whatever. And they were all like this. Those of whom
Evgenie Pavlovitch has spoken, do not admit that they are
criminals at all; they think they had a right to do what
they did, and that they were even doing a good deed,
perhaps. I consider there is the greatest difference between
the two cases. And recollect—it was a YOUTH, at the
particular age which is most helplessly susceptible to the
distortion of ideas!’
Prince S. was now no longer smiling; he gazed at the
prince in bewilderment. The Idiot
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Alexandra, who had seemed to wish to put in her word
when the prince began, now sat silent, as though some
sudden thought had caused her to change her mind about
speaking.
Evgenie Pavlovitch gazed at him in real surprise, and
this time his expression of face had no mockery in it
whatever.
‘What are you looking so surprised about, my friend?’
asked Mrs. Epanchin, suddenly. ‘Did you suppose he was
stupider than yourself, and was incapable of forming his
own opinions, or what?’
‘No! Oh no! Not at all!’ said Evgenie. ‘But—how is it,
prince, that you—(excuse the question, will you?)—if you
are capable of observing and seeing things as you evidently
do, how is it that you saw nothing distorted or perverted
in that claim upon your property, which you
acknowledged a day or two since; and which was full of
arguments founded upon the most distorted views of right
and wrong?’
‘I’ll tell you what, my friend,’ cried Mrs. Epanchin, of a
sudden, ‘here are we all sitting here and imagining we are
very clever, and perhaps laughing at the prince, some of
us, and meanwhile he has received a letter this very day in
which that same claimant renounces his claim, and begs The Idiot
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the prince’s pardon. There I we don’t often get that sort of
letter; and yet we are not ashamed to walk with our noses
in the air before him.’
‘And Hippolyte has come down here to stay,’ said
Colia, suddenly.
‘What! has he arrived?’ said the prince, starting up.
‘Yes, I brought him down from town just after you had
left the house.’
‘There now! It’s just like him,’ cried Lizabetha
Prokofievna, boiling over once more, and entirely
oblivious of the fact that she had just taken the prince’s
part. ‘I dare swear that you went up to town yesterday on
purpose to get the little wretch to do you the great
honour of coming to stay at your house. You did go up to
town, you know you did—you said so yourself! Now
then, did you, or did you not, go down on your knees and
beg him to come, confess!’
‘No, he didn’t, for I saw it all myself,’ said Colia. ‘On
the contrary, Hippolyte kissed his hand twice and thanked
him; and all the prince said was that he thought Hippolyte
might feel better here in the country!’
‘Don’t, Colia,—what is the use of saying all that?’ cried
the prince, rising and taking his hat.
‘Where are you going to now?’ cried Mrs. Epanchin. The Idiot
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‘Never mind about him now, prince,’ said Colia. ‘He is
all right and taking a nap after the journey. He is very
happy to be here; but I think perhaps it would be better if
you let him alone for today,—he is very sensitive now that
he is so ill—and he might be embarrassed if you show him
too much attention at first. He is decidedly better today,
and says he has not felt so well for the last six months, and
has coughed much less, too.’
The prince observed that Aglaya came out of her
corner and approached the table at this point.
He did not dare look at her, but he was conscious, to
the very tips of his fingers, that she was gazing at him,
perhaps angrily; and that she had probably flushed up with
a look of fiery indignation in her black eyes.
‘It seems to me, Mr. Colia, that you were very foolish
to bring your young friend down—if he is the same
consumptive boy who wept so profusely, and invited us all
to his own funeral,’ remarked Evgenie Pavlovitch. ‘He
talked so eloquently about the blank wall outside his
bedroom window, that I’m sure he will never support life
here without it. ‘
‘I think so too,’ said Mrs. Epanchin; ‘he will quarrel
with you, and be off,’ and she drew her workbox towards The Idiot
615 of 1149
her with an air of dignity, quite oblivious of the fact that
the family was about to start for a walk in the park.
‘Yes, I remember he boasted about the blank wall in an
extraordinary way,’ continued Evgenie, ‘and I feel that
without that blank wall he will never be able to die
eloquently; and he does so long to die eloquently!’
‘Oh, you must forgive him the blank wall,’ said the
prince, quietly. ‘He has come down to see a few trees
now, poor fellow.’
