her descent.
With a few exceptions, the worthy couple had lived
through their long union very happily. While still young
the wife had been able to make important friends among
the aristocracy, partly by virtue of her family descent, and
partly by her own exertions; while, in after life, thanks to
their wealth and to the position of her husband in the
service, she took her place among the higher circles as by
right.
During these last few years all three of the general’s
daughters- Alexandra, Adelaida, and Aglaya—had grown
up and matured. Of course they were only Epanchins, but The Idiot
26 of 1149
their mother’s family was noble; they might expect
considerable fortunes; their father had hopes of attaining to
very high rank indeed in his country’s service-all of which
was satisfactory. All three of the girls were decidedly
pretty, even the eldest, Alexandra, who was just twenty-
five years old. The middle daughter was now twenty-
three, while the youngest, Aglaya, was twenty. This
youngest girl was absolutely a beauty, and had begun of
late to attract considerable attention in society. But this
was not all, for every one of the three was clever, well
educated, and accomplished.
It was a matter of general knowledge that the three girls
were very fond of one another, and supported each other
in every way; it was even said that the two elder ones had
made certain sacrifices for the sake of the idol of the
household, Aglaya. In society they not only disliked
asserting themselves, but were actually retiring. Certainly
no one could blame them for being too arrogant or
haughty, and yet everybody was well aware that they were
proud and quite understood their own value. The eldest
was musical, while the second was a clever artist, which
fact she had concealed until lately. In a word, the world
spoke well of the girls; but they were not without their The Idiot
27 of 1149
enemies, and occasionally people talked with horror of the
number of books they had read.
They were in no hurry to marry. They liked good
society, but were not too keen about it. All this was the
more remarkable, because everyone was well aware of the
hopes and aims of their parents.
It was about eleven o’clock in the forenoon when the
prince rang the bell at General Epanchin’s door. The
general lived on the first floor or flat of the house, as
modest a lodging as his position permitted. A liveried
servant opened the door, and the prince was obliged to
enter into long explanations with this gentleman, who,
from the first glance, looked at him and his bundle with
grave suspicion. At last, however, on the repeated positive
assurance that he really was Prince Muishkin, and must
absolutely see the general on business, the bewildered
domestic showed him into a little ante-chamber leading to
a waiting-room that adjoined the general’s study, there
handing him over to another servant, whose duty it was to
be in this ante-chamber all the morning, and announce
visitors to the general. This second individual wore a dress
coat, and was some forty years of age; he was the general’s
special study servant, and well aware of his own
importance. The Idiot
28 of 1149
‘Wait in the next room, please; and leave your bundle
here,’ said the door-keeper, as he sat down comfortably in
his own easy-chair in the ante-chamber. He looked at the
prince in severe surprise as the latter settled himself in
another chair alongside, with his bundle on his knees.
‘If you don’t mind, I would rather sit here with you,’
said the prince; ‘I should prefer it to sitting in there.’
‘Oh, but you can’t stay here. You are a visitor—a
guest, so to speak. Is it the general himself you wish to
see?’
The man evidently could not take in the idea of such a
shabby- looking visitor, and had decided to ask once
more.
‘Yes—I have business—’ began the prince.
‘I do not ask you what your business may be, all I have
to do is to announce you; and unless the secretary comes
in here I cannot do that.’
The man’s suspicions seemed to increase more and
more. The prince was too unlike the usual run of daily
visitors; and although the general certainly did receive, on
business, all sorts and conditions of men, yet in spite of this
fact the servant felt great doubts on the subject of this
particular visitor. The presence of the secretary as an
intermediary was, he judged, essential in this case. The Idiot
29 of 1149
‘Surely you—are from abroad?’ he inquired at last, in a
confused sort of way. He had begun his sentence
intending to say, ‘Surely you are not Prince Muishkin, are
you?’
‘Yes, straight from the train! Did not you intend to say,
‘Surely you are not Prince Muishkin?’ just now, but
refrained out of politeness ?’
‘H’m!’ grunted the astonished servant.
