the Empyrean, something new occurred. One fine
morning a man called upon him, calm and severe of
aspect, distinguished, but plainly dressed. Politely, but in
dignified terms, as befitted his errand, he briefly explained
the motive for his visit. He was a lawyer of enlightened
views; his client was a young man who had consulted him
in confidence. This young man was no other than the son The Idiot
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of P—, though he bears another name. In his youth P—,
the sensualist, had seduced a young girl, poor but
respectable. She was a serf, but had received a European
education. Finding that a child was expected, he hastened
her marriage with a man of noble character who had loved
her for a long time. He helped the young couple for a
time, but he was soon obliged to give up, for the high-
minded husband refused to accept anything from him.
Soon the careless nobleman forgot all about his former
mistress and the child she had borne him; then, as we
know, he died intestate. P— ‘s son, born after his mother’s
marriage, found a true father in the generous man whose
name he bore. But when he also died, the orphan was left
to provide for himself, his mother now being an invalid
who had lost the use of her limbs. Leaving her in a distant
province, he came to the capital in search of pupils. By
dint of daily toil he earned enough to enable him to
follow the college courses, and at last to enter the
university. But what can one earn by teaching the children
of Russian merchants at ten copecks a lesson, especially
with an invalid mother to keep? Even her death did not
much diminish the hardships of the young man’s struggle
for existence. Now this is the question: how, in the name
of justice, should our scion have argued the case? Our The Idiot
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readers will think, no doubt, that he would say to himself:
‘P— showered benefits upon me all my life; he spent tens
of thousands of roubles to educate me, to provide me with
governesses, and to keep me under treatment in
Switzerland. Now I am a millionaire, and P—’s son, a
noble young man who is not responsible for the faults of
his careless and forgetful father, is wearing himself out
giving ill-paid lessons. According to justice, all that was
done for me ought to have been done for him. The
enormous sums spent upon me were not really mine; they
came to me by an error of blind Fortune, when they
ought to have gone to P—’s son. They should have gone
to benefit him, not me, in whom P— interested himself
by a mere caprice, instead of doing his duty as a father. If I
wished to behave nobly, justly, and with delicacy, I ought
to bestow half my fortune upon the son of my benefactor;
but as economy is my favourite virtue, and I know this is
not a case in which the law can intervene, I will not give
up half my millions. But it would be too openly vile, too
flagrantly infamous, if I did not at least restore to P—’s son
the tens of thousands of roubles spent in curing my idiocy.
This is simply a case of conscience and of strict justice.
Whatever would have become of me if P— had not The Idiot
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looked after my education, and had taken care of his own
son instead of me?’
‘No, gentlemen, our scions of the nobility do not
reason thus. The lawyer, who had taken up the matter
purely out of friendship to the young man, and almost
against his will, invoked every consideration of justice,
delicacy, honour, and even plain figures; in vain, the ex-
patient of the Swiss lunatic asylum was inflexible. All this
might pass, but the sequel is absolutely unpardonable, and
not to be excused by any interesting malady. This
millionaire, having but just discarded the old gaiters of his
professor, could not even understand that the noble young
man slaving away at his lessons was not asking for
charitable help, but for his rightful due, though the debt
was not a legal one; that, correctly speaking, he was not
asking for anything, but it was merely his friends who had
thought fit to bestir themselves on his behalf. With the
cool insolence of a bloated capitalist, secure in his millions,
he majestically drew a banknote for fifty roubles from his
pocket-book and sent it to the noble young man as a
humiliating piece of charity. You can hardly believe it,
gentlemen! You are scandalized and disgusted; you cry out
in indignation! But that is what he did! Needless to say,
the money was returned, or rather flung back in his face. The Idiot
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The case is not within the province of the law, it must be
referred to the tribunal of public opinion; this is what we
now do, guaranteeing the truth of all the details which we
have related.’
