The Idiot (92 page)

‘Pass us by, and forgive us our happiness!’ said the prince in a quiet voice.

‘Ha-ha-ha! As I thought! I was definitely expecting something like that! I say ... I say ... Well, well! These eloquent folk!
Au revoir, au revoir!’

Of the evening gathering at the Yepanchins’ dacha, at which Belokonskaya was expected, Varvara Ardalionovna had also given her brother a completely faithful account; the guests were indeed expected on the evening of that day; but again she had put it all rather more harshly than was warranted by the occasion. To be sure, the event had been arranged very hurriedly, and even with a certain quite unnecessary agitation, for the sole reason that in that household ‘everything was done as no one else does it’. It could all be explained by Lizaveta Prokofyevna’s ‘wish to be in no doubt no longer’, and by the ardent fluttering of both parental hearts concerning the happiness of their favourite daughter. Moreover, Belokonskaya was indeed soon about to leave; and as her protection really did mean a great deal in society, and as they hoped she would be favourably inclined towards the prince, the parents were counting on ‘society’ accepting Aglaya’s future husband straight from the hands of the omnipotent ‘old woman’, and so, if there was anything strange about it all, under such patronage it would seem far less strange. In this lay the nub of the matter, for the parents were quite unable to decide for themselves if there was anything strange about it, and if there was, then precisely how much about it was strange? Or was there nothing strange about it at all? The frank and friendly opinion of authoritative and competent people would have been useful at the present juncture when, thanks to Aglaya, nothing had yet been finally decided. At all events, sooner or later the prince had to be brought into society, of which he had not the slightest conception. In short, it was planned to ‘show him off’. The projected soiree was, however, of a simple kind; only ‘friends of the family’ were expected, in the smallest of numbers. In addition to Belokonskaya, a certain lady was expected, the wife of a most important
barin
and dignitary. As for young people, they were really only counting on Yevgeny Pavlovich; he was to attend, escorting Belokonskaya.

Of the fact that Belokonskaya would be there, the prince heard almost three days before the evening in question; of the formal soiree he learned only the day before. He had, of course, noticed the troubled look of the members of the household and had even, from certain allusive and worried things they said to him, perceived that they were anxious about the impression he might make. But the Yepanchins, every single one of them, it appeared, had formed the notion that he, because of his simplicity, was quite unable to realize that they were so worried about him. Thus, when they looked at him, they all felt inwardly sad. As a matter of fact, he really attached almost no importance to the forthcoming event; he was preoccupied by something else entirely: Aglaya was becoming more capricious and gloomy by the hour - this was crushing
him. When he learned that Yevgeny Pavlovich was also expected, he was very pleased and said that he had long wished to see him. For some reason these words were not to anyone’s liking; Aglaya emerged from her room in annoyance, and only late in the evening, some time before midnight, when the prince was already leaving, did she seize the occasion to say a few words to him alone, as she was accompanying him to the door.

‘I should like it if you would not come to see us during the daytime tomorrow, but arrive in the evening, when these ... guests will be here. You do know that there are going to be guests, don’t you?’

She spoke impatiently and with heightened severity; it was the first time she had mentioned this ‘evening’. For her, too, the thought of the guests was almost intolerable; everyone had noticed this. It was possible that she felt a dreadful desire to quarrel with her parents about it, but pride and modesty prevented her from speaking. The prince at once realized that she too was anxious about him (and did not want to admit that she was), and suddenly felt afraid himself.

‘Yes, I’m invited,’ he replied.

She plainly found it hard to continue.

‘May one talk to you seriously about something? Just once in your life?’ she suddenly grew exceedingly angry, not knowing why, but unable to hold herself back.

‘You may, and I’ll listen; I’m very glad,’ the prince mumbled.

Aglaya was again silent for a moment and began with visible loathing:

‘I didn’t want to argue with them about it; sometimes one can’t make them listen to reason. I have always loathed the principles that
maman
sometimes adheres to. I’m not talking about papa, there’s no point in asking him for anything.
Maman
is, of course, a decent woman; dare to suggest anything base to her, and you’ll see. Well, but before that ... trash - she bows and scrapes! I’m not just talking about Belokonskaya: a rubbishy old woman with a rubbishy character, but clever and knows how to keep people in hand - at least she has that in her favour. Oh, the baseness of it! And it’s absurd: we’ve always been middle-class people, the most middle-class there could possibly be; so why try to climb into that high society set? My sisters are trying to get there, too; it’s Prince Shch. who’s turned their heads, all of them. Why are you glad that Yevgeny Pavlovich will be there?’

