Текст книги "The Idiot"

Автор книги: Федор Достоевский

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He dozed off on the bench, but his anxiousness continued in his sleep. Before falling asleep, he remembered that Ippolit would

kill a dozen people, and he smiled at the absurdity of the suggestion. Around him there was a beautiful, serene silence, with only the rustling of leaves, which seemed to make it still more silent and solitary. He had a great many dreams, and all of them anxious, so that he kept shuddering. Finally a woman came to him; he knew her, knew her to the point of suffering; he could have named her and pointed to her any time, but—strangely– she now seemed to have a different face from the one he had always known, and he was painfully reluctant to recognize her as that woman. There was so much repentance and horror in this face that it seemed she was a terrible criminal who had just committed a horrible crime. A tear trembled on her pale cheek; she beckoned to him with her hand and put her finger to her lips, as if cautioning him to follow her more quietly. His heart stood still; not for anything, not for anything did he want to recognize her as a criminal; yet he felt that something horrible was just about to happen, for the whole of his life. It seemed she wanted to show him something, not far away, there in the park. He got up to follow her, and suddenly someone's bright, fresh laughter rang out close by; someone's hand was suddenly in his hand; he grasped this hand, pressed it hard, and woke up. Before him, laughing loudly, stood Aglaya.

VIII

She was laughing, but she was also indignant. "Asleep! You were asleep!" she cried with scornful surprise. "It's you!" murmured the prince, not quite recovered yet and recognizing her with surprise. "Ah, yes! Our meeting ... I was sleeping here."

"So I saw.

"Did no one else wake me up except you? Was there no one here except you? I thought there was . . . another woman here ..."

"There was another woman here?!"

He finally recovered himself completely.

"It was only a dream," he said pensively, "strange, such a dream at such a moment ... Sit down."

He took her by the hand and sat her on the bench; he sat down beside her and fell to thinking. Aglaya did not begin a conversation,

but only studied her interlocutor intently. He also kept glancing at her, but at times it was as if he did not see her before him at all. She was beginning to blush.

"Ah, yes!" the prince gave a start. "Ippolit shot himself!"

"When? At your place?" she said, but with no great surprise. "Yesterday evening, I believe, he was still alive? How could you fall asleep here after all that?" she cried with unexpected animation.

"But he didn't die, the pistol didn't fire."

At Aglaya's insistence the prince had to retell right then, and even in great detail, the whole story of the past night. She kept hurrying him as he told it, yet she herself interrupted him continually with questions, almost all of them beside the point. Among other things, she listened with great curiosity to what Evgeny Pavlovich had said, and several times even asked the prince to repeat it.

"Well, enough, we must hurry," she concluded, having heard it all, "we can only stay here for an hour, till eight o'clock, because at eight o'clock I must be at home without fail, so they won't know I've been sitting here, and I've come on business; I have a lot to tell you. Only you've got me all thrown off now. About Ippolit, I think his pistol was bound not to fire, it's more suited to him. But are you sure he really wanted to shoot himself and there was no deception in it?"

"No deception at all."

"That's more likely, too. So he wrote that you should bring me his confession? Why didn't you bring it?"

"But he didn't die. I'll ask him."

"Bring it without fail, and there's no need to ask. He'll probably be very pleased, because it may be that his purpose in shooting himself was so that I should read his confession afterwards. Please, Lev Nikolaich, I beg you not to laugh at my words, because it may very well be so."

"I'm not laughing, because I'm sure myself that in part it may very well be so."

"You're sure? Do you really think so, too?" Aglaya suddenly became terribly surprised.

She questioned him quickly, spoke rapidly, but seemed to get confused at times and often did not finish; she kept hurrying to warn him about something; generally she was extraordinarily anxious, and though she looked at him very bravely and with a sort of defiance, she was perhaps also a little frightened. She

was wearing a most ordinary and simple dress, which was very becoming to her. She often started, blushed, and sat on the edge of the bench. She was very surprised when the prince agreed that Ippolit shot himself so that she should read his confession.

"Of course," the prince explained, "he wanted not only you but the rest of us also to praise him ..."

"How do you mean, praise him?"

"I mean it's . . . how shall I tell you? It's very hard to say. Only he surely wanted everyone to stand around him and tell him that they love and respect him very much, and start begging him to remain alive. It may well be that he had you in mind most of all, since he mentioned you at such a moment . . . though he may not have known himself that he had you in mind."