‘I assure you I am not deceiving you; you shall not
have to answer for me. As to my being dressed like this,
and carrying a bundle, there’s nothing surprising in that—
the fact is, my circumstances are not particularly rosy at
this moment.’
‘H’m!—no, I’m not afraid of that, you see; I have to
announce you, that’s all. The secretary will be out
directly-that is, unless you—yes, that’s the rub—unless
you—come, you must allow me to ask you—you’ve not
come to beg, have you?’
‘Oh dear no, you can be perfectly easy on that score. I
have quite another matter on hand.’
‘You must excuse my asking, you know. Your
appearance led me to think—but just wait for the
secretary; the general is busy now, but the secretary is sure
to come out.’ The Idiot
30 of 1149
‘Oh—well, look here, if I have some time to wait,
would you mind telling me, is there any place about
where I could have a smoke? I have my pipe and tobacco
with me.’
‘SMOKE?’ said the man, in shocked but disdainful
surprise, blinking his eyes at the prince as though he could
not believe his senses.’ No, sir, you cannot smoke here,
and I wonder you are not ashamed of the very suggestion.
Ha, ha! a cool idea that, I declare!’
‘Oh, I didn’t mean in this room! I know I can’t smoke
here, of course. I’d adjourn to some other room, wherever
you like to show me to. You see, I’m used to smoking a
good deal, and now I haven’t had a puff for three hours;
however, just as you like.’
‘Now how on earth am I to announce a man like that?’
muttered the servant. ‘In the first place, you’ve no right in
here at all; you ought to be in the waiting-room, because
you’re a sort of visitor—a guest, in fact—and I shall catch
it for this. Look here, do you intend to take up you abode
with us?’ he added, glancing once more at the prince’s
bundle, which evidently gave him no peace.
‘No, I don’t think so. I don’t think I should stay even if
they were to invite me. I’ve simply come to make their
acquaintance, and nothing more.’ The Idiot
31 of 1149
‘Make their acquaintance?’ asked the man, in
amazement, and with redoubled suspicion. ‘Then why did
you say you had business with the general?’
‘Oh well, very little business. There is one little
matter—some advice I am going to ask him for; but my
principal object is simply to introduce myself, because I
am Prince Muishkin, and Madame Epanchin is the last of
her branch of the house, and besides herself and me there
are no other Muishkins left.’
‘What—you’re a relation then, are you?’ asked the
servant, so bewildered that he began to feel quite alarmed.
‘Well, hardly so. If you stretch a point, we are relations,
of course, but so distant that one cannot really take
cognizance of it. I once wrote to your mistress from
abroad, but she did not reply. However, I have thought it
right to make acquaintance with her on my arrival. I am
telling you all this in order to ease your mind, for I see
you are still far from comfortable on my account. All you
have to do is to announce me as Prince Muishkin, and the
object of my visit will be plain enough. If I am received—
very good; if not, well, very good again. But they are sure
to receive me, I should think; Madame Epanchin will
naturally be curious to see the only remaining The Idiot
32 of 1149
representative of her family. She values her Muishkin
descent very highly, if I am rightly informed.’
The prince’s conversation was artless and confiding to a
degree, and the servant could not help feeling that as from
visitor to common serving-man this state of things was
highly improper. His conclusion was that one of two
things must be the explanation— either that this was a
begging impostor, or that the prince, if prince he were,
was simply a fool, without the slightest ambition; for a
sensible prince with any ambition would certainly not wait
about in ante-rooms with servants, and talk of his own
private affairs like this. In either case, how was he to
announce this singular visitor?
‘I really think I must request you to step into the next
room!’ he said, with all the insistence he could muster.
‘Why? If I had been sitting there now, I should not
have had the opportunity of making these personal
explanations. I see you are still uneasy about me and keep
eyeing my cloak and bundle. Don’t you think you might
go in yourself now, without waiting for the secretary to
come out?’
