白痴 英文版 The Idiot
陀思妥耶夫斯基 Fyodor Dostoyevsky
The Idiot I. Page 1
THE Epanchin family, or at least the more serious members of it,were sometimes grieved because they seemed so unlike the rest ofthe world. They were not quite certain, but had at times a strongsuspicion that things did not happen to them as they did to otherpeople. Others led a quiet, uneventful life, while they weresubject to continual upheavals. Others kept on the rails withoutdifficulty; they ran off at the slightest obstacle. Other houseswere governed by a timid routine; theirs was somehow different.Perhaps Lizabetha Prokofievna was alone in making these fretfulobservations; the girls, though not wanting in intelligence, werestill young; the general was intelligent, too, but narrow, and inany difficulty he was content to say, "H'm!" and leave the matterto his wife. Consequently, on her fell the responsibility. It wasnot that they distinguished themselves as a family by anyparticular originality, or that their excursions off the trackled to any breach of the proprieties. Oh no.
I don't say aword against liberalism. Liberalism is not a sin, it is anecessary.
There was nothing premeditated, there was not even any consciouspurpose in it all, and yet, in spite of everything, the family,although highly respected, was not quite what every highlyrespected family ought to be. For a long time now LizabethaProkofievna had had it in her mind that all the trouble was owingto her "unfortunate character, "and this added to her distress.She blamed her own stupid unconventional "eccentricity." Alwaysrestless, always on the go, she constantly seemed to lose herway, and to get into trouble over the simplest and more ordinaryaffairs of life.
We said at the beginning of our story, that the Epanchins wereliked and esteemed by their neighbours. In spite of his humbleorigin, Ivan Fedorovitch himself was received everywhere withrespect. He deserved this, partly on account of his wealth andposition, partly because, though limited, he was really a verygood fellow. But a certain limitation of mind seems to be anindispensable asset, if not to all public personages, at least toall serious financiers. Added to this, his manner was modest andunassuming; he knew when to be silent, yet never allowed himselfto be trampled upon. Also--and this was more important than all--he had the advantage of being under exalted patronage.
As to Lizabetha Prokofievna, she, as the reader knows, belongedto an aristocratic family. True, Russians think more ofinfluential friends than of birth, but she had both. She wasesteemed and even loved by people of consequence in society,whose example in receiving her was therefore followed by others.It seems hardly necessary to remark that her family worries andanxieties had little or no foundation, or that her imaginationincreased them to an absurd degree; but if you have a wart onyour forehead or nose, you imagine that all the world is lookingat it, and that people would make fun of you because of it, evenif you had discovered America! Doubtless Lizabetha Prokofievnawas considered "eccentric" in society, but she was none the lessesteemed: the pity was that she was ceasing to believe in thatesteem. When she thought of her daughters, she said to herselfsorrowfully that she was a hindrance rather than a help to theirfuture, that her character and temper were absurd, ridiculous,insupportable. Naturally, she put the blame on her surroundings,and from morning to night was quarrelling with her husband andchildren, whom she really loved to the point of self-sacrifice,even, one might say, of passion.
She was, above all distressed by the idea that her daughtersmight grow up "eccentric," like herself; she believed that noother society girls were like them. "They are growing intoNihilists!" she repeated over and over again. For years she hadtormented herself with this idea, and with the question: "Whydon't they get married?"
But Lizabetha Prokofievna felt somewhat consoled when she couldsay that one of her girls, Adelaida, was settled at last. "Itwill be one off our hands!" she declared aloud, though in privateshe expressed herself with greater tenderness. The engagement wasboth happy and suitable, and was therefore approved in society.Prince S. was a distinguished man, he had money, and his futurewife was devoted to him; what more could be desired? LizabethaProkofievna had felt less anxious about this daughter, however,although she considered her artistic tastes suspicious. But tomake up for them she was, as her mother expressed it, "merry,"and had plenty of "common-sense." It was Aglaya's future whichdisturbed her most. With regard to her eldest daughter,Alexandra, the mother never quite knew whether there was causefor anxiety or not. Sometimes she felt as if there was nothing tobe expected from her. She was twenty-five now, and must be fatedto be an old maid, and "with such beauty, too!" The mother spentwhole nights in weeping and lamenting, while all the time thecause of her grief slumbered peacefully. "What is the matter withher? Is she a Nihilist, or simply a fool?"
