This news completely dumbfounded Lizaveta Prokofyevna. One might wonder, why so? But such, evidently, was the mood she had come to. Her anxiety was aroused to the utmost degree, and above all—the hedgehog; what was the meaning of the hedgehog? Was it prearranged? Did it imply something? Was it some sort of sign? A telegram? What’s more, poor Ivan Fyodorovich, who happened to be present at the interrogation, spoiled things completely with his answer. In his opinion, there was no telegram, and the hedgehog was “just a simple hedgehog—and perhaps also meant friendship, the forgetting of offenses, and reconciliation; in short, it was all a prank, but in any case innocent and pardonable.”
Let us note parenthetically that he had guessed perfectly right. The prince, having returned home from seeing Aglaya, mocked and driven out by her, had been sitting for half an hour in the darkest despair, when Kolya suddenly arrived with the hedgehog. At once the sky cleared. It was as if the prince rose from the dead; he questioned Kolya, hanging on his every word, repeated his questions ten times, laughed like a child, and kept pressing the hands of the two laughing and bright-eyed boys. So it turned out that Aglaya had forgiven him, and the prince could go to see her again that very evening, and for him that was not only the main thing, but even everything.
“What children we still are, Kolya! and … and … how good it is that we’re children!” he finally exclaimed in ecstasy.
“She’s quite simply in love with you, Prince, that’s all!” Kolya replied imposingly and with authority.
The prince blushed, but this time he said nothing, and Kolya only guffawed and clapped his hands; a minute later the prince, too, burst out laughing, and then right until evening he kept looking at his watch every five minutes, to see how much time had passed and how much remained till evening.
But her mood got the upper hand: Lizaveta Prokofyevna was finally unable to help herself and succumbed to a hysterical moment. Despite all the objections of her husband and daughters, she immediately sent for Aglaya, in order to put the ultimate question to her and get from her the most clear and ultimate answer. “So as to be done with it all at once, and get it off my shoulders, and never think of it again!” “Otherwise,” she announced, “I won’t survive till evening!” And only then did they all realize what a muddle things had been brought to. Apart from feigned astonishment, indignation, laughter, and mockery of the prince and all her questioners, they got nothing from Aglaya. Lizaveta Prokofyevna took to her bed and came out only for tea, by which time the prince was expected. She awaited the prince with trepidation, and when he arrived she nearly had hysterics.
And the prince himself came in timidly, all but gropingly, with a strange smile, peeking into all their eyes and as if asking them all a question, because Aglaya again was not in the room, which alarmed him at once. That evening there were no outsiders, only members of the family. Prince Shch. was still in Petersburg on business connected with Evgeny Pavlovich’s uncle. “If only he could happen by and say something,” Lizaveta Prokofyevna pined for him. Ivan Fyodorovich sat with an extremely preoccupied air; the sisters were serious and, as if on purpose, silent. Lizaveta Prokofyevna did not know how to begin the conversation. In the end she suddenly produced an energetic denunciation of the railways and looked at the prince in decided defiance.
Alas! Aglaya did not come out, and the prince was perishing. Nearly babbling and at a loss, he expressed the opinion that it would be of great utility to repair the railways, but Adelaida suddenly laughed, and the prince was again annihilated. At that very moment Aglaya came in calmly and gravely, gave the prince a ceremonious bow, and solemnly took the most conspicuous place at the round table. She looked questioningly at the prince. Everyone realized that the resolution of all misunderstandings was at hand.
“Did you receive my hedgehog?” she asked firmly and almost crossly.
“I did,” the prince replied, blushing and with a sinking heart.
“Then explain immediately what you think about it. It is necessary for my mother’s peace and that of the whole family.”
“Listen, Aglaya …” the general suddenly began to worry.
“This, this is beyond all limits!” Lizaveta Prokofyevna suddenly became frightened of something.
“There aren’t any limits here, maman,” the daughter replied sternly and at once. “Today I sent the prince a hedgehog, and I wish to know his opinion. What is it, Prince?”
“You mean my opinion, Aglaya Ivanovna?”
“Of the hedgehog.”
“That is … I think, Aglaya Ivanovna, that you want to know how I took … the hedgehog … or, better to say, how I looked at … this sending … of the hedgehog, that is … in which case, I suppose that … in a word …”
He ran out of breath and fell silent.
“Well, you haven’t said much,” Aglaya paused for five seconds. “Very well, I agree to drop the hedgehog; but I’m very glad that I can finally put an end to all the accumulated misunderstandings. Allow me, finally, to learn from you yourself and personally: are you proposing to me or not?”
“Oh, Lord!” escaped Lizaveta Prokofyevna.
The prince gave a start and drew back; Ivan Fyodorovich was dumbstruck; the sisters frowned.
“Don’t lie, Prince, tell the truth. On account of you, I’m hounded by strange interrogations; are there any grounds for those interrogations? Well?”