‘No, no! I can’t announce a visitor like yourself
without the secretary. Besides the general said he was not The Idiot
33 of 1149
to be disturbed— he is with the Colonel C—. Gavrila
Ardalionovitch goes in without announcing.’
‘Who may that be? a clerk?’
‘What? Gavrila Ardalionovitch? Oh no; he belongs to
one of the companies. Look here, at all events put your
bundle down, here.’
‘Yes, I will if I may; and—can I take off my cloak"
‘Of course; you can’t go in THERE with it on,
anyhow.’
The prince rose and took off his mantle, revealing a
neat enough morning costume—a little worn, but well
made. He wore a steel watch chain and from this chain
there hung a silver Geneva watch. Fool the prince might
be, still, the general’s servant felt that it was not correct for
him to continue to converse thus with a visitor, in spite of
the fact that the prince pleased him somehow.
‘And what time of day does the lady receive?’ the latter
asked, reseating himself in his old place.
‘Oh, that’s not in my province! I believe she receives at
any time; it depends upon the visitors. The dressmaker
goes in at eleven. Gavrila Ardalionovitch is allowed much
earlier than other people, too; he is even admitted to early
lunch now and then.’ The Idiot
34 of 1149
‘It is much warmer in the rooms here than it is abroad
at this season,’ observed the prince; ‘ but it is much
warmer there out of doors. As for the houses—a Russian
can’t live in them in the winter until he gets accustomed
to them.’
‘Don’t they heat them at all?’
‘Well, they do heat them a little; but the houses and
stoves are so different to ours.’
‘H’m! were you long away?’
‘Four years! and I was in the same place nearly all the
time,—in one village.’
‘You must have forgotten Russia, hadn’t you?’
‘Yes, indeed I had—a good deal; and, would you
believe it, I often wonder at myself for not having
forgotten how to speak Russian? Even now, as I talk to
you, I keep saying to myself ‘how well I am speaking it.’
Perhaps that is partly why I am so talkative this morning. I
assure you, ever since yesterday evening I have had the
strongest desire to go on and on talking Russian.’
‘H’m! yes; did you live in Petersburg in former years?’
This good flunkey, in spite of his conscientious
scruples, really could not resist continuing such a very
genteel and agreeable conversation. The Idiot
35 of 1149
‘In Petersburg? Oh no! hardly at all, and now they say
so much is changed in the place that even those who did
know it well are obliged to relearn what they knew. They
talk a good deal about the new law courts, and changes
there, don’t they?’
‘H’m! yes, that’s true enough. Well now, how is the
law over there, do they administer it more justly than
here?’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that! I’ve heard much that is
good about our legal administration, too. There is no
capital punishment here for one thing.’
‘Is there over there?’
‘Yes—I saw an execution in France—at Lyons.
Schneider took me over with him to see it.’
‘What, did they hang the fellow?’
‘No, they cut off people’s heads in France.’
‘What did the fellow do?—yell?’
‘Oh no—it’s the work of an instant. They put a man
inside a frame and a sort of broad knife falls by machinery
-they call the thing a guillotine-it falls with fearful force
and weight-the head springs off so quickly that you can’t
wink your eye in between. But all the preparations are so
dreadful. When they announce the sentence, you know,
and prepare the criminal and tie his hands, and cart him off The Idiot
36 of 1149
to the scaffold—that’s the fearful part of the business. The
people all crowd round—even women- though they don’t
at all approve of women looking on.’
‘No, it’s not a thing for women.’
‘Of course not—of course not!—bah! The criminal was
a fine intelligent fearless man; Le Gros was his name; and I
may tell you—believe it or not, as you like—that when
that man stepped upon the scaffold he CRIED, he did
indeed,—he was as white as a bit of paper. Isn’t it a
dreadful idea that he should have cried —cried! Whoever
heard of a grown man crying from fear—not a child, but a
man who never had cried before—a grown man of forty-
five years. Imagine what must have been going on in that
man’s mind at such a moment; what dreadful convulsions
his whole spirit must have endured; it is an outrage on the
soul that’s what it is. Because it is said ‘thou shalt not kill,’
