IX
TWO WEEKS WENT BY after the events recounted in the last chapter, and the position of the characters in our story changed so much that it is extremely difficult for us to set out on the continuation without special explanations. And yet we feel that we must limit ourselves to the simple statement of facts, as far as possible without special explanations, and for a very simple reason: because we ourselves, in many cases, have difficulty explaining what happened. Such a warning on our part must appear quite strange and unclear to the reader: how recount that of which we have neither a clear understanding nor a personal opinion? Not to put ourselves in a still more false position, we had better try to explain things with an example, and perhaps the benevolent reader will understand precisely what our difficulty is, the more so as this example will not be a digression, but, on the contrary, a direct and immediate continuation of the story.
Two weeks later, that is, at the beginning of July, and over the course of those two weeks, the story of our hero, and especially the last adventure of that story, turned into a strange, rather amusing, almost unbelievable, and at the same time almost graphic anecdote, which gradually spread through all the streets neighboring the dachas of Lebedev, Ptitsyn, Darya Alexeevna, the Epanchins, in short, over almost the whole town and even its environs. Almost all of society—the locals, the summer people, those who came for the music—everyone began telling one and the same story, in a thousand different versions, about a certain prince who, having caused a scandal in an honorable and well-known house, and having rejected the daughter of that house, already his fiancée, had been enticed away by a well-known tart, had broken all his former connections, and, regardless of everything, regardless of threats, regardless of general public indignation, intended to marry the disgraced woman one of those days, right there in Pavlovsk, openly, publicly, with head held high and looking everyone straight in the eye. The anecdote was becoming so embroidered with scandals, so many well-known and important persons were mixed up in it, it was endowed with such a variety of fantastic and mysterious nuances, and, on the other hand, it was presented in such irrefutable and graphic facts, that the general curiosity and gossip were, of course, quite excusable. The most subtle, clever, and at the same time plausible interpretation belonged to several serious gossips, from that stratum of sensible people who, in every society, always hasten first of all to explain an event to others, finding in it a vocation, and often also a consolation. According to their interpretation, a young man, of good family, a prince, almost wealthy, a fool, but a democrat, and gone crazy over modern nihilism, which was discovered by Mr. Turgenev,44 barely able to speak Russian, had fallen in love with a daughter of General Epanchin, and had succeeded in being received in the house as a fiancé. But, like that French seminarian about whom an anecdote had just been published, who had purposely allowed himself to be ordained a priest, had purposely sought this ordination, had performed all the rites, all the bowing, kissing, vows, etc., in order to proclaim publicly, the next day, in a letter to his bishop, that, not believing in God, he considered it dishonest to deceive folk and be fed by them gratis, and therefore he was laying aside his yesterday’s dignity, and would publish his letter in the liberal newspapers—like this atheist, the prince was supposed to have dissembled in his own way. The story went that he had supposedly waited on purpose for a solemn, formal party given by his fiancée’s parents, at which he had been introduced to a great many important persons, in order to proclaim his way of thinking aloud and in front of everyone, to denounce the venerable dignitaries, to reject his fiancée publicly and offensively, and, while resisting the servants who were taking him out, to smash a beautiful Chinese vase. To this was added, with a view to characterizing modern morals, that the muddle-headed young man actually loved his fiancée, the general’s daughter, but had rejected her solely out of nihilism and for the sake of the imminent scandal, so as not to deny himself the pleasure of marrying a fallen woman before the whole world and thereby proving that in his conviction there were neither fallen nor virtuous women, but only free women; that he did not believe in the social and old distinction, but believed only in the “woman question.” That, finally, a fallen woman, in his eyes, was even somewhat higher than an unfallen one. This explanation seemed quite plausible and was accepted by the majority of the summer people, the more so as it was confirmed by everyday facts. True, many things remained unexplained: the story went that the poor girl loved her fiancé—her “seducer” according to some—so much that she came running to him the very next day after he abandoned her and sat there with his mistress; others insisted, on the contrary, that he purposely lured her to his mistress, solely out of nihilism, that is, for the sake of the disgrace and offense. Be that as it may, interest in the event grew daily, the more so as there remained not the slightest doubt that the scandalous wedding would actually take place.
