The Idiot (28 page)

‘Varka does it out of vanity, out of vainglory, in order not to be outdone by mother; well, and mother really does ... I respect her. Yes, I respect it, and I think it is justified. Even Ippolit feels that, and he is almost completely embittered. At first he used to laugh and call it baseness on my mother’s part; but now he sometimes starts to feel there’s something in it. Hmm! So you call that strength, do you? I’ll make a note of that. Ganya doesn’t know about it, if he did he’d call it “pandering”.’

‘And Ganya doesn’t know? It seems to me there are many things that Ganya doesn’t know,’ the reflective prince uttered involuntarily.

‘But listen, Prince, I like you very much. I keep thinking about that incident of yours earlier today.’

‘And I like you very much, Kolya.’

‘I say, how long do you plan to live here? I shall soon be getting myself a job and earning something, let’s you, I, and Ippolit, all three of us together, rent some lodgings; and we’ll invite the general to come and see us.’

‘With the greatest of pleasure. However, we shall see. I’m very ... very unsettled just now. What? Are we here already? This house has ... such a magnificent doorway! And a hall porter. Well, Kolya, I don’t know what’s going to come of this.’

The prince stood like one who was lost.

‘Tell me about it tomorrow! Don’t be too timid. May God grant you success, because I share your convictions about everything! Goodbye. I’ll go back there now and tell Ippolit. And as for them letting you in, there’s no doubt of that, have no fear! She’s terribly eccentric. Up this staircase to the first floor, the hall porter will show you the way!’

As he climbed the stairs the prince was very anxious, and tried with all his might to keep his spirits up. ‘The worst thing that can happen,’ he thought, ‘is that they won’t let me in and will think badly of me, or, perhaps let me in and then laugh in my face ... Oh, it doesn’t matter!’ And indeed, this did not yet alarm him very much, but the question: ‘what am I going to do there and why am I going?’ - to this question he decidedly could not find a reassuring answer. Even if somehow, catching an opportunity, he were able to say to Nastasya Filippovna: ‘Don’t marry this man and don’t ruin yourself, he loves not you but your money, he told me that himself, and so did Aglaya Yepanchina, and I’ve come to tell you,’ it would hardly sound right in every respect. There was yet another unresolved question, and such an important one that the prince was even afraid to think about it, could not and did not dare even admit it, nor know how to formulate it, blushed and trembled at the very thought of it. The upshot of it was, however, that in spite of all these anxieties and doubts he none the less went in and asked for Nastasya Filippovna.

Nastasya Filippovna occupied an apartment that was not very large, but magnificently appointed. In these past five years of her life in St Petersburg there had been a time, at the beginning, when Afanasy Ivanovich was particularly lavish with the money he spent on her; at that time he still had hopes of winning her love, and thought he could seduce her mainly by comfort and luxury, knowing how easily the habits of luxury are acquired and how difficult it is later to give them up, when luxury gradually turns into necessity. From this point of view, Totsky remained faithful to the good old traditions, not changing them in any way, and with a boundless respect for all the invincible power of sensual influences. Nastasya Filippovna did not turn her nose up at luxury, was even fond of it, but - and this seemed exceedingly strange - in no way surrendered to it, as though she could always manage without it; she even tried to put this into words on this occasion, something that struck Totsky unpleasantly. There were, however, many things about Nastasya Filippovna that struck Afanasy Ivanovich unpleasantly (and subsequently even to the point of contempt). Not to speak of the lack of refinement of the class of people she sometimes brought close to herself, and must therefore have been inclined to bring close, there were signs in her of other, quite strange inclinations: there asserted itself a kind of barbarous mixture of two tastes, a capacity for making do and being content with such things and resources the very existence of which one might have thought no decent and educated person could allow. Indeed, if, to take an example, Nastasya Filippovna had suddenly displayed a charming and refined ignorance of, say, the fact that peasant women could not afford to wear the cambric underwear she wore, Afanasy
Ivanovich would, it seems, have been exceedingly content. It was at such results that the whole of Nastasya Filippovna’s upbringing had been originally aimed, in accordance with the programme devised by Totsky, who in this respect was a man of great understanding; but alas, the results turned out to be bizarre. In spite of this, however, there was and remained something in Nastasya Filippovna that occasionally even struck Afanasy Ivanovich himself by its extraordinary and fascinating originality, a kind of power, and it sometimes enticed him even now, when all his former plans for her had come to nought.

