Текст книги "The Idiot"

Автор книги: Федор Достоевский

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 45 (всего у книги 51 страниц)

He kept trying to get up from his chair, but the little old man kept holding him back, looking at him, however, with growing uneasiness.

"Listen! I know that talking is wrong: it's better simply to set an example, better simply to begin ... I have already begun . . . and—and is it really possible to be unhappy? Oh, what are my grief and my trouble, if I am able to be happy? You know, I don't understand how it's possible to pass by a tree and not be happy to see it. To talk with a man and not be happy that you love him! Oh, I only don't know how to say it . . . but there are so many things at every step that are so beautiful, that even the most confused person finds beautiful. Look at a child, look at God's sunrise, look at the grass growing, look into the eyes that are looking at you and love you . . ."

He had long been standing, speaking. The little old man now looked at him fearfully. Lizaveta Prokofyevna cried: "Oh, my God!"

realizing before anyone else, and clasped her hands. Aglaya quickly rushed to him, had time to receive him into her arms, and with horror, her face distorted by pain, heard the wild shout of the "spirit that convulsed and dashed down" ⁴¹the unfortunate man. The sick man lay on the carpet. Someone managed quickly to put a pillow under his head.

No one had expected this. A quarter of an hour later Prince N., Evgeny Pavlovich, and the little old man tried to revive the party, but in another half an hour everybody had gone. There were many words of sympathy uttered, many laments, a few opinions. Ivan Petrovich, among other things, declared that "the young man is a Slav-o-phile, ⁴²or something of the sort, but anyhow it's not dangerous." The little old man did not come out with anything. True, afterwards, for the next couple of days, everyone was a bit cross; Ivan Petrovich was even offended, but not greatly. The general-superior was somewhat cold to Ivan Fyodorovich for a while. The "patron" of the family, the dignitary, for his part, also mumbled some admonition to the father of the family, and said flatteringly that he was very, very interested in Aglaya's fate. He was in fact a rather kind man; but among the reasons for his curiosity about the prince, in the course of the evening, had also been the old story between the prince and Nastasya Filippovna; he had heard something about this story and was even very interested; he would even have liked to ask about it.

Belokonsky, on leaving the party, said to Lizaveta Prokofyevna:

"Well, he's both good and bad; and if you want to know my opinion, he's more bad. You can see for yourself what sort of man– a sick man!"

Lizaveta Prokofyevna decided definitively to herself that the fiancé was "impossible," and promised herself during the night that "as long as she lived, the prince was not going to be Aglaya's husband." With that she got up in the morning. But that same day, between noon and one, at lunch, she fell into surprising contradiction with herself.

To one question, though an extremely cautious one, from her sisters, Aglaya suddenly answered coldly but haughtily, as if cutting them off:

"I've never given him any sort of promise, and never in my life considered him my fiancé. He's as much a stranger to me as anyone else."

Lizaveta Prokofyevna suddenly flared up.

"That I did not expect of you," she said bitterly. "As a fiancé he's impossible, I know, and thank God it all worked out this way; but I did not expect such words from you! I thought there would be something else from you. I'd throw out all those people from yesterday and keep him, that's what kind of man he is! . . ."

Here she suddenly stopped, frightened herself at what she had said. But if she had known how unjust she was being at that moment towards her daughter? Everything was already decided in Aglaya's head; she was also waiting for her hour, which was to decide everything, and every hint, every careless touch made a deep wound in her heart.

VIII

For the prince, too, that morning began under the influence of painful forebodings; they might have been explained by his sickly condition, but he was too indefinitely sad, and that was the most tormenting thing for him. True, the facts stood before him, vivid, painful, and biting, but his sadness went beyond anything he recalled and realized; he understood that he could not calm down by himself. The expectation gradually took root in him that something special and definitive was going to happen to him that same day. His fit of the evening before had been a mild one; besides hypochondria, some heaviness in the head and pain in his limbs, he did not feel upset in any other way. His head worked quite distinctly, though his soul was sick. He got up rather late and at once clearly recalled the previous evening; though not quite distinctly, he recalled all the same that about half an hour after the fit he had been brought home. He learned that a messenger had already come from the Epanchins to inquire after his health. Another came at half-past eleven; this pleased him. Vera Lebedev was one of the first who came to visit him and look after him. The moment she saw him, she suddenly burst into tears, but the prince at once calmed her down, and she laughed. He was somehow suddenly struck by the strong compassion this girl felt for him; he seized her hand and kissed it. Vera blushed.