‘Oh, I forgive him with all my heart; you may tell him
so if you like,’ laughed Evgenie.
‘I don’t think you should take it quite like that,’ said
the prince, quietly, and without removing his eyes from
the carpet. ‘I think it is more a case of his forgiving you ‘
‘Forgiving me! why so? What have I done to need his
forgiveness?’
‘If you don’t understand, then—but of course, you do
understand. He wished—he wished to bless you all round
and to have your blessing—before he died—that’s all.’
‘My dear prince,’ began Prince S., hurriedly,
exchanging glances with some of those present, ‘you will
not easily find heaven on earth, and yet you seem to
expect to. Heaven is a difficult thing to find anywhere,
prince; far more difficult than appears to that good heart of The Idiot
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yours. Better stop this conversation, or we shall all be
growing quite disturbed in our minds, and—‘
‘Let’s go and hear the band, then,’ said Lizabetha
Prokofievna, angrily rising from her place.
The rest of the company followed her example. The Idiot
617 of 1149
II
THE prince suddenly approached Evgenie Pavlovitch.
‘Evgenie Pavlovitch,’ he said, with strange excitement
and seizing the latter’s hand in his own, ‘be assured that I
esteem you as a generous and honourable man, in spite of
everything. Be assured of that.’
Evgenie Pavlovitch fell back a step in astonishment. For
one moment it was all he could do to restrain himself from
bursting out laughing; but, looking closer, he observed
that the prince did not seem to be quite himself; at all
events, he was in a very curious state.
‘I wouldn’t mind betting, prince,’ he cried, ‘that you
did not in the least mean to say that, and very likely you
meant to address someone else altogether. What is it? Are
you feeling unwell or anything?’
‘Very likely, extremely likely, and you must be a very
close observer to detect the fact that perhaps I did not
intend to come up to YOU at all.’
So saying he smiled strangely; but suddenly and
excitedly he began again:
‘Don’t remind me of what I have done or said. Don’t! I
am very much ashamed of myself, I—‘ The Idiot
618 of 1149
‘Why, what have you done? I don’t understand you.’
‘I see you are ashamed of me, Evgenie Pavlovitch; you
are blushing for me; that’s a sign of a good heart. Don’t be
afraid; I shall go away directly.’
‘What’s the matter with him? Do his fits begin like
that?’ said Lizabetha Prokofievna, in a high state of alarm,
addressing Colia.
‘No, no, Lizabetha Prokofievna, take no notice of me.
I am not going to have a fit. I will go away directly; but I
know I am afflicted. I was twenty-four years an invalid,
you see—the first twenty-four years of my life—so take all
I do and say as the sayings and actions of an invalid. I’m
going away directly, I really am—don’t be afraid. I am not
blushing, for I don’t think I need blush about it, need I?
But I see that I am out of place in society—society is
better without me. It’s not vanity, I assure you. I have
thought over it all these last three days, and I have made
up my mind that I ought to unbosom myself candidly
before you at the first opportunity. There are certain
things, certain great ideas, which I must not so much as
approach, as Prince S. has just reminded me, or I shall
make you all laugh. I have no sense of proportion, I
know; my words and gestures do not express my ideas—
they are a humiliation and abasement of the ideas, and The Idiot
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therefore, I have no right—and I am too sensitive. Still, I
believe I am beloved in this household, and esteemed far
more than I deserve. But I can’t help knowing that after
twenty-four years of illness there must be some trace left,
so that it is impossible for people to refrain from laughing
at me sometimes; don’t you think so?’
He seemed to pause for a reply, for some verdict, as it
were, and looked humbly around him.
All present stood rooted to the earth with amazement
at this unexpected and apparently uncalled-for outbreak;
but the poor prince’s painful and rambling speech gave rise
to a strange episode.
‘Why do you say all this here?’ cried Aglaya, suddenly.
‘Why do you talk like this to THEM?’
She appeared to be in the last stages of wrath and
irritation; her eyes flashed. The prince stood dumbly and
blindly before her, and suddenly grew pale.
‘There is not one of them all who is worthy of these
words of yours,’ continued Aglaya. ‘Not one of them is
worth your little finger, not one of them has heart or head
to compare with yours! You are more honest than all, and
better, nobler, kinder, wiser than all. There are some here
who are unworthy to bend and pick up the handkerchief
you have just dropped. Why do you humiliate yourself The Idiot
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like this, and place yourself lower than these people? Why
do you debase yourself before them? Why have you no
pride?’
