what I meant to say,’ he added, with the satisfaction of
one who suddenly remembers something he had
forgotten. ‘Here is Burdovsky, sincerely anxious to protect
his mother; is not that so? And he himself is the cause of
her disgrace. The prince is anxious to help Burdovsky and
offers him friendship and a large sum of money, in the
sincerity of his heart. And here they stand like two sworn The Idiot
533 of 1149
enemies—ha, ha, ha! You all hate Burdovsky because his
behaviour with regard to his mother is shocking and
repugnant to you; do you not? Is not that true? Is it not
true? You all have a passion for beauty and distinction in
outward forms; that is all you care for, isn’t it? I have
suspected for a long time that you cared for nothing else!
Well, let me tell you that perhaps there is not one of you
who loved your mother as Burdovsky loved his. As to
you, prince, I know that you have sent money secretly to
Burdovsky’s mother through Gania. Well, I bet now,’ he
continued with an hysterical laugh, ‘that Burdovsky will
accuse you of indelicacy, and reproach you with a want of
respect for his mother! Yes, that is quite certain! Ha, ha,
ha!’
He caught his breath, and began to cough once more.
‘Come, that is enough! That is all now; you have no
more to say? Now go to bed; you are burning with fever,’
said Lizabetha Prokofievna impatiently. Her anxious eyes
had never left the invalid. ‘Good heavens, he is going to
begin again!’
‘You are laughing, I think? Why do you keep laughing
at me?’ said Hippolyte irritably to Evgenie Pavlovitch,
who certainly was laughing. The Idiot
534 of 1149
‘I only want to know, Mr. Hippolyte—excuse me, I
forget your surname.’
‘Mr. Terentieff,’ said the prince.
‘Oh yes, Mr. Terentieff. Thank you prince. I heard it
just now, but had forgotten it. I want to know, Mr.
Terentieff, if what I have heard about you is true. It seems
you are convinced that if you could speak to the people
from a window for a quarter of an hour, you could make
them all adopt your views and follow you?’
‘I may have said so,’ answered Hippolyte, as if trying to
remember. ‘Yes, I certainly said so,’ he continued with
sudden animation, fixing an unflinching glance on his
questioner. ‘What of it?’
‘Nothing. I was only seeking further information, to
put the finishing touch.’ Evgenie Pavlovitch was silent,
but Hippolyte kept his eyes fixed upon him, waiting
impatiently for more.
‘Well, have you finished?’ said Lizabetha Prokofievna
to Evgenie. ‘Make haste, sir; it is time he went to bed.
Have you more to say?’ She was very angry.
‘Yes, I have a little more,’ said Evgenie Pavlovitch,
with a smile. ‘It seems to me that all you and your friends
have said, Mr. Terentieff, and all you have just put
forward with such undeniable talent, may be summed up The Idiot
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in the triumph of right above all, independent of
everything else, to the exclusion of everything else;
perhaps even before having discovered what constitutes
the right. I may be mistaken?’
‘You are certainly mistaken; I do not even understand
you. What else?’
Murmurs arose in the neighbourhood of Burdovsky
and his companions; Lebedeff’s nephew protested under
his breath.
‘I have nearly finished,’ replied Evgenie Pavlovitch.
‘I will only remark that from these premisses one could
conclude that might is right—I mean the right of the
clenched fist, and of personal inclination. Indeed, the
world has often come to that conclusion. Prudhon upheld
that might is right. In the American War some of the most
advanced Liberals took sides with the planters on the score
that the blacks were an inferior race to the whites, and that
might was the right of the white race.’
‘Well?’
‘You mean, no doubt, that you do not deny that might
is right?’
‘What then?’ The Idiot
536 of 1149
‘You are at least logical. I would only point out that
from the right of might, to the right of tigers and
crocodiles, or even Daniloff and Gorsky, is but a step.’
‘I know nothing about that; what else?’
Hippolyte was scarcely listening. He kept saying well?’
and ‘what else?’ mechanically, without the least curiosity,
and by mere force of habit.
‘Why, nothing else; that is all.’
‘However, I bear you no grudge,’ said Hippolyte
suddenly, and, hardly conscious of what he was doing, he
held out his hand with a smile. The gesture took Evgenie
Pavlovitch by surprise, but with the utmost gravity he
touched the hand that was offered him in token of
forgiveness.
