白痴 英文版 The Idiot
陀思妥耶夫斯基 Fyodor Dostoyevsky
The Idiot V. Page 1
IT was late now, nearly half-past two, and the prince did notfind General Epanchin at home. He left a card, and determined tolook up Colia, who had a room at a small hotel near. Colia wasnot in, but he was informed that he might be back shortly, andhad left word that if he were not in by half-past three it was tobe understood that he had gone to Pavlofsk to General Epanchin's,and would dine there. The prince decided to wait till half-pastthree, and ordered some dinner. At half-past three there was nosign of Colia. The prince waited until four o'clock, and thenstrolled off mechanically wherever his feet should carry him.
In early summer there are often magnificent days in St.Petersburg--bright, hot and still. This happened to be such a day.
For some time the prince wandered about without aim or object. Hedid not know the town well. He stopped to look about him onbridges, at street corners. He entered a confectioner's shop torest, once. He was in a state of nervous excitement andperturbation; he noticed nothing and no one; and he felt acraving for solitude, to be alone with his thoughts and hisemotions, and to give himself up to them passively. He loathedthe idea of trying to answer the questions that would rise up inhis heart and mind. "I am not to blame for all this," he thoughtto himself, half unconsciously.
Towards six o'clock he found himself at the station of theTsarsko-Selski railway.
He was tired of solitude now; a new rush of feeling took hold ofhim, and a flood of light chased away the gloom, for a moment,from his soul. He took a ticket to Pavlofsk, and determined toget there as fast as he could, but something stopped him; areality, and not a fantasy, as he was inclined to think it. Hewas about to take his place in a carriage, when he suddenly threwaway his ticket and came out again, disturbed and thoughtful. Afew moments later, in the street, he recalled something that hadbothered him all the afternoon. He caught himself engaged in astrange occupation which he now recollected he had taken up atodd moments for the last few hours--it was looking about allaround him for something, he did not know what. He had forgottenit for a while, half an hour or so, and now, suddenly, the uneasysearch had recommenced.
But he had hardly become conscious of this curious phenomenon,when another recollection suddenly swam through his brain,interesting him for the moment, exceedingly. He remembered thatthe last time he had been engaged in looking around him for theunknown something, he was standing before a cutler's shop, in thewindow of which were exposed certain goods for sale. He wasextremely anxious now to discover whether this shop and thesegoods really existed, or whether the whole thing had been ahallucination.
He felt in a very curious condition today, a condition similarto that which had preceded his fits in bygone years.
He remembered that at such times he had been particularlyabsentminded, and could not discriminate between objects andpersons unless he concentrated special attention upon them.
He remembered seeing something in the window marked at sixtycopecks. Therefore, if the shop existed and if this object werereally in the window, it would prove that he had been able toconcentrate his attention on this article at a moment when, as ageneral rule, his absence of mind would have been too great toadmit of any such concentration; in fact, very shortly after hehad left the railway station in such a state of agitation.
So he walked back looking about him for the shop, and his heartbeat with intolerable impatience. Ah! here was the very shop, andthere was the article marked 60 cop." "Of course, it's sixtycopecks," he thought, and certainly worth no more." This ideaamused him and he laughed.
But it was a hysterical laugh; he was feeling terribly oppressed.He remembered clearly that just here, standing before thiswindow, he had suddenly turned round, just as earlier in the dayhe had turned and found the dreadful eyes of Rogojin fixed uponhim. Convinced, therefore, that in this respect at all events hehad been under no delusion, he left the shop and went on.
This must be thought out; it was clear that there had been nohallucination at the station then, either; something had actuallyhappened to him, on both occasions; there was no doubt of it. Butagain a loathing for all mental exertion overmastered him; hewould not think it out now, he would put it off and think ofsomething else. He remembered that during his epileptic fits, orrather immediately preceding them, he had always experienced amoment or two when his whole heart, and mind, and body seemed towake up to vigour and light; when he became filled with joy andhope, and all his anxieties seemed to be swept away for ever;these moments were but presentiments, as it were, of the onefinal second (it was never more than a second) in which the fitcame upon him. That second, of course, was inexpressible. Whenhis attack was over, and the prince reflected on his symptoms, heused to say to himself: "These moments, short as they are, when Ifeel such extreme consciousness of myself, and consequently moreof life than at other times, are due only to the disease--to thesudden rupture of normal conditions. Therefore they are notreally a higher kind of life, but a lower." This reasoning,however, seemed to end in a paradox, and lead to the furtherconsideration:--"What matter though it be only disease, anabnormal tension of the brain, if when I recall and analyze themoment, it seems to have been one of harmony and beauty in thehighest degree--an instant of deepest sensation, overflowing withunbounded joy and rapture, ecstatic devotion, and completestlife?" Vague though this sounds, it was perfectly comprehensibleto Muishkin, though he knew that it was but a feeble expressionof his sensations.
