B. upon his shield.
‘‘Lumen caeli, sancta Rosa!’ Shouting on the foe he
fell, And like thunder rang his war-cry O’er the cowering
infidel.
‘Then within his distant castle, Home returned, he
dreamed his days- Silent, sad,—and when death took him
He was mad, the legend says.’
When recalling all this afterwards the prince could not
for the life of him understand how to reconcile the
beautiful, sincere, pure nature of the girl with the irony of
this jest. That it was a jest there was no doubt whatever;
he knew that well enough, and had good reason, too, for
his conviction; for during her recitation of the ballad
Aglaya had deliberately changed the letters A. N. B. into
N. P. B. He was quite sure she had not done this by
accident, and that his ears had not deceived him. At all
events her performance—which was a joke, of course, if
rather a crude one,—was premeditated. They had
evidently talked (and laughed) over the ‘poor knight’ for
more than a month.
Yet Aglaya had brought out these letters N. P. B. not
only without the slightest appearance of irony, or even any The Idiot
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particular accentuation, but with so even and unbroken an
appearance of seriousness that assuredly anyone might have
supposed that these initials were the original ones written
in the ballad. The thing made an uncomfortable
impression upon the prince. Of course Mrs. Epanchin saw
nothing either in the change of initials or in the
insinuation embodied therein. General Epanchin only
knew that there was a recitation of verses going on, and
took no further interest in the matter. Of the rest of the
audience, many had understood the allusion and
wondered both at the daring of the lady and at the motive
underlying it, but tried to show no sign of their feelings.
But Evgenie Pavlovitch (as the prince was ready to wager)
both comprehended and tried his best to show that he
comprehended; his smile was too mocking to leave any
doubt on that point.
‘How beautiful that is!’ cried Mrs. Epanchin, with
sincere admiration. ‘Whose is it? ‘
‘Pushkin’s, mama, of course! Don’t disgrace us all by
showing your ignorance,’ said Adelaida.
‘As soon as we reach home give it to me to read.’
‘I don’t think we have a copy of Pushkin in the house.’ The Idiot
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‘There are a couple of torn volumes somewhere; they
have been lying about from time immemorial,’ added
Alexandra.
‘Send Feodor or Alexey up by the very first train to
buy a copy, then.—Aglaya, come here—kiss me, dear,
you recited beautifully! but,’ she added in a whisper, ‘if
you were sincere I am sorry for you. If it was a joke, I do
not approve of the feelings which prompted you to do it,
and in any case you would have done far better not to
recite it at all. Do you understand?—Now come along,
young woman; we’ve sat here too long. I’ll speak to you
about this another time.’
Meanwhile the prince took the opportunity of greeting
General Epanchin, and the general introduced Evgenie
Pavlovitch to him.
‘I caught him up on the way to your house,’ explained
the general. ‘He had heard that we were all here.’
‘Yes, and I heard that you were here, too,’ added
Evgenie Pavlovitch; ‘and since I had long promised myself
the pleasure of seeking not only your acquaintance but
your friendship, I did not wish to waste time, but came
straight on. I am sorry to hear that you are unwell.’
‘Oh, but I’m quite well now, thank you, and very glad
to make your acquaintance. Prince S. has often spoken to The Idiot
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me about you,’ said Muishkin, and for an instant the two
men looked intently into one another’s eyes.
The prince remarked that Evgenie Pavlovitch’s plain
clothes had evidently made a great impression upon the
company present, so much so that all other interests
seemed to be effaced before this surprising fact.
His change of dress was evidently a matter of some
importance. Adelaida and Alexandra poured out a stream
of questions; Prince S., a relative of the young man,
appeared annoyed; and Ivan Fedorovitch quite excited.
Aglaya alone was not interested. She merely looked closely
at Evgenie for a minute, curious perhaps as to whether
civil or military clothes became him best, then turned
away and paid no more attention to him or his costume.
Lizabetha Prokofievna asked no questions, but it was clear
that she was uneasy, and the prince fancied that Evgenie
was not in her good graces.
‘He has astonished me,’ said Ivan Fedorovitch. ‘I nearly
fell down with surprise. I could hardly believe my eyes
when I met him in Petersburg just now. Why this haste?
