Текст книги "The Idiot"

Автор книги: Федор Достоевский

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among us you will often meet a liberal whom all the rest applaud and who perhaps is in essence the most absurd, the most obtuse and dangerous conservative, without knowing it himself!). Some of our liberals, still not long ago, took this hatred of Russia for all but a genuine love of the fatherland and boasted of seeing better than others what it should consist of; but by now they've become more candid, and have even begun to be ashamed of the words 'love of the fatherland,' have even banished and removed the very notion as harmful and worthless. That is a true fact, I'll stand behind it and . . . some day the truth had to be spoken out fully, simply, and candidly; but at the same time it is a fact such as has never been or occurred anywhere, in all the ages, among any people, and therefore it is an accidental fact and may go away, I agree. There could be no such liberal anywhere as would hate his own fatherland. How, then, can all this be explained in our country? In the same way as before—that the Russian liberal is so far not a Russian liberal; there's no other way, in my opinion."

"I take all you've said as a joke, Evgeny Pavlych," Prince Shch. objected seriously.

"I haven't seen all the liberals and will not venture to judge," said Alexandra Ivanovna, "but I have listened to your thought with indignation: you've taken a particular case and made it a general rule, and that means slander."

"A particular case? Ahh! The word has been spoken," Evgeny Pavlovich picked up. "What do you think, Prince, is it a particular case or not?"

"I also must say that I've seen little of and have spent little time . . . with liberals," said the prince, "but it seems to me that you may be somewhat right and that the Russian liberalism you spoke of is indeed partly inclined to hate Russia itself and not only its order of things. Of course, that's only in part ... of course, it wouldn't be fair to say of all . . ."

He faltered and did not finish. Despite all his agitation, he was extremely interested in the conversation. There was a special feature in the prince, consisting of the extraordinary naivety of the attention with which he always listened to something that interested him, and of the replies he gave when he was addressed with questions about it. His face and even the attitude of his body somehow reflected this naivety, this faith, suspecting neither mockery nor humor. But although Evgeny Pavlovich had long been addressing him not otherwise than with a certain peculiar smile, now, at the

prince's response, he looked at him somehow very seriously, as if he had never expected such a response from him.

"So . . . that's strange, though, on your part," he said, "and you really have answered me seriously, Prince?"

"Why, weren't you asking seriously?" the other retorted in surprise.

Everyone laughed.

"Trust him," said Adelaida, "Evgeny Pavlych always makes fools of everyone! If you only knew what stories he tells sometimes in the most serious way!"

"In my opinion, this is a painful conversation, and should never have been started at all," Alexandra observed sharply. "We wanted to go for a walk ..."

"Let's go, it's a lovely evening!" cried Evgeny Pavlovich. "But, to prove to you that this time I was speaking quite seriously, and, above all, to prove it to the prince (I'm extremely interested in you, Prince, and I swear to you that I'm not at all such an empty man as I must certainly seem—though, in fact, I am an empty man!), and ... if you will permit me, ladies and gentlemen, I will ask the prince one last question, out of personal curiosity, and we'll end there. This question occurred to me, as if on purpose, two hours ago (you see, Prince, I also sometimes think about serious things); I've answered it, but let's see what the prince says. Mention has just been made of a 'particular case.' This has become a very portentous little phrase among us, one hears it often. Recently everyone was talking and writing about that terrible murder of six people by that . . . young man, and of a strange speech by his defense attorney, in which he said that, given the destitute condition of the criminal, it naturallyhad to occur to him to kill those six people. That's not literal, but the meaning, I think, was that or something approaching it. In my personal opinion, the defense attorney, in voicing such a strange thought, was fully convinced that what he was saying was the most liberal, the most humane and progressive thing that could possibly be said in our time. Well, what would you say: is this perversion of notions and convictions, this possibility of such a warped and extraordinary view of things, a particular case or a general one?"

Everyone burst out laughing.

"A particular one, naturally, a particular one," laughed Alexandra and Adelaida.

"And allow me to remind you again, Evgeny Pavlych," added Prince Shch., "that by now your joke has worn too thin."

"What do you think, Prince?" Evgeny Pavlovich did not listen, having caught the curious and grave gaze of Prince Lev Nikolaevich upon him. "How does it seem to you: is this a particular case or a general one? I confess, it was for you that I thought up this question."

