Read Online The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoyevsky - Free Book Online
Authors: Fyodor Dostoyevsky
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us?’
‘I’m not refusing her. Perhaps I didn’t express myself properly...’
‘I should think you’re not refusing her!’ the general said with annoyance, not even trying to restrain himself. ‘What matters here, brother, is not your refusal, what matters is your eagerness, your pleasure, the joy with which you will receive her words ... How are things with you at home?’
‘What is there to say about home? At home my will prevails in everything, except that Father is playing the fool as usual - he’s become a complete ruffian; I don’t talk to him any more, but I keep tight control of him, and really, were it not for Mother, I would have shown him the door. Mother cries all the time, of course; my sister is in a violent temper, but I finally told them straight out that I am the master of my fate, and that in the house I wish to be ... obeyed. I spelt it out for my sister, at least, in my mother’s presence.’
‘Well, brother, I still fail to perceive,’ the general observed reflectively, with a slight shrug of his shoulders, spreading his arms a little. ‘Nina Alexandrovna, your mother, when she came here the other day - you remember? - also kept moaning and groaning all the time. “What’s the matter with you?” I asked. It turned out that to them it’s some kind of dishonour. What kind of dishonour is there in it, permit me to ask? Who can reproach Nastasya Filippovna with anything, or raise anything against her? Surely not that she’d been with Totsky? But that’s plain rubbish, especially in view of certain circumstances! “You won’t let hernear your daughters, will you?” she said. Well! I never! Dear me, Nina Alexandrovna! I mean, how can you not understand, how can you not understand ...’
‘Your position?’ Ganya said to the flabbergasted general. ‘She does understand; don’t be angry with her. Actually, at the time I gave her a good talking to, and told her not to meddle in other people’s business. So far, however, the house still stands only because the last word has not yet been spoken; but the storm is gathering. If the last word is spoken this evening, then everything else will come out, too.’
The prince heard the whole of this conversation as he sat in the corner at his calligraphic sample. He finished it, walked round to the table and handed over his sheet of paper.
‘So that’s Nastasya Filippovna?’ he said quietly, looking at the portrait attentively and inquisitively for a moment. ‘Astonishingly good looking!’ he added at once, with ardour.
The portrait really did depict a woman of unusual beauty. She had been photographed in a black silk dress of exceedingly simple and elegant cut; her hair, apparently dark russet, was done up simply, in domestic fashion; her eyes were dark and deep, her forehead pensive; the expression of her face was passionate and slightly haughty. She was somewhat thin in the face, perhaps, and pale ... Ganya and the general looked at the prince in bewilderment ...
‘What, Nastasya Filippovna? Do you know Nastasya Filippovna, too?’ asked the general.
‘Yes; only twenty-four hours in Russia and I know a great beauty like her,’ replied the prince, and at once told them about his meeting with Rogozhin, retelling his entire story.
‘This is news, indeed!’ the general began to worry again, having listened to the story with extreme attention, and giving Ganya a searching look.
‘Probably just some disreputable caper,’ muttered Ganya, whose composure was also somewhat ruffled. ‘A merchant’s son on the spree. I’ve already heard something about him.’
‘And so have I, brother,’ the general broke in. ‘That day, after the earrings, Nastasya Filippovna told me the whole incident. But you know, it’s a different matter now. We really are talking of perhaps a million here, and ... passion, grotesque passion, admittedly, but there is a whiff of passion all the same, and, after all, we know what these gentlemen are
‘I’m not refusing her. Perhaps I didn’t express myself properly...’
‘I should think you’re not refusing her!’ the general said with annoyance, not even trying to restrain himself. ‘What matters here, brother, is not your refusal, what matters is your eagerness, your pleasure, the joy with which you will receive her words ... How are things with you at home?’
‘What is there to say about home? At home my will prevails in everything, except that Father is playing the fool as usual - he’s become a complete ruffian; I don’t talk to him any more, but I keep tight control of him, and really, were it not for Mother, I would have shown him the door. Mother cries all the time, of course; my sister is in a violent temper, but I finally told them straight out that I am the master of my fate, and that in the house I wish to be ... obeyed. I spelt it out for my sister, at least, in my mother’s presence.’
‘Well, brother, I still fail to perceive,’ the general observed reflectively, with a slight shrug of his shoulders, spreading his arms a little. ‘Nina Alexandrovna, your mother, when she came here the other day - you remember? - also kept moaning and groaning all the time. “What’s the matter with you?” I asked. It turned out that to them it’s some kind of dishonour. What kind of dishonour is there in it, permit me to ask? Who can reproach Nastasya Filippovna with anything, or raise anything against her? Surely not that she’d been with Totsky? But that’s plain rubbish, especially in view of certain circumstances! “You won’t let hernear your daughters, will you?” she said. Well! I never! Dear me, Nina Alexandrovna! I mean, how can you not understand, how can you not understand ...’
‘Your position?’ Ganya said to the flabbergasted general. ‘She does understand; don’t be angry with her. Actually, at the time I gave her a good talking to, and told her not to meddle in other people’s business. So far, however, the house still stands only because the last word has not yet been spoken; but the storm is gathering. If the last word is spoken this evening, then everything else will come out, too.’
The prince heard the whole of this conversation as he sat in the corner at his calligraphic sample. He finished it, walked round to the table and handed over his sheet of paper.
‘So that’s Nastasya Filippovna?’ he said quietly, looking at the portrait attentively and inquisitively for a moment. ‘Astonishingly good looking!’ he added at once, with ardour.
The portrait really did depict a woman of unusual beauty. She had been photographed in a black silk dress of exceedingly simple and elegant cut; her hair, apparently dark russet, was done up simply, in domestic fashion; her eyes were dark and deep, her forehead pensive; the expression of her face was passionate and slightly haughty. She was somewhat thin in the face, perhaps, and pale ... Ganya and the general looked at the prince in bewilderment ...
‘What, Nastasya Filippovna? Do you know Nastasya Filippovna, too?’ asked the general.
‘Yes; only twenty-four hours in Russia and I know a great beauty like her,’ replied the prince, and at once told them about his meeting with Rogozhin, retelling his entire story.
‘This is news, indeed!’ the general began to worry again, having listened to the story with extreme attention, and giving Ganya a searching look.
‘Probably just some disreputable caper,’ muttered Ganya, whose composure was also somewhat ruffled. ‘A merchant’s son on the spree. I’ve already heard something about him.’
‘And so have I, brother,’ the general broke in. ‘That day, after the earrings, Nastasya Filippovna told me the whole incident. But you know, it’s a different matter now. We really are talking of perhaps a million here, and ... passion, grotesque passion, admittedly, but there is a whiff of passion all the same, and, after all, we know what these gentlemen are
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