"Ah, don't, don't!" she exclaimed in fear, quickly pulling her hand away.

She soon left in some strange embarrassment. Among other things, she had time to tell him that that morning, at daybreak, her

father had gone running to "the deceased," as he called the general, to find out whether or not he had died in the night, and had heard it said that he would probably die soon. Towards noon Lebedev himself came home and called on the prince, but, essentially, "just for a moment, to inquire after his precious health," and so on, and, besides that, to pay a visit to the "little cupboard." He did nothing but "oh" and "ah," and the prince quickly dismissed him, but all the same the man tried to ask questions about yesterday's fit, though it was obvious that he already knew about it in detail. Kolya stopped to see him, also for a moment; this one was indeed in a hurry and in great and dark anxiety. He began by asking the prince, directly and insistently, to explain everything that had been concealed from him, adding that he had already learned almost everything yesterday. He was strongly and deeply shaken.

With all the possible sympathy that he was capable of, the prince recounted the whole affair, restoring the facts with full exactitude, and he struck the poor boy as if with a thunderbolt. He could not utter a word, and wept silently. The prince sensed that this was one of those impressions that remain forever and mark a permanent break in a young man's life. He hastened to tell him his own view of the affair, adding that in his opinion the old man's death had been caused, mainly, by the horror that remained in his heart after his misdeed, and that not everyone was capable of that. Kolya's eyes flashed as he heard the prince out.

"Worthless Ganka, and Varya, and Ptitsyn! I'm not going to quarrel with them, but our paths are different from this moment on! Ah, Prince, since yesterday I've felt so much that's new; it's a lesson for me! I also consider my mother as directly on my hands now; though she's provided for at Varya's, it's all not right . . ."

He jumped up, remembering that he was expected, hurriedly asked about the state of the prince's health and, having heard the answer, suddenly added hastily:

"Is there anything else? I heard yesterday . . . (though I have no right), but if you ever need a faithful servant in anything, he's here before you. It seems neither of us is entirely happy, isn't it so? But . . . I'm not asking, I'm not asking . . ."

He left, and the prince began to ponder still more deeply: everyone was prophesying unhappiness, everyone had already drawn conclusions, everyone looked as if they knew something, and something that he did not know; Lebedev asks questions, Kolya hints outright, and Vera weeps. At last he waved his hand in vexation:

"Cursed, morbid insecurity," he thought. His face brightened when, past one o'clock, he saw the Epanchins coming to call on him "for a moment." They indeed dropped in for a moment. Lizaveta Prokofyevna, getting up from lunch, announced that they were all going for a walk right then and together. The information was given in the form of an order, abruptly, drily, without explanations. They all went out—that is, mama, the girls, and Prince Shch. Lizaveta Prokofyevna went straight in the opposite direction from the one they took every day. They all understood what it meant, and they all kept silent, fearing to annoy the mother, while she, as if to shelter herself from reproaches and objections, walked ahead of them all without looking back. Finally Adelaida observed that there was no need to run like that during a stroll and that there was no keeping up with mother.

"I tell you what," Lizaveta Prokofyevna suddenly turned around, "we're now passing his house. Whatever Aglaya may think and whatever may happen afterwards, he's not a stranger to us, and now on top of it he's unhappy and sick; I at least will stop and see him. Whoever wants to come with me can come, whoever doesn't can walk past; the way is clear."

They all went in, of course. The prince, as was proper, hastened once again to apologize for yesterday's vase and . . . the scandal.

"Well, never mind that," replied Lizaveta Prokofyevna, "we're not sorry for the vase, we're sorry for you. So you yourself now realize that there was a scandal: that's what 'the morning after . . .' means, but never mind that either, because everyone can see now that you're not answerable for anything. Well, good-bye, anyhow; if you're strong enough, go for a walk and then sleep again—that's my advice. And if you think of it, come and see us as formerly; rest assured, once and for all, that whatever happens, whatever may come, you'll still remain a friend of our house: of mine at least. I can at least answer for myself . . ."

