Текст книги "The Idiot"

"I like your sister very much."

"How she spat in Ganka's mug! Brave Varka! But you didn't spit, and I'm sure it's not from lack of courage. Ah, here she is herself, speak of the devil. I knew she'd come: she's noble, though she has some shortcomings."

"You have no business here," Varya fell upon him first of all. "Go to your father. Is he bothering you, Prince?"

"Not at all, on the contrary."

"Well, big sister's off again! That's the bad thing about her. And, by the way, I thought father would be sure to go with Rogozhin. He's probably sorry now. In fact, I should go and see how he is," Kolya added, going out.

"Thank God, I took mama away and put her to bed, and there are no new developments. Ganya is confused and very pensive. And he has reason to be. What a lesson! . . . I've come to thank you once again, Prince, and to ask you: did you know Nastasya Filippovna before?"

"No, I didn't."

"Then what made you tell her to her face that she was 'not like that'? And it seems you guessed right. It appears that she may indeed not be like that. However, I can't make her out! Of course, her aim was to insult us, that's clear. I heard a great many strange things about her even before. But if she came to invite us, why did she start treating mama that way? Ptitsyn knows her very well; he says he couldn't figure her out just now. And with Rogozhin? A woman can't speak like that, if she has any self-respect, in the house of her . . . Mama is also very worried about you."

"It's nothing!" the prince said and waved his hand.

"And how is it she listened to you . . ."

"Listened to what?"

"You told her she was ashamed, and she suddenly changed completely. You have influence over her, Prince," Varya added with a slight smile.

The door opened, and quite unexpectedly Ganya came in.

He did not even hesitate on seeing Varya; for a moment he stood on the threshold and with sudden resoluteness went up to the prince.

"Prince, I acted meanly, forgive me, dear heart," he said suddenly, with strong emotion. The features of his face expressed strong pain. The prince stared in amazement and did not respond at once. "Well, so, forgive me, forgive me!" Ganya insisted impatiently. "Well, if you want, I'll kiss your hand right now."

The prince was extremely surprised and silently embraced Ganya with both arms. The two men kissed each other with sincere feeling.

"I never, never thought you were like this," the prince said at last, barely catching his breath. "I thought you were . . . incapable."

"Of apologizing? . . . And what made me think earlier that you were an idiot? You notice things that other people never notice. One could talk with you, but . . . better not to talk!"

"There's someone else here that you should apologize to," the prince said, pointing to Varya.

"No, they're all my enemies. Rest assured, Prince, I've tried many times; they don't forgive sincerely here!" Ganya burst out hotly and turned away from Varya.

"No, I will forgive you!" Varya said suddenly.

"And go to Nastasya Filippovna's tonight?"

"I will if you tell me to, only you'd better judge for yourself: is it at all possible for me to go now?"

"But she's not like that. See what riddles she sets! Tricks!" And Ganya laughed spitefully.

"I know myself she's not like that and has her tricks, but what tricks? And besides, look, how does she consider you yourself, Ganya? So she kissed mama's hand. So it's some kind of tricks– but she did laugh at you! By God, brother, that's not worth seventy-five thousand! You're still capable of noble feelings, that's why I'm telling you. No, don't go there! Be careful! It can't come to any good!"

Having said this, Varya quickly left the room in great agitation.

"That's how they always are!" said Ganya, smiling. "Can they possibly think I don't know it myself? I know much more than they do."

Having said this, Ganya sat down on the sofa, obviously wishing to prolong his visit.

"If you know it yourself," the prince asked rather timidly, "why have you chosen such a torment, knowing that it's really not worth seventy-five thousand?"

"I wasn't talking about that," Ganya muttered, "but, incidentally, tell me what you think, I precisely want to know your opinion: is this 'torment' worth seventy-five thousand or is it not?"

"To my mind, it's not."

"Well, no news there. And it's shameful to marry like that?"

"Very shameful."

"Well, be it known to you, then, that I am getting married, and it's now quite certain. Earlier today I was still hesitating, but not anymore! Be quiet! I know what you want to say . . ."

"It's not what you think, but I'm very surprised at your extreme assurance. . ."

"About what? Which assurance?"

"That Nastasya Filippovna is certain to accept you, and that it's all concluded, and, second, even if she does, that the seventy-five thousand will go straight into your pocket. Though, of course, there's much here that I don't know."

Ganya made a strong movement towards the prince.

"Of course you don't know everything," he said. "And what would make me take all this burden on myself?"

"It seems to me that it happens all the time: a man marries for money, and the money stays with the wife."

