白痴 英文版 The Idiot
陀思妥耶夫斯基 Fyodor Dostoyevsky
The Idiot I. Page 1
A WEEK had elapsed since the rendezvous of our two friends on thegreen bench in the park, when, one fine morning at about half-past ten o'clock, Varvara Ardalionovna, otherwise Mrs. Ptitsin,who had been out to visit a friend, returned home in a state ofconsiderable mental depression.
sensation of bitterness,a sort of mocking contempt, mingled.
There are certain people of whom it is difficult to say anythingwhich will at once throw them into relief--in other words,describe them graphically in their typical characteristics. Theseare they who are generally known as "commonplace people," and thisclass comprises, of course, the immense majority of mankind.Authors, as a rule, attempt to select and portray types rarelymet with in their entirety, but these types are nevertheless morereal than real life itself.
"Podkoleosin" [A character in Gogol's comedy, The Wedding.] wasperhaps an exaggeration, but he was by no means a non-existentcharacter; on the contrary, how many intelligent people, afterhearing of this Podkoleosin from Gogol, immediately began to findthat scores of their friends were exactly like him! They knew,perhaps, before Gogol told them, that their friends were likePodkoleosin, but they did not know what name to give them. Inreal life, young fellows seldom jump out of the window justbefore their weddings, because such a feat, not to speak of itsother aspects, must be a decidedly unpleasant mode of escape; andyet there are plenty of bridegrooms, intelligent fellows too, whowould be ready to confess themselves Podkoleosins in the depthsof their consciousness, just before marriage. Nor does everyhusband feel bound to repeat at every step, "Tu l'as voulu,Georges Dandin!" like another typical personage; and yet how manymillions and billions of Georges Dandins there are in real lifewho feel inclined to utter this soul-drawn cry after theirhoneymoon, if not the day after the wedding! Therefore, withoutentering into any more serious examination of the question, Iwill content myself with remarking that in real life typicalcharacters are "watered down," so to speak; and all these Dandinsand Podkoleosins actually exist among us every day, but in adiluted form. I will just add, however, that Georges Dandin mighthave existed exactly as Moliere presented him, and probably doesexist now and then, though rarely; and so I will end thisscientific examination, which is beginning to look like anewspaper criticism. But for all this, the question remains,--what are the novelists to do with commonplace people, and how arethey to be presented to the reader in such a form as to be in theleast degree interesting? They cannot be left out altogether, forcommonplace people meet one at every turn of life, and to leavethem out would be to destroy the whole reality and probability ofthe story. To fill a novel with typical characters only, or withmerely strange and uncommon people, would render the book unrealand improbable, and would very likely destroy the interest. In myopinion, the duty of the novelist is to seek out points ofinterest and instruction even in the characters of commonplacepeople.
For instance, when the whole essence of an ordinary person'snature lies in his perpetual and unchangeable commonplaceness;and when in spite of all his endeavours to do something out ofthe common, this person ends, eventually, by remaining in hisunbroken line of routine--. I think such an individual reallydoes become a type of his own--a type of commonplaceness whichwill not for the world, if it can help it, be contented, butstrains and yearns to be something original and independent,without the slightest possibility of being so. To this class ofcommonplace people belong several characters in this novel;--characters which--I admit--I have not drawn very vividly up tonow for my reader's benefit.
Such were, for instance, Varvara Ardalionovna Ptitsin, herhusband, and her brother, Gania.
There is nothing so annoying as to be fairly rich, of a fairlygood family, pleasing presence, average education, to be "notstupid," kind-hearted, and yet to have no talent at all, nooriginality, not a single idea of one's own--to be, in fact,"just like everyone else."
Of such people there are countless numbers in this world--farmore even than appear. They can be divided into two classes asall men can--that is, those of limited intellect, and those whoare much cleverer. The former of these classes is the happier.
To a commonplace man of limited intellect, for instance, nothingis simpler than to imagine himself an original character, and torevel in that belief without the slightest misgiving.