"That I don't understand at all: had me in mind, but didn't know he had me in mind. Though I think I do understand: do you know that I myself, even when I was still a thirteen-year-old girl, thought at least thirty times of poisoning myself, and of writing all about it in a letter to my parents, and I also thought of how I would lie in the coffin, and they would all weep over me and accuse themselves for being so cruel to me . . . Why are you smiling again?" she added quickly, frowning. "And what do you think to yourself when you dream alone? Maybe you imagine you're a field marshal and have crushed Napoleon?"

"Well, on my word of honor, that's just what I do think about, especially as I'm falling asleep," laughed the prince, "only it's not Napoleon I crush but the Austrians."

"I have no wish to joke with you, Lev Nikolaich. I will go to see Ippolit myself; I ask you to warn him. And on your side I find all this very bad, because it's very rude to look at and judge a man's soul the way you're judging Ippolit. You have no tenderness, only truth, that makes it unfair."

The prince reflected.

"I think you're being unfair to me," he said. "I don't find anything bad in his thinking that way, because everyone is inclined to think that way; besides, maybe he didn't think at all, but merely wanted ... he wanted to meet people for the last time, to deserve their respect and love; those are very good feelings, only somehow nothing turned out right; it's his sickness, and something else as well! Anyhow, with some people everything always turns out right, and with others it's like nothing in the world . . ."

"You probably added that about yourself," Aglaya observed.

"Yes, about myself," replied the prince, not noticing any malice in the question.

"Only, all the same, I should never have fallen asleep in your place; it means that wherever you snuggle up, you fall asleep at once; that's not very nice on your part."

"But I didn't sleep all night, then I walked and walked, got to the music . . ."

"What music?"

"Where they played yesterday, and then I came here, sat down, thought and thought, and fell asleep."

"Ah, so that's how it was? That changes everything in your favor . . . And why did you go to the music?"

"I don't know, I just . . ."

"All right, all right, later; you keep interrupting me, and what do I care if you went to the music? Who was that woman you dreamed about?"

"It was . . . about . . . you saw her . . ."

"I understand, I understand very well. You're very much . . . How did you dream of her, what did she look like? However, I don't want to know anything," she suddenly snapped in vexation, "don't interrupt me ..."

She waited a while, as if gathering her courage or trying to drive her vexation away.

"Here's the whole matter I invited you for: I want to propose that you be my friend. Why do you suddenly stare at me like that?" she added almost with wrath.

The prince was indeed peering at her intently at that moment, noticing that she had again begun to blush terribly. On such occasions, the more she blushed, the more she seemed to be angry with herself for it, as showed clearly in her flashing eyes; usually she would transfer her wrath a moment later to the one she was talking with, whether or not it was his fault, and begin to quarrel with him. Knowing and feeling her wildness and shyness, she usually entered little into conversation and was more taciturn than the other sisters, sometimes even much too taciturn. When, especially on such ticklish occasions, she absolutely had to speak, she would begin the conversation with an extraordinary haughtiness and as if with a sort of defiance. She always felt beforehand when she was beginning or about to begin to blush.

"Perhaps you don't want to accept my proposal?" she glanced haughtily at the prince.

"Oh, no, I do, only it's quite unnecessary . . . that is, I never thought there was any need to propose such a thing," the prince was abashed.

"And what did you think? Why would I have invited you here? What do you have in mind? However, maybe you consider me a little fool, as they all do at home?"

"I didn't know they considered you a fool. I ... I don't."

"You don't? Very intelligent on your part. The way you put it is especially intelligent."

"In my opinion, you may even be very intelligent at times," the prince went on. "Earlier you suddenly said something very intelligent. You said of my doubt about Ippolit: 'There's only truth in it, and that makes it unfair.' I'll remember that and think about it."

Aglaya suddenly flushed with pleasure. All these changes took place in her extremely openly and with extraordinary swiftness. The prince also rejoiced and even laughed with joy, looking at her.