"No, no, it won't be like that with us . . . Here . . . here there are certain circumstances . . ." Ganya murmured in anxious pensiveness. "And as for her answer, there's no doubt about it now," he added quickly. "What makes you conclude that she'll reject me?"

"I know nothing except what I've seen. And Varvara Ardalionovna also said just now . . ."

"Eh! That's nothing, they just don't know what else to say. And she was making fun of Rogozhin, rest assured, that I could see. It was obvious. I was frightened earlier, but now I can see it. Or maybe you mean the way she treated my mother, and my father, and Varya?"

"And you."

"Perhaps. But here it's the age-old woman's revenge and nothing more. She's a terribly irritable, suspicious, and vain woman. Like an official overlooked for promotion! She wanted to show herself and all her contempt for us . . . well, and for me, too—it's true, I don't deny it . . . But she'll marry me all the same. You don't even suspect what tricks human vanity is capable of. Here she considers me a scoundrel because I'm taking her, another man's mistress, so openly for her money, but she doesn't know that another man could dupe her in a more scoundrelly way: he'd get at her and start pouring out liberal and progressive stuff, all drawn from various women's questions, and he'd have the whole of her slip right through the needle's eye like a thread. He'd convince the vain fool (and so easily!) that he's taking her only 'for the nobility of her heart and her misfortunes,' and marry her for her money all the same. She doesn't like me, because I don't want to shuffle; it would be fine if I did. And what's she doing herself? Isn't it the same? Why, then, does she go scorning me and playing all these games? Because I show my pride and don't give in. Well, we'll see!"

"Did you really love her before this?"

"In the beginning I loved her. Well, enough . . . There are women who are only fit to be mistresses and nothing else. I'm not saying she was my mistress. If she wants to live quietly, I'll live quietly, too. If she rebels, I'll drop her at once and take the money with me. I don't want to be ridiculous; above all I don't want to be ridiculous."

"I keep thinking," the prince observed cautiously, "that Nastasya Filippovna is intelligent. If she anticipates such torment, why should she walk into the trap? She could marry somebody else. That's what surprises me."

"But there's the calculation! You don't know everything, Prince . . . here . . . and, besides, she's convinced that I'm madly in love with her, I swear to you, and, you know, I strongly suspect that she also loves me, in her own way, that is, as the saying goes: 'The one I treat, I also beat.' She'll consider me a varlet all her life (that may be what she wants) and love me in her own way even so; she's preparing herself for that, it's her character. She's an extremely Russian woman, I tell you. Well, but I'm preparing my own surprise for her. That scene earlier with Varya happened accidentally, but it was to my profit: now she's seen and been convinced of my devotion and that I'll break all connections for her sake. Meaning we're no fools, rest assured. Incidentally, I hope you don't think I'm such a babbler? Indeed, my dear Prince, perhaps it's a bad thing that I'm confiding in you. I fell upon you precisely because you're the first noble person I've met—I mean, 'fell upon' with no pun intended. You're not angry because of what happened, eh? I'm speaking from the heart maybe for the first time in a whole two years. There are very few honest people here. Ptitsyn's the most honest. It seems you're laughing, or aren't you? Scoundrels love honest people—did you know that? And I'm . . . However, in what way am I a scoundrel? Tell me in all conscience. Why do they repeat after her that I'm a scoundrel? And, you know, I also repeat after them and her that I'm a scoundrel! That's the most scoundrelly thing of all!"

"I'll never consider you a scoundrel now," said the prince. "Earlier I took you altogether for a villain, and suddenly you overjoyed me so—it's a real lesson: not to judge without experience. Now I see that you not only cannot be considered a villain, but that you haven't even gone all that bad. To my mind, you're simply the most ordinary man that could be, only very weak and not the least bit original."

Ganya smiled sarcastically to himself but said nothing. The prince saw that his opinion was not liked, became embarrassed, and also fell silent.

"Did father ask you for money?" Ganya asked suddenly.

"No."

"He will. Don't give him any. And he even used to be a decent man, I remember. He was received by good people. How quickly they all come to an end, all these decent old people! Circumstances need only change, and there's nothing left of the former, it's gone up like a flash of powder. He didn't lie like that before, I assure you; he was just a much too rapturous man before, and—this is what it's come to! Drink's to blame, of course. Do you know that he keeps a mistress? He hasn't stayed simply an innocent little liar. I can't understand my mother's long-suffering. Did he tell you about the siege of Kars? Or how his gray outrunner began to talk? He even goes that far."

And Ganya suddenly rocked with laughter.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked the prince.

