Текст книги "The Idiot"

Автор книги: Федор Достоевский

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"Well, that makes it opportune that I did not and do not invite you. Excuse me, Prince, but to clarify it all at once: since you and I have just concluded that there can be no talk between us of being related—though, naturally, I'd find it very flattering—it means that . . ."

"It means that I can get up and leave?" the prince rose slightly, laughing even somehow merrily, despite all the apparent embarrassment of his situation. "There, by God, General, though I have absolutely no practical knowledge either of local customs or of how people normally live here, things went with us just now as I thought they were certain to go. Well, maybe that's how it should be . . . And you also didn't answer my letter then . . . Well, good-bye and forgive me for bothering you."

The prince's gaze was so gentle at that moment, and his smile was so free of the least shade of any concealed hostility, that the

general suddenly stopped and somehow suddenly looked at his visitor in a different way; the whole change of view occurred in a single instant.

"But you know, Prince," he said in an almost totally different voice, "after all, I don't know you, and Elizaveta Prokofyevna might want to have a look at her namesake . . . Perhaps you'd like to wait, if your time will keep."

"Oh, my time will keep; my time is all my own" (and the prince immediately put his round, soft-brimmed hat on the table). "I confess, I counted on Elizaveta Prokofyevna maybe remembering that I had written to her. Your servant, when I was waiting for you earlier, suspected that I had come to beg from you out of poverty; I noticed it, and you must have given him strict instructions about that; but I really didn't come for that, I really came only so as to get to know people. Only I have a slight suspicion that I've disturbed you, and that troubles me."

"I'll tell you what, Prince," the general said with a cheerful smile, "if you are indeed the way you seem to be, it might very well be pleasant to become acquainted with you; only, you see, I'm a busy man and presently I'll sit down again to look something over and sign it, and then I'll go to see his highness, and then to my department, and the result is that though I'm glad to meet people ... I mean, good people . . . still. . . However, I'm so convinced of your perfect upbringing that . . . And how old are you, Prince?"

"Twenty-six."

"Hah! And I thought you were much younger."

"Yes, people say I have a youthful face. But I'll learn not to disturb you and figure it out quickly, because I myself don't like to disturb . . . And, finally, it seems to me that we're such different people, by the look of it... in many ways, that we perhaps cannot have many points in common, only, you know, I personally don't believe in that last notion, because it often only seems that there are no points in common, when there really are a lot ... it comes from people's laziness, that they sort themselves out by looks and can't find anything . . . But, anyhow, maybe I've begun to bore you? It's as if you . . ."

"A couple of words, sir: do you have some property at least? Or perhaps you intend to take something up? I apologize for being so . . ."

"Good heavens, I understand your question and appreciate it very much. So far I have no property, nor any occupation either,

and I should have, sir. And the money I now have isn't mine, it was given to me by Schneider, the professor who treated me and taught me in Switzerland, for the trip, and he gave me just enough, so that now, for instance, I have only a few kopecks left. I have one bit of business, it's true, and I'm in need of advice, but . . ."

"Tell me, how do you intend to subsist meanwhile, and what were your intentions?" the general interrupted.

"I wanted to do some sort of work."

"Oh, so you're a philosopher! But still . . . are you aware of having any talents, any abilities, at least of some sort, that could earn you your daily bread? Again, I apologize . . ."

"Oh, don't apologize. No, sir, I don't think I have any talents or special abilities; even the contrary, because I'm a sick man and have had no regular education. As for daily bread, it seems to me . . ."

The general interrupted again, and again began to ask questions. The prince told him once more all that has already been told. It turned out that the general had heard of the late Pavlishchev and had even known him personally. Why Pavlishchev had concerned himself with his upbringing, the prince himself was unable to explain—however, it might simply have been out of old friendship for his late father. The prince, at his parents' death, was left still a little child; all his life he lived and grew up in the country, since his health also called for village air. Pavlishchev entrusted him to some old lady landowners, his relations; first a governess was hired for him, then a tutor; he said, however, that though he remembered everything, he was hardly capable of giving a satisfactory account of it, because he had been unaware of many things. The frequent attacks of his illness had made almost an idiot of him (the prince actually said "idiot"). He told, finally, how one day in Berlin, Pavlishchev met Professor Schneider, a Swiss, who studied precisely such illnesses, had an institution in Switzerland, in canton Valais, used his own method of treatment by cold water and gymnastics, treated idiotism, insanity, also provided education, and generally attended to spiritual development; that Pavlishchev had sent him to Schneider in Switzerland about five years ago, and had died himself two years ago, suddenly, without making any arrangements; that Schneider had kept him and gone on with his treatment for another two years; that he had not cured him but had helped him very much; and that, finally, by his own wish and owing to a certain new circumstance, he had now sent him to Russia.