That there was, indeed, beauty and harmony in those abnormalmoments, that they really contained the highest synthesis oflife, he could not doubt, nor even admit the possibility ofdoubt. He felt that they were not analogous to the fantastic andunreal dreams due to intoxication by hashish, opium or wine. Ofthat he could judge, when the attack was over. These instantswere characterized--to define it in a word--by an intensequickening of the sense of personality. Since, in the lastconscious moment preceding the attack, he could say to himself,with full understanding of his words: "I would give my whole lifefor this one instant," then doubtless to him it really was wortha lifetime. For the rest, he thought the dialectical part of hisargument of little worth; he saw only too clearly that the resultof these ecstatic moments was stupefaction, mental darkness,idiocy. No argument was possible on that point. His conclusion,his estimate of the "moment," doubtless contained some error, yetthe reality of the sensation troubled him. What's more unanswerablethan a fact? And this fact had occurred. The prince had confessedunreservedly to himself that the feeling of intense beatitude inthat crowded moment made the moment worth a lifetime. "I feelthen," he said one day to Rogojin in Moscow, "I feel then as if Iunderstood those amazing words--'There shall be no more time.'"And he added with a smile: "No doubt the epileptic Mahomet refersto that same moment when he says that he visited all thedwellings of Allah, in less time than was needed to empty hispitcher of water." Yes, he had often met Rogojin in Moscow, andmany were the subjects they discussed. "He told me I had been abrother to him," thought the prince. "He said so today, for thefirst time."
He was sitting in the Summer Garden on a seat under a tree, andhis mind dwelt on the matter. It was about seven o'clock, and theplace was empty. The stifling atmosphere foretold a storm, andthe prince felt a certain charm in the contemplative mood whichpossessed him. He found pleasure, too, in gazing at the exteriorobjects around him. All the time he was trying to forget something, to escape from some idea that haunted him; but melancholythoughts came back, though he would so willingly have escapedfrom them. He remembered suddenly how he had been talking to thewaiter, while he dined, about a recently committed murder whichthe whole town was discussing, and as he thought of it somethingstrange came over him. He was seized all at once by a violentdesire, almost a temptation, against which he strove in vain.
He jumped up and walked off as fast as he could towards the"Petersburg Side." [One of the quarters of St. Petersburg.] Hehad asked someone, a little while before, to show him which wasthe Petersburg Side, on the banks of the Neva. He had not gonethere, however; and he knew very well that it was of no use to gonow, for he would certainly not find Lebedeff's relation at home.He had the address, but she must certainly have gone to Pavlofsk,or Colia would have let him know. If he were to go now, it wouldmerely be out of curiosity, but a sudden, new idea had come intohis head.
However, it was something to move on and know where he was going.A minute later he was still moving on, but without knowinganything. He could no longer think out his new idea. He tried totake an interest in all he saw; in the sky, in the Neva. He spoketo some children he met. He felt his epileptic condition becomingmore and more developed. The evening was very close; thunder washeard some way off.