"No, not particular," the prince said quietly but firmly.

"For pity's sake, Lev Nikolaevich," Prince Shch. cried with some vexation, "don't you see that he's trying to trap you; he's decidedly laughing, and it's precisely you that he intends to sharpen his teeth on."

"I thought Evgeny Pavlych was speaking seriously," the prince blushed and lowered his eyes.

"My dear Prince," Prince Shch. went on, "remember what you and I talked about once, about three months ago; we precisely talked about the fact that, in our newly opened young courts, ⁴one can already point to so many remarkable and talented defense attorneys! And how many decisions remarkable in the highest degree have been handed down by the juries? How glad you were, and how glad I was then of your gladness ... we said we could be proud . . . And this clumsy defense, this strange argument, is, of course, an accident, one in a thousand."

Prince Lev Nikolaevich pondered a little, but with the most convinced air, though speaking softly and even as if timidly, replied:

"I only wanted to say that the distortion of ideas and notions (as Evgeny Pavlych put it) occurs very often, and is unfortunately much more of a general than a particular case. And to the point that, if this distortion were not such a general case, there might not be such impossible crimes as these . . ."

"Impossible crimes? But I assure you that exactly the same crimes, and perhaps still more terrible ones, existed before, and have always existed, not only here but everywhere, and, in my opinion, will occur for a very long time to come. The difference is that before we had less publicity, while now we've begun to speak aloud and even to write about them, which is why it seems as if these criminals have appeared only now. That's your mistake, an extremely naïve mistake, Prince, I assure you," Prince Shch. smiled mockingly.

"I myself know that there were very many crimes before, and just as terrible; I was in some prisons not long ago and managed to become acquainted with certain criminals and accused men. There are even more horrible criminals than this one, who have

killed ten people and do not repent at all. But at the same time I noticed this: the most inveterate and unrepentant murderer still knows that he is a criminal,that is, in all conscience he considers that he has done wrong, though without any repentance. And every one of them is the same; but those whom Evgeny Pavlych has begun speaking about do not even want to consider themselves criminals and think to themselves that they had the right and . . . even did a good thing, or almost. That, in my opinion, is what makes the terrible difference. And note that they're all young people, that is, precisely of an age when they can most easily and defenselessly fall under the influence of perverse ideas."

Prince Shch. was no longer laughing and listened to the prince with perplexity. Alexandra Ivanovna, who had long been wanting to make some remark, kept silent, as if some special thought stopped her. But Evgeny Pavlovich looked at the prince in decided astonishment and this time without any smile.

"Why are you so astonished at him, my dear sir?" Lizaveta Prokofyevna stepped in unexpectedly. "What, is he stupider than you or something, can't he reason as well as you?"

"No, ma'am, it's not that," said Evgeny Pavlovich, "but how is it, Prince (forgive the question), if that's the way you see and observe it, then how is it (again, forgive me) that in that strange affair . . . the other day . . . with Burdovsky, I believe . . . how is it that you didn't notice the same perversion of ideas and moral convictions? Exactly the same! It seemed to me then that you didn't notice it at all."

"But the thing is, my dear," Lizaveta Prokofyevna was very excited, "that we noticed everything, we sit here and boast before him, and yet he received a letter today from one of them, the main one, with the blackheads, remember, Alexandra? He apologizes in his letter, though in his own manner, and says he has dropped that friend of his, the one who egged him on then—remember, Alexandra?—and that he now believes more in the prince. Well, and we haven't received such a letter yet, though we know well enough how to turn up our noses at him."

"And Ippolit also just moved to our dacha!" cried Kolya.

"What? He's already here?" the prince became alarmed.

"You had only just left with Lizaveta Prokofyevna when he came. I brought him!"

"Well, I'll bet," Lizaveta Prokofyevna suddenly boiled over, completely forgetting that she had just praised the prince, "I'll bet he

went to his attic yesterday and begged his forgiveness on his knees, so that the spiteful little stinker would deign to come here. Did you go yesterday? You admitted it yourself earlier. Is it so or not? Did you get on your knees or not?"

"That's quite wrong," cried Kolya, "and it was quite the contrary: Ippolit seized the prince's hand yesterday and kissed it twice, I saw it myself, and that was the end of all the explanations, except that the prince simply said it would be better for him at the dacha, and he instantly agreed to come as soon as he felt better."