They all responded to the challenge and confirmed the mother's feelings. They left, but this simple-hearted haste to say something affectionate and encouraging concealed much that was cruel, of which Lizaveta Prokofyevna was unaware. In the invitation to come "as formerly" and in the words "of mine at least" again something ominous sounded. The prince began to remember Aglaya; true, she had smiled wonderfully at him as she came in and as she left, but she had not said a word, even when they had all expressed their assurances of friendship, though she had looked

at him intently a couple of times. Her face had been paler than usual, as if she had slept badly that night. The prince decided that he would certainly go to them that evening "as formerly," and he glanced feverishly at his watch. Vera came in exactly three minutes after the Epanchins left.

"Lev Nikolaevich, Aglaya Ivanovna has just given me a little word for you in secret." The prince simply trembled. "A note?"

"No, verbally; she barely had time. She asks you very much not to leave your house all day today, not for a single moment, till seven o'clock in the evening, or even till nine, I didn't quite hear." "But . . . what for? What does it mean?"

"I don't know anything about that; only she asked me to tell you firmly."

"She said 'firmly'?"

"No, sir, she didn't say it straight out: she barely had time to turn around and tell me, once I ran up to her myself. But firmly or not, I could see by her face that it was an order. She looked at me with such eyes that my heart stopped . . ."

A few more questions and the prince, though he learned nothing further, instead became still more anxious. Left alone, he lay on the sofa and again began to think. "Maybe someone will be there till nine o'clock, and she's afraid for me again, that I might act up again in front of the guests," he thought up finally and again began waiting impatiently for evening and looking at his watch. But the answer to the riddle came long before evening and also in the form of a new visit, an answer in the form of a new, tormenting riddle: exactly half an hour after the Epanchins left, Ippolit came in, so tired and worn out that, on coming in, and without saying a word, he literally collapsed into an armchair, as if unconscious, and instantly broke into an unbearable fit of coughing. In the end he coughed up blood. His eyes glittered and red spots glowed on his cheeks. The prince murmured something to him, but he did not answer and for a long time, without answering, only waved his hand, so as not to be bothered meanwhile. Finally he recovered.

"I'm leaving!" he finally forced himself to say in a hoarse voice.

"If you like, I'll see you off," said the prince, getting up from his place, and he stopped short, remembering the recent ban on leaving the house.

Ippolit laughed.

"I'm not leaving you," he went on with an incessant choking and gurgling. "On the contrary, I've found it necessary to come to you, and on business . . . otherwise I wouldn't bother you. I'm leaving there,and this time, it seems, seriously. Kaput! I'm not asking for commiseration, believe me ... I already lay down today, at ten o'clock, so as not to get up at all till thattime comes, but I changed my mind and got up once more to come to you . . . which means I had to."

"It's a pity to look at you; you'd have done better to send for me than to trouble yourself."

"Well, enough of that. So you've pitied me, and that's enough for social civility . . . Ah, I forgot: how is your own health?"

"I'm well. Yesterday I was . . . not very . . ."

"I heard, I heard. The Chinese vase got it; a pity I wasn't there! I've come on business. First, today I had the pleasure of seeing Gavrila Ardalionovich meeting with Aglaya Ivanovna by the green bench. I marveled at how stupid a man can look. I observed as much to Aglaya Ivanovna herself, after Gavrila Ardalionovich left ... It seems you're surprised at nothing, Prince," he added, looking mistrustfully at the prince's calm face. "To be surprised at nothing, they say, is a sign of great intelligence; in my opinion, it might serve equally as a sign of great stupidity . . . However, I'm not alluding to you, forgive me . . . I'm very unlucky with my expressions today."

"I knew yesterday that Gavrila Ardalionovich . . ." the prince broke off, clearly embarrassed, though Ippolit was vexed that he was not surprised.

"You knew! That's news! But anyhow, kindly don't tell me about it . . . And mightn't you have been a witness to today's meeting?"

"You saw I wasn't, since you were there yourself."

"Well, maybe you were sitting behind a bush somewhere. However, I'm glad in any case, for you, naturally, because I was already thinking that Gavrila Ardalionovich was the favorite!"

"I ask you not to speak of it with me in such expressions, Ippolit!"

"The more so as you already know everything."