The prince was met by a maid (Nastasya Filippovna’s servants were always female) and, to his surprise, she listened to his request to be announced without any perplexity at all. Neither his muddy boots, nor his wide-brimmed hat, nor his sleeveless cloak, nor his flustered look caused her the slightest hesitation. She helped him off with his cloak, asked him to wait in the hallway, and at once set off to announce him.

The company that had assembled at Nastasya Filippovna’s consisted of her most ordinary and usual friends and acquaintances. It was even rather sparse, compared to previous annual gatherings on this day. Those present included, first and foremost, and as the main guests, Afanasy Ivanovich Totsky and Ivan Fyodorovich Yepanchin; both were polite, but both were in a state of some hidden anxiety, which stemmed from their poorly concealed expectation of the promised announcement concerning Ganya. In addition to them, of course, there was Ganya — also very gloomy, very pensive and even almost ‘impolite’, for the most part standing to the side, at a distance, and not saying anything. He had not dared to bring Varya, but Nastasya Filippovna never even mentioned her; on the other hand, no sooner had she greeted him than she reminded him of his earlier scene with the prince. The general, who had not yet heard about it, began to grow interested. Then Ganya coolly, with reserve, but also with complete candour, related all that had happened earlier, and how he had already gone to see the prince in order to apologize. As he did so, he warmly expressed his opinion that it was very strange, and Lord knew why the prince should be called an ‘idiot’, that he thought ‘quite the opposite’ of him, and that ‘of course the man was in his right mind’. Nastasya Filippovna listened to this testimonial with close attention, watching Ganya inquisitively, but the talk at once passed to Rogozhin, who had played such an important part in the morning’s events, and who also began to arouse the interest and extreme curiosity of Afanasy Ivanovich and Ivan Fyodorovich. It turned out that some special information about Rogozhin was available from Ptitsyn, who had been helping him with business matters until nearly nine o’clock in the evening. Rogozhin had insisted with all his might that a hundred thousand roubles be obtained that very day. ‘He was drunk, of course,’ Ptitsyn commented, ‘but it seems that, however difficult it may be, he’ll get a hundred thousand, only I don’t know if it will all be here today; but many people are working on it, Kinder, Trepalov, Biskup; he’s willing to pay any rate of
interest at all, though of course it’s just drunken talk and the first flush of joy ...’ Ptitsyn concluded. All this news was received with interest, partly of a gloomy sort; Nastasya Filippovna kept silent, evidently not wishing to express an opinion; Ganya, too. General Yepanchin was secretly almost more anxious than anyone else; the pearl necklace he had presented that morning had been accepted with too cold a politeness, and even with a kind of peculiar smile. Ferdyshchenko, alone of all the guests, was in a merry, festive mood, laughing loudly from time to time at no one knew what, and only because he had taken upon himself the role of jester. As for Afanasy Ivanovich, who had the reputation of being a subtle and elegant raconteur, and who on previous occasions had led the conversation at these soirees, he was evidently not in a good mood and even in a kind of perplexity that was uncharacteristic of him. The remaining guests, of whom there were, as a matter of fact, not many (one wretched old schoolmaster, invited heaven knows why, a very young man whom no one knew, dreadfully shy, who never opened his mouth, a pert lady of about forty who was an actress, and an exceedingly beautiful, exceedingly well and richly dressed and extraordinarily silent young lady), were not only unable to enliven the conversation much, but were even at a loss to know what to talk about.

Thus, the appearance of the prince even came at the right time. The announcement of his arrival caused bewilderment and several strange smiles, especially when, from Nastasya Filippovna’s surprised look, it was learned that she had not thought of inviting him at all. But after her initial surprise, Nastasya Filippovna suddenly displayed so much delight that most of those present at once prepared to greet the uninvited guest with both laughter and cheerfulness.

