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is one question upon which I am anxious to have advice,
but—‘
‘Tell me, how do you intend to live now, and what are
your plans?’ interrupted the general.
‘I wish to work, somehow or other.’
‘Oh yes, but then, you see, you are a philosopher.
Have you any talents, or ability in any direction—that is,
any that would bring in money and bread? Excuse me
again—‘
‘Oh, don’t apologize. No, I don’t think I have either
talents or special abilities of any kind; on the contrary. I
have always been an invalid and unable to learn much. As
for bread, I should think—‘
The general interrupted once more with questions;
while the prince again replied with the narrative we have
heard before. It appeared that the general had known
Pavlicheff; but why the latter had taken an interest in the
prince, that young gentleman could not explain; probably
by virtue of the old friendship with his father, he thought.
The prince had been left an orphan when quite a little
child, and Pavlicheff had entrusted him to an old lady, a
relative of his own, living in the country, the child
needing the fresh air and exercise of country life. He was
educated, first by a governess, and afterwards by a tutor, The Idiot
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but could not remember much about this time of his life.
His fits were so frequent then, that they made almost an
idiot of him (the prince used the expression ‘idiot’
himself). Pavlicheff had met Professor Schneider in Berlin,
and the latter had persuaded him to send the boy to
Switzerland, to Schneider’s establishment there, for the
cure of his epilepsy, and, five years before this time, the
prince was sent off. But Pavlicheff had died two or three
years since, and Schneider had himself supported the
young fellow, from that day to this, at his own expense.
Although he had not quite cured him, he had greatly
improved his condition; and now, at last, at the prince’s
own desire, and because of a certain matter which came to
the ears of the latter, Schneider had despatched the young
man to Russia.
The general was much astonished.
‘Then you have no one, absolutely NO one in Russia?’
he asked.
‘No one, at present; but I hope to make friends; and
then I have a letter from—‘
‘At all events,’ put in the general, not listening to the
news about the letter, ‘at all events, you must have learned
SOMETHING, and your malady would not prevent your The Idiot
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undertaking some easy work, in one of the departments,
for instance?
‘Oh dear no, oh no! As for a situation, I should much
like to find one for I am anxious to discover what I really
am fit for. I have learned a good deal in the last four years,
and, besides, I read a great many Russian books.’
‘Russian books, indeed ? Then, of course, you can read
and write quite correctly?’
‘Oh dear, yes!’
‘Capital! And your handwriting?’
‘Ah, there I am REALLY talented! I may say l am a
real caligraphist. Let me write you something, just to show
you,’ said the prince, with some excitement.
‘With pleasure! In fact, it is very necessary. I like your
readiness, prince; in fact, I must say—I-I-like you very
well, altogether,’ said the general.
‘What delightful writing materials you have here, such
a lot of pencils and things, and what beautiful paper! It’s a
charming room altogether. I know that picture, it’s a Swiss
view. I’m sure the artist painted it from nature, and that I
have seen the very place—‘
‘Quite likely, though I bought it here. Gania, give the
prince some paper. Here are pens and paper; now then,
take this table. What’s this?’ the general continued to The Idiot
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Gania, who had that moment taken a large photograph
out of his portfolio, and shown it to his senior. ‘Halloa!
Nastasia Philipovna! Did she send it you herself? Herself?’
he inquired, with much curiosity and great animation.
‘She gave it me just now, when I called in to
congratulate her. I asked her for it long ago. I don’t know
whether she meant it for a hint that I had come empty-
handed, without a present for her birthday, or what,’
added Gania, with an unpleasant smile.
‘Oh, nonsense, nonsense,’ said the general, with
decision. ‘ What extraordinary ideas you have, Gania! As if
she would hint; that’s not her way at all. Besides, what
could you give her, without having thousands at your
disposal? You might have given her your portrait,
however. Has she ever asked you for it?’
‘No, not yet. Very likely she never will. I suppose you
haven’t forgotten about tonight, have you, Ivan
Fedorovitch? You were one of those specially invited, you
know.’
‘Oh no, I remember all right, and I shall go, of course.