Many of our young women have thought fit to cut their hair short,put on blue spectacles, and call themselves Nihilists. By doingthis they have been able to persuade themselves, without furthertrouble, that they have acquired new convictions of their own.Some men have but felt some little qualm of kindness towardstheir fellow-men, and the fact has been quite enough to persuadethem that they stand alone in the van of enlightenment and thatno one has such humanitarian feelings as they. Others have but toread an idea of somebody else's, and they can immediatelyassimilate it and believe that it was a child of their own brain.The "impudence of ignorance," if I may use the expression, isdeveloped to a wonderful extent in such cases;--unlikely as itappears, it is met with at every turn.
This confidence of a stupid man in his own talents has beenwonderfully depicted by Gogol in the amazing character ofPirogoff. Pirogoff has not the slightest doubt of his owngenius,--nay, of his SUPERIORITY of genius,--so certain is he ofit that he never questions it. How many Pirogoffs have there notbeen among our writers--scholars--propagandists? I say "havebeen," but indeed there are plenty of them at this very day.
Our friend, Gania, belonged to the other class--to the "muchcleverer" persons, though he was from head to foot permeated andsaturated with the longing to be original. This class, as I havesaid above, is far less happy. For the "clever commonplace"person, though he may possibly imagine himself a man of geniusand originality, none the less has within his heart the deathlessworm of suspicion and doubt; and this doubt sometimes brings aclever man to despair. (As a rule, however, nothing tragichappens;--his liver becomes a little damaged in the course oftime, nothing more serious. Such men do not give up theiraspirations after originality without a severe struggle,--andthere have been men who, though good fellows in themselves, andeven benefactors to humanity, have sunk to the level of basecriminals for the sake of originality.
Gania was a beginner, as it were, upon this road. A deep andunchangeable consciousness of his own lack of talent, combinedwith a vast longing to be able to persuade himself that he wasoriginal, had rankled in his heart, even from childhood.
He seemed to have been born with overwrought nerves, and in hispassionate desire to excel, he was often led to the brink of somerash step; and yet, having resolved upon such a step, when themoment arrived, he invariably proved too sensible to take it. Hewas ready, in the same way, to do a base action in order toobtain his wished-for object; and yet, when the moment came to doit, he found that he was too honest for any great baseness. (Notthat he objected to acts of petty meanness--he was always readyfor THEM.) He looked with hate and loathing on the poverty anddownfall of his family, and treated his mother with haughtycontempt, although he knew that his whole future depended on hercharacter and reputation.
Aglaya had simply frightened him; yet he did not give up allthoughts of her--though he never seriously hoped that she wouldcondescend to him. At the time of his "adventure" with NastasiaPhilipovna he had come to the conclusion that money was his onlyhope--money should do all for him.
At the moment when he lost Aglaya, and after the scene withNastasia, he had felt so low in his own eyes that he actuallybrought the money back to the prince. Of this returning of themoney given to him by a madwoman who had received it from amadman, he had often repented since--though he never ceased to beproud of his action. During the short time that Muishkin remainedin Petersburg Gania had had time to come to hate him for hissympathy, though the prince told him that it was "not everyonewho would have acted so nobly" as to return the money. He hadlong pondered, too, over his relations with Aglaya, and hadpersuaded himself that with such a strange, childish, innocentcharacter as hers, things might have ended very differently.Remorse then seized him; he threw up his post, and buried himselfin self-torment and reproach.
He lived at Ptitsin's, and openly showed contempt for the latter,though he always listened to his advice, and was sensible enoughto ask for it when he wanted it. Gavrila Ardalionovitch was angrywith Ptitsin because the latter did not care to become aRothschild. "If you are to be a Jew," he said, "do it properly--squeeze people right and left, show some character; be the Kingof the Jews while you are about it."
"I shan't ever be a Rothschild, and there is no reason why Ishould," he added, smiling; "but I shall have a house in theLiteynaya, perhaps two, and that will be enough for me." "Whoknows but what I may have three!" he concluded to himself; butthis dream, cherished inwardly, he never confided to a soul.
Nature loves and favours such people. Ptitsin will certainly havehis reward, not three houses, but four, precisely because fromchildhood up he had realized that he would never be a Rothschild.That will be the limit of Ptitsin's fortune, and, come what may,he will never have more than four houses.