"You shouldn't, Kolya . . ." the prince murmured, getting up and taking his hat, "why are you telling them about that, I . . ."

"Where now?" Lizaveta Prokofyevna stopped him.

"Don't worry, Prince," the inflamed Kolya went on, "don't go and don't trouble him, he's fallen asleep after the trip; he's very glad; and you know, Prince, in my opinion it will be much better if you don't meet today, even put it off till tomorrow, otherwise he'll get embarrassed again. This morning he said it was a whole six months since he'd felt so well and so strong; he even coughs three times less."

The prince noticed that Aglaya suddenly left her place and came over to the table. He did not dare to look at her, but he felt with his whole being that she was looking at him at that moment, and perhaps looking menacingly, that there was certainly indignation in her dark eyes and her face was flushed.

"But it seems to me, Nikolai Ardalionovich, that you shouldn't have brought him here, if it's that same consumptive boy who wept the other time and invited us to his funeral," Evgeny Pavlovich observed. "He spoke so eloquently then about the wall of the neighboring house that he's bound to feel sad without it, you may be sure."

"What he says is true: he'll quarrel and fight with you and then leave, that's what I say!"

And Lizaveta Prokofyevna moved her sewing basket towards her with dignity, forgetting that they were all getting up to go for a walk.

"I remember him boasting a great deal about that wall," Evgeny Pavlovich picked up again. "Without that wall he won't be able to die eloquently, and he wants very much to die eloquently."

"What of it?" murmured the prince. "If you don't want to forgive him, he'll die without it . . . He moved now for the sake of the trees.

"Oh, for my part I forgive him everything; you can tell him that."

"That's not how it should be understood," the prince replied quietly and as if reluctantly, continuing to look at one spot on the floor and not raising his eyes. "It should be that you, too, agree to accept his forgiveness."

"What is it to me? How am I guilty before him?" "If you don't understand, then . . . but, no, you do understand. He wanted then ... to bless you all and to receive your blessing, that's all."

"My dear Prince," Prince Shch. hastened to pick up somehow warily, exchanging glances with some of those present, "paradise on earth is not easily achieved; but all the same you are counting on paradise in a way; paradise is a difficult thing, Prince, much more difficult than it seems to your wonderful heart. We'd better stop, otherwise we may all get embarrassed again, and then . . ."

"Let's go and listen to the music," Lizaveta Prokofyevna said sharply, getting up angrily from her seat.

They all stood up after her.

II

The prince suddenly went over to Evgeny Pavlovich. "Evgeny Pavlych," he said with a strange ardor, seizing him by the arm, "you may be sure that I consider you the noblest and best of men, in spite of everything; you may be sure of that . . ."

Evgeny Pavlovich even stepped back in surprise. For a moment he tried to suppress an unbearable fit of laughter; but, on looking closer, he noticed that the prince was as if not himself, or at least in some sort of peculiar state.

"I'll bet," he cried, "that you were going to say something quite different, Prince, and maybe not to me at all . . . But what's the matter? Do you feel bad?"

"That may be, that may well be, and it was a very subtle observation that I may have wanted to approach someone else!"

Having said this, he smiled somehow strangely and even ridiculously, but suddenly, as if becoming excited, he exclaimed:

"Don't remind me of what I did three days ago! I've been feeling very ashamed these three days ... I know I'm to blame . . ."

"But. . . but what did you do that was so terrible?"

"I can see that you are perhaps more ashamed for me than

anyone else, Evgeny Pavlovich; you're blushing, that's the sign of a beautiful heart. I'll leave presently, you may be sure."

"What's the matter with him? Is this how his fits begin?" Lizaveta Prokofyevna turned fearfully to Kolya.

"Never mind, Lizaveta Prokofyevna, I'm not having a fit; I'll leave right now. I know I've been . . . mistreated by nature. I've been ill for twenty-four years, from birth to the age of twenty-four. Take it from me now as from a sick man. I'll leave right now, right now, you may be sure. I'm not blushing—because it would be strange to blush at that, isn't it so?—but I'm superfluous in society ... I don't say it out of vanity ... I was thinking it over during these three days and decided that I should inform you candidly and nobly at the first opportunity. There are certain ideas, there are lofty ideas, which I ought not to start talking about, because I'll certainly make everyone laugh; Prince Shch. has just reminded me of that very thing . . . My gestures are inappropriate, I have no sense of measure; my words are wrong, they don't correspond to my thoughts, and that is humiliating for the thoughts. And therefore I have no right . . . then, too, I'm insecure, I . . . I'm convinced that I cannot be offended in this house, that I am loved more than I'm worth, but I know (I know for certain) that after twenty years of illness there must surely be some trace left, so that it's impossible not to laugh at me . . . sometimes ... is that so?"