"It surprises me that you laugh so genuinely. You really have a childlike laugh. When you came in to make peace with me and said: 'If you want, I'll kiss your hand,' it was like children making peace. Which means you're still capable of such words and gestures. Then suddenly you start reading a whole lecture about all this darkness and the seventy-five thousand. Really, it's all somehow absurd and cannot be."

"What do you want to conclude from that?"

"Mightn't it be that you're acting too light-mindedly, that you ought to look around first? Varvara Ardalionovna may have spoken rightly."

"Ah, morality! That I'm still a little boy, I know myself," Ganya interrupted him hotly, "if only in that I've started such a conversation with you. I'm not going into this darkness out of calculation, Prince," he went on, giving himself away like a young man whose vanity has been wounded. "Out of calculation I'd surely make a mistake, because my head and character aren't strong yet. I'm going out of passion, out of inclination, because I have a major goal. You must think I'll get the seventy-five thousand and right away buy a carriage and pair. No, sir, I'll go on wearing my two-year-old frock coat and drop all my club acquaintances. There are few people of self-control among us, and they're all usurers, but I want to show self-control. The main thing here is to carry it through to

the end—that's the whole task! When he was seventeen, Ptitsyn slept in the street, peddled penknives, and started with a kopeck; now he's got sixty thousand, but after what gymnastics! Well, I'm going to leap over all the gymnastics and start straight off with capital; in fifteen years people will say: 'There goes Ivolgin, the king of the Jews.' ³⁶You tell me I'm an unoriginal man. Note for yourself, dear Prince, that nothing offends a man of our time and tribe more than to be told that he's unoriginal, weak of character, with no special talents, and an ordinary man. You didn't even deign to consider me a good scoundrel, and, you know, I wanted to eat you for that just now! You insulted me more than Epanchin, who considers me (and without any discussion, without any provocation, in the simplicity of his soul, note that) capable of selling him my wife! That, my dear, has long infuriated me, and I want money. Having made money, be it known to you—I'll become an original man in the highest degree. The meanest and most hateful thing about money is that it even gives one talent. And so it will be till the world ends. You'll say it's all childish or maybe poetry—so what, it's the more fun for me, but the main thing will be done all the same. I'll carry it through to the end and show self-control. Rira bien qui rira le dernier*Why does Epanchin offend me so? Out of spite, is it? Never, sir. Simply because I'm so insignificant. Well, sir, but then .. . Enough, however, it's late. Kolya has already poked his nose in twice: he's calling you to dinner. And I'm clearing out. I'll wander in to see you some time. It'll be nice for you here; they'll take you as one of the family now. Watch out, don't give me away. I have a feeling that you and I will either be friends or enemies. And what do you think, Prince, if I had kissed your hand earlier (as I sincerely offered to do), would it have made me your enemy afterwards?"

"It certainly would have, only not forever, later you would have been unable to keep from forgiving me," the prince decided after some reflection, and laughed.

"Aha! One must be more careful with you. Devil knows, you poured in some poison there, too. And, who knows, maybe you are my enemy? Incidentally—ha, ha, ha! I forgot to ask: is my impression right, that you like Nastasya Filippovna a bit too much, eh?"

"Yes ... I like her."

* He who laughs last laughs best.

"In love?"

"N-no!"

"But he turns all red and suffers. Well, all right, all right, I won't laugh. Good-bye. And, you know, she's a virtuous woman, can you believe that? You think she lives with that one, with Totsky? No, no! Not for a long time. And did you notice that she's terribly awkward and was even abashed for a few moments today? Really. There's the kind that loves domination. Well, good-bye!"

Ganechka went out much more casually than he came in, and in good spirits. For about ten minutes the prince remained motionless and pondered.

Kolya again stuck his head in at the door.

"I don't want any dinner, Kolya. I had a good lunch at the Epanchins'."

Kolya came all the way in the door and handed the prince a note. It was from the general, folded and sealed. By Kolya's face it could be seen that it was painful for him to deliver it. The prince read it, got up, and took his hat.

"It's two steps from here," Kolya became embarrassed. "He's sitting there now over a bottle. How he got them to give him credit I can't understand. Prince, dear heart, please don't tell them later that I brought you the note! I've sworn a thousand times not to do it, but I feel sorry for him. Oh, and please don't be ceremonious with him: give him a little something, and there's an end to it."

"I had a thought myself, Kolya. I need to see your father ... on a certain matter . . . Let's go . . ."