Varvara Ardalionovna was not like her brother. She too, hadpassionate desires, but they were persistent rather thanimpetuous. Her plans were as wise as her methods of carrying themout. No doubt she also belonged to the category of ordinarypeople who dream of being original, but she soon discovered thatshe had not a grain of true originality, and she did not let ittrouble her too much. Perhaps a certain kind of pride came to herhelp. She made her first concession to the demands of practicallife with great resolution when she consented to marry Ptitsin.However, when she married she did not say to herself, "Never minda mean action if it leads to the end in view," as her brotherwould certainly have said in such a case; it is quite probablethat he may have said it when he expressed his elder-brotherlysatisfaction at her decision. Far from this; Varvara Ardalionovnadid not marry until she felt convinced that her future husbandwas unassuming, agreeable, almost cultured, and that nothing onearth would tempt him to a really dishonourable deed. As to smallmeannesses, such trifles did not trouble her. Indeed, who is freefrom them? It is absurd to expect the ideal! Besides, she knewthat her marriage would provide a refuge for all her family.Seeing Gania unhappy, she was anxious to help him, in spite oftheir former disputes and misunderstandings. Ptitsin, in afriendly way, would press his brother-in-law to enter the army."You know," he said sometimes, jokingly, "you despise generalsand generaldom, but you will see that 'they' will all end bybeing generals in their turn. You will see it if you live longenough!"
"But why should they suppose that I despise generals?" Ganiathought sarcastically to himself.
To serve her brother's interests, Varvara Ardalionovna wasconstantly at the Epanchins' house, helped by the fact that inchildhood she and Gania had played with General IvanFedorovitch's daughters. It would have been inconsistent with hercharacter if in these visits she had been pursuing a chimera; herproject was not chimerical at all; she was building on a firmbasis--on her knowledge of the character of the Epanchin family,especially Aglaya, whom she studied closely. All Varvara'sefforts were directed towards bringing Aglaya and Gania together.Perhaps she achieved some result; perhaps, also, she made themistake of depending too much upon her brother, and expectingmore from him than he would ever be capable of giving. Howeverthis may be, her manoeuvres were skilful enough. For weeks at atime she would never mention Gania. Her attitude was modest butdignified, and she was always extremely truthful and sincere.Examining the depths of her conscience, she found nothing toreproach herself with, and this still further strengthened her inher designs. But Varvara Ardalionovna sometimes remarked that shefelt spiteful; that there was a good deal of vanity in her,perhaps even of wounded vanity. She noticed this at certain timesmore than at others, and especially after her visits to theEpanchins.
not everyonewho would have acted so nobly" as to return.
Today, as I have said, she returned from their house with aheavy feeling of dejection. There was a sensation of bitterness,a sort of mocking contempt, mingled with it.
Out. Well--what has happened?--go on."upstairs.
Arrived at her own house, Varia heard a considerable commotiongoing on in the upper storey, and distinguished the voices of herfather and brother. On entering the salon she found Gania pacingup and down at frantic speed, pale with rage and almost tearinghis hair. She frowned, and subsided on to the sofa with a tiredair, and without taking the trouble to remove her hat. She verywell knew that if she kept quiet and asked her brother nothingabout his reason for tearing up and down the room, his wrathwould fall upon her head. So she hastened to put the question:
"The old story, eh?"
"Old story? No! Heaven knows what's up now--I don't! Father hassimply gone mad; mother's in floods of tears. Upon my word,Varia, I must kick him out of the house; or else go myself," headded, probably remembering that he could not well turn peopleout of a house which was not his own.
"You must make allowances," murmured Varia.
"Make allowances? For whom? Him--the old blackguard? No, no,Varia--that won't do! It won't do, I tell you! And look at theswagger of the man! He's all to blame himself, and yet he puts onso much 'side' that you'd think--my word!--'It's too muchtrouble to go through the gate, you must break the fence for me!'That's the sort of air he puts on; but what's the matter withyou, Varia? What a curious expression you have!"