He looked around as if waiting for a response and a decision. Everyone stood in painful perplexity from this unexpected, morbid, and, as it seemed, in any case groundless outburst. But this outburst gave occasion to a strange episode.

"Why do you say that here?" Aglaya suddenly cried. "Why do you say it to them?To them! To them!"

She seemed to be in the ultimate degree of indignation: her eyes flashed fire. The prince stood dumb and speechless before her and suddenly turned pale.

"There's no one here who is worth such words!" Aglaya burst out. "No one, no one here is worth your little finger, or your intelligence, or your heart! You're more honest than all of them, nobler than all of them, better than all of them, kinder than all of them, more intelligent than all of them! There are people here who aren't worthy of bending down to pick up the handkerchief you've just dropped . . . Why do you humiliate yourself and place yourself lower than everyone else? Why have you twisted everything in yourself, why is there no pride in you?"

"Lord, who'd have thought it?" Lizaveta Prokofyevna clasped her hands.

"The poor knight! Hurrah!" Kolya shouted in delight.

"Quiet! . . . How do they dare offend me here in your house!" Aglaya suddenly fell upon Lizaveta Prokofyevna, now in that hysterical state in which one disregards all limits and overcomes all obstacles. "Why do they all torment me, every last one of them! Why do they all badger me on account of you, Prince? I won't marry you for anything! Know that, never and not for anything! Can one marry such a ridiculous man as you? Look at yourself in the mirror now, see how you're standing there! . . . Why, why do they tease me, saying that I should marry you? You must know it! You're also in conspiracy with them!"

"No one ever teased her!" Adelaida murmured in fright.

"It never entered anyone's mind, no one ever said a word about it!" cried Alexandra Ivanovna.

"Who teased her? When? Who could have told her that? Is she raving?" Lizaveta Prokofyevna, trembling with wrath, turned to them all.

"You all said it, all of you, all these three days! I'll never, never marry him!"

Having shouted that, Aglaya dissolved in bitter tears, covered her face with a handkerchief, and collapsed into a chair.

"But he hasn't asked you yet . . ."

"I haven't asked you, Aglaya Ivanovna," suddenly escaped from the prince.

"Wha-a-at?" Lizaveta Prokofyevna suddenly drew out in astonishment, indignation, and horror. "What's tha-a-at?"

She refused to believe her ears.

"I meant to say ... I meant to say," the prince was trembling, "I only meant to explain to Aglaya Ivanovna ... to have the honor of explaining to her that I never had any intention ... to have the honor of asking for her hand . . . even once . . . I'm not to blame for any of it, by God, I'm not, Aglaya Ivanovna! I never meant to, it never entered my mind and never will, you'll see for yourself: you may be sure! Some wicked man has slandered me before you! You may rest assured!"

Saying this, he approached Aglaya. She took away the handkerchief with which she had covered her face, quickly glanced at him and his whole frightened figure, realized what he had just said, and suddenly burst out laughing right in his face—such merry,

irrepressible laughter, such funny and mocking laughter, that Adelaida was the first to succumb, especially when she also looked at the prince, rushed to her sister, embraced her, and laughed the same irrepressible, merry schoolgirl's laughter as Aglaya. Looking at them, the prince suddenly began to smile, too, and to repeat with a joyful and happy expression:

"Well, thank God, thank God!"

At this point Alexandra also could not help herself and laughed wholeheartedly. It seemed there would be no end to this laughter of the three of them.

"Ah, crazy girls!" Lizaveta Prokofyevna muttered. "First they frighten you, then . . ."

But Prince Shch., too, was laughing now, Evgeny Pavlovich was laughing, Kolya was guffawing nonstop, and, looking at them all, the prince also guffawed.