‘My God! Who would ever have believed this?’ cried
Mrs. Epanchin, wringing her hands.
‘Hurrah for the ‘poor knight’!’ cried Colia.
‘Be quiet! How dare they laugh at me in your house?’
said Aglaya, turning sharply on her mother in that
hysterical frame of mind that rides recklessly over every
obstacle and plunges blindly through proprieties. ‘Why
does everyone, everyone worry and torment me? Why
have they all been bullying me these three days about you,
prince? I will not marry you—never, and under no
circumstances! Know that once and for all; as if anyone
could marry an absurd creature like you! Just look in the
glass and see what you look like, this very moment! Why,
WHY do they torment me and say I am going to marry
you? You must know it; you are in the plot with them!’
‘No one ever tormented you on the subject,’
murmured Adelaida, aghast.
‘No one ever thought of such a thing! There has never
been a word said about it!’ cried Alexandra.
‘Who has been annoying her? Who has been
tormenting the child? Who could have said such a thing to The Idiot
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her? Is she raving?’ cried Lizabetha Prokofievna, trembling
with rage, to the company in general.
‘Every one of them has been saying it—every one of
them—all these three days! And I will never, never marry
him!’
So saying, Aglaya burst into bitter tears, and, hiding her
face in her handkerchief, sank back into a chair.
‘But he has never even—‘
‘I have never asked you to marry me, Aglaya
Ivanovna!’ said the prince, of a sudden.
‘WHAT?’ cried Mrs. Epanchin, raising her hands in
horror. ‘WHAT’S that?’
She could not believe her ears.
‘I meant to say—I only meant to say,’ said the prince,
faltering, ‘I merely meant to explain to Aglaya Ivanovna—
to have the honour to explain, as it were—that I had no
intention—never had—to ask the honour of her hand. I
assure you I am not guilty, Aglaya Ivanovna, I am not,
indeed. I never did wish to—I never thought of it at all—
and never shall—you’ll see it yourself— you may be quite
assured of it. Some wicked person has been maligning me
to you; but it’s all right. Don’t worry about it.’
So saying, the prince approached Aglaya. The Idiot
622 of 1149
She took the handkerchief from her face, glanced
keenly at him, took in what he had said, and burst out
laughing—such a merry, unrestrained laugh, so hearty and
gay, that. Adelaida could not contain herself. She, too,
glanced at the prince’s panic-stricken countenance, then
rushed at her sister, threw her arms round her neck, and
burst into as merry a fit of laughter as Aglaya’s own. They
laughed together like a couple of school-girls. Hearing and
seeing this, the prince smiled happily, and in accents of
relief and joy, he exclaimed ‘Well, thank God—thank
God!’
Alexandra now joined in, and it looked as though the
three sisters were going to laugh on for ever.
‘They are insane,’ muttered Lizabetha Prokofievna.
‘Either they frighten one out of one’s wits, or else—‘
But Prince S. was laughing now, too, so was Evgenie
Pavlovitch, so was Colia, and so was the prince himself,
who caught the infection as he looked round radiantly
upon the others.
‘Come along, let’s go out for a walk!’ cried Adelaida.
‘We’ll all go together, and the prince must absolutely go
with us. You needn’t go away, you dear good fellow!
ISN’T he a dear, Aglaya? Isn’t he, mother? I must really
give him a kiss for—for his explanation to Aglaya just The Idiot
623 of 1149
now. Mother, dear, I may kiss him, mayn’t I? Aglaya, may
I kiss YOUR prince?’ cried the young rogue, and sure
enough she skipped up to the prince and kissed his
forehead.
He seized her hands, and pressed them so hard that
Adelaida nearly cried out; he then gazed with delight into
her eyes, and raising her right hand to his lips with
enthusiasm, kissed it three times.
‘Come along,’ said Aglaya. ‘Prince, you must walk with
me. May he, mother? This young cavalier, who won’t
have me? You said you would NEVER have me, didn’t
you, prince? No-no, not like that; THAT’S not the way
to give your arm. Don’t you know how to give your arm