That’s what I want to know. He has always said himself
that there is no need to break windows.’
Evgenie Pavlovitch remarked here that he had spoken
of his intention of leaving the service long ago. He had, The Idiot
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however, always made more or less of a joke about it, so
no one had taken him seriously. For that matter he joked
about everything, and his friends never knew what to
believe, especially if he did not wish them to understand
him.
‘I have only retired for a time,’ said he, laughing. ‘For a
few months; at most for a year.’
‘But there is no necessity for you to retire at all,’
complained the general, ‘as far as I know.’
‘I want to go and look after my country estates. You
advised me to do that yourself,’ was the reply. ‘And then I
wish to go abroad.’
After a few more expostulations, the conversation
drifted into other channels, but the prince, who had been
an attentive listener, thought all this excitement about so
small a matter very curious. ‘There must be more in it
than appears,’ he said to himself.
‘I see the ‘poor knight’ has come on the scene again,’
said Evgenie Pavlovitch, stepping to Aglaya’s side.
To the amazement of the prince, who overheard the
remark, Aglaya looked haughtily and inquiringly at the
questioner, as though she would give him to know, once
for all, that there could be no talk between them about the The Idiot
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‘poor knight,’ and that she did not understand his
question.
‘But not now! It is too late to send to town for a
Pushkin now. It is much too late, I say!’ Colia was
exclaiming in a loud voice. ‘I have told you so at least a
hundred times.’
‘Yes, it is really much too late to send to town now,’
said Evgenie Pavlovitch, who had escaped from Aglaya as
rapidly as possible. ‘I am sure the shops are shut in
Petersburg; it is past eight o’clock,’ he added, looking at
his watch.
‘We have done without him so far,’ interrupted
Adelaida in her turn. ‘Surely we can wait until to-
morrow.’
‘Besides,’ said Colia, ‘it is quite unusual, almost
improper, for people in our position to take any interest in
literature. Ask Evgenie Pavlovitch if I am not right. It is
much more fashionable to drive a waggonette with red
wheels.’
‘You got that from some magazine, Colia,’ remarked
Adelaida.
‘He gets most of his conversation in that way,’ laughed
Evgenie Pavlovitch. ‘He borrows whole phrases from the
reviews. I have long had the pleasure of knowing both The Idiot
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Nicholai Ardalionovitch and his conversational methods,
but this time he was not repeating something he had read;
he was alluding, no doubt, to my yellow waggonette,
which has, or had, red wheels. But I have exchanged it, so
you are rather behind the times, Colia.’
The prince had been listening attentively to
Radomski’s words, and thought his manner very pleasant.
When Colia chaffed him about his waggonette he had
replied with perfect equality and in a friendly fashion. This
pleased Muishkin.
At this moment Vera came up to Lizabetha
Prokofievna, carrying several large and beautifully bound
books, apparently quite new.
‘What is it?’ demanded the lady.
‘This is Pushkin,’ replied the girl. ‘Papa told me to offer
it to you.’
‘What? Impossible!’ exclaimed Mrs. Epanchin.
‘Not as a present, not as a present! I should not have
taken the liberty,’ said Lebedeff, appearing suddenly from
behind his daughter. ‘It is our own Pushkin, our family
copy, Annenkoff’s edition; it could not be bought now. I
beg to suggest, with great respect, that your excellency
should buy it, and thus quench the noble literary thirst The Idiot
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which is consuming you at this moment,’ he concluded
grandiloquently.
‘Oh! if you will sell it, very good—and thank you. You
shall not be a loser! But for goodness’ sake, don’t twist
about like that, sir! I have heard of you; they tell me you
are a very learned person. We must have a talk one of
these days. You will bring me the books yourself?’
‘With the greatest respect ... and ... and veneration,’
replied Lebedeff, making extraordinary grimaces.
‘Well, bring them, with or without respect, provided
always you do not drop them on the way; but on the
condition,’ went on the lady, looking full at him, ‘that you
do not cross my threshold. I do not intend to receive you
today. You may send your daughter Vera at once, if you
like. I am much pleased with her.’