XII

Kolya led the prince not far away, to Liteinaya, to a café and billiard parlor on the ground floor, with an entrance from the street. There, to the right, in the corner, in a private little room, Ardalion Alexandrovich had settled like an old-time habitué, a bottle on the table in front of him and, in fact, with the Independence Belgein his hands. He was expecting the prince. As soon as he saw him, he put the newspaper aside and began an ardent and verbose explanation, of which, however, the prince understood almost nothing, because the general was already nearly loaded. "I haven't got ten roubles," the prince interrupted, "but here's

twenty-five, have it broken for you and give me back fifteen, otherwise I'll be left without a penny myself."

"Oh, no question; and rest assured that this very hour . . ."

"Besides, I have something to ask you, General. Have you ever been to Nastasya Filippovna's?"

"I? Have I ever been? You say this to me? Several times, my dear, several times!" the general cried in a fit of self-satisfied and triumphant irony. "But I finally stopped it myself, because I did not wish to encourage an improper union. You saw it yourself, you were a witness this afternoon: I've done everything a father could do—but a meek and indulgent father; now a father of a different sort will come onstage, and then—we shall see whether the honored old soldier will gain the upper hand in this intrigue, or a shameless adventuress will get into the noblest of families."

"But I precisely wanted to ask you whether, as an acquaintance, you might not get me into Nastasya Filippovna's this evening? I absolutely must be there tonight; I have business; but I have no idea how to get in. I was introduced to her today, but all the same I wasn't invited: she's giving a party this evening. I'm prepared to overlook certain proprieties, however, and they can even laugh at me, if only I get in somehow."

"And you've hit squarely, squarely upon my own idea, my young friend," the general exclaimed rapturously. "I didn't summon you for a trifle!" he went on, picking up the money, however, and dispatching it into his pocket. "I summoned you precisely to invite you to accompany me on the march to Nastasya Filippovna, or, better, on the march against Nastasya Filippovna! General Ivolgin and Prince Myshkin! How will that seem to her! And I, in the guise of birthday courtesies, will finally pronounce my will—in a roundabout way, not directly, but it will be as if directly. Then Ganya himself will see what he must do: either an honored father and ... so to speak . . . the rest of it, or . . . But what will be, will be! Your idea is highly fruitful. At nine o'clock we'll set out, we still have time."

"Where does she live?"

"Far from here: by the Bolshoi Theater, Mrs. Mytovtsev's house, almost there in the square, on the second floor . . . She won't have a big gathering, despite the birthday, and they'll go home early..."

It had long been evening; the prince was still sitting, listening, and waiting for the general, who had started on an endless number of anecotes and never finished a single one of them. On the prince's

arrival, he had called for a new bottle and finished it only an hour later, then called for one more and finished that one. It must be supposed that in the meantime the general had managed to tell almost the whole of his story. Finally the prince got up and said he could not wait any longer. The general finished the last dregs of his bottle, got up, and started out of the room with very unsteady steps. The prince was in despair. He could not understand how he could have been so foolishly trusting. In fact, he had never trusted the general; he had counted on him only so as to get into Nastasya Filippovna's somehow, even if with a certain scandal, but he had not counted on an excessive scandal: the general turned out to be decidedly drunk, extremely eloquent, and talked nonstop, with feeling, with a tear in his soul. Things constantly came round to the fact that, owing to the bad behavior of all the members of his family, everything was about to collapse, and it was time finally to put a stop to it. They finally came out to Liteinaya. The thaw was still going on; a dismal, warm, noxious wind whistled along the streets, carriages splashed through the mud, iron-shod trotters and nags struck the pavement ringingly. A dismal and wet crowd of pedestrians wandered along the sidewalks. Some were drunk.

"Do you see these lighted second floors?" said the general. "That is where all my comrades live, while I, I, who served and suffered more than all of them, I trudge on foot to the Bolshoi Theater, to the apartments of a dubious woman! A man with thirteen bullets in his chest . . . you don't believe me? And yet it was solely for me that Pirogov telegraphed to Paris and left besieged Sevastopol for a time, and Nélaton, the court physician in Paris, obtained a safe conduct in the name of science and came to besieged Sevastopol to examine me. ³⁷The highest authorities know of it: Ah, it's that Ivolgin, the one with thirteen bullets! . . .' That's what they say, sir! Do you see this house, Prince? Here on the second floor lives my old comrade, General Sokolovich, with his most noble and numerous family. This house, with three more on Nevsky Prospect and two on Morskaya—that is the whole present circle of my acquaintance, that is, my own personal acquaintance. Nina Alexandrovna has long since resigned herself to circumstances. But I still go on remembering . . . and, so to speak, find repose in the cultivated circle of my former comrades and subordinates, who adore me to this day. This General Sokolovich (it's a rather long time, however, since I've been to see him and Anna Fyodorovna) . . . you know, my dear Prince, when you don't receive, you some-