And so, if we were asked to explain—not about the nihilistic nuances of the event, but simply to what extent the appointed wedding satisfied the actual desires of the prince, precisely what those desires consisted in at the present moment, precisely how to define our hero’s state of mind at the present moment, etc., etc., in the same vein—we confess, we would have great difficulty in answering. We know only one thing, that the wedding was indeed appointed, and that the prince himself had entrusted Lebedev, Keller, and some acquaintance of Lebedev’s, whom he had introduced to the prince for the occasion, to take upon themselves all the cares connected with the matter, both churchly and practical; that money was not to be spared, that Nastasya Filippovna was hurrying and insisting on the wedding; that Keller, at his own fervent request, had been appointed the prince’s groomsman,45 and for Nastasya Filippovna—Burdovsky, who accepted the appointment with rapture, and that the day of the wedding was appointed for the beginning of July. But apart from these very specific circumstances, some other facts are known to us which have decidedly thrown us off, precisely because they contradict the foregoing ones. We strongly suspect, for instance, that, having entrusted Lebedev and the others to take all the cares on themselves, the prince all but forgot that very same day that he had a master of ceremonies, and a groomsman, and a wedding, and that if he so quickly arranged the transfer of his cares to others, it was solely so as not to think about them himself, and even perhaps to forget them as quickly. What was he thinking about, in that case? What did he want to remember, and what was he striving for? There was also no doubt that there had been no forcing of him here (on Nastasya Filippovna’s part, for instance); that Nastasya Filippovna indeed wished absolutely for a quick wedding, and that the wedding had been her idea and not the prince’s at all; but the prince had consented freely, even somehow distractedly and as if he had been asked some rather ordinary thing. Of such strange facts we have a great many before us, yet they not only do not explain, but, in our opinion, even obscure the interpretation of the affair, however many we may cite; but, anyhow, we shall present one more.
Thus, it is perfectly well known to us that in the course of those two weeks the prince spent whole days and evenings with Nastasya Filippovna; that she took him with her for walks, for concerts; that he went for rides with her every day in the carriage; that he would begin to worry about her if he did not see her for only an hour (which meant that, by all tokens, he sincerely loved her); that he listened to her with a quiet and meek smile, whatever she might talk to him about, for whole hours, saying almost nothing himself. But we also know that during those same days, several times and even many times, he suddenly betook himself to the Epanchins’, not concealing it from Nastasya Filippovna, which drove her almost to despair. We know that he was not received at the Epanchins’ while they remained in Pavlovsk, that he was constantly denied a meeting with Aglaya Ivanovna; that he would leave without saying a word and the next day go to them again, as though he had completely forgotten the previous day’s refusal, and, naturally, receive a new refusal. It is also known to us that an hour after Aglaya Ivanovna ran out of Nasta
sya Filippovna’s house, and perhaps even earlier, the prince was already at the Epanchins’, in the certainty, of course, of finding Aglaya there, and that his appearance at the Epanchins’ had caused extreme confusion and fear in the house, because Aglaya had not come home yet, and it was only from him that they first heard that she had gone with him to Nastasya Filippovna’s. It was said that Lizaveta Prokofyevna, her daughters, and even Prince Shch. had treated the prince extremely harshly, inimically, and right then refused him, in vehement terms, their acquaintance and friendship, especially when Varvara Ardalionovna suddenly came to Lizaveta Prokofyevna and announced that Aglaya Ivanovna had been at her house for an hour, in a terrible state, and seemed not to want to go home. This last news struck Lizaveta Prokofyevna most of all, and it was perfectly correct: having left Nastasya Filippovna’s, Aglaya indeed would sooner have died than show herself now to the eyes of her family, and therefore she had rushed to Nina Alexandrovna’s. Varvara Ardalionovna, for her part, had at once found it necessary to inform Lizaveta Prokofyevna of all this without the least delay. Mother, daughters, everyone at once rushed to Nina Alexandrovna’s, followed by the father of the family, Ivan Fyodorovich himself, who had just returned home; after them trudged Prince Lev Nikolaevich, in spite of the banishment and harsh words; but, on Varvara Ardalionovna’s orders, he was not permitted to see Aglaya there either. The end of the matter, however, was that when Aglaya saw her mother and sisters weeping over her and