‘I can but thank you,’ he said, in a tone too respectful
to be sincere, ‘for your kindness in letting me speak, for I
have often noticed that our Liberals never allow other
people to have an opinion of their own, and immediately
answer their opponents with abuse, if they do not have
recourse to arguments of a still more unpleasant nature.’
‘What you say is quite true,’ observed General
Epanchin; then, clasping his hands behind his back, he
returned to his place on the terrace steps, where he
yawned with an air of boredom. The Idiot
537 of 1149
‘Come, sir, that will do; you weary me,’ said Lizabetha
Prokofievna suddenly to Evgenie Pavlovitch.
Hippolyte rose all at once, looking troubled and almost
frightened.
‘It is time for me to go,’ he said, glancing round in
perplexity. ‘I have detained you... I wanted to tell you
everything... I thought you all ... for the last time ... it was
a whim...’
He evidently had sudden fits of returning animation,
when he awoke from his semi-delirium; then, recovering
full self- possession for a few moments, he would speak, in
disconnected phrases which had perhaps haunted him for a
long while on his bed of suffering, during weary, sleepless
nights.
‘Well, good-bye,’ he said abruptly. ‘You think it is easy
for me to say good-bye to you? Ha, ha!’
Feeling that his question was somewhat gauche, he
smiled angrily. Then as if vexed that he could not ever
express what he really meant, he said irritably, in a loud
voice:
‘Excellency, I have the honour of inviting you to my
funeral; that is, if you will deign to honour it with your
presence. I invite you all, gentlemen, as well as the
general.’ The Idiot
538 of 1149
He burst out laughing again, but it was the laughter of
a madman. Lizabetha Prokofievna approached him
anxiously and seized his arm. He stared at her for a
moment, still laughing, but soon his face grew serious.
‘Do you know that I came here to see those trees?’
pointing to the trees in the park. ‘It is not ridiculous, is it?
Say that it is not ridiculous!’ he demanded urgently of
Lizabetha Prokofievna. Then he seemed to be plunged in
thought. A moment later he raised his head, and his eyes
sought for someone. He was looking for Evgenie
Pavlovitch, who was close by on his right as before, but he
had forgotten this, and his eyes ranged over the assembled
company. ‘Ah! you have not gone!’ he said, when he
caught sight of him at last. ‘You kept on laughing just
now, because I thought of speaking to the people from the
window for a quarter of an hour. But I am not eighteen,
you know; lying on that bed, and looking out of that
window, I have thought of all sorts of things for such a
long time that ... a dead man has no age, you know. I was
saying that to myself only last week, when I was awake in
the night. Do you know what you fear most? You fear
our sincerity more than anything, although you despise us!
The idea crossed my mind that night... You thought I was
making fun of you just now, Lizabetha Prokofievna? No, The Idiot
539 of 1149
the idea of mockery was far from me; I only meant to
praise you. Colia told me the prince called you a child—
very well—but let me see, I had something else to say...’
He covered his face with his hands and tried to collect his
thoughts.
‘Ah, yes—you were going away just now, and I
thought to myself: ‘I shall never see these people again-
never again! This is the last time I shall see the trees, too. I
shall see nothing after this but the red brick wall of
Meyer’s house opposite my window. Tell them about it—
try to tell them,’ I thought. ‘Here is a beautiful young
girl—you are a dead man; make them understand that.
Tell them that a dead man may say anything—and Mrs.
Grundy will not be angry—ha-ha! You are not laughing?’
He looked anxiously around. ‘But you know I get so
many queer ideas, lying there in bed. I have grown
convinced that nature is full of mockery—you called me
an atheist just now, but you know this nature ... why are
you laughing again? You are very cruel!’ he added
suddenly, regarding them all with mournful reproach. ‘I
have not corrupted Colia,’ he concluded in a different and
very serious tone, as if remembering something again.
‘Nobody here is laughing at you. Calm yourself’ said
Lizabetha Prokofievna, much moved. ‘You shall see a new The Idiot
540 of 1149
doctor tomorrow; the other was mistaken; but sit down,
do not stand like that! You are delirious—Oh, what shall
we do with him she cried in anguish, as she made him sit
down again in the arm-chair.