‘Listen, Aglaya,’ said the prince, ‘I have the impression that you’re very anxious about me, in case I flunk ... this gathering tomorrow.’

‘About you? Anxious?’ Aglaya flushed to the roots of her hair. ‘Why would I be anxious about you, even if you were to ... even if you were to disgrace yourself completely? And how can you use such words? What does “flunk” mean? It’s a rubbishy word, a vulgar one.’

‘It’s ... a schoolboy expression.’

‘Oh yes, a schoolboy expression! A rubbishy expression! I expect you intend to use expressions like that all the time tomorrow. Look for some more at home, in your dictionary: you’ll certainly produce
an effect! What a pity that you seem to be able to make a good entrance; where did you learn that? Will you be able to accept a cup of tea and drink it decently when everyone’s watching you?’

‘I think I shall.’

‘That’s too bad; otherwise I’d have had a good laugh. You must at least break the Chinese vase in the drawing room! It’s worth a great deal of money, please, break it; it was a present, mama will go out of her mind and start weeping in front of everyone — it’s so dear to her. Wave your hands about, the way you always do, knock it over and break it. Deliberately sit beside it.’

‘On the contrary, I shall try to sit as far from it as possible: thank you for warning me.’

‘That means you’re already afraid that you’ll wave your hands about a lot. I bet you’ll start talking about some “topic”, something serious, learned and exalted, won’t you? How ... proper that will be!’

‘I think that would be stupid ... if it wasn’t appropriate.’

‘Listen, once and for all,’ Aglaya broke down, at last. ‘If you start talking about anything like the death penalty, or the economic condition of Russia, or “beauty saving the world”, then ... I shall be delighted and laugh a great deal, but ... I warn you now: never show yourself to my gaze again! Do you hear? I’m serious! This time I really am serious!’

She was indeed
serious
in delivering her threat, and there was even something unusual in her words and gaze that the prince had never observed before and really did not resemble a joke at all.

‘Well, you’ve seen to it that now I shall certainly “start talking”, and even ... perhaps ... break the vase. Earlier I wasn’t anxious at all, but now I am anxious about everything. I’m sure I shall flunk.’

‘Then don’t say anything. Sit still and be silent.’

‘That won’t be possible; I am sure I’ll start talking out of fear, and break the vase out of fear. Perhaps I’ll fall on the slippery floor, or do something else of that sort, for that’s happened to me in the past; I shall have dreams about it all night; why did you have to mention it?’

Aglaya gave him a glum look.

‘You know what: I’d do best not to come at all tomorrow! I’ll report sick, and that will be an end of it!’ he decided, at last.

Aglaya stamped her foot and even turned pale with anger.

‘Good Lord! Have you ever seen anything like it? He won’t come when it’s being specially arranged for him and ... Oh God! A rare pleasure it is to have to do with such a ... muddled fellow as you!’

‘Oh, very well, I’ll come, I’ll come!’ the prince interrupted quickly. ‘And I give you my word of honour that I shall sit through the whole evening without uttering a word. I shall certainly do that.’

‘You’ll do well. Just now you said: “I’ll report sick”; really, where do you get such expressions? What is it that makes you want to use such words when you talk to me? Are you teasing me?’

‘I’m sorry; it’s another schoolboy expression; I won’t use it again. I completely realize that you’re ... anxious about me ... (now don’t be angry!), and I’m awfully glad about that. You wouldn’t believe how apprehensive I am now, and - how I rejoice in your words. But all this fear, I swear to you, is just trivial nonsense. Quite honestly, Aglaya! But the joy will remain. I’m awfully glad you’re such a child, such a good, kind child! Oh, how lovely you can be, Aglaya!’

Aglaya would have lost her temper, of course, and was already on the point of doing so, but suddenly, in a single moment, she was wholly seized by an emotion that was unexpected even to herself.

