The Idiot (82 page)

Gavrila Ardalionovich was making some beginnings along these lines; but so far they were only beginnings. For a long time yet he would go on playing his pranks. A deep and uninterrupted awareness of his own lack of talent and, at the same time, an irresistible desire to be persuaded that he was a man of the greatest independence of mind had badly wounded his heart, almost since his boyhood. He was a young man with envious and impetuous desires and, it appeared, someone who had been born with over-excited nerves. The impetuous quality of these desires he took to be their strength. In his passionate desire to excel, he was sometimes ready to take the most reckless leap; but no sooner had the matter gone as far as that reckless leap than our hero always turned out to be too intelligent to take it. This mortified him. He might even possibly have resolved, had the occasion offered itself, to commit some extremely base action, just in order to attain something of his dream: but, as if on purpose, as soon as he got to the point, he always turned out to be too honest to commit a really base action. (He was, however, always ready to agree to an act of lesser baseness.) It was with revulsion and hatred that he viewed the poverty and decline of his household. He treated even his mother in a condescending, contemptuous manner, in spite of the fact that he himself understood very well that his mother’s reputation and character were, for the time being, the principal support of his career. On starting work in General Yepanchin’s office, he immediately said to himself: ‘If I’m to act like a villain, then I might as well act like a villain in every respect, as long as it does me some good,’ and - almost never acted like a villain in every respect. And indeed, why did he imagine he had to act like a villain? As for Aglaya, at the time he had simply been afraid of her, but did not curtail his attentions, protracted them, just in case, though he never seriously believed that she would ever yield to him. Later, during his episode with Nastasya Filippovna, he suddenly imagined that
everything
could be attained by means of money. ‘If I’m to act like a villain, then I should act like a villain,’ he kept repeating to himself every day with the same self-satisfaction, but also with a certain amount of fear: ‘If I’m to act like a villain, then I really might as well take it to the limit,’ he kept encouraging himself. ‘In such cases the routine, run-of-the-mill fellow gets cold feet, but that’s not going to happen to us!’ On losing Aglaya, crushed by circumstances, he fell into very low spirits and actually returned to the prince the money that had been thrown to him that day by the madwoman, to whom it had likewise been given by a madman. Later he regretted this return of the money a thousand times, though he constantly indulged in vain boasting about it. He actually wep
t for three days, while the prince was in St Petersburg, but during those three days he also managed to conceive a hatred of the prince for regarding him with too much compassion, while his return of the money was something that ‘not everyone could have brought himself to do’. But the noble confession that all his anguish was nothing but perpetually crushed vanity caused him horrible torment. Only a long time later did he take a good look round and realize what a serious turning matters might have taken for him with a creature as strange and innocent as Aglaya. Remorse gnawed at him; he relinquished his post and sank into anguish and despondency. He was living at Ptitsyn‘s, supported by him, with his father and mother, and openly despised Ptitsyn, though at the same time listened to his advice and had sufficient sense almost always to ask for it. Gavrila Ardalionovich was angry, for example, that Ptitsyn had no plans to become a Rothschild, and that he did not even set himself this goal. ‘If you’re a money-lender, then take it to its limits, squeeze people, make a mint of money out of them, be a man of character, be a King of the Jews!’ Ptitsyn was modest and quiet; he merely smiled, but on one occasion considered it necessary to have a serious talk with Ganya, and even did so with a certain dignity. He pointed out to Ganya that he was doing nothing dishonest and that Ganya should not call him a Yid; that if money had such a high price, it was not his, Ptitsyn’s, fault; that he was acting truthfully and honestly and, in reality, was only an agent in ‘these’ matters, and, at last, that thanks to his punctilious ways of doing business he was already well known, in a most positive sense, to the most eminent people, and his business was expanding. ‘I shall never be a Rothschild, and I have no reason to be one,’ he added, laughing, ‘but I’ll have a house on Liteinaya, perhaps even two, and I’ll make do with that.’ ‘Though who knows, perhaps I’ll even have three houses!’ he thought to himself, but never said this aloud, and concealed the dream. Nature loves and fawns upon such people: it will probably reward Ptitsyn with not three but four houses, and all because he already knew from childhood that he would never be a Rothschild. On the other hand, however, nature will certainly not go beyond four houses, and in Ptitsyn’s case that is where the matter will end.