"Let's go for a walk, let's go for a walk!" cried Adelaida. "All of us together, and certainly the prince with us. There's no need for you to leave, you dear man! What a dear man he is, Aglaya! Isn't it so, mama? Besides, I must certainly, certainly kiss him and embrace him for . . . for what he just said to Aglaya. Maman,dear, will you allow me to kiss him? Aglaya, allow me to kiss yourprince!" cried the mischievous girl, and she indeed ran over to the prince and kissed him on the forehead. He seized her hands, squeezed them so hard that Adelaida nearly cried out, looked at her with infinite joy, and suddenly brought her hand quickly to his lips and kissed it three times.

"Let's go, then!" Aglaya called. "Prince, you'll escort me. Can he, maman?A suitor who has rejected me? You have rejected me forever, haven't you, Prince? No, you don't offer a lady your arm like that, don't you know how to take a lady's arm? Like this, come on, we'll go ahead of them all; do you want to go ahead of them, tête-à-tête?"

She talked nonstop, still with bursts of laughter.

"Thank God! Thank God!" Lizaveta Prokofyevna kept repeating, not knowing herself what she was glad about.

"Extremely strange people!" thought Prince Shch., maybe for the hundredth time since he had become close with them, but . . . he liked these strange people. As for the prince, maybe he did not like him so much; Prince Shch. was a bit glum and as if preoccupied as they all went out for a walk.

Evgeny Pavlovich seemed to be in the merriest spirits; he made

Alexandra and Adelaida laugh all the way to the vauxhall, and they laughed somehow especially readily at his jokes, so much so that he began to have a sneaking suspicion that they might not be listening to him at all. At this thought, suddenly and without explaining the reason, he burst at last into extremely and absolutely sincere laughter (such was his character!). The sisters, though they were in a most festive mood, glanced constantly at Aglaya and the prince, who were walking ahead of them; it was clear that their little sister had set them a great riddle. Prince Shch. kept trying to strike up a conversation with Lizaveta Prokofyevna about unrelated things, perhaps in order to distract her, but she found him terribly tiresome. Her thoughts seemed quite scattered, she gave inappropriate answers and sometimes did not answer at all. But Aglaya Ivanovna's riddles were not yet ended for that evening. The last one fell to the prince's lot. When they had gone about a hundred steps from the dacha, Aglaya said in a rapid half whisper to her stubbornly silent escort:

"Look to the right."

The prince looked.

"Look closer. Do you see the bench in the park, where those three big trees are . . . the green bench?"

The prince answered that he did.

"Do you like the setting? Sometimes I come early, at seven o'clock, when everyone is still asleep, to sit there by myself."

The prince murmured that it was a wonderful setting.

"And now go away from me, I don't want to walk arm in arm with you anymore. Or better, let's walk arm in arm, but don't say a word to me. I want to think alone to myself. . ."

The warning was in any case unnecessary: the prince would certainly not have uttered a single word all the way even without orders. His heart began to pound terribly when he heard about the bench. After a moment he thought better of it and, in shame, drove away his absurd notion.

As is known and as everyone at least affirms, the public that gathers at the Pavlovsk vauxhall on weekdays is "more select" than on Sundays and holidays, when "all sorts of people" arrive from the city. The dresses are not festive but elegant. The custom is to get together and listen to music. The orchestra, which may indeed be one of our best garden orchestras, plays new things. The decency and decorum are extreme, in spite of a certain generally familial and even intimate air. The acquaintances, all of them dacha people,

get together to look each other over. Many do it with genuine pleasure and come only for that; but there are also those who come just for the music. Scandals are extraordinarily rare, though, incidentally, they do occur even on weekdays. But, then, there's no doing without them.

This time the evening was lovely, and there was a good-sized audience. All the places near the orchestra were taken. Our company sat down in chairs a little to one side, close to the far left-hand door of the vauxhall. The crowd and the music revived Lizaveta Prokofyevna somewhat and distracted the young ladies; they managed to exchange glances with some of their acquaintances and to nod their heads amiably to others from afar; managed to look over the dresses, to notice some oddities, discuss them, and smile mockingly. Evgeny Pavlovich also bowed rather often. People already paid attention to Aglaya and the prince, who were still together. Soon some young men of their acquaintance came over to the mama and the young ladies; two or three stayed to talk; they were all friends of Evgeny Pavlovich. Among them was one young and very handsome officer, very gay, very talkative; he hastened to strike up a conversation with Aglaya and tried as hard as he could to attract her attention. Aglaya was very gracious with him and laughed easily. Evgeny Pavlovich asked the prince's permission to introduce him to this friend; the prince barely understood what they wanted to do with him, but the introductions were made, the two men bowed and shook hands with each other. Evgeny Pavlovich's friend asked a question, but the prince seemed not to answer it, or muttered something to himself so strangely that the officer gave him a very intent look, then glanced at Evgeny Pavlovich, realized at once why he had thought up this acquaintance, smiled faintly, and turned again to Aglaya. Evgeny Pavlovich alone noticed that Aglaya unexpectedly blushed at that.