not reproaching her at all, she threw herself into their arms and at once returned home with them. It was said, though the rumors were not quite precise, that Gavrila Ardalionovich was terribly unlucky this time as well; that, seizing the moment when Varvara Ardalionovna had run to Lizaveta Prokofyevna’s, he, alone with Aglaya, had decided to try and speak to her about his love; that, listening to him, Aglaya, despite all her anguish and tears, had suddenly burst out laughing and suddenly asked him a strange question: would he, in proof of his love, burn his finger right now in a candle? Gavrila Ardalionovich was, they say, dumbfounded by the suggestion and so much at a loss, showed such extreme perplexity on his face, that Aglaya laughed at him as if in hysterics and ran away from him upstairs to Nina Alexandrovna, where her parents found her. This anecdote reached the prince through Ippolit the next day. Bedridden by then, Ippolit purposely sent for the prince to tell him the story. How this rumor had reached Ippolit we do not know, but when the prince heard about the candle and the finger, he burst into such laughter that he even surprised Ippolit; then he suddenly trembled and dissolved in tears … Generally during those days he was in great anxiety and extraordinary confusion, vague and tormenting. Ippolit affirmed directly that the prince had lost his mind; but that could not yet be said affirmatively.
In presenting all these facts and declining to explain them, we by no means wish to justify our hero in our readers’ eyes. What’s more, we are fully prepared to share the same indignation he aroused in his friends. Even Vera Lebedev was indignant with him for a time; even Kolya was indignant; Keller was even indignant, up to the time when he was chosen as groomsman, to say nothing of Lebedev himself, who even began to intrigue against the prince, also out of indignation, which was even quite genuine. But we shall speak of that later. In general, we sympathize fully and in the highest degree with certain words, quite forceful and even profound in their psychology, which Evgeny Pavlovich said to the prince, directly and without ceremony, in a friendly talk on the sixth or seventh day after the event at Nastasya Filippovna’s. We shall note, incidentally, that not only the Epanchins themselves, but everyone directly or indirectly affiliated with the house of the Epanchins, found it necessary to break off all relations with the prince entirely. Prince Shch., for instance, even looked away when he met the prince and did not return his bow. But Evgeny Pavlovich was not afraid of compromising himself by calling on the prince, though he had again begun visiting the Epanchins every day and was received even with an obviously increased cordiality. He went to see the prince exactly the day after all the Epanchins left Pavlovsk. He came in already knowing all the rumors spread among the public and having perhaps even contributed to them himself. The prince was terribly glad to see him and at once spoke about the Epanchins; such a simple-hearted and direct opening completely unbound Evgeny Pavlovich as well, so that without preliminaries he, too, went straight to the point.
The prince did not know yet that the Epanchins had left; he was struck, turned pale; but a moment later he shook his head, embarrassed and pensive, and admitted that “it had to be so”; after which he quickly asked “where did they go?”
Evgeny Pavlovich meanwhile watched him intently, and all of it—that is, the quickness of the questions, their simple-heartedness, the embarrassment, and at the same time some strange frankness, anxiousness, and agitation—all of it surprised him not a little. He, however, told the prince about everything courteously and in detail: there were many things the prince still did not know, and this was his first news from that house. He confirmed that Aglaya had indeed been sick, in a fever, and had hardly slept for three nights; that she was better now and out of all danger, but in a nervous, hysterical condition … “It’s already a good thing that there is perfect peace in the house! They try not to allude to what happened, even among themselves, not only in front of Aglaya. The parents have discussed between them the possibility of going abroad in the autumn, right after Adelaida’s wedding; Aglaya received the first mention of it in silence.” He, Evgeny Pavlovich, might also go abroad. Even Prince Shch. might decide to go, for a couple of months, with Adelaida, if his affairs permitted. The general himself would stay. They had now all moved to Kolmino, their estate, about twenty miles from Petersburg, where they had a roomy mansion. Princess Belokonsky had not yet gone to Moscow and, it seemed, was even staying on purpose. Lizaveta Prokofyevna had strongly insisted that it was impossible to remain in Pavlovsk after all that had happened; he, Evgeny Pavlovich, had informed her every day of the rumors going around town. They also had not found it possible to settle in their dacha on Elagin Island.