The general was very surprised.

"And you have no one in Russia, decidedly no one?" he asked.

"No one right now, but I hope . . . besides, I received a letter . . ."

"At least," the general interrupted, not hearing about the letter, "you have some sort of education, and your illness won't hinder you from occupying, for example, some undemanding post in some branch of the service?"

"Oh, certainly not. And concerning a post, I'd even like that very much, because I want to see for myself what I'm able to do. I studied constantly for four years, though not quite in a regular way but by his special system, and I also managed to read a great many Russian books."

"Russian books? So you're literate and can write without mistakes?"

"Oh, indeed I can."

"Splendid, sir. And your handwriting?"

"My handwriting is excellent. That's perhaps where my talent lies; I'm a real calligrapher. Let me write something for you now as a sample," the prince said warmly.

"Kindly do. And there's even a need for it . . . And I like this readiness of yours, Prince, you're really very nice."

"You have such fine handwriting accessories, and so many pencils, pens, such fine, thick paper . . . And it's such a fine office you have! I know that landscape, it's a view of Switzerland. I'm sure the artist painted it from nature, and I'm sure I've seen that spot: it's in canton Uri . . ."

"Quite possible, though I bought it here. Ganya, give the prince some paper; here are pens and paper, sit at this table, please. What's that?" the general turned to Ganya, who meanwhile had taken a large-format photographic portrait from his portfolio and handed it to him. "Bah! Nastasya Filippovna! She sent it to you herself, she herself?" he asked Ganya with animation and great curiosity.

"She gave it to me just now, when I came to wish her a happy birthday. I've been asking for a long time. I don't know, I'm not sure it's not a hint on her part about my coming empty-handed, without a present, on such a day," Ganya added, smiling unpleasantly.

"Ah, no," the general interrupted with conviction, "and really, what a turn of mind you've got! She wouldn't go hinting . . . and she's completely unmercenary. And besides, what kind of presents can you give: it's a matter of thousands here! Your portrait, maybe? And say, incidentally, has she asked you for your portrait yet?"

"No, she hasn't. And maybe she never will. You remember about this evening, of course, Ivan Fyodorovich? You're among those specially invited."

"I remember, I remember, of course, and I'll be there. What else, it's her birthday, she's twenty-five! Hm ... You know, Ganya– so be it—I'm going to reveal something to you, prepare yourself. She promised Afanasy Ivanovich and me that this evening at her place she will say the final word: whether it's to be or not to be! So now you know."

Ganya suddenly became so confused that he even turned slightly pale.

"Did she say it for certain?" he asked, and his voice seemed to quaver.

"She gave her word two days ago. We both badgered her so much that we forced her into it. Only she asked us not to tell you meanwhile."

The general peered intently at Ganya; he evidently did not like Ganya's confusion.

"Remember, Ivan Fyodorovich," Ganya said anxiously and hesitantly, "she gave me complete freedom of decision until she decides the matter herself, and even then what I say is still up to me . . ."

"So maybe you ... maybe you ..." The general suddenly became alarmed.

"Never mind me."

"Good heavens, what are you trying to do to us!"

"But I'm not backing out. Maybe I didn't put it right . . ."

"I'll say you're not backing out!" the general said vexedly, not even wishing to conceal his vexation. "Here, brother, it's not a matter of your notbacking out, but of the readiness, the pleasure, the joy with which you receive her words . . . How are things at home?"

"At home? At home everything's the way I want it to be, only my father plays the fool, as usual, but it's become completely outrageous; I no longer speak to him, but I keep him in an iron grip, and, in fact, if it weren't for my mother, I'd have shown him the door. My mother cries all the time, of course, my sister's angry, but I finally told them straight out that I'm the master of my fate and at home I want to be . . . obeyed. I spelled it all out to my sister anyway, in front of my mother."

