after our tales have been told!’ The Idiot
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‘But surely this is a joke, Nastasia Philipovna?’ asked
Totski. ‘You don’t really mean us to play this game.’
‘Whoever is afraid of wolves had better not go into the
wood,’ said Nastasia, smiling.
‘But, pardon me, Mr. Ferdishenko, is it possible to
make a game out of this kind of thing?’ persisted Totski,
growing more and more uneasy. ‘I assure you it can’t be a
success.’
‘And why not? Why, the last time I simply told straight
off about how I stole three roubles.’
‘Perhaps so; but it is hardly possible that you told it so
that it seemed like truth, or so that you were believed.
And, as Gavrila Ardalionovitch has said, the least
suggestion of a falsehood takes all point out of the game. It
seems to me that sincerity, on the other hand, is only
possible if combined with a kind of bad taste that would
be utterly out of place here.’
‘How subtle you are, Afanasy Ivanovitch! You astonish
me,’ cried Ferdishenko. ‘You will remark, gentleman, that
in saying that I could not recount the story of my theft so
as to be believed, Afanasy Ivanovitch has very ingeniously
implied that I am not capable of thieving—(it would have
been bad taste to say so openly); and all the time he is
probably firmly convinced, in his own mind, that I am The Idiot
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very well capable of it! But now, gentlemen, to business!
Put in your slips, ladies and gentlemen—is yours in, Mr.
Totski? So—then we are all ready; now prince, draw,
please.’ The prince silently put his hand into the hat, and
drew the names. Ferdishenko was first, then Ptitsin, then
the general, Totski next, his own fifth, then Gania, and so
on; the ladies did not draw.
‘Oh, dear! oh, dear!’ cried Ferdishenko. ‘I did so hope
the prince would come out first, and then the general.
Well, gentlemen, I suppose I must set a good example!
What vexes me much is that I am such an insignificant
creature that it matters nothing to anybody whether I have
done bad actions or not! Besides, which am I to choose?
It’s an embarras de richesse. Shall I tell how I became a
thief on one occasion only, to convince Afanasy
Ivanovitch that it is possible to steal without being a thief?’
‘Do go on, Ferdishenko, and don’t make unnecessary
preface, or you’ll never finish,’ said Nastasia Philipovna.
All observed how irritable and cross she had become since
her last burst of laughter; but none the less obstinately did
she stick to her absurd whim about this new game. Totski
sat looking miserable enough. The general lingered over
his champagne, and seemed to be thinking of some story
for the time when his turn should come. The Idiot
265 of 1149
XIV
‘I have no wit, Nastasia Philipovna,’ began
Ferdishenko, ‘and therefore I talk too much, perhaps.
Were I as witty, now, as Mr. Totski or the general, I
should probably have sat silent all the evening, as they
have. Now, prince, what do you think?—are there not far
more thieves than honest men in this world? Don’t you
think we may say there does not exist a single person so
honest that he has never stolen anything whatever in his
life?’
‘What a silly idea,’ said the actress. ‘Of course it is not
the case. I have never stolen anything, for one.’
‘H’m! very well, Daria Alexeyevna; you have not
stolen anything— agreed. But how about the prince,
now—look how he is blushing!’
‘I think you are partially right, but you exaggerate,’ said
the prince, who had certainly blushed up, of a sudden, for
some reason or other.
‘Ferdishenko—either tell us your story, or be quiet, and
mind your own business. You exhaust all patience,’
cuttingly and irritably remarked Nastasia Philipovna. The Idiot
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‘Immediately, immediately! As for my story,
gentlemen, it is too stupid and absurd to tell you.
‘I assure you I am not a thief, and yet I have stolen; I
cannot explain why. It was at Semeon Ivanovitch
Ishenka’s country house, one Sunday. He had a dinner
party. After dinner the men stayed at the table over their
wine. It struck me to ask the daughter of the house to play
something on the piano; so I passed through the corner
room to join the ladies. In that room, on Maria Ivanovna’s
writing-table, I observed a three-rouble note. She must
have taken it out for some purpose, and left it lying there.