‘Why don’t you tell him about them?’ said Vera
impatiently to her father. ‘They will come in, whether
you announce them or not, and they are beginning to
make a row. Lef Nicolaievitch,’—she addressed herself to
the prince—‘four men are here asking for you. They have
waited some time, and are beginning to make a fuss, and
papa will not bring them in.’
‘Who are these people?’ said the prince. The Idiot
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‘They say that they have come on business, and they
are the kind of men, who, if you do not see them here,
will follow you about the street. It would be better to
receive them, and then you will get rid of them. Gavrila
Ardalionovitch and Ptitsin are both there, trying to make
them hear reason.’
‘Pavlicheff’s son! It is not worth while!’ cried Lebedeff.
‘There is no necessity to see them, and it would be most
unpleasant for your excellency. They do not deserve ...’
‘What? Pavlicheff’s son!’ cried the prince, much
perturbed. ‘I know ... I know—but I entrusted this matter
to Gavrila Ardalionovitch. He told me ...’
At that moment Gania, accompanied by Ptitsin, came
out to the terrace. From an adjoining room came a noise
of angry voices, and General Ivolgin, in loud tones,
seemed to be trying to shout them down. Colia rushed off
at once to investigate the cause of the uproar.
‘This is most interesting!’ observed Evgenie Pavlovitch.
‘I expect he knows all about it!’ thought the prince.
‘What, the son of Pavlicheff? And who may this son of
Pavlicheff be?’ asked General Epanchin with surprise; and
looking curiously around him, he discovered that he alone
had no clue to the mystery. Expectation and suspense
were on every face, with the exception of that of the The Idiot
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prince, who stood gravely wondering how an affair so
entirely personal could have awakened such lively and
widespread interest in so short a time.
Aglaya went up to him with a peculiarly serious look
‘It will be well,’ she said, ‘if you put an end to this affair
yourself AT ONCE: but you must allow us to be your
witnesses. They want to throw mud at you, prince, and
you must be triumphantly vindicated. I give you joy
beforehand!’
‘And I also wish for justice to be done, once for all,’
cried Madame Epanchin, ‘about this impudent claim. Deal
with them promptly, prince, and don’t spare them! I am
sick of hearing about the affair, and many a quarrel I have
had in your cause. But I confess I am anxious to see what
happens, so do make them come out here, and we will
remain. You have heard people talking about it, no
doubt?’ she added, turning to Prince S.
‘Of course,’ said he. ‘I have heard it spoken about at
your house, and I am anxious to see these young men!’
‘They are Nihilists, are they not?’
‘No, they are not Nihilists,’ explained Lebedeff, who
seemed much excited. ‘This is another lot—a special
group. According to my nephew they are more advanced
even than the Nihilists. You are quite wrong, excellency, The Idiot
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if you think that your presence will intimidate them;
nothing intimidates them. Educated men, learned men
even, are to be found among Nihilists; these go further, in
that they are men of action. The movement is, properly
speaking, a derivative from Nihilism—though they are
only known indirectly, and by hearsay, for they never
advertise their doings in the papers. They go straight to
the point. For them, it is not a question of showing that
Pushkin is stupid, or that Russia must be torn in pieces.
No; but if they have a great desire for anything, they
believe they have a right to get it even at the cost of the
lives, say, of eight persons. They are checked by no
obstacles. In fact, prince, I should not advise you ...’
But Muishkin had risen, and was on his way to open
the door for his visitors.
‘You are slandering them, Lebedeff,’ said he, smiling.
‘You are always thinking about your nephew’s
conduct. Don’t believe him, Lizabetha Prokofievna. I can
assure you Gorsky and Daniloff are exceptions—and that
these are only ... mistaken. However, I do not care about
receiving them here, in public. Excuse me, Lizabetha
Prokofievna. They are coming, and you can see them, and
then I will take them away. Please come in, gentlemen!’ The Idiot
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Another thought tormented him: He wondered was
this an arranged business—arranged to happen when he
had guests in his house, and in anticipation of his
humiliation rather than of his triumph? But he reproached
himself bitterly for such a thought, and felt as if he should
die of shame if it were discovered. When his new visitors