"Now listen," she began again, "I've been waiting for you a long time, in order to tell you all this, I've been waiting ever since you wrote me that letter from there, and even earlier . . . You already heard half of it from me yesterday: I consider you a most honest and truthful man, the most honest and truthful of all, and if they say your mind . . . that is, that you're sometimes sick in your mind, it isn't right; I've decided and argued about it, because though you are in fact sick in your mind (you won't, of course, be angry at that, I'm speaking from a higher point), the main mind in you is better than in any of them, such as they would never even dream of, because there are two minds: the main one and the non-main one. Well? Isn't that so?"

"Maybe so," the prince barely uttered; his heart trembled and pounded terribly.

"I just knew you'd understand," she went on gravely. "Prince Shch. and Evgeny Pavlych don't understand anything about these two minds, neither does Alexandra, but imagine: mamandid."

"You're very much like Lizaveta Prokofyevna."

"How's that? Can it be?" Aglaya was surprised.

"By God, it's so."

"I thank you," she said after some thought. "I'm very glad that I'm like maman.So you respect her very much?" she added, quite unaware of the naivety of the question.

"Very, very much, and I'm glad you've understood it so directly."

"I'm glad, too, because I've noticed that people sometimes . . . laugh at her. But now hear the main thing: I've thought for a long time, and I've finally chosen you. I don't want them to laugh at me at home; I don't want them to consider me a little fool; I don't want them to tease me ... I understood it all at once and flatly refused Evgeny Pavlych, because I don't want them to be constantly marrying me off! I want ... I want . . .well, I want to run away from home, and I've chosen you to help me."

"To run away from home!" the prince cried.

"Yes, yes, yes, to run away from home!" she cried suddenly, blazing up with extraordinary wrath. "I don't, I don't want them to be eternally making me blush there. I don't want to blush either before them, or before Prince Shch., or before Evgeny Pavlych, or before anybody, and so I've chosen you. I want to talk about everything with you, everything, even the main thing, whenever I like; and you, for your part, must hide nothing from me. I want to talk about everything with at least one person as I would with myself. They suddenly started saying that I was waiting for you and that I loved you. That was before you arrived, and I didn't show them your letter; but now they all say it. I want to be brave and not afraid of anything. I don't want to go to their balls, I want to be useful. I wanted to leave long ago. They've kept me bottled up for twenty years, and they all want to get me married. When I was fourteen I already thought of running away, though I was a fool. Now I have it all worked out and was waiting for you, to ask you all about life abroad. I've never seen a single gothic cathedral, I want to be in Rome, I want to examine all the learned collections, I want to study in Paris; all this past year I've been preparing and studying, and I've read a great many books; I've read all the forbidden books. Alexandra and Adelaida have read all the books; they're allowed but I'm forbidden, they supervise me. I don't want to quarrel with my sisters, but I announced to my father and mother long ago that I want to change my social position completely. I've decided to occupy myself with education, and I'm counting on you, because you said you loved children. Can we occupy ourselves with education together, if not now, then in the future? We'll be useful together; I don't want to be a general's daughter . . . Tell me, are you a very learned man?"

"Oh, not at all."

"That's a pity, and I thought . . . what made me think that? You'll guide me all the same, because I've chosen you."

"This is absurd, Aglaya Ivanovna."

"I want it, I want to run away from home!" she cried, and again her eyes flashed. "If you don't agree, then I'll marry Gavrila Ardalionovich. I don't want to be considered a loathsome woman at home and be accused of God knows what."

"Are you out of your mind?" the prince nearly jumped up from his place. "What do they accuse you of? Who accuses you?"

"At home, everybody, my mother, my sisters, my father, Prince Shch., even your loathsome Kolya! If they don't say it outright, they think it. I told them all so to their faces, my mother and my father. Mamanwas ill for the whole day; and the next day Alexandra and papa told me I didn't understand what I was babbling myself and what kind of words I'd spoken. At which point I just snapped at them that I already understood everything, all the words, that I was not a little girl, that I had read two novels by Paul de Kock ²²on purpose two years ago in order to learn about everything. When she heard that, mamannearly fainted."

A strange thought suddenly flashed in the prince's head. He looked intently at Aglaya and smiled.

It was even hard for him to believe that this was the same haughty girl sitting before him who had once so proudly and arrogantly read Gavrila Ardalionovich's letter to him. He could not understand how such an arrogant, stern beauty could turn out to be such a child, who even nowmight actually not understand all the words.