"And I, brother, go on not understanding," the general observed pensively, heaving his shoulders slightly and spreading his arms a

little. "Nina Alexandrovna—remember when she came to us the other day? She moaned and sighed. 'What's the matter?' I ask. It comes out that there's supposedly some dishonorin it for them. Where's the dishonor, may I ask? Who can reproach Nastasya Filippovna with anything or point at anything in her? Is it that she was with Totsky? But that's such nonsense, especially considering certain circumstances! 'You wouldn't let her meet your daughters, would you?' she says. Well! So there! That's Nina Alexandrovna! I mean, how can she not understand it, how can she not understand ..."

"Her position?" Ganya prompted the faltering general. "She does understand it; don't be angry with her. Besides, I gave them a dressing-down then, so they wouldn't poke their noses into other people's business. And anyhow, so far things are holding together at home only because the final word hasn't been spoken; that's when the storm will break. If the final word is spoken tonight, then everything will be spoken."

The prince heard this whole conversation, sitting in the corner over his calligraphic sample. He finished, went up to the desk, and handed over his page.

"So this is Nastasya Filippovna?" he said, gazing at the portrait attentively and curiously. "Remarkably good-looking!" he warmly added at once. The portrait showed a woman of extraordinary beauty indeed. She had been photographed in a black silk dress of a very simple and graceful cut; her hair, apparently dark blond, was done simply, informally; her eyes were dark and deep, her forehead pensive; the expression of her face was passionate and as if haughty. Her face was somewhat thin, perhaps also pale . . . Ganya and the general looked at the prince in amazement . . .

"How's that? Nastasya Filippovna! So you already know Nastasya Filippovna?" asked the general.

"Yes, just one day in Russia and I already know such a great beauty," the prince answered and at once told them about his meeting with Rogozhin and recounted his whole story.

"Well, that's news!" The general, who had listened to the story with extreme attention, became alarmed again and glanced searchingly at Ganya.

"It's probably just outrageous talk," murmured Ganya, also somewhat bewildered. "A merchant boy's carousing. I've already heard something about him."

"So have I, brother," the general picked up. "Right after the earrings, Nastasya Filippovna told the whole anecdote. But now

it's a different matter. There may actually be a million sitting here and ... a passion, an ugly passion, if you like, but all the same it smacks of passion, and we know what these gentlemen are capable of when they're intoxicated! . . . Hm! . . . Some sort of anecdote may come of it!" the general concluded pensively.

"You're afraid of a million?" Ganya grinned.

"And you're not, of course?"

"How did it seem to you, Prince?" Ganya suddenly turned to him. "Is he a serious man or just a mischief maker? What's your personal opinion?"

Something peculiar took place in Ganya as he was asking this question. It was as if some new and peculiar idea lit up in his brain and glittered impatiently in his eyes. The general, who was genuinely and simple-heartedly worried, also glanced sidelong at the prince, but as if he did not expect much from his reply.

"I don't know, how shall I put it," replied the prince, "only it seemed to me there's a lot of passion in him, and even some sort of sick passion. And he seems to be quite sick himself. It's very possible he'll take to his bed again during his first days in Petersburg, especially if he goes on a spree."

"So? It seemed so to you?" the general latched on to this idea.

"Yes, it did."

"And, anyhow, that kind of anecdote needn't take several days. Something may turn up even today, this same evening," Ganya smiled to the general.

"Hm! . . . Of course ... So it may, and then it all depends on what flashes through her head," said the general.

"And you know how she can be sometimes?"

"How do you mean?" the general, who by now was extremely disturbed, heaved himself up. "Listen, Ganya, please don't contradict her too much tonight, and try, you know, to ... in short, to humor . . . Hm! . . . Why are you twisting your mouth like that? Listen, Gavrila Ardalionych, it would be opportune, even very opportune, to say now: what's all this fuss about? You see, concerning the profit that's in it for me, I've long been secure; one way or another I'll turn it to my benefit. Totsky's decision is firm, and so I, too, am completely assured. And therefore, if there's anything I wish for now, it's your benefit. Judge for yourself—or don't you trust me? Besides, you're a man ... a man ... in short, a man of intelligence, and I've been counting on you . . . and in the present case that is . . . that is . . ."

