“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 not backing 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 dishonor in 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,16 General? 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.’17 This 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 (an
d 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 you marry 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.
The Idiot Page 6