"Have you always lived at home, Aglaya Ivanovna?" he asked. "I mean to say, you haven't gone anywhere, to any kind of school, never studied at an institute?"

"I've never gone anywhere; I've always sat at home, bottled up, and I'll get married right out of the bottle. Why are you smiling again? I notice that you, too, seem to be laughing at me and to be on their side," she added, with a menacing frown. "Don't make me angry, I don't know what's the matter with me as it is . . . I'm sure you've come here completely convinced that I'm in love with you and was inviting you to a tryst," she snapped irritably.

"I actually was afraid of that yesterday," the prince blurted out simple-heartedly (he was very embarrassed), "but today I'm sure that you . . ."

"What!" Aglaya cried, and her lower lip suddenly trembled. "You were afraid that I . . . you dared to think that I . . . Lord! Maybe you suspected that I invited you here in order to lure you into my nets, and then they would find us here and force you to marry me . . ."

"Aglaya Ivanovna! Aren't you ashamed? How could such a dirty thought be born in your pure, innocent heart? I'll bet you yourself don't believe a word you've said and . . . you don't know what you're saying!"

Aglaya sat stubbornly looking down, as if she herself was frightened at what she had said.

"I'm not ashamed at all," she murmured. "How do you know my heart is innocent? How did you dare to send me a love letter then?"

"A love letter? My letter—a love letter? That letter was most respectful, that letter poured from my heart at the most painful moment of my life! I remembered about you then as of some sort of light ²³. . . I . . ."

"Well, all right, all right," she suddenly interrupted, no longer in the same tone at all, but in complete repentance and almost in alarm; she even bent towards him, still trying not to look straight at him, and made as if to touch his shoulder, to ask him more convincingly not to be angry, "all right," she added, terribly shamefaced, "I feel that I used a very stupid expression. I did it just like that... to test you. Take it as if I hadn't said it. And if I offended you, forgive me. Please don't look straight at me, turn your head. You said it was a very dirty thought: I said it on purpose to needle you. Sometimes I myself am afraid of what I want to say, and then suddenly I say it. You said just now that you wrote that letter at the most painful moment of your life ... I know what moment it was," she said softly, again looking at the ground.

"Oh, if only you could know everything!"

"I do know everything!" she cried with new agitation. "You lived in the same rooms for a whole month then with that loathsome woman you ran away with . . ."

She did not blush now but turned pale as she said it, and she suddenly got up from her place, as if forgetting herself, but, recollecting herself, she at once sat down; her lower lip went on trembling for a long time. The silence went on for about a minute. The prince was terribly struck by the suddenness of her outburst and did not know what to ascribe it to.

"I don't love you at all," she suddenly snapped out.

The prince did not reply; again there was a minute of silence.

"I love Gavrila Ardalionovich . . ." she said in a quick patter, but barely audibly and bowing her head still more.

"That's not true," said the prince, almost in a whisper.

"You mean I'm lying? It is true; I gave him my promise, two days ago, on this same bench."

The prince was alarmed and thought for a moment.

"That's not true," he said resolutely, "you've made it all up."

"How wonderfully polite. Know that he has mended his ways; he loves me more than life itself. He burned his hand in front of me just to prove that he loves me more than life itself."

"Burned his hand?"

"Yes, his hand. Believe it or don't—it's all the same to me."

The prince fell silent again. There was no joking in Aglaya's words; she was angry.

"What, did he bring a candle here with him, if it happened here? Otherwise I can't imagine . . ."

"Yes ... a candle. What's so incredible?"

"Whole or in a candlestick?"

"Well, yes . . . no . . . half a candle ... a candle end ... a whole candle—it's all the same, leave me alone! . . . And he brought matches, if you like. He lit the candle and held his finger over the flame for a whole half hour; can't that be?"

"I saw him yesterday; there was nothing wrong with his fingers."

Aglaya suddenly burst out laughing, just like a child.

"You know why I lied to you just now?" she suddenly turned to the prince with the most childlike trustfulness and with laughter still trembling on her lips. "Because when you lie, if you skillfully put in something not quite usual, something eccentric, well, you know, something that happens quite rarely or even never, the lie becomes much more believable. I've noticed that. Only with me it came out badly, because I wasn't able to . . ."

Suddenly she frowned again, as if recollecting herself.