I should think so! She’s twenty-five years old today! And,
you know, Gania, you must be ready for great things; she
has promised both myself and Afanasy Ivanovitch that she The Idiot
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will give a decided answer tonight, yes or no. So be
prepared!’
Gania suddenly became so ill at ease that his face grew
paler than ever.
‘Are you sure she said that?’ he asked, and his voice
seemed to quiver as he spoke.
‘Yes, she promised. We both worried her so that she
gave in; but she wished us to tell you nothing about it
until the day. ‘
The general watched Gania’s confusion intently, and
clearly did not like it.
‘Remember, Ivan Fedorovitch,’ said Gania, in great
agitation, ‘that I was to be free too, until her decision; and
that even then I was to have my ‘yes or no’ free.’
‘Why, don’t you, aren’t you—’ began the general, in
alarm.
‘Oh, don’t misunderstand—‘
‘But, my dear fellow, what are you doing, what do you
mean?’
‘Oh, I’m not rejecting her. I may have expressed myself
badly, but I didn’t mean that.’
‘Reject her! I should think not!’ said the general with
annoyance, and apparently not in the least anxious to
conceal it. ‘Why, my dear fellow, it’s not a question of The Idiot
53 of 1149
your rejecting her, it is whether you are prepared to
receive her consent joyfully, and with proper satisfaction.
How are things going on at home?’
‘At home? Oh, I can do as I like there, of course; only
my father will make a fool of himself, as usual. He is
rapidly becoming a general nuisance. I don’t ever talk to
him now, but I hold him in cheek, safe enough. I swear if
it had not been for my mother, I should have shown him
the way out, long ago. My mother is always crying, of
course, and my sister sulks. I had to tell them at last that I
intended to be master of my own destiny, and that I
expect to be obeyed at home. At least, I gave my sister to
understand as much, and my mother was present.’
‘Well, I must say, I cannot understand it!’ said the
general, shrugging his shoulders and dropping his hands.
‘You remember your mother, Nina Alexandrovna, that
day she came and sat here and groaned-and when I asked
her what was the matter, she says, ‘Oh, it’s such a
DISHONOUR to us!’ dishonour! Stuff and nonsense! I
should like to know who can reproach Nastasia
Philipovna, or who can say a word of any kind against her.
Did she mean because Nastasia had been living with
Totski? What nonsense it is! You would not let her come
near your daughters, says Nina Alexandrovna. What next, The Idiot
54 of 1149
I wonder? I don’t see how she can fail to—to
understand—‘
‘Her own position?’ prompted Gania. ‘She does
understand. Don’t be annoyed with her. I have warned
her not to meddle in other people’s affairs. However,
although there’s comparative peace at home at present, the
storm will break if anything is finally settled tonight.’
The prince heard the whole of the foregoing
conversation, as he sat at the table, writing. He finished at
last, and brought the result of his labour to the general’s
desk.
‘So this is Nastasia Philipovna,’ he said, looking
attentively and curiously at the portrait. ‘How wonderfully
beautiful!’ he immediately added, with warmth. The
picture was certainly that of an unusually lovely woman.
She was photographed in a black silk dress of simple
design, her hair was evidently dark and plainly arranged,
her eyes were deep and thoughtful, the expression of her
face passionate, but proud. She was rather thin, perhaps,
and a little pale. Both Gania and the general gazed at the
prince in amazement.
‘How do you know it’s Nastasia Philipovna?’ asked the
general; ‘you surely don’t know her already, do you? ‘ The Idiot
55 of 1149
‘Yes, I do! I have only been one day in Russia, but I
have heard of the great beauty!’ And the prince proceeded
to narrate his meeting with Rogojin in the train and the
whole of the latter’s story.
‘There’s news!’ said the general in some excitement,
after listening to the story with engrossed attention.
‘Oh, of course it’s nothing but humbug!’ cried Gania, a
little disturbed, however. ‘It’s all humbug; the young
merchant was pleased to indulge in a little innocent
recreation! I have heard something of Rogojin!’