But Lizabetha Prokofievna knew perfectly well how unnecessary wasthe last question. She set a high value on Alexandra Ivanovna'sjudgment, and often consulted her in difficulties; but that shewas a 'wet hen' she never for a moment doubted. "She is so calm;nothing rouses her--though wet hens are not always calm! Oh! Ican't understand it!" Her eldest daughter inspired Lizabetha witha kind of puzzled compassion. She did not feel this in Aglaya'scase, though the latter was her idol. It may be said that theseoutbursts and epithets, such as "wet hen "(in which the maternalsolicitude usually showed itself), only made Alexandra laugh.Sometimes the most trivial thing annoyed Mrs. Epanchin, and droveher into a frenzy. For instance, Alexandra Ivanovna liked tosleep late, and was always dreaming, though her dreams had thepeculiarity of being as innocent and naive as those of a child ofseven; and the very innocence of her dreams annoyed her mother.Once she dreamt of nine hens, and this was the cause of quite aserious quarrel--no one knew why. Another time she had--it wasmost unusual--a dream with a spark of originality in it. Shedreamt of a monk in a dark room, into which she was toofrightened to go. Adelaida and Aglaya rushed off with shrieks oflaughter to relate this to their mother, but she was quite angry,and said her daughters were all fools.
"H'm! she is as stupid as a fool! A veritable 'wet hen'! Nothingexcites her; and yet she is not happy; some days it makes onemiserable only to look at her! Why is she unhappy, I wonder?" Attimes Lizabetha Prokofievna put this question to her husband, andas usual she spoke in the threatening tone of one who demands animmediate answer. Ivan Fedorovitch would frown, shrug hisshoulders, and at last give his opinion: "She needs a husband!"
"God forbid that he should share your ideas, Ivan Fedorovitch!"his wife flashed back. "Or that he should be as gross andchurlish as you!"
The general promptly made his escape, and Lizabetha Prokofievnaafter a while grew calm again. That evening, of course, she wouldbe unusually attentive, gentle, and respectful to her "gross andchurlish" husband, her "dear, kind Ivan Fedorovitch," for she hadnever left off loving him. She was even still "in love" with him.He knew it well, and for his part held her in the greatestesteem.
But the mother's great and continual anxiety was Aglaya. "She isexactly like me--my image in everything," said Mrs. Epanchin toherself. "A tyrant! A real little demon! A Nihilist! Eccentric,senseless and mischievous! Good Lord, how unhappy she will be!"
But as we said before, the fact of Adelaida's approachingmarriage was balm to the mother. For a whole month she forgot herfears and worries.
Adelaida's fate was settled; and with her name that of Aglaya'swas linked, in society gossip. People whispered that Aglaya, too,was "as good as engaged;" and Aglaya always looked so sweet andbehaved so well (during this period), that the mother's heart wasfull of joy. Of course, Evgenie Pavlovitch must be thoroughlystudied first, before the final step should be taken; but,really, how lovely dear Aglaya had become--she actually grew morebeautiful every day! And then--Yes, and then--this abominableprince showed his face again, and everything went topsy-turvy atonce, and everyone seemed as mad as March hares.
What had really happened?
If it had been any other family than the Epanchins', nothingparticular would have happened. But, thanks to Mrs. Epanchin'sinvariable fussiness and anxiety, there could not be theslightest hitch in the simplest matters of everyday life, but sheimmediately foresaw the most dreadful and alarming consequences,and suffered accordingly.
What then must have been her condition, when, among all theimaginary anxieties and calamities which so constantly beset her,she now saw looming ahead a serious cause for annoyance--something really likely to arouse doubts and suspicions!