Gavrila Ardalionovich’s sister was quite a different sort of person. She too had powerful desires, but they were more stubborn than impetuous. She had a great deal of common sense when matters reached a head, nor did it abandon her before that point was reached. True, she too was one of those ‘ordinary’ people who dream of being original, but on the other hand she very soon came to realize that there was not a single drop of any particular originality in her, and was not too upset about it - who could tell, perhaps because of an odd sort of pride. She had taken her first practical step with great determination by marrying Mr Ptitsyn; but, in doing so, she never once said to herself: ‘If I’m to act like a villain, then I might as well really act like a villain, just as long as I reach my goal‘, as Gavrila Ardalionovich would not have failed to put it in such a case (and very near
ly did so even in her presence, when as her elder brother he had uttered his approval of her decision). Even quite the contrary: Varvara Ardalionovna got married after making thoroughly sure that her future husband was a modest, pleasant, almost progressively educated man who would never commit any major act of vileness. With regard to minor acts of vileness, Varvara Ardalionovna did not inquire, viewing them as trifles; where were such trifles not to be found? She was not in search of the ideal, after all! What was more, she knew that by marrying she was also providing a corner for her mother, father and brothers. Seeing her brother in misery, she felt like helping him, in spite of all their earlier domestic perplexities. Ptitsyn would sometimes urge Ganya, in a friendly way, of course, to join the civil service. ‘Here you sit despising generals and their rank,’ he would sometimes say to him jokingly, ‘but just watch, all of “them” will end as generals in their turn; if you live that long, you’ll see.’ ‘But where do they get the idea that I despise generals and their rank?’ he would think to himself sarcastically. In order to help her brother, Varvara Ardalionovna determined to widen the circle of her actions: she ingratiated herself with the Yepanchins, something in which she was aided by her childhood memories: both she and her brother had played with the Yepanchins as children. Let us observe here that if, in visiting the Yepanchins, Varvara Ardalionovna had been pursuing some unusual dream, she might perhaps have instantly left behind the category of people in which she included herself; but she was not doing so; indeed, what was involved here was in fact a rather considerable degree of calculation on her part: she took her bearings from the character of this family. As for Aglaya’s character, she studied it untiringly. She made it her task to bring them both, her brother and Aglaya, back together again. Perhaps she really did achieve something; perhaps she also fell into errors, relying, for example, too much on her brother and expecting from him things he could never by any stretch of the imagination have provided. At any rate, she acted rather skilfully at the Yepanchins: did not mention her brother for weeks, was always exceedingly truthful and sincere, conducted herself simply, but with dignity. As for the depths of her conscience, she was not afraid to look into them and did not reproach herself for anything at all. It was this that gave her strength. Only sometimes did she notice that she lost her temper, perhaps, that she had a great deal of personal pride and even crushed vanity; she noticed this at certain moments, in particular almost every time she left the Yepanchins.

And now here she was returning from their house, as we have already said, in sorrowful reflection. This sorrow also contained elements of some bitter and mocking kind. Ptitsyn was living in Pavlovsk, in an unprepossessing but spacious wooden house that stood on a dusty street, and would soon pass into his full ownership, with the result that he was already, in his turn, beginning to sell it to someone. As she climbed the front steps, Varvara Ardalionovna heard an extraordinary din coming from the top of the house and discerned the shouting voices of her brother
and Papa. Entering the drawing room and seeing Ganya pacing to and fro about the room, pale with rabid fury, and almost tearing his hair out, she frowned and sank with a weary look on to a sofa, not removing her hat. Very well aware that if she said nothing more for a minute or so and did not ask her brother why he was pacing about so furiously, he would certainly lose his temper, Varya hurried, at last, to articulate in the form of a question:

‘Still the same as before?’

‘What do you mean?’ exclaimed Ganya. ‘The same as before? No, the devil knows what’s happening now, but it’s not the same as before! The old man’s started foaming at the mouth ... mother’s bawling. I swear to God, Varya, say what you want, but I’ll kick him out of the house or ... or leave myself,’ he added, probably in recollection of the fact that one cannot really kick people out of someone else’s house.