‘Yes, so have I!’ replied the general. ‘Nastasia
Philipovna told us all about the earrings that very day. But
now it is quite a different matter. You see the fellow really
has a million of roubles, and he is passionately in love. The
whole story smells of passion, and we all know what this
class of gentry is capable of when infatuated. I am much
afraid of some disagreeable scandal, I am indeed!’
‘You are afraid of the million, I suppose,’ said Gania,
grinning and showing his teeth.
‘And you are NOT, I presume, eh?’
‘How did he strike you, prince?’ asked Gania,
suddenly. ‘Did he seem to be a serious sort of a man, or
just a common rowdy fellow? What was your own
opinion about the matter?’ The Idiot
56 of 1149
While Gania put this question, a new idea suddenly
flashed into his brain, and blazed out, impatiently, in his
eyes. The general, who was really agitated and disturbed,
looked at the prince too, but did not seem to expect much
from his reply.
‘I really don’t quite know how to tell you,’ replied the
prince, ‘but it certainly did seem to me that the man was
full of passion, and not, perhaps, quite healthy passion. He
seemed to be still far from well. Very likely he will be in
bed again in a day or two, especially if he lives fast.’
‘No! do you think so?’ said the general, catching at the
idea.
‘Yes, I do think so!’
‘Yes, but the sort of scandal I referred to may happen at
any moment. It may be this very evening,’ remarked
Gania to the general, with a smile.
‘Of course; quite so. In that case it all depends upon
what is going on in her brain at this moment.’
‘You know the kind of person she is at times.’
‘How? What kind of person is she?’ cried the general,
arrived at the limits of his patience. Look here, Gania,
don’t you go annoying her tonight What you are to do is
to be as agreeable towards her as ever you can. Well, what
are you smiling at? You must understand, Gania, that I The Idiot
57 of 1149
have no interest whatever in speaking like this. Whichever
way the question is settled, it will be to my advantage.
Nothing will move Totski from his resolution, so I run no
risk. If there is anything I desire, you must know that it is
your benefit only. Can’t you trust me? You are a sensible
fellow, and I have been counting on you; for, in this
matter, that, that—‘
‘Yes, that’s the chief thing,’ said Gania, helping the
general out of his difficulties again, and curling his lips in
an envenomed smile, which he did not attempt to
conceal. He gazed with his fevered eyes straight into those
of the general, as though he were anxious that the latter
might read his thoughts.
The general grew purple with anger.
‘Yes, of course it is the chief thing!’ he cried, looking
sharply at Gania. ‘What a very curious man you are,
Gania! You actually seem to be GLAD to hear of this
millionaire fellow’s arrival- just as though you wished for
an excuse to get out of the whole thing. This is an affair in
which you ought to act honestly with both sides, and give
due warning, to avoid compromising others. But, even
now, there is still time. Do you understand me? I wish to
know whether you desire this arrangement or whether
you do not? If not, say so,—and-and welcome! No one is The Idiot
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trying to force you into the snare, Gavrila Ardalionovitch,
if you see a snare in the matter, at least.’
‘I do desire it,’ murmured Gania, softly but firmly,
lowering his eyes; and he relapsed into gloomy silence.
The general was satisfied. He had excited himself, and
was evidently now regretting that he had gone so far. He
turned to the prince, and suddenly the disagreeable
thought of the latter’s presence struck him, and the
certainty that he must have heard every word of the
conversation. But he felt at ease in another moment; it
only needed one glance at the prince to see that in that
quarter there was nothing to fear.
‘Oh!’ cried the general, catching sight of the prince’s
specimen of caligraphy, which the latter had now handed
him for inspection. ‘Why, this is simply beautiful; look at
that, Gania, there’s real talent there!’
On a sheet of thick writing-paper the prince had
written in medieval characters the legend:
‘The gentle Abbot Pafnute signed this.’
‘There,’ explained the prince, with great delight and
animation, ‘there, that’s the abbot’s real signature—from a
manuscript of the fourteenth century. All these old abbots
and bishops used to write most beautifully, with such taste
and so much care and diligence. Have you no copy of The Idiot
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Pogodin, general? If you had one I could show you
another type. Stop a bit—here you have the large round
writing common in France during the eighteenth century.