"If," she turned to the prince, looking at him gravely and even sadly, "if I read to you that time about the 'poor knight,' it was because I wanted ... to praise you for one thing, but at the same time I wanted to stigmatize you for your behavior and to show you that I know everything ..."

"You're very unfair to me . . . and to that unfortunate woman, of whom you just spoke so terribly, Aglaya."

"Because I know everything, everything, that's why I spoke like that! I know that, six months ago, you offered her your hand in front of everybody. Don't interrupt, you can see I'm speaking without commentaries. After that she ran away with Rogozhin; then you lived with her in some village or town, and she left you for

someone else." (Aglaya blushed terribly.) "Then she went back to Rogozhin, who loves her like . . . like a madman. Then you, who are also a very intelligent man, came galloping after her here, as soon as you learned she was back in Petersburg. Yesterday evening you rushed to her defense, and just now you saw her in a dream . . . You see, I know everything; isn't it for her, for her, that you came here?"

"Yes, for her," the prince replied softly, bowing his head sadly and pensively, and not suspecting with what flashing eyes Aglaya glanced at him, "for her, just to find out... I don't believe she can be happy with Rogozhin, though ... in short, I don't know what I could do for her here and how I could help, but I came."

He gave a start and looked at Aglaya; she was listening to him with hatred.

"If you came without knowing why, you must love her very much," she said at last.

"No," replied the prince, "no, I don't love her. Oh, if you knew with what horror I remember the time I spent with her!"

A shudder even went through his body at these words.

"Tell me everything," said Aglaya.

"There's nothing in it that you shouldn't hear. Why it is precisely you that I wanted to tell it to, and you alone—I don't know; maybe because I indeed loved you very much. This unfortunate woman is deeply convinced that she is the most fallen, the most depraved being in all the world. Oh, don't disgrace her, don't cast a stone. ²⁴She has tormented herself all too much with the awareness of her undeserved disgrace! And what is she guilty of, oh my God! Oh, in her frenzy she cries constantly that she does not acknowledge her guilt, that she is the victim of people, the victim of a debaucher and a villain; but whatever she tells you, know that she is the first not to believe it herself and that, on the contrary, she believes with all her conscience that she herself ... is the guilty one. When I tried to dispel this darkness, her suffering reached such a degree that my heart will never be healed as long as I remember that terrible time. It's as if my heart was pierced through forever. She ran away from me, and do you know why? Precisely to prove to me alone that she is base. But the most terrible thing here is that she herself may not have known that she wanted to prove it to me alone, but ran away because inwardly she felt she absolutely had to do something disgraceful, in order to tell herself then and there: 'So now you've committed some new disgrace, that means you're a

base creature!' Oh, perhaps you won't understand this, Aglaya! You know, there may be some terrible, unnatural pleasure for her in this constant awareness of disgrace, a sort of revenge on someone. Sometimes I managed to bring her to a point where she seemed to see light around her; but she would become indignant at once and go so far as to reproach me bitterly for putting myself far above her (when it never entered my mind), and she finally told me straight out, in response to my proposal of marriage, that she asked no one for supercilious compassion, or for help, or to be 'raised up to his level.' You saw her yesterday; do you really think she's happy with that company, that it's her kind of society? You don't know how developed she is and what she can understand! She even surprised me sometimes!"

"And did you also preach her such . . . sermons?"

"Oh, no," the prince went on pensively, not noticing the tone of the question, "I was silent most of the time. I often wanted to speak, but I really didn't know what to say. You know, on certain occasions it's better not to speak at all. Oh, I loved her; oh, I loved her very much . . . but then . . . then . . . then she guessed everything."

"What did she guess?"

"That I only pitied her and ... no longer loved her."

"How do you know, maybe she really fell in love with that . . . landowner she went off with?"

"No, I know everything; she only laughed at him."

"And did she ever laugh at you?"

"N-no. She laughed out of spite; oh, she reproached me terribly then, in anger—and suffered herself! But . . . then . . . oh, don't remind me, don't remind me of it!"

He covered his face with his hands.

"And do you know that she writes me letters almost every day?"

"So it's true!" the prince cried in anxiety. "I heard it, but I still didn't want to believe it."

"Who did you hear it from?" Aglaya roused herself fearfully.

"Rogozhin told me yesterday, only not quite clearly."