"You're mistaken. I know almost nothing, and Aglaya Ivanovna surely knows that I know nothing. Even of this meeting I knew exactly nothing . . . You say there was a meeting? Well, all right, let's drop it . . ."

"But how is it, first you know, then you don't know? You say 'all right, let's drop it'? No, don't be so trustful! Especially if you don't

know anything. You're trustful because you don't know. And do you know what these two persons, this nice little brother and sister, are calculating? Maybe you do suspect that? . . . All right, all right, I'll drop it . . ." he added, noticing the prince's impatient gesture. "But I've come on my own business and about that I want to . . . explain myself. Devil take it, it's simply impossible to die without explanations; I do an awful lot of explaining. Do you want to listen?"

"Speak, I'm listening."

"But anyhow, I've changed my mind again: I'll begin with Ganechka all the same. If you can imagine it, I, too, had an appointment at the green bench today. However, I don't want to lie: I insisted on the meeting myself, I invited myself and promised to reveal a secret. I don't know, maybe I came too early (it seems I actually did come early), but as soon as I took my place beside Aglaya Ivanovna, lo and behold, Gavrila Ardalionovich and Varvara Ardalionovna showed up, arm in arm, as if out for a stroll. It seems they were both very struck when they saw me; it wasn't what they were expecting, they even became embarrassed. Aglaya Ivanovna blushed and, believe it or not, was even a bit at a loss, either because I was there, or simply seeing Gavrila Ardalionovich, because he's so good-looking, but she just blushed all over and ended the business in a second, very amusingly: she stood up, responded to Gavrila Ardalionovich's bow and to the ingratiating smile of Varvara Ardalionovna, and suddenly snapped: 'I've invited you only in order to express my personal pleasure at your sincere and friendly feelings, and if I ever have need of them, believe me . . .' Here she made her bows, and the two of them left—feeling like fools, or else triumphant, I don't know; Ganechka, of course, felt like a fool; he didn't understand anything and turned red as a lobster (he sometimes has an extraordinary expression!), but Varvara Ardalionovna, I think, realized that they had to clear out quickly, and that this was more than enough from Aglaya Ivanovna, and she dragged her brother away. She's smarter than he is and, I'm sure, feels triumphant now. As for me, I came to talk with Aglaya Ivanovna, in order to arrange her meeting with Nastasya Filippovna."

"With Nastasya Filippovna!" cried the prince.

"Aha! It seems you're losing your cool-headedness and beginning to be surprised? I'm very glad you want to resemble a human being. For that I'm going to amuse you. This is what it means to be of

service to young and high-minded ladies: today I got a slap in the face from her!"

"A m-moral one?" the prince asked somehow involuntarily.

"Yes, not a physical one. I don't think anybody's going to raise his hand now against someone like me; even a woman wouldn't hit me now; even Ganechka wouldn't! Though there was a moment yesterday when I thought he was going to leap at me . . . I'll bet I know what you're thinking now. You're thinking: 'Granted he shouldn't be beaten, but he could be smothered with a pillow or a wet rag in his sleep—he even ought to be . . .' It's written all over your face that you're thinking that at this very second."

"I never thought that!" the prince said with repugnance.

"I don't know, last night I dreamed that I was smothered with a wet rag ... by a certain man . . . well, I'll tell you who: imagine– Rogozhin! What do you think, is it possible to smother a man with a wet rag?"

"I don't know."

"I've heard it is. All right, let's drop it. So, what makes me a gossip? What made her call me a gossip today? And, please note, once she had already heard everything to the last little word and had even asked questions . . . But women are like that! It was for her that I got into relations with Rogozhin, an interesting man; it was in her interest that I arranged a personal meeting for her with Nastasya Filippovna. Was it because I wounded her vanity by hinting that she was glad of Nastasya Filippovna's 'leavings'? But it was in her own interest that I explained it to her all the time, I don't deny it, I wrote two letters in that line, and today a third about our meeting . . . This is what I started with, that it was humiliating on her side ... And besides, that phrase about 'leavings' isn't mine, in fact, but somebody else's; at least everybody was saying it at Ganechka's; and she herself repeated it. Well, so what makes me a gossip for her? I see, I see: you find it terribly funny now to look at me, and I'll bet you're trying to fit those stupid verses to me:

And perhaps a parting smile of love will shine Upon the sad sunset of my decline. ⁴³

Ha, ha, ha!" he suddenly dissolved in hysterical laughter and began to cough. "Please note," he croaked through his coughing, "about our Ganechka: he goes talking about 'leavings,' and now look what he wants to make use of!"