There was no one about. I took up the note and put it in
my pocket; why, I can’t say. I don’t know what possessed
me to do it, but it was done, and I went quickly back to
the dining-room and reseated myself at the dinner-table. I
sat and waited there in a great state of excitement. I talked
hard, and told lots of stories, and laughed like mad; then I
joined the ladies.
‘In half an hour or so the loss was discovered, and the
servants were being put under examination. Daria, the
housemaid was suspected. I exhibited the greatest interest
and sympathy, and I remember that poor Daria quite lost
her head, and that I began assuring her, before everyone,
that I would guarantee her forgiveness on the part of her The Idiot
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mistress, if she would confess her guilt. They all stared at
the girl, and I remember a wonderful attraction in the
reflection that here was I sermonizing away, with the
money in my own pocket all the while. I went and spent
the three roubles that very evening at a restaurant. I went
in and asked for a bottle of Lafite, and drank it up; I
wanted to be rid of the money.
‘I did not feel much remorse either then or afterwards;
but I would not repeat the performance—believe it or not
as you please. There—that’s all.’
‘Only, of course that’s not nearly your worst action,’
said the actress, with evident dislike in her face.
‘That was a psychological phenomenon, not an action,’
remarked Totski.
‘And what about the maid?’ asked Nastasia Philipovna,
with undisguised contempt.
‘Oh, she was turned out next day, of course. It’s a very
strict household, there!’
‘And you allowed it?’
‘I should think so, rather! I was not going to return and
confess next day,’ laughed Ferdishenko, who seemed a
little surprised at the disagreeable impression which his
story had made on all parties.
‘How mean you were!’ said Nastasia. The Idiot
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‘Bah! you wish to hear a man tell of his worst actions,
and you expect the story to come out goody-goody!
One’s worst actions always are mean. We shall see what
the general has to say for himself now. All is not gold that
glitters, you know; and because a man keeps his carriage
he need not be specially virtuous, I assure you, all sorts of
people keep carriages. And by what means?’
In a word, Ferdishenko was very angry and rapidly
forgetting himself; his whole face was drawn with passion.
Strange as it may appear, he had expected much better
success for his story. These little errors of taste on
Ferdishenko’s part occurred very frequently. Nastasia
trembled with rage, and looked fixedly at him, whereupon
he relapsed into alarmed silence. He realized that he had
gone a little too far.
‘Had we not better end this game?’ asked Totski.
‘It’s my turn, but I plead exemption,’ said Ptitsin.
‘You don’t care to oblige us?’ asked Nastasia.
‘I cannot, I assure you. I confess I do not understand
how anyone can play this game.’
‘Then, general, it’s your turn,’ continued Nastasia
Philipovna, ‘and if you refuse, the whole game will fall
through, which will disappoint me very much, for I was
looking forward to relating a certain ‘page of my own life.’ The Idiot
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I am only waiting for you and Afanasy Ivanovitch to have
your turns, for I require the support of your example,’ she
added, smiling.
‘Oh, if you put it in that way ‘ cried the general,
excitedly, ‘I’m ready to tell the whole story of my life, but
I must confess that I prepared a little story in anticipation
of my turn.’
Nastasia smiled amiably at him; but evidently her
depression and irritability were increasing with every
moment. Totski was dreadfully alarmed to hear her
promise a revelation out of her own life.
‘I, like everyone else,’ began the general, ‘have
committed certain not altogether graceful actions, so to
speak, during the course of my life. But the strangest thing
of all in my case is, that I should consider the little
anecdote which I am now about to give you as a
confession of the worst of my ‘bad actions.’ It is thirty-five
years since it all happened, and yet I cannot to this very
day recall the circumstances without, as it were, a sudden
pang at the heart.
‘It was a silly affair—I was an ensign at the time. You
know ensigns—their blood is boiling water, their
circumstances generally penurious. Well, I had a servant
Nikifor who used to do everything for me in my quarters, The Idiot
270 of 1149
economized and managed for me, and even laid hands on
anything he could find (belonging to other people), in
order to augment our household goods; but a faithful,
honest fellow all the same.