A tear glistened on her cheek. At the sight of it
Hippolyte seemed amazed. He lifted his hand timidly and,
touched the tear with his finger, smiling like a child.
‘I ... you,’ he began joyfully. ‘You cannot tell how I ...
he always spoke so enthusiastically of you, Colia here; I
liked his enthusiasm. I was not corrupting him! But I must
leave him, too— I wanted to leave them all—there was
not one of them—not one! I wanted to be a man of
action—I had a right to be. Oh! what a lot of things I
wanted! Now I want nothing; I renounce all my wants; I
swore to myself that I would want nothing; let them seek
the truth without me! Yes, nature is full of mockery!
Why’—he continued with sudden warmth—‘does she
create the choicest beings only to mock at them? The only
human being who is recognized as perfect, when nature
showed him to mankind, was given the mission to say
things which have caused the shedding of so much blood
that it would have drowned mankind if it had all been
shed at once! Oh! it is better for me to die! I should tell
some dreadful lie too; nature would so contrive it! I have The Idiot
541 of 1149
corrupted nobody. I wanted to live for the happiness of all
men, to find and spread the truth. I used to look out of
my window at the wall of Meyer’s house, and say to
myself that if I could speak for a quarter of an hour I
would convince the whole world, and now for once in
my life I have come into contact with ... you—if not with
the others! And what is the result? Nothing! The sole
result is that you despise me! Therefore I must be a fool, I
am useless, it is time I disappeared! And I shall leave not
even a memory! Not a sound, not a trace, not a single
deed! I have not spread a single truth! ... Do not laugh at
the fool! Forget him! Forget him forever! I beseech you,
do not be so cruel as to remember! Do you know that if I
were not consumptive, I would kill myself?’
Though he seemed to wish to say much more, he
became silent. He fell back into his chair, and, covering
his face with his hands, began to sob like a little child.
‘Oh! what on earth are we to do with him?’ cried
Lizabetha Prokofievna. She hastened to him and pressed
his head against her bosom, while he sobbed convulsively.
‘Come, come, come! There, you must not cry, that
will do. You are a good child! God will forgive you,
because you knew no better. Come now, be a man! You
know presently you will be ashamed.’ The Idiot
542 of 1149
Hippolyte raised his head with an effort, saying:
‘I have little brothers and sisters, over there, poor avid
innocent. She will corrupt them! You are a saint! You are
a child yourself—save them! Snatch them from that ... she
is ... it is shameful! Oh! help them! God will repay you a
hundredfold. For the love of God, for the love of Christ!’
‘Speak, Ivan Fedorovitch! What are we to do?’ cried
Lizabetha Prokofievna, irritably. ‘Please break your
majestic silence! I tell you, if you cannot come to some
decision, I will stay here all night myself. You have
tyrannized over me enough, you autocrat!’
She spoke angrily, and in great excitement, and
expected an immediate reply. But in such a case, no
matter how many are present, all prefer to keep silence: no
one will take the initiative, but all reserve their comments
till afterwards. There were some present—Varvara
Ardalionovna, for instance—who would have willingly sat
there till morning without saying a word. Varvara had sat
apart all the evening without opening her lips, but she
listened to everything with the closest attention; perhaps
she had her reasons for so doing.
‘My dear,’ said the general, ‘it seems to me that a sick-
nurse would be of more use here than an excitable person
like you. Perhaps it would be as well to get some sober, The Idiot
543 of 1149
reliable man for the night. In any case we must consult the
prince, and leave the patient to rest at once. Tomorrow
we can see what can be done for him.’
‘It is nearly midnight; we are going. Will he come with
us, or is he to stay here?’ Doktorenko asked crossly of the
prince.
‘You can stay with him if you like,’ said Muishkin.
‘There is plenty of room here.’
Suddenly, to the astonishment of all, Keller went
quickly up to the general.
‘Excellency,’ he said, impulsively, ‘if you want a
reliable man for the night, I am ready to sacrifice myself
for my friend—such a soul as he has! I have long thought
him a great man, excellency! My article showed my lack
of education, but when he criticizes he scatters pearls!’