The prince was haunted all that day by the face of Lebedeff'snephew whom he had seen for the first time that morning, just asone is haunted at times by some persistent musical refrain. By acurious association of ideas, the young man always appeared asthe murderer of whom Lebedeff had spoken when introducing him toMuishkin. Yes, he had read something about the murder, and thatquite recently. Since he came to Russia, he had heard manystories of this kind, and was interested in them. Hisconversation with the waiter, an hour ago, chanced to be on thesubject of this murder of the Zemarins, and the latter had agreedwith him about it. He thought of the waiter again, and decidedthat he was no fool, but a steady, intelligent man: though, saidhe to himself, "God knows what he may really be; in a countrywith which one is unfamiliar it is difficult to understand thepeople one meets." He was beginning to have a passionate faith inthe Russian soul, however, and what discoveries he had made inthe last six months, what unexpected discoveries! But every soulis a mystery, and depths of mystery lie in the soul of a Russian.He had been intimate with Rogojin, for example, and a brotherlyfriendship had sprung up between them--yet did he really knowhim? What chaos and ugliness fills the world at times! What aself-satisfied rascal is that nephew of Lebedeff's! "But what amI thinking," continued the prince to himself. "Can he really havecommitted that crime? Did he kill those six persons? I seem to beconfusing things ... how strange it all is.... My head goesround... And Lebedeff's daughter--how sympathetic andcharming her face was as she held the child in her arms! What aninnocent look and child-like laugh she had! It is curious that Ihad forgotten her until now. I expect Lebedeff adores her--and Ireally believe, when I think of it, that as sure as two and twomake four, he is fond of that nephew, too!"
Well, why should he judge them so hastily! Could he really saywhat they were, after one short visit? Even Lebedeff seemed anenigma today. Did he expect to find him so? He had never seen himlike that before. Lebedeff and the Comtesse du Barry! GoodHeavens! If Rogojin should really kill someone, it would not, atany rate, be such a senseless, chaotic affair. A knife made to aspecial pattern, and six people killed in a kind of delirium. ButRogojin also had a knife made to a special pattern. Can it be thatRogojin wishes to murder anyone? The prince began to trembleviolently. "It is a crime on my part to imagine anything so base,with such cynical frankness." His face reddened with shame at thethought; and then there came across him as in a flash the memoryof the incidents at the Pavlofsk station, and at the otherstation in the morning; and the question asked him by Rogojinabout THE EYES and Rogojin's cross, that he was even now wearing;and the benediction of Rogojin's mother; and his embrace on thedarkened staircase--that last supreme renunciation--and now, tofind himself full of this new "idea," staring into shop-windows,and looking round for things--how base he was!
Despair overmastered his soul; he would not go on, he would goback to his hotel; he even turned and went the other way; but amoment after he changed his mind again and went on in the olddirection.
Why, here he was on the Petersburg Side already, quite close tothe house! Where was his "idea"? He was marching along without itnow. Yes, his malady was coming back, it was clear enough; allthis gloom and heaviness, all these "ideas," were nothing morenor less than a fit coming on; perhaps he would have a fit thisvery day.
But just now all the gloom and darkness had fled, his heart feltfull of joy and hope, there was no such thing as doubt. And yes,he hadn't seen her for so long; he really must see her. He wishedhe could meet Rogojin; he would take his hand, and they would goto her together. His heart was pure, he was no rival of Parfen's.Tomorrow, he would go and tell him that he had seen her. Why, hehad only come for the sole purpose of seeing her, all the wayfrom Moscow! Perhaps she might be here still, who knows? Shemight not have gone away to Pavlofsk yet.
Yes, all this must be put straight and above-board, there must beno more passionate renouncements, such as Rogojin's. It must allbe clear as day. Cannot Rogojin's soul bear the light? He said hedid not love her with sympathy and pity; true, he added that"your pity is greater than my love," but he was not quite fair onhimself there. Kin! Rogojin reading a book--wasn't that sympathybeginning? Did it not show that he comprehended his relationswith her? And his story of waiting day and night for herforgiveness? That didn't look quite like passion alone.
And as to her face, could it inspire nothing but passion? Couldher face inspire passion at all now? Oh, it inspired suffering,grief, overwhelming grief of the soul! A poignant, agonizingmemory swept over the prince's heart.
Yes, agonizing. He remembered how he had suffered that first daywhen he thought he observed in her the symptoms of madness. Hehad almost fallen into despair. How could he have lost his holdupon her when she ran away from him to Rogojin? He ought to haverun after her himself, rather than wait for news as he had done.Can Rogojin have failed to observe, up to now, that she is mad?Rogojin attributes her strangeness to other causes, to passion!What insane jealousy! What was it he had hinted at in thatsuggestion of his? The prince suddenly blushed, and shuddered tohis very heart.
