The Art of Social Performance — The Idiot

The evening party at the Epanchins' is decided in a hurry, because nothing could be done in this house like anywhere else. Princess Bielokonski is going away soon. They hope she will take an interest in the prince. Aglaya tells him not to make a fool of himself. Do break something at least, in the drawing-room. Upset the Chinese vase. Mamma values it. She'll cry before everyone. Wave your hand about, you know, as you always do, and just smash it. Sit down near it on purpose. On the contrary, I shall sit as far from it as I can. Then you are afraid you will wave your arms about. I wouldn't mind betting that you'll talk about some lofty subject. If I hear you talking about capital punishment, or the economical condition of Russia, or about Beauty redeeming the world, I'll laugh and seem very pleased, but I warn you. Perhaps I shall slip and fall on the slippery floor. I shall dream of it all night now. Why did you say anything about it. Do you know what, I had better not come at all tomorrow. Aglaya stamped her foot, and grew quite pale with anger. Better not come, when the party is on purpose for him.

Lebedeff comes before ten, tipsy already. I've had a reward for my meanness. I've had a slap in the face. Not physical. Moral. He has been the anonymous person, telling Lizabetha Prokofievna the movements of Nastasia Philipovna. This morning he signed a note your secret correspondent, and she nearly punched his head, threw the letter in his face, and kicked him out, morally, not physically, although not far off it. He still has the letter from Aglaya to Gania. This letter cannot be allowed to remain in your hands. It's for you. I've brought it you on purpose. Mea culpa. The prince sends it on at once.

He enters the room with propriety and grace. He is perfectly dressed. He does not fall down on the slippery floor. This is the first time in his life he has seen a little corner of what was generally known by the terrible name of society. Somehow he felt that all these people must have been born on purpose to be together. He himself was one of them, returned after a long absence, naturally and indisputably. Evgenie has appeared with crape on his hat. Not every society man would have worn crape for such an uncle. Aglaya looks at him two or three times, and seems satisfied. Little by little he became very happy indeed. All his late anxieties now appeared like so many bad dreams. He did not speak much. Then a sort of inspiration began to stir within him, ready to spring into life at the right moment. When he did begin to speak, it was accidentally, in response to a question, and apparently without any special object.