‘And you won’t reproach me for the crude things I said ... at some ... later date?’ she asked him suddenly.

‘No, of course not, of course not! And why have you flared up again? There you go, looking gloomy again! You’ve started to look very gloomy, Aglaya, as you never did before. I know the reason why ...’

‘Be quiet, be quiet!’

‘No, it’s better to say it. I’ve long wanted to say it; I’ve already said it, but ... that wasn’t enough, for you didn’t believe me. In spite of everything, a certain creature stands between us ...’

‘Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet, be quiet!’ Aglaya suddenly broke in, gripping him tightly by the hand and looking at him almost in horror. At that moment she was called for; almost in relief, she let go of him and ran away.

The prince spent the whole night in a fever. Strangely, for several nights in a row now he had had a fever. On this occasion, in a state of semi-delirium, the thought came to him: what if tomorrow, in everyone’s presence, he had a fit of epilepsy? After all, he had had fits in his waking hours before, had he not? This thought made his blood run cold; all night he kept imagining himself at some wondrous and unheard-of gathering, among some strange kind of people. The main thing was that he ‘began talking’; he knew that he should not talk, but he talked all the time, he was trying to talk them round to something. Yevgeny Pavlovich and Ippolit were also among the guests, and seemed to be on exceedingly friendly terms.

He woke up before nine, with a headache, disorder in his thoughts, strange impressions. For some reason he terribly wanted to see Rogozhin; see him and talk to him a great deal - about what, precisely, he himself did not know; then he was on the point of absolutely making up his mind to go and see Ippolit for some purpose. There was something troubled in his heart, so troubled that although the events he encountered that morning made an exceedingly strong impression on him, it was none the less an ill-defined one. One of those events was a visit from Lebedev.

Lebedev presented himself quite early, just after nine, almost completely drunk. Though the prince had recently become rather unobservant, it had not escaped his attention that ever since General Ivolgin had moved out of their household three days earlier, Lebedev had been behaving very badly.
He suddenly became exceedingly grease-stained and mud-bespattered, his tie was knocked to one side, and the collar of his frock coat was torn. In his rooms he even stormed about and raged, and this could be heard across the small courtyard; Vera had once arrived in tears and told some story about it. Appearing now, he began to talk very strangely, striking himself on the chest and blaming himself for something ...

‘I have received.... received retribution for my betrayal and baseness ... I have received a slap in the face!’ he concluded, at last, tragically.

‘A slap in the face! From whom? ... And at such an early hour?’

‘An early hour?’ Lebedev smiled sarcastically. ‘In this case the time is of no consequence ... even for physical retribution ... no, the retribution I received was moral ... moral, not physical!’

He suddenly sat down, without ceremony, and began to tell a story. His story was very incoherent; the prince began to frown, and was on the point of going away, but suddenly several words struck him. He froze with astonishment ... Strange were the things Mr Lebedev was telling.

At first what seemed to be involved was some letter or other; Aglaya Ivanovna’s name was mentioned. Then suddenly Lebedev began to accuse the prince himself; one was given to understand that he had been insulted by the prince. At first, so he said, the prince had honoured him with his confidence in matters concerning a certain ‘personage’ (Nastasya Filippovna); but had then broken with him and driven him away in disgrace, and even to such an insulting degree that on the last occasion he had apparently refused to answer ‘an innocent question about imminent changes in the household’. With drunken tears, Lebedev admitted that ‘after that, he was simply unable to endure any more, particularly as he had learned a great deal ... a very great deal ... from Rogozhin, from Nastasya Filippovna, and from Nastasya Filippovna’s friend, and from Varvara Ardalionovna ... herself, sir ... and from ... from none other than Aglaya Ivanovna, even, sir, can you imagine, sir, through the mediation of Vera, sir, through my beloved daughter Vera, my only daughter ... yes, sir ... though actually, she’s not my only daughter, for I have three of them. And who was informing Lizaveta Prokofyevna by means of letters, even in the deepest secret, sir, heh-heh! Who was writing to her about all the associations and ... movements of the Nastasya Filippovna personage, heh-heh-heh! Who, who is this anonymous person, permit one to ask?’