‘I was strict, but just by nature. At that time we were
stationed in a small town. I was quartered at an old
widow’s house, a lieutenant’s widow of eighty years of
age. She lived in a wretched little wooden house, and had
not even a servant, so poor was she.
‘Her relations had all died off—her husband was dead
and buried forty years since; and a niece, who had lived
with her and bullied her up to three years ago, was dead
too; so that she was quite alone.
‘Well, I was precious dull with her, especially as she
was so childish that there was nothing to be got out of
her. Eventually, she stole a fowl of mine; the business is a
mystery to this day; but it could have been no one but
herself. I requested to be quartered somewhere else, and
was shifted to the other end of the town, to the house of a
merchant with a large family, and a long beard, as I
remember him. Nikifor and I were delighted to go; but
the old lady was not pleased at our departure.
‘Well, a day or two afterwards, when I returned from
drill, Nikifor says to me: ‘We oughtn’t to have left our The Idiot
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tureen with the old lady, I’ve nothing to serve the soup
in.’
‘I asked how it came about that the tureen had been
left. Nikifor explained that the old lady refused to give it
up, because, she said, we had broken her bowl, and she
must have our tureen in place of it; she had declared that I
had so arranged the matter with herself.
‘This baseness on her part of course aroused my young
blood to fever heat; I jumped up, and away I flew.
‘I arrived at the old woman’s house beside myself. She
was sitting in a corner all alone, leaning her face on her
hand. I fell on her like a clap of thunder. ‘You old
wretch!’ I yelled and all that sort of thing, in real Russian
style. Well, when I began cursing at her, a strange thing
happened. I looked at her, and she stared back with her
eyes starting out of her head, but she did not say a word.
She seemed to sway about as she sat, and looked and
looked at me in the strangest way. Well, I soon stopped
swearing and looked closer at her, asked her questions, but
not a word could I get out of her. The flies were buzzing
about the room and only this sound broke the silence; the
sun was setting outside; I didn’t know what to make of it,
so I went away. The Idiot
272 of 1149
‘Before I reached home I was met and summoned to
the major’s, so that it was some while before I actually got
there. When I came in, Nikifor met me. ‘Have you heard,
sir, that our old lady is dead?’ ‘DEAD, when?’ ‘Oh, an
hour and a half ago.’ That meant nothing more nor less
than that she was dying at the moment when I pounced
on her and began abusing her.
‘This produced a great effect upon me. I used to dream
of the poor old woman at nights. I really am not
superstitious, but two days after, I went to her funeral, and
as time went on I thought more and more about her. I
said to myself, ‘This woman, this human being, lived to a
great age. She had children, a husband and family, friends
and relations; her household was busy and cheerful; she
was surrounded by smiling faces; and then suddenly they
are gone, and she is left alone like a solitary fly ... like a fly,
cursed with the burden of her age. At last, God calls her to
Himself. At sunset, on a lovely summer’s evening, my
little old woman passes away—a thought, you will notice,
which offers much food for reflection—and behold!
instead of tears and prayers to start her on her last journey,
she has insults and jeers from a young ensign, who stands
before her with his hands in his pockets, making a terrible
row about a soup tureen!’ Of course I was to blame, and The Idiot
273 of 1149
even now that I have time to look back at it calmly, I pity
the poor old thing no less. I repeat that I wonder at
myself, for after all I was not really responsible. Why did
she take it into her head to die at that moment? But the
more I thought of it, the more I felt the weight of it upon
my mind; and I never got quite rid of the impression until
I put a couple of old women into an almshouse and kept
them there at my own expense. There, that’s all. I repeat I
dare say I have committed many a grievous sin in my day;
but I cannot help always looking back upon this as the
worst action I have ever perpetrated.’
‘H’m! and instead of a bad action, your excellency has
detailed one of your noblest deeds,’ said Ferdishenko.
‘Ferdishenko is ‘done.’’
‘Dear me, general,’ said Nastasia Philipovna, absently, ‘I
really never imagined you had such a good heart.’
The general laughed with great satisfaction, and applied
himself once more to the champagne.
It was now Totski’s turn, and his story was awaited