“Well, yes, and in fact,” Evgeny Pavlovich added, “you’ll agree yourself, how could they stand it … especially knowing all that goes on here every hour, in your house, Prince, and after your daily visits there, despite the refusals …”
“Yes, yes, yes, you’re right, I wanted to see Aglaya Ivanovna …” The prince again began shaking his head.
“Ah, my dear Prince,” Evgeny Pavlovich exclaimed suddenly, with animation and sadness, “how could you have allowed … all that to happen? Of course, of course, it was all so unexpected for you … I agree that you were bound to be at a loss and … you couldn’t have stopped the crazy girl, that was beyond your power! But you ought to have understood how serious and strong the girl’s … attitude towards you was. She didn’t want to share with the other one, and you … and you could abandon and break such a treasure!”
“Yes, yes, you’re right; yes, I’m to blame,” the prince said again in terrible anguish, “and you know: only she, only Aglaya, looked at Nastasya Filippovna that way … No one else looked at her that way.”
“But that’s what makes it so outrageous, that there was nothing serious in it!” cried Evgeny Pavlovich, decidedly carried away. “Forgive me, Prince, but … I … I’ve thought about it, Prince; I’ve thought a lot about it; I know everything that happened before, I know everything that happened half a year ago, everything, and—it was all not serious! It was all only a cerebral infatuation, a picture, a fantasy, smoke, and only the frightened jealousy of a totally inexperienced girl could have taken it for something serious!”
Here Evgeny Pavlovich, now completely without ceremony, gave free rein to all his indignation. Sensibly and clearly and, we repeat, even extremely psychologically, he unfolded before the prince the picture of all the prince’s relations with Nastasya Filippovna. Evgeny Pavlovich had always had a gift for speaking; now he even attained to eloquence. “From the very beginning,” he pronounced, “you began with a lie
; what began with a lie was bound to end with a lie; that is a law of nature. I don’t agree and even feel indignant when they—well, whoever—call you an idiot; you’re too intelligent to be called that; but you’re strange enough not to be like all other people, you’ll agree. I’ve decided that the foundation of all that has happened was composed, first, of your, so to speak, innate inexperience (note that word, Prince: ‘innate’), then of your extraordinary simple-heartedness; further, of a phenomenal lack of the sense of measure (which you’ve admitted several times)—and, finally, of an enormous, flooding mass of cerebral convictions, which you, with all your extraordinary honesty, have taken all along for genuine, natural, and immediate convictions! You yourself will agree, Prince, that your relations with Nastasya Filippovna from the very beginning had something conventionally democratic about them (I put it that way for the sake of brevity), the charm, so to speak, of the ‘woman question’ (to put it still more briefly). I know in exact detail that whole strange, scandalous scene that took place at Nastasya Filippovna’s when Rogozhin brought his money. If you like, I’ll analyze you for yourself, counting off on my fingers; I’ll show you to yourself as in a mirror, so exactly do I know what it was about and why it turned out that way! You, a young man, longed for your native land in Switzerland, you strained towards Russia as towards a promised but unknown land; you read a lot of books about Russia, excellent books, perhaps, but harmful for you; you arrived with the initial fervor of the desire to act, you, so to speak, fell upon action! And so, on that same day they tell you a sad, heart-stirring story about an offended woman, they tell you, that is, a knight, a virgin, about a woman! On that same day you meet the woman; you’re enchanted by her beauty, her fantastic, demonic beauty (I do agree that she’s a beauty). Add nerves, add your falling sickness, add our nerve-shattering Petersburg thaw; add that whole day in an unknown and almost fantastic city, a day of encounters and scenes, a day of unexpected acquaintances, a day of the most unexpected reality, a day of the three Epanchin beauties, and Aglaya among them; add fatigue, dizziness; add Nastasya Filippovna’s drawing room and the tone of that drawing room, and … what do you think you could have expected of yourself at that moment?”
The Idiot (Vintage Classics) Page 74