When Colia had finished reading, he handed the paper
to the prince, and retired silently to a corner of the room,
hiding his face in his hands. He was overcome by a feeling
of inexpressible shame; his boyish sensitiveness was
wounded beyond endurance. It seemed to him that
something extraordinary, some sudden catastrophe had
occurred, and that he was almost the cause of it, because
he had read the article aloud.
Yet all the others were similarly affected. The girls were
uncomfortable and ashamed. Lizabetha Prokofievna
restrained her violent anger by a great effort; perhaps she
bitterly regretted her interference in the matter; for the
present she kept silence. The prince felt as very shy people
often do in such a case; he was so ashamed of the conduct
of other people, so humiliated for his guests, that he dared
not look them in the face. Ptitsin, Varia, Gania, and
Lebedeff himself, all looked rather confused. Stranger still,
Hippolyte and the ‘son of Pavlicheff’ also seemed slightly
surprised, and Lebedeff’s nephew was obviously far from
pleased. The boxer alone was perfectly calm; he twisted The Idiot
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his moustaches with affected dignity, and if his eyes were
cast down it was certainly not in confusion, but rather in
noble modesty, as if he did not wish to be insolent in his
triumph. It was evident that he was delighted with the
article.
‘The devil knows what it means,’ growled Ivan
Fedorovitch, under his breath; ‘it must have taken the
united wits of fifty footmen to write it.’
‘May I ask your reason for such an insulting
supposition, sir?’ said Hippolyte, trembling with rage.
You will admit yourself, general, that for an honourable
man, if the author is an honourable man, that is an—an
insult,’ growled the boxer suddenly, with convulsive
jerkings of his shoulders.
‘In the first place, it is not for you to address me as ‘sir,’
and, in the second place, I refuse to give you any
explanation,’ said Ivan Fedorovitch vehemently; and he
rose without another word, and went and stood on the
first step of the flight that led from the verandah to the
street, turning his back on the company. He was indignant
with Lizabetha Prokofievna, who did not think of moving
even now.
‘Gentlemen, gentlemen, let me speak at last,’ cried the
prince, anxious and agitated. ‘Please let us understand one The Idiot
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another. I say nothing about the article, gentlemen, except
that every word is false; I say this because you know it as
well as I do. It is shameful. I should be surprised if any one
of you could have written it.’
‘I did not know of its existence till this moment,’
declared Hippolyte. ‘I do not approve of it.’
‘I knew it had been written, but I would not have
advised its publication,’ said Lebedeff’s nephew, ‘because it
is premature.’
‘I knew it, but I have a right. I... I ... ‘stammered the
‘son of Pavlicheff.’
‘What! Did you write all that yourself? Is it possible?’
asked the prince, regarding Burdovsky with curiosity.
‘One might dispute your right to ask such questions,’
observed Lebedeff’s nephew.
‘I was only surprised that Mr. Burdovsky should
have—however, this is what I have to say. Since you had
already given the matter publicity, why did you object just
now, when I began to speak of it to my friends?’
‘At last!’ murmured Lizabetha Prokofievna indignantly.
Lebedeff could restrain himself no longer; he made his
way through the row of chairs.
‘Prince,’ he cried, ‘you are forgetting that if you
consented to receive and hear them, it was only because of The Idiot
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your kind heart which has no equal, for they had not the
least right to demand it, especially as you had placed the
matter in the hands of Gavrila Ardalionovitch, which was
also extremely kind of you. You are also forgetting, most
excellent prince, that you are with friends, a select
company; you cannot sacrifice them to these gentlemen,
and it is only for you to have them turned out this instant.
As the master of the house I shall have great pleasure ....’
‘Quite right!’ agreed General Ivolgin in a loud voice.
‘That will do, Lebedeff, that will do—’ began the
prince, when an indignant outcry drowned his words.