"How dared they, how DARED they write that hateful anonymousletter informing me that Aglaya is in communication with NastasiaPhilipovna?" she thought, as she dragged the prince along towardsher own house, and again when she sat him down at the round tablewhere the family was already assembled. "How dared they so muchas THINK of such a thing? I should DIE with shame if I thoughtthere was a particle of truth in it, or if I were to show theletter to Aglaya herself! Who dares play these jokes upon US, theEpanchins? WHY didn't we go to the Yelagin instead of coming downhere? I TOLD you we had better go to the Yelagin this summer,Ivan Fedorovitch. It's all your fault. I dare say it was thatVaria who sent the letter. It's all Ivan Fedorovitch. THAT womanis doing it all for him, I know she is, to show she can make afool of him now just as she did when he used to give her pearls.
"But after all is said, we are mixed up in it. Your daughters aremixed up in it, Ivan Fedorovitch; young ladies in society, youngladies at an age to be married; they were present, they heardeverything there was to hear. They were mixed up with that otherscene, too, with those dreadful youths. You must be pleased toremember they heard it all. I cannot forgive that wretchedprince. I never shall forgive him! And why, if you please, hasAglaya had an attack of nerves for these last three days? Why hasshe all but quarrelled with her sisters, even with Alexandra--whom she respects so much that she always kisses her hands asthough she were her mother? What are all these riddles of hersthat we have to guess? What has Gavrila Ardalionovitch to do withit? Why did she take upon herself to champion him this morning,and burst into tears over it? Why is there an allusion to thatcursed 'poor knight' in the anonymous letter? And why did I rushoff to him just now like a lunatic, and drag him back here? I dobelieve I've gone mad at last. What on earth have I done now? Totalk to a young man about my daughter's secrets--and secretshaving to do with himself, too! Thank goodness, he's an idiot,and a friend of the house! Surely Aglaya hasn't fallen in lovewith such a gaby! What an idea! Pfu! we ought all to be put underglass cases--myself first of all--and be shown off ascuriosities, at ten copecks a peep!"
"I shall never forgive you for all this, Ivan Fedorovitch--never!Look at her now. Why doesn't she make fun of him? She said shewould, and she doesn't. Look there! She stares at him with allher eyes, and doesn't move; and yet she told him not to come. Helooks pale enough; and that abominable chatterbox, EvgeniePavlovitch, monopolizes the whole of the conversation. Nobodyelse can get a word in. I could soon find out all abouteverything if I could only change the subject."
The prince certainly was very pale. He sat at the table andseemed to be feeling, by turns, sensations of alarm and rapture.
Oh, how frightened he was of looking to one side--one particularcorner--whence he knew very well that a pair of dark eyes werewatching him intently, and how happy he was to think that he wasonce more among them, and occasionally hearing that well-knownvoice, although she had written and forbidden him to come again!
"What on earth will she say to me, I wonder?" he thought tohimself.
He had not said a word yet; he sat silent and listened to EvgeniePavlovitch's eloquence. The latter had never appeared so happyand excited as on this evening. The prince listened to him, butfor a long time did not take in a word he said.
Excepting Ivan Fedorovitch, who had not as yet returned fromtown, the whole family was present. Prince S. was there; and theyall intended to go out to hear the band very soon.
Colia arrived presently and joined the circle. "So he is receivedas usual, after all," thought the prince.
The Epanchins' country-house was a charming building, built afterthe model of a Swiss chalet, and covered with creepers. It wassurrounded on all sides by a flower garden, and the family sat,as a rule, on the open verandah as at the prince's house.
The subject under discussion did not appear to be very popularwith the assembly, and some would have been delighted to changeit; but Evgenie would not stop holding forth, and the prince'sarrival seemed to spur him on to still further oratoricalefforts.
Lizabetha Prokofievna frowned, but had not as yet grasped thesubject, which seemed to have arisen out of a heated argument.Aglaya sat apart, almost in the corner, listening in stubbornsilence.