‘You have to make allowances,’ muttered Varya.

‘Allowances for what? For whom?’ Ganya flared up. ‘For his loathsome tricks? No, I don’t care what you say, but this is impossible. Impossible, impossible, impossible! And his behaviour: he’s the one at fault, and yet he swaggers even more! “I can’t be bothered to use the gate, take the fence down! ...” Why are you sitting there like that? You look terrible!’

‘I look the way I always do,’ Varya replied with displeasure.

Ganya cast a more intent glance at her.

‘Have you been there?’ he asked suddenly.

‘Yes.’

‘Listen, they’re shouting again! How shameful, and at a time like this!’

‘What time? There’s nothing special about it.’

‘Have you discovered anything?’

‘Nothing that wasn’t expected, at any rate. I discovered that it’s all true. My husband was closer to the truth than either of us; as he predicted right from the start, so it’s turned out. Where is he?’

‘He’s not in. What’s turned out?’

‘The prince is the official fiancé, the matter is decided. The elder sisters told me. Aglaya has given her consent; they’ve even stopped trying to conceal it. (I mean, there’s been so much secretiveness until now.) Adelaida’s wedding has been delayed again, so that both weddings can be held together, on the same day - such poetry! Just like verses. Why don’t you write some wedding verses, rather than waste your time pacing about the room like that? This evening Belokonskaya will be at their house; she’s come for the occasion; there’ll be guests. He’ll be presented to Belokonskaya, though he knows her already; I think they’re going to make an announcement. The only thing they’re afraid of is that he’ll drop or break something in front of all the guests when she comes in, or fall down; that’s the sort of thing he might do.’

Ganya listened to what she had to say with great attention, but, to his sister’s surprise, this shattering news seemed not to shatter him very much at all.

‘Well, I suppose we had that coming,’ he said, having thought for a bit. ‘So that’s the end of it, then!’ he added with a strange, ironic smile, slyly watching his sister’s face and continuing to move to and fro about the room, though far more slowly now.

‘Good that you can take it like a philosopher; I’m truly glad,’ said Varya.

‘It’s a weight off one’s shoulders; off yours, at any rate.’

‘I think I’ve served you sincerely, without arguing and without making a nuisance of myself; I haven’t ever asked you what sort of happiness you intended to seek with Aglaya.’

‘Was I seeking ... happiness with Aglaya?’

‘Oh, please don’t embark on philosophy! Of course you were. Of course, we’ve endured enough: been made fools of. I will confess to you that I’ve never been able to take this matter seriously; only got involved in it “just in case”, relying on her absurd character, but mainly in order to please you; it was ninety per cent likely to come to nothing. I still to this day don’t know what you were trying to achieve.’

‘Now you and your husband will hound me into the civil service; you’ll read me lectures about tenacity and will-power, not ignoring small mercies and so forth, I know it all by heart,’ Ganya began to laugh.

‘He has some new plan on his mind!’ thought Varya.

‘How is it over there - are they pleased, the parents?’ Ganya asked suddenly.

‘N-no, I don’t think they are. Though actually, you may draw your own conclusions; Ivan Fyodorovich is pleased; the mother is afraid; even earlier, she looked on him with revulsion as a fiance, everyone knows that.’

‘That’s not what I meant; he’s impossible and unthinkable as a fiance, that’s clear. I’m asking about what’s happening now, what are things like over there now? Has she given her formal consent?’

‘She hasn’t said “no” yet - that’s all; but that couldn’t be any different. You know how extraordinarily shy and bashful she is: as a child she used to creep into a cupboard and stay there for two or three hours at a time, just so as not to meet the guests; she’s grown up into a hulking great girl, but I mean, she’s just the same even now. You know, I somehow think there really is something serious there, even on her part. They say she laughs at the prince from morning to night as hard as she can, so as not to let on, but she probably manages to say something to him every day on the sly, for he positively walks on air, glows ... They say he’s dreadfully absurd. I’ve even heard it from them. I also fancied that they were laughing at me to my face, the older ones.’