"Yesterday? Yesterday morning? When yesterday? Before the music or after?"

"After, in the evening, past eleven o'clock."

"Ahh, well, if it's Rogozhin . . . And do you know what she writes to me in those letters?"

"Nothing would surprise me; she's insane."

"Here are the letters" (Aglaya took from her pocket three letters

in three envelopes and threw them down in front of the prince). "For a whole week now she's been imploring, persuading, luring me into marrying you. She . . . ah, yes, she's intelligent, though she's insane, and you say rightly that she's much more intelligent than I am . . . she writes to me that she's in love with me, that every day she looks for a chance of seeing me at least from afar. She writes that you love me, that she knows it, that she noticed it long ago, and that you spoke with her about me there. She wants to see you happy; she's sure that only I can make you happy . . . She writes so wildly . . . strangely ... I haven't shown anyone these letters, I was waiting for you. Do you know what it means? Can you guess anything?"

"It's madness; it's proof that she's insane," said the prince, and his lips trembled.

"You're not crying, are you?"

"No, Aglaya, no, I'm not crying," the prince looked at her.

"What am I to do about it? What do you advise me? I cannot keep receiving these letters!"

"Oh, let her be, I implore you!" the prince cried. "What can you do in this darkness; I'll make every effort so that she doesn't write to you anymore."

"If so, then you're a man with no heart!" cried Aglaya. "Can't you see that it's not me she's in love with, but you, you alone that she loves! Can it be that you've managed to notice everything in her, but didn't notice that? Do you know what these letters mean? It's jealousy; it's more than jealousy! She ... do you think she'll really marry Rogozhin, as she writes here in these letters? She'll kill herself the very day after we get married!"

The prince gave a start; his heart sank. But he looked at Aglaya in surprise: it was strange for him to admit that this child had long been a woman.

"God knows, Aglaya, I'd give my life to bring back her peace and make her happy, but... I can't love her now, and she knows it!"

"Sacrifice yourself, then, it suits you so well! You're such a great benefactor. And don't call me Aglaya' . . . Earlier, too, you called me simply Aglaya' . . . You must resurrect her, it's your duty, you must go away with her again to pacify and soothe her heart. Anyway, you do love her!"

"I can't sacrifice myself like that, though I did want to once and . . . maybe still want to. But I know for certainthat she'll perish with me, and that's why I'm leaving her. I was to see her tonight

at seven o'clock; maybe I won't go now. In her pride she'll never forgive me my love—and we'll both perish! It's unnatural, but everything here is unnatural. You say she loves me, but is this love? Can there be such a love, after what I've already endured? No, there's something else here, but not love!"

"How pale you've grown!" Aglaya suddenly became alarmed.

"Never mind; I didn't sleep enough; I feel weak, I... we actually did talk about you then, Aglaya."

"So it's true? You really could talk with her about meand . . . and . how could you love me, if you'd seen me only once?"

"I don't know how. In my darkness then I dreamed . . . perhaps I thought I'd seen a new dawn. I don't know how it was that you were the first one I thought of. I wrote you the truth then, that I didn't know. It was all only a dream, from the horror of that time ... I began to study then; I wouldn't have come back here for three years . . ."

"So you came for her sake?"

And something trembled in Aglaya's voice.

"Yes, for her sake."

Two minutes of gloomy silence passed on both sides. Aglaya got up from her place.

"If you say," she began in an unsteady voice, "if you yourself believe that this . . . your woman ... is insane, then I have nothing to do with her insane fantasies ... I ask you, Lev Nikolaevich, to take these three letters and throw them at her from me! And if she dares," Aglaya suddenly cried, "if she dares once more to send me even a single line, tell her that I will complain to my father, and she will be taken to the madhouse . . ."

The prince jumped up and stared in alarm at Aglaya's sudden rage; and all at once it was as if a mist fell before him . . .

"You can't feel that way . . . it's not true!" he murmured.

"It is true! True!" Aglaya cried, almost forgetting herself.

"What is true? How is it true?" a frightened voice was heard close by.

Before them stood Lizaveta Prokofyevna.

"It's true that I'm going to marry Gavrila Ardalionovich! That I love Gavril Ardalionovich and am eloping from the house with him tomorrow!" Aglaya fell upon her. "Do you hear? Is your curiosity satisfied? Are you pleased?"