“I haven’t proposed to you, Aglaya Ivanovna,” said the prince, suddenly becoming animated, “but … you know yourself how much I love you and believe in you … even now …”
“My question was: are you asking for my hand or not?”
“I am,” the prince replied, his heart sinking.
A general and strong commotion followed.
“This is all not right, my dear friend,” Ivan Fyodorovich said in great agitation, “this … this is almost impossible, if it’s so, Glasha … Forgive me, Prince, forgive me, my dear!… Lizaveta Prokofyevna!” he turned to his wife for help. “We must … look into it …”
“I refuse, I refuse!” Lizaveta Prokofyevna waved her hands.
“Allow me to speak as well, maman; I also mean something in such a matter: the great moment of my destiny is being decided” (that is precisely how Aglaya put it), “and I myself want to know, and besides, I’m glad it’s in front of everybody … Allow me to ask you, Prince, if you do ‘nurture such intentions,’ precisely how do you propose to ensure my happiness?”
“I don’t really know how to answer you, Aglaya Ivanovna; there … what is there to say? And … is there any need?”
“You seem to be embarrassed and breathless; rest a little and gather fresh strength; drink a glass of water; anyhow, tea will be served presently.”
“I love you, Aglaya Ivanovna, I love you very much; I love only you and … don’t joke, please, I love you very much.”
“But, nevertheless, this is an important matter; we’re not children, we must look positively … Take the trouble now to tell us, what does your fortune amount to?”
“Now, now, now, Aglaya. What are you doing! This is wrong, wrong …” Ivan Fyodorovich muttered fearfully.
“A disgrace!” Lizaveta Prokofyevna whispered loudly.
“She’s lost her mind!” Alexandra also whispered loudly.
“My fortune … meaning money?” the prince was surprised.
“Precisely.”
“I … I now have one hundred and thirty-five thousand,” the prince murmured, turning red.
“That’s all?” Aglaya was loudly and frankly surprised, not blushing in the least. “Anyhow, never mind; particularly if one is economical … Do you intend to enter the service?”
“I wanted to pass an examination to be a private tutor …”
“Very appropriate; of course, it will increase our means. Do you plan to be a kammerjunker?”
“A kammerjunker? I’ve never imagined it, but …”
But here the two sisters, unable to help themselves, burst out laughing. Adelaida had long noticed
in Aglaya’s twitching features the signs of rapidly approaching and irrepressible laughter, which she had so far been holding back with all her might. Aglaya looked menacingly at the laughing sisters, but could not stand it a second longer and dissolved into the maddest, almost hysterical laughter; in the end she jumped up and ran out of the room.
“I just knew it was only for fun and nothing more!” cried Adelaida. “Right from the beginning, from the hedgehog.”
“No, this I will not allow, I will not allow it!” Lizaveta Prokofyevna suddenly boiled over with anger and quickly rushed out in Aglaya’s wake. The two sisters at once ran after her. The prince and the father of the family were left in the room.
“This, this … could you have imagined anything like it, Lev Nikolaich?” the general cried out sharply, evidently not understanding himself what he wanted to say. “No, speaking seriously, seriously?”
“I see that Aglaya Ivanovna was making fun of me,” the prince replied sadly.
“Wait, brother; I’ll go, but you wait … because … you at least explain to me, Lev Nikolaich, you at least: how did all this happen and what does it all mean, so to speak, as a whole? You’ll agree, brother, I am her father, I am after all her father, which is why I don’t understand a thing; so you at least explain it.”
“I love Aglaya Ivanovna; she knows that and … has known it, I think, for a long time.”
The general heaved his shoulders.
“Strange, strange … and you love her very much?”
“Yes, very much.”
“Strange, strange, I find it all. That is, it’s such a surprise and a blow that … You see, my dear, I’m not referring to your fortune (though I did expect that you had a bit more), but … for me, my daughter’s happiness … finally … are you able, so to speak, to make that … happiness? And … and … what is it, a joke or the truth on her side? Not on yours, that is, but on her side?”
From behind the door came the voice of Alexandra Ivanovna: they were calling the father.
“Wait, brother, wait! Wait and think it over, and I’ll be …” he said in haste and almost fearfully rushed off to Alexandra’s call.
He found his wife and daughter in each other’s arms and flooding each other with their tears. These were tears of happiness, tenderness, and reconciliation. Aglaya kissed her mother’s hands, cheeks, lips; the two clung warmly to each other.
“Well, there, look at her, Ivan Fyodorych, she’s quite herself now!” said Lizaveta Prokofyevna.
Aglaya turned her happy and tear-bathed little face from her mother’s bosom, looked at her father, laughed loudly, jumped over to him, embraced him tightly, and kissed him several times. Then she rushed to her mother again and buried her face completely in her bosom, so that no one could see her, and at once began weeping again. Lizaveta Prokofyevna covered her with the end of her shawl.
“Well, what is it, what is it you’re doing to us, cruel girl that you are after that!” she said, but joyfully now, as if she suddenly could breathe more freely.