The prince did not even notice that other people were talking and paying court to Aglaya; he even all but forgot at moments that he was sitting next to her. Sometimes he wanted to go away somewhere, to disappear from there completely, and he would even have liked some dark, deserted place, only so that he could be alone with his thoughts and no one would know where he was. Or at least to be in his own home, on the terrace, but so that nobody else was there, neither Lebedev nor his children; to throw himself on his sofa, bury his face in his pillow, and lie there like that for a day, a night, another day. At moments he imagined the mountains,

and precisely one familiar spot in the mountains that he always liked to remember and where he had liked to walk when he still lived there, and to look down from there on the village, on the white thread of the waterfall barely glittering below, on the white clouds, on the abandoned old castle. Oh, how he wanted to be there now and to think about one thing—oh! all his life only about that—it would be enough for a thousand years! And let them, let them forget all about him here. Oh, it was even necessary, even better, that they not know him at all, and that this whole vision be nothing but a dream. And wasn't it all the same whether it was a dream or a reality? Sometimes he would suddenly begin studying Aglaya and for five minutes could not tear his gaze from her face; but his gaze was all too strange: it seemed he was looking at her as if at an object a mile away, or as if at her portrait and not at herself.

"Why are you looking at me like that, Prince?" she said suddenly, interrupting her merry conversation and laughter with those around her. "I'm afraid of you; I keep thinking you want to reach your hand out and touch my face with your finger, in order to feel it. Isn't it true, Evgeny Pavlych, that he looks like that?"

The prince listened, seeming to be surprised that he was being addressed, realized it, though he may not quite have understood, did not reply, but, seeing that she and all the others were laughing, suddenly extended his mouth and began to laugh himself. The laughter increased around him; the officer, who must have been a man who laughed easily, simply burst with laughter. Aglaya suddenly whispered wrathfully to herself:

"Idiot!"

"Lord! Can she really . . . such a ... is she going completely crazy?" Lizaveta Prokofyevna rasped to herself.

"It's a joke. It's the same kind of joke as with the 'poor knight,' " Alexandra whispered firmly in her ear, "and nothing more! She's poking fun at him again, in her own way. Only the joke has gone too far; it must be stopped, maman!Earlier she was clowning like an actress, frightening us for the fun of it . . ."

"It's a good thing she landed on such an idiot," Lizaveta Prokofyevna whispered to her. Her daughter's observation made her feel better all the same.

The prince, however, heard that he had been called an idiot, and gave a start, but not because he had been called an idiot. The "idiot" he forgot at once. But in the crowd, not far from where he

was sitting, somewhere to the side—he would not have been able to show in what precise place and in what spot—a face flashed, a pale face with dark, curly hair, with a familiar, a very familiar, smile and gaze—flashed and disappeared. It might well have been that he only imagined it; of the whole apparition he was left with the impression of the crooked smile, the eyes, and the pale green, foppish tie that the gentleman who flashed was wearing. Whether this gentleman disappeared in the crowd or slipped into the vaux-hall, the prince also could not have determined.

But a moment later he suddenly began looking quickly and uneasily around him; this first apparition might be the herald and forerunner of a second. That was surely the case. Could he have forgotten the possibility of a meeting when they set out for the vauxhall? True, as he walked to the vauxhall, he seemed not at all aware that he was going there—he was in such a state. If he had been or could have been more attentive, he might have noticed a quarter of an hour ago that Aglaya, every so often and also as if uneasily, glanced furtively about, as though looking for something around her. Now, when his uneasiness had become quite noticeable, Aglaya's agitation and uneasiness also grew, and each time he looked behind him, she almost at once looked around as well. The resolution of their anxiety soon followed.