‘Excuse me, prince, excuse me, but now that will not
do,’ shouted Lebedeff’s nephew, his voice dominating all
the others. ‘The matter must be clearly stated, for it is
obviously not properly understood. They are calling in
some legal chicanery, and upon that ground they are
threatening to turn us out of the house! Really, prince, do
you think we are such fools as not to be aware that this
matter does not come within the law, and that legally we
cannot claim a rouble from you? But we are also aware
that if actual law is not on our side, human law is for us,
natural law, the law of common-sense and conscience,
which is no less binding upon every noble and honest
man—that is, every man of sane judgment—because it is The Idiot
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not to be found in miserable legal codes. If we come here
without fear of being turned out (as was threatened just
now) because of the imperative tone of our demand, and
the unseemliness of such a visit at this late hour (though it
was not late when we arrived, we were kept waiting in
your anteroom), if, I say, we came in without fear, it is
just because we expected to find you a man of sense; I
mean, a man of honour and conscience. It is quite true
that we did not present ourselves humbly, like your
flatterers and parasites, but holding up our heads as befits
independent men. We present no petition, but a proud
and free demand (note it well, we do not beseech, we
demand!). We ask you fairly and squarely in a dignified
manner. Do you believe that in this affair of Burdovsky
you have right on your side? Do you admit that Pavlicheff
overwhelmed you with benefits, and perhaps saved your
life? If you admit it (which we take for granted), do you
intend, now that you are a millionaire, and do you not
think it in conformity with justice, to indemnify
Burdovsky? Yes or no? If it is yes, or, in other words, if
you possess what you call honour and conscience, and we
more justly call common-sense, then accede to our
demand, and the matter is at an end. Give us satisfaction,
without entreaties or thanks from us; do not expect thanks The Idiot
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from us, for what you do will be done not for our sake,
but for the sake of justice. If you refuse to satisfy us, that
is, if your answer is no, we will go away at once, and there
will be an end of the matter. But we will tell you to your
face before the present company that you are a man of
vulgar and undeveloped mind; we will openly deny you
the right to speak in future of your honour and
conscience, for you have not paid the fair price of such a
right. I have no more to say—I have put the question
before you. Now turn us out if you dare. You can do it;
force is on your side. But remember that we do not
beseech, we demand! We do not beseech, we demand!’
With these last excited words, Lebedeff’s nephew was
silent.
‘We demand, we demand, we demand, we do not
beseech,’ spluttered Burdovsky, red as a lobster.
The speech of Lebedeff’s nephew caused a certain stir
among the company; murmurs arose, though with the
exception of Lebedeff, who was still very much excited,
everyone was careful not to interfere in the matter.
Strangely enough, Lebedeff, although on the prince’s side,
seemed quite proud of his nephew’s eloquence. Gratified
vanity was visible in the glances he cast upon the
assembled company. The Idiot
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‘In my opinion, Mr. Doktorenko,’ said the prince, in
rather a low voice, ‘you are quite right in at least half of
what you say. I would go further and say that you are
altogether right, and that I quite agree with you, if there
were not something lacking in your speech. I cannot
undertake to say precisely what it is, but you have
certainly omitted something, and you cannot be quite just
while there is something lacking. But let us put that aside
and return to the point. Tell me what induced you to
publish this article. Every word of it is a calumny, and I
think, gentlemen, that you have been guilty of a mean
action.’
‘Allow me—‘
‘Sir—‘
‘What? What? What?’ cried all the visitors at once, in
violent agitation.
‘As to the article,’ said Hippolyte in his croaking voice,
‘I have told you already that we none of us approve of it!
There is the writer,’ he added, pointing to the boxer, who
sat beside him. ‘I quite admit that he has written it in his
old regimental manner, with an equal disregard for style
and decency. I know he is a cross between a fool and an
adventurer; I make no bones about telling him so to his
face every day. But after all he is half justified; publicity is The Idiot
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the lawful right of every man; consequently, Burdovsky is
not excepted. Let him answer for his own blunders. As to
the objection which I made just now in the name of all, to