"I'm all right," said Varia, in a tone that sounded as though shewere all wrong.
Gania looked more intently at her.
"You've been THERE?" he asked, suddenly.
"Yes."
"Did you find out anything?"
"Nothing unexpected. I discovered that it's all true. My husbandwas wiser than either of us. Just as he suspected from thebeginning, so it has fallen out. Where is he?"
"Out. Well--what has happened?--go on."
"The prince is formally engaged to her--that's settled. The eldersisters told me about it. Aglaya has agreed. They don't attemptto conceal it any longer; you know how mysterious and secret theyhave all been up to now. Adelaida's wedding is put off again, sothat both can be married on one day. Isn't that delightfullyromantic? Somebody ought to write a poem on it. Sit down andwrite an ode instead of tearing up and down like that. Thisevening Princess Bielokonski is to arrive; she comes just intime--they have a party tonight. He is to be presented to oldBielokonski, though I believe he knows her already; probably theengagement will be openly announced. They are only afraid that hemay knock something down, or trip over something when he comesinto the room. It would be just like him."
Gania listened attentively, but to his sister's astonishment hewas by no means so impressed by this news (which should, shethought, have been so important to him) as she had expected.
"Well, it was clear enough all along," he said, after a moment'sreflection. "So that's the end," he added, with a disagreeablesmile, continuing to walk up and down the room, but much slowerthan before, and glancing slyly into his sister's face.
"It's a good thing that you take it philosophically, at allevents," said Varia. "I'm really very glad of it."
"Yes, it's off our hands--off YOURS, I should say."
"I think I have served you faithfully. I never even asked youwhat happiness you expected to find with Aglaya."
"Did I ever expect to find happiness with Aglaya?"
"Come, come, don't overdo your philosophy. Of course you did. Nowit's all over, and a good thing, too; pair of fools that we havebeen! I confess I have never been able to look at it seriously. Ibusied myself in it for your sake, thinking that there was noknowing what might happen with a funny girl like that to dealwith. There were ninety to one chances against it. To this momentI can't make out why you wished for it."
"H'm! now, I suppose, you and your husband will never weary ofegging me on to work again. You'll begin your lectures aboutperseverance and strength of will, and all that. I know it all byheart," said Gania, laughing.
"He's got some new idea in his head," thought Varia. "Are theypleased over there--the parents?" asked Gania, suddenly.
"N--no, I don't think they are. You can judge for yourself. Ithink the general is pleased enough; her mother is a littleuneasy. She always loathed the idea of the prince as a HUSBAND;everybody knows that."
"Of course, naturally. The bridegroom is an impossible andridiculous one. I mean, has SHE given her formal consent?"
"She has not said 'no,' up to now, and that's all. It was sure tobe so with her. You know what she is like. You know how absurdlyshy she is. You remember how she used to hide in a cupboard as achild, so as to avoid seeing visitors, for hours at a time. Sheis just the same now; but, do you know, I think there issomething serious in the matter, even from her side; I feel it,somehow. She laughs at the prince, they say, from morn to nightin order to hide her real feelings; but you may be sure she findsoccasion to say something or other to him on the sly, for hehimself is in a state of radiant happiness. He walks in theclouds; they say he is extremely funny just now; I heard it fromthemselves. They seemed to be laughing at me in their sleeves--those elder girls--I don't know why."
Gania had begun to frown, and probably Varia added this lastsentence in order to probe his thought. However, at this moment,the noise began again upstairs.
"I'll turn him out!" shouted Gania, glad of the opportunity ofventing his vexation. "I shall just turn him out--we can't havethis."
"Yes, and then he'll go about the place and disgrace us as he didyesterday."
"How 'as he did yesterday'? What do you mean? What did he doyesterday?" asked Gania, in alarm.
"Why, goodness me, don't you know?" Varia stopped short.
"What? You don't mean to say that he went there yesterday!" criedGania, flushing red with shame and anger. "Good heavens, Varia!Speak! You have just been there. WAS he there or not, QUICK?" AndGania rushed for the door. Varia followed and caught him by bothhands.