guess: Osterman27 and not Glebov—is that what you want to say?”

  “What Osterman?” the prince was surprised.

  “Osterman, the diplomat Osterman, from Peter’s time,” murmured Ippolit, suddenly thrown off a little. A certain perplexity followed.

  “Oh, n-n-no! That’s not what I wanted to say,” the prince drew out after some silence. “It seems to me you could … never be an Osterman …”

  Ippolit frowned.

  “However, the reason I maintain that,” the prince suddenly picked up, obviously wishing to correct himself, “is because people back then (I swear to you, it has always struck me) were not at all the same sort of people as we are now, not the same breed as now, in our time,28 really, like a different species … At that time people were somehow of one idea, while now they’re more nervous, more developed, sensitive, somehow of two or three ideas at once … today’s man is broader—and, I swear, that’s what keeps him from being such a monolithic man as in those times … I … I said it solely with that in mind, and not …”

  “I understand; to make up for the naïvety with which you disagreed with me, you are now foisting your consolations on me, ha, ha! You’re a perfect child, Prince! However, I notice that you keep treating me like … a porcelain cup … Never mind, never mind, I’m not angry. In any case, we’ve had a very funny conversation; you’re a perfect child sometimes, Prince. Know, however, that I might like to be something better than Osterman; it wouldn’t be worthwhile to rise from the dead in order to be an Osterman … However, I see I must die as soon as possible, otherwise I, too … Leave me. Good-bye! Well, all right, tell me yourself, well, how, in your opinion: how will it be best for me to die? So that it will go as well as … more virtuously, that is? Well, speak!”

  “Pass us by and forgive us our happiness!” the prince said in a low voice.

  “Ha, ha, ha! Just as I thought! I certainly expected something of that sort! You, though … you, though … Well, well! Eloquent people! Good-bye, good-bye!”

  VI

  VARVARA ARDALIONOVNA had also informed her brother quite correctly about the evening gathering at the Epanchins’ dacha, where Belokonsky was expected; guests were expected precisely that evening; but, again, the way she had put it was slightly stronger than it should have been. True, the affair had been organized too hastily and even with a certain quite unnecessary excitement, and that precisely because in this family “everything was done as no one else did it.” Everything was explained by the impatience of Lizaveta Prokofyevna, “who did not wish to have any more doubts” and by the ardent throbbings of both parental hearts over the happiness of their beloved daughter. Besides, Belokonsky was in fact leaving soon; and since her protection indeed meant much in society and since it was hoped that she would look favorably on the prince, the parents reckoned that “society” would receive Aglaya’s fiancé straight from the hands of the all-powerful “old woman,” and so, if there was something strange in it, under such protection it would appear much less strange. The whole thing was that the parents were simply unable to decide for themselves: “Was there anything strange in this whole affair, and if so, precisely how much? Or was there nothing strange at all?” The friendly and candid opinion of people of authority and competence would precisely be useful at the present moment, when, thanks to Aglaya, nothing had been ultimately resolved yet. In any case, the prince had sooner or later to be introduced into society, of which he had not the slightest idea. In short, the intention was to “show” him. The evening, however, was planned without ceremony; only “friends of the house” were expected, a very small number of them. Besides Princess Belokonsky, a certain lady was expected, the wife of a very important gentleman and a dignitary. Among the young men they counted perhaps only on Evgeny Pavlovich; he was to arrive escorting Belokonsky.

  Of the fact that Belokonsky would be there, the prince had heard possibly some three days before the evening; of the party he learned only the day before. Naturally, he noticed the busy look of the members of the family, and even grasped, from certain allusive and preoccupied remarks made to him, that they feared for the impression he might make. But somehow all the Epanchins to a person formed the idea that he, in his simplicity, would never be able to guess that they were so worried for him. Which was why, looking at him, they all felt an inner anguish. However, he in fact ascribed almost no significance to the forthcoming event; he was concerned with something else entirely: with every hour Aglaya was becoming more capricious and gloomy—this was killing him. When he learned that Evgeny Pavlovich was also expected, he was very glad and said he had long been wanting to see him. For some reason no one liked these words; Aglaya left the room in vexation, and only late in the evening, sometime past eleven, when the prince was leaving, did she seize the chance to tell him a few words alone, as she was seeing him off.

  “I wish you wouldn’t come to see us all day tomorrow, but come in the evening, when these … guests have gathered. You know there will be guests?”

  She spoke impatiently and with increased sternness; this was the first time she had spoken of this “evening.” For her, too, the thought of guests was almost unbearable; everyone noticed it. She might have wanted very much to quarrel with her parents over it, but pride and modesty kept her from speaking. The prince understood at once that she, too, feared for him (and did not want to admit it), and he suddenly felt afraid himself.

  “Yes, I’ve been invited,” he replied.

  She was obviously embarrassed to go on.

  “Is it possible to speak with you about anything serious? At least once in your life?” she suddenly became extremely angry, not knowing why herself and not able to restrain herself.

  “It’s possible, and I’m listening to you; I’m very glad,” the prince murmured.

  Aglaya paused again for about a minute and began with obvious repugnance:

  “I didn’t want to argue about it with them; in certain cases they can’t be brought to reason. The rules that maman sometimes goes by have always been repugnant to me. I’m not speaking of father, there’s nothing to be expected from him. Maman is, of course, a noble woman; dare to suggest something mean to her and you’ll see … Well, but before this … trash—she stands in awe! I’m not speaking of this Belokonsky alone: a trashy little hag, and with a trashy character, but she’s intelligent and knows how to hold them all in her hand—that, at least, is a good thing about her. Oh, meanness! And it’s ridiculous: we’ve always been people of the middle circle, as middle as can be; why climb into that high-society circle? And my sisters, too: this Prince Shch. has got them all confused. Why are you glad that Evgeny Pavlych will come?”

  “Listen, Aglaya,” said the prince, “it seems to me you’re very afraid for me, that I’ll flunk it tomorrow … in that company?”

  “For you? Afraid?” Aglaya flared up. “Why should I be afraid for you, even if you … even if you disgrace yourself completely? What is it to me? And how can you use such words? What does ‘flunk’ mean? It’s a trite, trashy word.”

  “It’s a … school word.”

  “Ah, yes, a school word! A trashy word! You intend, apparently, to speak in such words tomorrow. Go home and pick more wo
rds like that from your lexicon: what an effect you’ll make! Too bad you seem to know how to make a proper entrance; where did you learn that? Will you be able to take a cup of tea and drink it decently, while everybody’s looking at you on purpose?”

  “I think I’ll be able to.”

  “That’s too bad; otherwise I’d have had a good laugh. At least break the Chinese vase in the drawing room! It’s expensive: please break it; it was a gift, mama will lose her mind and cry in front of everybody—it’s so precious to her. Make some gesture, the way you always do, hit it and break it. Sit next to it on purpose.”

  “On the contrary, I’ll try to sit as far away as possible: thank you for warning me.”

  “So you’re afraid beforehand that you’ll make grand gestures. I bet you’ll start discussing some ‘topic,’ something serious, learned, lofty? That will be … proper!”

  “I think it would be stupid … if it’s inappropriate.”

  “Listen once and for all,” Aglaya finally could not stand it, “if you start talking about something like capital punishment or the economic situation in Russia, or that ‘beauty will save the world’ … I’ll certainly be glad and laugh very much, but … I’m warning you ahead of time: don’t let me set eyes on you afterwards! Do you hear? I’m speaking seriously! This time I’m speaking seriously!”