"That is the main thing," Ganya finished, again helping out the faltering general, and contorting his lips into a most venomous smile, which he no longer cared to hide. He fixed his inflamed gaze directly on the general's eyes, as if he even wished to read the whole of his thought in them. The general turned purple and flared up.

"Well, yes, intelligence is the main thing!" he agreed, looking sharply at Ganya. "And what a funny man you are, Gavrila Ardalionych! You seem to be glad, I notice, of that little merchant, as a way out for yourself. But here you precisely should have gone by intelligence from the very beginning; here precisely one must understand and . . . and act honestly and directly on both sides, or else . . . give a warning beforehand, so as not to compromise others, the more so as there's been plenty of time for that, and even now there's still plenty of time" (the general raised his eyebrows meaningfully), "though there are only a few hours left . . . Do you understand? Do you? Are you willing or are you not, in fact? If you're not, say so and—you're welcome. Nobody's holding you, Gavrila Ardalionych, nobody's dragging you into a trap by force, if you do see this as a trap."

"I'm willing," Ganya said in a low but firm voice, dropped his eyes, and fell gloomily silent.

The general was satisfied. The general had lost his temper, but now apparently regretted having gone so far. He suddenly turned to the prince, and the uneasy thought that the prince was right there and had heard them seemed to pass over his face. But he instantly felt reassured: one glance at the prince was enough for him to be fully reassured.

"Oho!" cried the general, looking at the calligraphy sample the prince presented. "That's a model hand! And a rare one, too! Look here, Ganya, what talent!"

On the thick sheet of vellum the prince had written a phrase in medieval Russian script:

"The humble hegumen Pafnuty here sets his hand to it."

"This," the prince explained with great pleasure and animation, "this is the actual signature of the hegumen Pafnuty, copied from a fourteenth-century manuscript. They had superb signatures, all those old Russian hegumens and metropolitans, and sometimes so tasteful, so careful! Can it be you don't have Pogodin's book, ¹⁶General? Then here I've written in a different script: it's the big, round French script of the last century; some letters are even written

differently; it's a marketplace script, a public scrivener's script, borrowed from their samples (I had one)—you must agree, it's not without virtue. Look at these round d's and a's. I've transposed the French characters into Russian letters, which is very difficult, but it came out well. Here's another beautiful and original script, this phrase here: 'Zeal overcometh all.' ¹⁷This is a Russian script—a scrivener's, or military scrivener's, if you wish. It's an example of an official address to an important person, also a rounded script, nice and black,the writing is black, but remarkably tasteful. A calligrapher wouldn't have permitted these flourishes, or, better to say, these attempts at flourishes, these unfinished half-tails here—you notice—but on the whole, you see, it adds up to character, and, really, the whole military scrivener's soul is peeking out of it: he'd like to break loose, his talent yearns for it, but his military collar is tightly hooked, and discipline shows in the writing—lovely! I was recently struck by a sample of it I found—and where? in Switzerland! Now, here is a simple, ordinary English script of the purest sort: elegance can go no further, everything here is lovely, a jewel, a pearl; this is perfection; but here is a variation, again a French one, I borrowed it from a French traveling salesman: this is the same English script, but the black line is slightly blacker and thicker than in the English, and see—the proportion of light is violated; and notice also that the ovals are altered, they're slightly rounder, and what's more, flourishes are permitted, and a flourish is a most dangerous thing! A flourish calls for extraordinary taste; but if it succeeds, if the right proportion is found, a script like this is incomparable, you can even fall in love with it."

"Oho! What subtleties you go into!" the general laughed. "You're not simply a calligrapher, my dear fellow, you're an artist—eh, Ganya?"

"Astonishing," said Ganya, "and even with a consciousness of his purpose," he added with a mocking laugh.

"You may laugh, you may laugh, but there's a career here," said the general. "Do you know, Prince, which person we'll have you write documents to? I could offer you thirty-five roubles a month straight off, from the first step. However, it's already half-past twelve," he concluded, glancing at the clock. "To business, Prince, because I must hurry and we probably won't meet again today! Sit down for a moment. I've already explained to you that I cannot receive you very often; but I sincerely wish to help you a bit, only a bit, naturally, that is, with regard to the most necessary, and for

the rest it will be as you please. I'll find you a little post in the chancellery, not a difficult one, but requiring accuracy. Now, as concerns other things, sir: in the home, that is, in the family of Gavrila Ardalionych Ivolgin, this young friend of mine here, whose acquaintance I beg you to make, there are two or three furnished rooms which his mother and sister have vacated and rent out to highly recommended lodgers, with board and maid services. I'm sure Nina Alexandrovna will accept my recommendation. And for you, Prince, this is even more than a find, first, because you won't be alone, but, so to speak, in the bosom of a family, and, as far as I can see, it's impossible for you to take your first steps on your own in a capital like Petersburg. Nina Alexandrovna, Gavrila Ardalionych's mother, and Varvara Ardalionovna, his sister, are ladies whom I respect exceedingly. Nina Alexandrovna is the wife of Ardalion Alexandrovich, a retired general, my former comrade from when I entered the service, but with whom, owing to certain circumstances, I have ceased all contact, though that does not prevent my having a sort of respect for him. I'm explaining all this to you, Prince, so that you will understand that I am, so to speak, recommending you personally, consequently it's as if I'm vouching for you. The rent is the most moderate, and soon enough, I hope, your salary will be quite sufficient for that. True, a man also needs pocket money, at least a small amount, but you won't be angry, Prince, if I point out to you that it would be better for you to avoid pocket money and generally carrying money in your pocket. I say it just from looking at you. But since your purse is quite empty now, allow me to offer you these twenty-five roubles to begin with. We'll settle accounts, of course, and if you're as candid and genuine a man as your words make you seem, there can be no difficulties between us. And if I take such an interest in you, it's because I even have some intention concerning you; you'll learn what it is later. You see, I'm being quite plain with you. Ganya, I hope you have nothing against putting the prince up in your apartment?"

"Oh, on the contrary! And my mother will be very glad ..." Ganya confirmed politely and obligingly.

"I believe only one of your rooms is taken. That—what's his name—Ferd . . . Fer . . ."

"Ferdyshchenko."

"Ah, yes. I don't like this Ferdyshchenko of yours: some sort of salacious buffoon. I don't understand why Nastasya Filippovna encourages him so. Is he really related to her?"

"Oh, no, it's all a joke! There's not a whiff of a relation."

"Well, devil take him! So, how about it, Prince, are you pleased or not?"

"Thank you, General, you have acted as an extremely kind man towards me, especially as I didn't even ask—I don't say it out of pride; I didn't know where to lay my head. Though, it's true, Rogozhin invited me earlier."

"Rogozhin? Ah, no. I'd advise you in a fatherly, or, if you prefer, a friendly way to forget about Mr. Rogozhin. And in general I'd advise you to keep to the family you're going to be with."

"Since you're so kind," the prince tried to begin, "I have one bit of business here. I've received notification . . ."

"Well, forgive me," the general interrupted, "but right now I don't have a minute more. I'll tell Lizaveta Prokofyevna about you at once: if she wishes to receive you now (and I'll try to recommend you with a view to that), I advise you to make use of the opportunity and please her, because Lizaveta Prokofyevna may be of great use to you; you're her namesake. If she doesn't wish to, don't take it badly, she will some other time. And you, Ganya, look over these accounts meanwhile; Fedoseev and I already tried earlier. We mustn't forget to include them ..."

The general went out, and so the prince had no time to ask about his business, which he had tried to bring up for perhaps the fourth time. Ganya lit a cigarette and offered one to the prince; the prince accepted, but did not start a conversation, not wishing to interfere, but began looking around the office; but Ganya barely glanced at the sheet of paper all covered with figures that the general had indicated to him. He was distracted: in the prince's view, Ganya's smile, gaze, and pensiveness became more strained when they were left alone. Suddenly he went up to the prince; at that moment he was again standing over the portrait of Nastasya Filippovna and studying it.

"So you like such a woman, Prince?" he asked him suddenly, giving him a piercing look. And it was as if he had some exceptional intention.

"An astonishing face!" replied the prince. "And I'm convinced that her fate is no ordinary one. It's a gay face, but she has suffered terribly, eh? It speaks in her eyes, these two little bones, the two points under her eyes where the cheeks begin. It's a proud face, terribly proud, and I don't know whether she's kind or not. Ah, if only she were kind! Everything would be saved!"

"And would youmarry such a woman?" Ganya continued, not taking his inflamed eyes off him.

"I can't marry anybody, I'm unwell," said the prince.

"And would Rogozhin marry her? What do you think?"

"Why, I think he might marry her tomorrow. He'd marry her, and a week later he might well put a knife in her."

He had no sooner uttered these words than Ganya suddenly gave such a start that the prince almost cried out.

"What's wrong?" he said, seizing his arm.

"Your Highness! His excellency asks that you kindly come to her excellency's rooms," the lackey announced, appearing in the doorway. The prince followed the lackey out.

IV

All three Epanchin girls were healthy young ladies, tall, blossoming, with astonishing shoulders, powerful bosoms, strong, almost masculine arms, and, of course, owing to their strength and health, they liked to eat well on occasion, something they had no wish to conceal. Their mama, Lizaveta Prokofyevna, sometimes looked askance at the frankness of their appetite, but since some of her opinions, despite all the external deference with which her daughters received them, had in fact long lost their original and unquestionable authority among them, so much so that the harmonious conclave established by the three girls was beginning to gain the upper hand on most occasions, the general's wife, mindful of her own dignity, found it more convenient not to argue but to yield. True, her character quite often did not heed and obey the decisions of her good sense; with every year Lizaveta Prokofyevna was becoming more and more capricious and impatient, she was even becoming somehow eccentric, but since in any case a submissive and well-trained husband remained at hand, all superfluous and accumulated things usually poured down on his head, and then the family harmony was restored again and everything went better than ever.

The general's wife herself, however, never lost her own good appetite, and at half-past twelve usually partook, together with her daughters, of a copious lunch, which more resembled a dinner. Earlier, at exactly ten o'clock, while still in bed, at the moment of waking up, the young ladies had a cup of coffee. That was how

they liked it and how it had always been arranged. At half-past twelve the table was laid in the small dining room, near the mother's rooms, and occasionally the general himself, time permitting, joined them at this intimate family lunch. Besides tea, coffee, cheese, honey, butter, the special pancakes the lady herself was particularly fond of, the cutlets, and so on, they were even served a strong, hot bouillon. On the morning when our story begins, the whole family was gathered in the dining room in expectation of the general, who had promised to come by half-past twelve. If he had been even a minute late, he would have been sent for at once; but he arrived punctually. Going over to greet his spouse and kiss her hand, he noticed this time something all too peculiar in her face. And though he had anticipated even the day before that it would be precisely so, on account of a certain "anecdote" (as he was accustomed to put it), and had worried about it while falling asleep the previous night, all the same he now turned coward again. His daughters came up to kiss him; here there was no anger against him, but here, too, all the same there was also something peculiar, as it were. True, the general, owing to certain circumstances, had become overly suspicious; but as he was an experienced and adroit father and husband, he at once took his measures.

Perhaps we will do no great harm to the vividness of our narrative if we stop here and resort to the aid of a few clarifications in order to establish directly and more precisely the relations and circumstances in which we find General Epanchin's family at the beginning of our story. We said just now that the general, though not a very educated but, on the contrary, as he himself put it, a "self-taught man," was nevertheless an experienced husband and adroit father. Among other things, he had adopted a system of not rushing his daughters into marriage, that is, of not "hovering over" them and bothering them too much with his parental love's longing for their happiness, as involuntarily and naturally happens all the time, even in the most intelligent families, where grown-up daughters accumulate. He even succeeded in winning Lizaveta Prokofyevna over to his system, though that was normally a difficult thing to do—difficult because it was also unnatural; but the general's arguments were extremely weighty and based on tangible facts. Besides, left entirely to their own wishes and decisions, the brides would naturally be forced to see reason at last, and then things would take off, because they would do it eagerly, casting aside their caprices and excessive choosiness; all the parents would have to do