"Excuse me," continued Evgenie Pavlovitch hotly, "I don't say aword against liberalism. Liberalism is not a sin, it is anecessary part of a great whole, which whole would collapse andfall to pieces without it. Liberalism has just as much right toexist as has the most moral conservatism; but I am attackingRUSSIAN liberalism; and I attack it for the simple reason that aRussian liberal is not a Russian liberal, he is a non-Russianliberal. Show me a real Russian liberal, and I'll kiss him beforeyou all, with pleasure."
"If he cared to kiss you, that is," said Alexandra, whose cheekswere red with irritation and excitement.
"Look at that, now," thought the mother to herself, "she doesnothing but sleep and eat for a year at a time, and then suddenlyflies out in the most incomprehensible way!"
The prince observed that Alexandra appeared to be angry withEvgenie, because he spoke on a serious subject in a frivolousmanner, pretending to be in earnest, but with an under-current ofirony.
"I was saying just now, before you came in, prince, that therehas been nothing national up to now, about our liberalism, andnothing the liberals do, or have done, is in the least degreenational. They are drawn from two classes only, the oldlandowning class, and clerical families--"
anxieties and calamities which so constantly beset her,she now saw looming ahead a serious.
"How, nothing that they have done is Russian?" asked Prince S.
"It may be Russian, but it is not national. Our liberals are notRussian, nor are our conservatives, and you may be sure that thenation does not recognize anything that has been done by thelanded gentry, or by the seminarists, or what is to be doneeither."
"Come, that's good! How can you maintain such a paradox? If youare serious, that is. I cannot allow such a statement about thelanded proprietors to pass unchallenged. Why, you are a landedproprietor yourself!" cried Prince S. hotly.
"I suppose you'll say there is nothing national about ourliterature either?" said Alexandra.
"Well, I am not a great authority on literary questions, but Icertainly do hold that Russian literature is not Russian, exceptperhaps Lomonosoff, Pouschkin and Gogol."
"In the first place, that is a considerable admission, and in thesecond place, one of the above was a peasant, and the other twowere both landed proprietors!"
"Quite so, but don't be in such a hurry! For since it has beenthe part of these three men, and only these three, to saysomething absolutely their own, not borrowed, so by this veryfact these three men become really national. If any Russian shallhave done or said anything really and absolutely original, he isto be called national from that moment, though he may not be ableto talk the Russian language; still he is a national Russian. Iconsider that an axiom. But we were not speaking of literature;we began by discussing the socialists. Very well then, I insistthat there does not exist one single Russian socialist. Theredoes not, and there has never existed such a one, because allsocialists are derived from the two classes--the landedproprietors, and the seminarists. All our eminent socialists aremerely old liberals of the class of landed proprietors, men whowere liberals in the days of serfdom. Why do you laugh? Give metheir books, give me their studies, their memoirs, and though Iam not a literary critic, yet I will prove as clear as day thatevery chapter and every word of their writings has been the workof a former landed proprietor of the old school. You'll find thatall their raptures, all their generous transports areproprietary, all their woes and their tears, proprietary; allproprietary or seminarist! You are laughing again, and you,prince, are smiling too. Don't you agree with me?"
It was true enough that everybody was laughing, the prince amongthem.
"I cannot tell you on the instant whether I agree with you ornot," said the latter, suddenly stopping his laughter, andstarting like a schoolboy caught at mischief. "But, I assure you,I am listening to you with extreme gratification."
So saying, he almost panted with agitation, and a cold sweatstood upon his forehead. These were his first words since he hadentered the house; he tried to lift his eyes, and look around,but dared not; Evgenie Pavlovitch noticed his confusion, andsmiled.
"I'll just tell you one fact, ladies and gentlemen," continuedthe latter, with apparent seriousness and even exaltation ofmanner, but with a suggestion of "chaff" behind every word, asthough he were laughing in his sleeve at his own nonsense--"afact, the discovery of which, I believe, I may claim to have madeby myself alone. At all events, no other has ever said or writtena word about it; and in this fact is expressed the whole essenceof Russian liberalism of the sort which I am now considering.