The prince said nothing for a long time; he was horrified.

"You mentioned a meeting with Nastasya Filippovna?" he murmured at last.

"Eh, but can you really and truly not know that there will be a meeting today between Aglaya Ivanovna and Nastasya Filippovna, for which Nastasya Filippovna has been summoned purposely from Petersburg, through Rogozhin, at Aglaya Ivanovna's invitation and by my efforts, and is now staying, together with Rogozhin, not very far from you, in her former house, with that lady, Darya Alexeevna ... a very ambiguous lady, her friend, and it's there, to that ambiguous house, that Aglaya Ivanovna will go today for a friendly conversation with Nastasya Filippovna and for the solving of various problems. They want to do some arithmetic. You didn't know? Word of honor?"

"That's incredible!"

"Well, all right, so it's incredible; anyhow, where could you find out from? Though here a fly flies by and everybody knows: it's that kind of little place! I've warned you, however, and you can be grateful to me. Well, good-bye—see you in the other world, most likely. And here's another thing: even though I acted meanly towards you, because . . . why should I lose what's mine, kindly tell me? For your benefit, or what? I dedicated my 'Confession' to her (you didn't know that?). Yes, and how she accepted it! Heh, heh! But I've never behaved meanly towards her, I'm not guilty of anything before her; it was she who disgraced me and let me down . . . And, incidentally, I'm not guilty of anything before you either; if I did make mention of those 'leavings' and all the rest in the same sense, to make up for it I'm now telling you the day, and the hour, and the address of the meeting, and revealing this whole game to you . . . out of vexation, naturally, and not out of magnanimity. Good-bye, I'm talkative, like a stammerer or a consumptive; watch out, take measures, and quickly, if you're worthy to be called a human being. The meeting is this evening, that's certain."

Ippolit went to the door, but the prince called out to him, and he stopped in the doorway.

"So, Aglaya Ivanovna, in your opinion, will go herself this evening to see Nastasya Filippovna?" the prince asked. Red spots appeared on his cheeks and forehead.

"I don't know exactly, but probably so," Ippolit answered, glancing over his shoulder. "And anyhow it can't be otherwise. Can Nastasya Filippovna go to her? And not to Ganechka's

either; he's almost got himself a dead man there. That general's something, eh?"

"It's impossible for that alone!" the prince picked up. "How could she leave, even if she wanted to? You don't know . . . the ways of that house: she can't leave by herself and go to see Nastasya Filippovna; it's nonsense!"

"You see, Prince: nobody jumps out of windows, but if the house is on fire, then the foremost gentleman and the foremost lady might up and jump out of the window. If the need comes along, there's no help for it, our young lady will go to Nastasya Filippovna. Don't they let them go out anywhere, those young ladies?"

"No, that's not what I . . ."

"If it's not that, then she only has to go down the front steps and walk straight off, and then she may not even come back. There are occasions when one may burn one's boats, and one may even not come back: life doesn't consist only of lunches and dinners and Princes Shch. It seems to me that you take Aglaya Ivanovna for some sort of young lady or boarding-school girl; I talked to her about that; it seems she agreed. Expect it at seven or eight ... If I were you, I'd send somebody to keep watch there, to catch the moment when she goes down the front steps. Well, you could even send Kolya; he'd be very pleased to do some spying, rest assured– for you, that is . . . because everything's relative . . . Ha, ha!"

Ippolit left. The prince had no cause to ask anyone to spy, even if he were capable of it. Aglaya's order to stay at home was now almost explained: perhaps she wanted to take him along. True, it might be that she precisely did not want him to end up there, and that was why she told him to stay home . . . That, too, could be. His head was spinning; the whole room whirled around. He lay down on the sofa and closed his eyes.

One way or the other, the matter was decisive, definitive. No, the prince did not consider Aglaya a young lady or a boarding-school girl; he felt now that he had long been afraid, and precisely of something like this; but why did she need to see her? A chill ran through his whole body; again he was in a fever.