‘I expect this has happened because of his innocence,’ concluded Ivan Fyodorovich Yepanchin, ‘and as a general rule it’s rather dangerous to encourage such tendencies, but it’s true that at the present moment it’s not a bad thing that he’s decided to come visiting, even though in such an original manner: perhaps he will cheer us up a bit, at least if I’m any judge.’

‘All the more so since he’s invited himself!’ Ferdyshchenko at once inserted.

‘And what follows from that?’ the general, who loathed Ferdyshchenko, asked sourly.

‘That he’ll have to pay for admittance.’

‘Well, sir, but Prince Myshkin is not Ferdyshchenko,’ the general could not restrain himself from saying; he had still not been able to reconcile himself with the thought of being in the same company with Ferdyshchenko, and on an equal footing with him.

‘Oh, General, don’t be too hard on Ferdyshchenko,’ the latter replied, smirking. ‘I have special rights, you know.’

‘And what sort of special rights would those be?’

‘Last time I had the honour of explaining it in detail to the company; for your excellency I’ll repeat it once more. Be so good as to o
bserve, your excellency: everyone has wit, but I have none. As a reward, I have obtained permission to tell the truth, as everyone knows that the truth is only told by those who have no wit. In addition, I am a very vindictive man, and that is also because I have no wit. I will meekly endure all kind of insults, but only until my insulter suffers a setback; at his first setback I immediately remember it all and at once take my revenge in some way, I kick, as has been said of me by Ivan Petrovich Ptitsyn, who himself, of course, never kicks anyone. Your excellency, do you know Krylov’s fable
The Lion and the Donkey?
Well, that’s the two of us, it was written about us.’

‘I think you’re talking rot again, Ferdyshchenko,’ the general flared up again.

‘But what’s wrong, your excellency?’ retorted Ferdyshchenko, who had been relying on the possibility of making some retort and of spreading himself still wider. ‘Don’t worry, your excellency, I know my place: if I said that you and I are the Lion and the Donkey from Krylov’s fable, then of course I take the role of Donkey on myself, while your excellency is the Lion, as it goes in Krylov’s fable:
While I, your excellency, am the Donkey.’

‘With the last part I agree,’ the general blurted rashly.

All of this was crude, of course, and deliberately manufactured, but it was indeed now accepted that Ferdyshchenko should be allowed to play the role of jester.

‘And I am only admitted here on sufferance,’ Ferdyshchenko had once exclaimed, ‘in order to talk in precisely this vein. Well, is it really possible to receive someone like me? I mean, I understand that. Can I, a Ferdyshchenko such as I, be seated beside a refined gentleman like Afanasy Ivanovich? There remains, willy-nilly, but one explanation: I am seated beside him because such a thing is impossible to imagine.’

But although it was crude, it was also caustic, sometimes even very much so, and it seemed it was this that appealed to Nastasya Filippovna. Those who were desirous of her company had to put up with Ferdyshchenko. He had perhaps guessed the whole truth in supposing that he was received because from the very first Totsky found his presence unendurable. Ganya, for his part, had endured from him a whole infinity of torments, and in this respect Ferdyshchenko had succeeded in being very useful to Nastasya Filippovna.

‘Well, the prince can make a start by singing us a popular romance,’ concluded Ferdyshchenko, looking to see what Nastasya Filippovna would say.

‘I don’t think so, Ferdyshchenko, and please don’t get so excited,’ she observed coldly.

‘Aha! If he’s under special protection then I, too, relent ...’

But Nastasya Filippovna got up without listening, and went to greet the prince herself.

‘I’m sorry’, she said, suddenly presenting herself to the prince, ‘that earlier, in my haste, I forgot to invite you to my home, and I’m very glad that you yourself now afford me the chance of thanking and praising you for your resolve.’

As she said this she stared fixedly at the prince, endeavouring to interpret his action to herself in some way.

The prince would, perhaps, have made some reply to her kind words, but was so dazzled and struck that he could not even utter a word. Nastasya Filippovna observed this with satisfaction. This evening she was in full dress attire, and produced an extraordinary impression. She took him by the arm and led him towards the guests. Right at the entrance to the drawing room the prince suddenly halted and, in extraordinary agitation, hurriedly whispered to her: