almost as kind and cordial as I met abroad. Imagine howdelighted I must have been, and how surprised! Oh, let me expressthis feeling! I have so often heard, and I have even believed, thatin society there was nothing but empty forms, and that reality hadvanished; but I now see for myself that this can never be the case _here_,among us--it may be the order elsewhere, but not in Russia. Surely youare not all Jesuits and deceivers! I heard Prince N.’s story just now.Was it not simple-minded, spontaneous humour? Could such words come fromthe lips of a man who is dead?--a man whose heart and talents are driedup? Could dead men and women have treated me so kindly as you have allbeen treating me to-day? Is there not material for the future in allthis--for hope? Can such people fail to _understand?_ Can such men fallaway from reality?”
“Once more let us beg you to be calm, my dear boy. We’ll talk of allthis another time--I shall do so with the greatest pleasure, for one,” said the old dignitary, with a smile.
Ivan Petrovitch grunted and twisted round in his chair. General Epanchinmoved nervously. The latter’s chief had started a conversation with thewife of the dignitary, and took no notice whatever of the prince, butthe old lady very often glanced at him, and listened to what he wassaying.
“No, I had better speak,” continued the prince, with a new outburstof feverish emotion, and turning towards the old man with an air ofconfidential trustfulness. “Yesterday, Aglaya Ivanovna forbade meto talk, and even specified the particular subjects I must not touchupon--she knows well enough that I am odd when I get upon these matters.I am nearly twenty-seven years old, and yet I know I am little betterthan a child. I have no right to express my ideas, and said so long ago.Only in Moscow, with Rogojin, did I ever speak absolutely freely! He andI read Pushkin together--all his works. Rogojin knew nothing of Pushkin,had not even heard his name. I am always afraid of spoiling a greatThought or Idea by my absurd manner. I have no eloquence, I know. Ialways make the wrong gestures--inappropriate gestures--and thereforeI degrade the Thought, and raise a laugh instead of doing my subjectjustice. I have no sense of proportion either, and that is the chiefthing. I know it would be much better if I were always to sit still andsay nothing. When I do so, I appear to be quite a sensible sort of aperson, and what’s more, I think about things. But now I must speak; itis better that I should. I began to speak because you looked so kindlyat me; you have such a beautiful face. I promised Aglaya Ivanovnayesterday that I would not speak all the evening.”
“Really?” said the old man, smiling.
“But, at times, I can’t help thinking that I am wrong in feeling soabout it, you know. Sincerity is more important than elocution, isn’tit?”
“Sometimes.”
“I want to explain all to you--everything--everything! I know you thinkme Utopian, don’t you--an idealist? Oh, no! I’m not, indeed--my ideasare all so simple. You don’t believe me? You are smiling. Do you know,I am sometimes very wicked--for I lose my faith? This evening as I camehere, I thought to myself, ‘What shall I talk about? How am I to begin,so that they may be able to understand partially, at all events?’ Howafraid I was--dreadfully afraid! And yet, how _could_ I be afraid--was itnot shameful of me? Was I afraid of finding a bottomless abyss of emptyselfishness? Ah! that’s why I am so happy at this moment, because I findthere is no bottomless abyss at all--but good, healthy material, full oflife.
“It is not such a very dreadful circumstance that we are odd people, isit? For we really are odd, you know--careless, reckless, easily weariedof anything. We don’t look thoroughly into matters--don’t care tounderstand things. We are all like this--you and I, and all of them!Why, here are you, now--you are not a bit angry with me for calling you‘odd,’ are you? And, if so, surely there is good material in you? Do youknow, I sometimes think it is a good thing to be odd. We can forgiveone another more easily, and be more humble. No one can begin by beingperfect--there is much one cannot understand in life at first. In orderto attain to perfection, one must begin by failing to understand much.And if we take in knowledge too quickly, we very likely are not takingit in at all. I say all this to you--you who by this time understand somuch--and doubtless have failed to understand so much, also. I am notafraid of you any longer. You are not angry that a mere boy should saysuch words to you, are you? Of course not! You know how to forget and toforgive. You are laughing, Ivan Petrovitch? You think I am a championof other classes of people--that I am _their_ advocate, a democrat, andan orator of Equality?” The prince laughed hysterically; he had severaltimes burst into these little, short nervous laughs. “Oh, no--it is foryou, for myself, and for all of us together, that I am alarmed. I am aprince of an old family myself, and I am sitting among my peers; and Iam talking like this in the hope of saving us all; in the hope that ourclass will not disappear altogether--into the darkness--unguessing itsdanger--blaming everything around it, and losing ground every day. Whyshould we disappear and give place to others, when we may still, ifwe choose, remain in the front rank and lead the battle? Let us beservants, that we may become lords in due season!”
He tried to get upon his feet again, but the old man still restrainedhim, gazing at him with increasing perturbation as he went on.
“Listen--I know it is best not to speak! It is best simply to give agood example--simply to begin the work. I have done this--I havebegun, and--and--oh! _can_ anyone be unhappy, really? Oh! what does griefmatter--what does misfortune matter, if one knows how to be happy? Doyou know, I cannot understand how anyone can pass by a green tree, andnot feel happy only to look at it! How anyone can talk to a man and notfeel happy in loving him! Oh, it is my own fault that I cannot expressmyself well enough! But there are lovely things at every step Itake--things which even the most miserable man must recognize asbeautiful. Look at a little child--look at God’s day dawn--look at thegrass growing--look at the eyes that love you, as they gaze back intoyour eyes!”
He had risen, and was speaking standing up. The old gentleman waslooking at him now in unconcealed alarm. Lizabetha Prokofievna wrung herhands. “Oh, my God!” she cried. She had guessed the state of the casebefore anyone else.
Aglaya rushed quickly up to him, and was just in time to receive him inher arms, and to hear with dread and horror that awful, wild cry as hefell writhing to the ground.
There he lay on the carpet, and someone quickly placed a cushion underhis head.
No one had expected this.
In a quarter of an hour or so Prince N. and Evgenie Pavlovitch and theold dignitary were hard at work endeavouring to restore the harmonyof the evening, but it was of no avail, and very soon after the guestsseparated and went their ways.
A great deal of sympathy was expressed; a considerable amount of advicewas volunteered; Ivan Petrovitch expressed his opinion that the youngman was “a Slavophile, or something of that sort”; but that it was not adangerous development. The old dignitary said nothing.
True enough, most of the guests, next day and the day after, were notin very good humour. Ivan Petrovitch was a little offended, but notseriously so. General Epanchin’s chief was rather cool towards him forsome while after the occurrence. The old dignitary, as patron of thefamily, took the opportunity of murmuring some kind of admonition to thegeneral, and added, in flattering terms, that he was most interestedin Aglaya’s future. He was a man who really did possess a kind heart,although his interest in the prince, in the earlier part of the evening,was due, among other reasons, to the latter’s connection with NastasiaPhilipovna, according to popular report. He had heard a good deal ofthis story here and there, and was greatly interested in it, so much sothat he longed to ask further questions about it.
Princess Bielokonski, as she drove away on this eventful evening, tookoccasion to say to Lizabetha Prokofievna:
“Well--he’s a good match--and a bad one; and if you want my opinion,more bad than good. You can see for yourself the man is an invalid.”
Lizabetha therefore decided that the prince was impossible as a husbandfor Aglaya; and during the ensuing night she made a vow
that never whileshe lived should he marry Aglaya. With this resolve firmly impressedupon her mind, she awoke next day; but during the morning, after herearly lunch, she fell into a condition of remarkable inconsistency.
In reply to a very guarded question of her sisters’, Aglaya had answeredcoldly, but exceedingly haughtily:
“I have never given him my word at all, nor have I ever counted him asmy future husband--never in my life. He is just as little to me as allthe rest.”
Lizabetha Prokofievna suddenly flared up.
“I did not expect that of you, Aglaya,” she said. “He is an impossiblehusband for you,--I know it; and thank God that we agree upon thatpoint; but I did not expect to hear such words from you. I thought Ishould hear a very different tone from you. I would have turned outeveryone who was in the room last night and kept him,--that’s the sortof man he is, in my opinion!”
Here she suddenly paused, afraid of what she had just said. But shelittle knew how unfair she was to her daughter at that moment. It wasall settled