No, he did not consider her a child! Lately, certain of her looks, certain of her words had horrified him. Sometimes it had seemed to him as if she was restraining herself, holding herself back too much, and he remembered that this had frightened him. True, for all those days he had tried not to think of it, had driven the painful thoughts away, but what was hidden in that soul? This question

had long tormented him, though he trusted in that soul. And here it all had to be resolved and revealed today. A terrible thought! And again—"that woman!" Why had it always seemed to him that that woman would appear precisely at the very last minute and snap his whole destiny like a rotten thread? He was ready to swear now that it had always seemed so to him, though he was almost semidelirious. If he had tried to forget about herlately, it was solely because he was afraid of her. What then: did he love that woman or hate her? That question he had never once asked himself today; here his heart was pure: he knew whom he loved . . . He was afraid, not so much of the meeting of the two women, not of the strangeness, not of the reason for the meeting, which he did not know, not of its outcome, whatever it might be—he was afraid of Nastasya Filippovna herself. He remembered afterwards, a few days later, that almost all the time during those feverish hours he pictured to himself her eyes, her gaze, heard her words—some sort of strange words, though little stayed in his memory after those feverish and anguished hours. He barely remembered, for instance, how Vera brought him dinner and he ate it; he did not remember whether he slept after dinner or not. He knew only that he began to make everything out clearly that evening only from the moment when Aglaya suddenly came to his terrace and he jumped up from the sofa and went to meet her in the middle of the room: it was a quarter past seven. Aglaya was quite alone, dressed simply and as if in haste in a light cloak. Her face was as pale as in the morning, and her eyes flashed with a bright, dry glint; he had never known her to have such an expression of the eyes. She looked him over attentively.

"You're all ready," she observed softly and as if calmly, "you're dressed and have your hat in your hand; that means someone warned you, and I know who: Ippolit?"

"Yes, he told me . . ." the prince murmured, nearly half dead.

"Let's go, then: you know that you absolutely must accompany me. I suppose you're strong enough to go out?"

"Yes, I am, but . . . can this be possible?"

He broke off after a moment and could not utter anything more. This was his only attempt to stop the crazy girl, and after that he followed her like a slave. However clouded his thoughts were, he still understood that she would go thereeven without him, and therefore he had to follow her in any case. He guessed the strength of her resolve; it was not for him to stop this wild impulse. They

walked in silence, hardly saying a single word all the way. He only noticed that she knew the way well, and when he wanted to make a detour through a further lane, because the way was more deserted there, and he suggested it to her, she listened as if straining her attention, and answered curtly: "It makes no difference!" When they had almost come right up to Darya Alexeevna's house (a large and old wooden house), a magnificent lady and a young girl were stepping off the porch; laughing and talking loudly, the two got into a splendid carriage that was waiting at the porch and did not glance even once at the approaching people, as if they did not notice them. As soon as the carriage drove off, the door immediately opened again, and the waiting Rogozhin let the prince and Aglaya in and locked the door behind them.

"There's nobody in the whole house now except the four of us," he observed aloud and gave the prince a strange look.

In the very first room, Nastasya Filippovna, too, was waiting for them, also dressed very simply and all in black; she rose to meet them, but did not smile and did not even offer the prince her hand.

Her intent and anxious gaze impatiently turned to Aglaya. The two women sat down at some distance from each other, Aglaya on the sofa in the corner of the room, Nastasya Filippovna by the window. The prince and Rogozhin did not sit down, and were not invited to sit down. With perplexity and as if with pain, the prince again looked at Rogozhin, but the man went on smiling his former smile. The silence continued for another few moments.

A sort of sinister feeling finally passed over Nastasya Filippovna's face; her gaze was becoming stubborn, firm, and almost hateful, not tearing itself from her guest for a single moment. Aglaya was obviously abashed, but not intimidated. Coming in, she had barely glanced at her rival and so far had been sitting all the time with downcast eyes, as if lost in thought. Once or twice, as if by chance, she looked around the room; an obvious repugnance showed itself in her face, as if she feared soiling herself there. She mechanically straightened her clothes and once even changed her place anxiously, moving towards the corner of the sofa. She herself was hardly aware of all her movements; but the unawareness increased the offense still more. At last she looked firmly and directly into Nastasya Filippovna's eyes, and at once clearly read everything that flashed in the incensed gaze of her rival. Woman understood woman. Aglaya shuddered.