“Cruel! yes, cruel!” Aglaya suddenly picked up. “Rotten! Spoiled! Tell papa that. Ah, but he’s here. Papa, are you here? Listen!” she laughed through her tears.
“My dearest, my idol!” the general, all beaming with happiness, kissed her hand. (Aglaya did not withdraw it.) “So it means that you love this … young man?…”
“No, no, no! I can’t bear … your young man, I can’t bear him!” Aglaya suddenly boiled over and raised her head. “And if you dare once more, papa … I’m saying it to you seriously; do you hear: I’m saying it seriously!”
And she indeed said it seriously: she even turned all red and her eyes shone. Her father broke off and became frightened, but Lizaveta Prokofyevna made a sign to him behind Aglaya’s back, and he understood that it meant: “Don’t ask questions.”
“If that is how you want it, my angel, it’s as you will, he’s waiting there alone; shouldn’t we delicately hint to him that he should leave?”
The general in turn winked at Lizaveta Prokofyevna.
“No, no, that’s quite superfluous, especially if it’s ‘delicate.’ Go out to him; I’ll come out afterwards, right away. I want to ask forgiveness of this … young man, because I’ve hurt him.”
“Very much so,” Ivan Fyodorovich confirmed seriously.
“Well, so … it will be better if you all stay here and I go alone first, and you follow me right away, that same second; that will be better.”
She had already reached the door, but suddenly she came back.
“I’ll burst out laughing! I’ll die of laughter!” she announced ruefully.
But that same second she turned and ran to the prince.
“Well, what is it? What do you think?” Ivan Fyodorovich said hastily.
“I’m afraid even to say,” Lizaveta Prokofyevna replied, also hastily, “but I think it’s clear.”
“I, too, think it’s clear. Clear as day. She loves him.”
“Not just loves him, she’s in love with him!” Alexandra Ivanovna echoed. “Only I wonder what for?”
“God bless her, if such is her fate!” Lizaveta Prokofyevna piously crossed herself.
“It means it’s fate,” the general confirmed, “there’s no escaping fate!”
And they all went to the drawing room, but there another surprise awaited them.
Aglaya not only did not burst out laughing, as she feared, when she walked up to the prince, but she said to him even almost timidly:
“Forgive a foolish, bad, spoiled girl” (she took his hand), “and be assured that we all have boundless respect for you. And if I dared to make a mockery of your beautiful … kind simple-heartedness, then forgive me as you would a child for a prank; forgive me that I insisted on an absurdity which, of course, cannot have the least consequences …”
Aglaya uttered these last words with special emphasis.
Father, mother, and sisters all arrived in the drawing room in time to see and hear everything, and they were all struck by the “absurdity which, of course, cannot have the least consequences,” and still more by the serious air with which Aglaya spoke of this absurdity. They all exchanged questioning glances; but the prince, it seemed, did not understand these words and was in the highest degree of happiness.
“Why do you speak like that,” he murmured, “why do you … ask … forgiveness …”
He was even going to say that he was unworthy of having anyone ask his forgiveness. Who knows, perhaps he did notice the meaning of the words about the “absurdity which cannot have the least consequences,” but, as a strange man, he may even have been glad of those words. Unquestionably, for him the height of bliss was the fact alone that he could again visit Aglaya without hindrance, that he would be allowed to talk with her, sit with her, walk with her, and, who knows, perhaps that alone would have contented him for the rest of his life! (It was this contentment, it seems, that Lizaveta Prokofyevna was secretly afraid of; she had divined it; she secretly feared many things that she did not even know how to express.)
It is hard to describe how animated and encouraged the prince became that evening. He was so merry that one became merry just looking at him—so Aglaya’s sisters put it afterwards. He talked a great deal, and that had not happened to him since the very morning, six months earlier, when he had first made the acquaintance of the Epanchins; on his return to Petersburg, he had been noticeably and intentionally silent, and very recently, in front of everyone, had let slip to Prince Shch. that he had to restrain himself and keep silent, because he had no right to humiliate a thought by stating it. He was almost the only one who spoke all that evening, telling many stories; he answered questions clearly, gladly, and in detail. However, nothing resembling polite conversation showed in his words. The thoughts were all quite serious, sometimes even quite abstruse. The prince even stated some of his own views, his own private observations, so that it would all even have been ridiculous, if it had not been so “well stated,” as all the listeners agre
ed afterwards. Though the general loved serious topics of conversation, both he and Lizaveta Prokofyevna personally found that there was too much learning, so that by the end of the evening they even began to feel sad. However, in the end the prince went so far as to tell several very funny anecdotes, at which he was the first to laugh, so that the others laughed more at his joyful laughter than at the anecdotes themselves. As for Aglaya, she hardly even spoke all evening; instead, she listened to Lev Nikolaevich, without tearing herself away, and even did not so much listen to him as look at him.
The Idiot Page 66