But why recall all this? There was insanity on both sides. Forhim, the prince, to love this woman with passion, wasunthinkable. It would be cruel and inhuman. Yes. Rogojin is notfair to himself; he has a large heart; he has aptitude forsympathy. When he learns the truth, and finds what a pitiablebeing is this injured, broken, half-insane creature, he willforgive her all the torment she has caused him. He will becomeher slave, her brother, her friend. Compassion will teach evenRogojin, it will show him how to reason. Compassion is the chieflaw of human existence. Oh, how guilty he felt towards Rogojin!And, for a few warm, hasty words spoken in Moscow, Parfen hadcalled him "brother," while he--but no, this was delirium! Itwould all come right! That gloomy Parfen had implied that hisfaith was waning; he must suffer dreadfully. He said he liked tolook at that picture; it was not that he liked it, but he feltthe need of looking at it. Rogojin was not merely a passionatesoul; he was a fighter. He was fighting for the restoration ofhis dying faith. He must have something to hold on to andbelieve, and someone to believe in. What a strange picture thatof Holbein's is! Why, this is the street, and here's the house,No. 16.
The prince rang the bell, and asked for Nastasia Philipovna. Thelady of the house came out, and stated that Nastasia had gone tostay with Daria Alexeyevna at Pavlofsk, and might be there somedays.
Madame Filisoff was a little woman of forty, with a cunning face,and crafty, piercing eyes. When, with an air of mystery, sheasked her visitor's name, he refused at first to answer, but in amoment he changed his mind, and left strict instructions that itshould be given to Nastasia Philipovna. The urgency of hisrequest seemed to impress Madame Filisoff, and she put on aknowing expression, as if to say, "You need not be afraid, Iquite understand." The prince's name evidently was a greatsurprise to her. He stood and looked absently at her for amoment, then turned, and took the road back to his hotel. But hewent away not as he came. A great change had suddenly come overhim. He went blindly forward; his knees shook under him; he wastormented by "ideas"; his lips were blue, and trembled with afeeble, meaningless smile. His demon was upon him once more.
attributes her strangeness to other causes, to passion!What insane jealousy! What was it he had hinted at in thatsuggestion?
What had happened to him? Why was his brow clammy with drops ofmoisture, his knees shaking beneath him, and his soul oppressedwith a cold gloom? Was it because he had just seen these dreadfuleyes again? Why, he had left the Summer Garden on purpose to seethem; that had been his "idea." He had wished to assure himselfthat he would see them once more at that house. Then why was heso overwhelmed now, having seen them as he expected? just asthough he had not expected to see them! Yes, they were the verysame eyes; and no doubt about it. The same that he had seen inthe crowd that morning at the station, the same that he hadsurprised in Rogojin's rooms some hours later, when the latterhad replied to his inquiry with a sneering laugh, "Well, whoseeyes were they?" Then for the third time they had appeared justas he was getting into the train on his way to see Aglaya. He hadhad a strong impulse to rush up to Rogojin, and repeat his wordsof the morning "Whose eyes are they?" Instead he had fled fromthe station, and knew nothing more, until he found himself gazinginto the window of a cutler's shop, and wondering if a knife witha staghorn handle would cost more than sixty copecks. And as theprince sat dreaming in the Summer Garden under a lime-tree, awicked demon had come and whispered in his car: "Rogojin has beenspying upon you and watching you all the morning in a frenzy ofdesperation. When he finds you have not gone to Pavlofsk--aterrible discovery for him--he will surely go at once to thathouse in Petersburg Side, and watch for you there, although onlythis morning you gave your word of honour not to see HER, andswore that you had not come to Petersburg for that purpose." Andthereupon the prince had hastened off to that house, and what wasthere in the fact that he had met Rogojin there? He had only seena wretched, suffering creature, whose state of mind was gloomyand miserable, but most comprehensible. In the morning Rogojinhad seemed to be trying to keep out of the way; but at thestation this afternoon he had stood out, he had concealedhimself, indeed, less than the prince himself; at the house, now,he had stood fifty yards off on the other side of the road, withfolded hands, watching, plainly in view and apparently desirousof being seen. He had stood there like an accuser, like a judge,not like a--a what?