may remark that reality, although it is governed by
invariable law, has at times a resemblance to falsehood. In
fact, the truer a thing is the less true it sounds.’
‘But could anyone possibly eat sixty monks?’ objected
the scoffing listeners.
‘It is quite clear that he did not eat them all at once, but
in a space of fifteen or twenty years: from that point of
view the thing is comprehensible and natural...’
‘Natural?’
‘And natural,’ repeated Lebedeff with pedantic
obstinacy. ‘Besides, a Catholic monk is by nature
excessively curious; it would be quite easy therefore to
entice him into a wood, or some secret place, on false
pretences, and there to deal with him as said. But I do not
dispute in the least that the number of persons consumed
appears to denote a spice of greediness.’
‘It is perhaps true, gentlemen,’ said the prince, quietly.
He had been listening in silence up to that moment
without taking part in the conversation, but laughing
heartily with the others from time to time. Evidently he The Idiot
692 of 1149
was delighted to see that everybody was amused, that
everybody was talking at once, and even that everybody
was drinking. It seemed as if he were not intending to
speak at all, when suddenly he intervened in such a serious
voice that everyone looked at him with interest.
‘It is true that there were frequent famines at that time,
gentlemen. I have often heard of them, though I do not
know much history. But it seems to me that it must have
been so. When I was in Switzerland I used to look with
astonishment at the many ruins of feudal castles perched
on the top of steep and rocky heights, half a mile at least
above sea-level, so that to reach them one had to climb
many miles of stony tracks. A castle, as you know, is, a
kind of mountain of stones—a dreadful, almost an
impossible, labour! Doubtless the builders were all poor
men, vassals, and had to pay heavy taxes, and to keep up
the priesthood. How, then, could they provide for
themselves, and when had they time to plough and sow
their fields? The greater number must, literally, have died
of starvation. I have sometimes asked myself how it was
that these communities were not utterly swept off the face
of the earth, and how they could possibly survive.
Lebedeff is not mistaken, in my opinion, when he says that
there were cannibals in those days, perhaps in considerable The Idiot
693 of 1149
numbers; but I do not understand why he should have
dragged in the monks, nor what he means by that.’
‘It is undoubtedly because, in the twelfth century,
monks were the only people one could eat; they were the
fat, among many lean,’ said Gavrila Ardalionovitch.
‘A brilliant idea, and most true!’ cried Lebedeff, ‘for he
never even touched the laity. Sixty monks, and not a
single layman! It is a terrible idea, but it is historic, it is
statistic; it is indeed one of those facts which enables an
intelligent historian to reconstruct the physiognomy of a
special epoch, for it brings out this further point with
mathematical accuracy, that the clergy were in those days
sixty times richer and more flourishing than the rest of
humanity. and perhaps sixty times fatter also...’
‘You are exaggerating, you are exaggerating, Lebedeff!’
cried his hearers, amid laughter.
‘I admit that it is an historic thought, but what is your
conclusion?’ asked the prince.
He spoke so seriously in addressing Lebedeff, that his
tone contrasted quite comically with that of the others.
They were very nearly laughing at him, too, but he did
not notice it.
‘Don’t you see he is a lunatic, prince?’ whispered
Evgenie Pavlovitch in his ear. ‘Someone told me just now The Idiot
694 of 1149
that he is a bit touched on the subject of lawyers, that he
has a mania for making speeches and intends to pass the
examinations. I am expecting a splendid burlesque now.’
‘My conclusion is vast,’ replied Lebedeff, in a voice like
thunder. ‘Let us examine first the psychological and legal
position of the criminal. We see that in spite of the
difficulty of finding other food, the accused, or, as we may
say, my client, has often during his peculiar life exhibited
signs of repentance, and of wishing to give up this clerical
diet. Incontrovertible facts prove this assertion. He has
eaten five or six children, a relatively insignificant number,
no doubt, but remarkable enough from another point of
view. It is manifest that, pricked by remorse—for my
client is religious, in his way, and has a conscience, as I
shall prove later—and desiring to extenuate his sin as far as
possible, he has tried six times at least to substitute lay
nourishment for clerical. That this was merely an
experiment we can hardly doubt: for if it had been only a
question of gastronomic variety, six would have been too
few; why only six? Why not thirty? But if we regard it as
an experiment, inspired by the fear of committing new
sacrilege, then this number six becomes intelligible. Six
attempts to calm his remorse, and the pricking of his
conscience, would amply suffice, for these attempts could The Idiot
695 of 1149
scarcely have been happy ones. In my humble opinion, a
child is too small; I should say, not sufficient; which would
result in four or five times more lay children than monks
being required in a given time. The sin, lessened on the
one hand, would therefore be increased on the other, in
quantity, not in quality. Please understand, gentlemen, that
in reasoning thus, I am taking the point of view which
might have been taken by a criminal of the middle ages.
As for myself, a man of the late nineteenth century, I, of
course, should reason differently; I say so plainly, and
therefore you need not jeer at me nor mock me,
gentlemen. As for you, general, it is still more unbecoming
on your part. In the second place, and giving my own
personal opinion, a child’s flesh is not a satisfying diet; it is
too insipid, too sweet; and the criminal, in making these
experiments, could have satisfied neither his conscience
nor his appetite. I am about to conclude, gentlemen; and
my conclusion contains a reply to one of the most
important questions of that day and of our own! This
criminal ended at last by denouncing himself to the clergy,
and giving himself up to justice. We cannot but ask,
remembering the penal system of that day, and the tortures
that awaited him—the wheel, the stake, the fire!—we
cannot but ask, I repeat, what induced him to accuse The Idiot
696 of 1149
himself of this crime? Why did he not simply stop short at
the number sixty, and keep his secret until his last breath?
Why could he not simply leave the monks alone, and go
into the desert to repent? Or why not become a monk
himself? That is where the puzzle comes in! There must
have been something stronger than the stake or the fire, or
even than the habits of twenty years! There must have
been an idea more powerful than all the calamities and
sorrows of this world, famine or torture, leprosy or
plague—an idea which entered into the heart, directed
and enlarged the springs of life, and made even that hell
supportable to humanity! Show me a force, a power like
that, in this our century of vices and railways! I might say,
perhaps, in our century of steamboats and railways, but I
repeat in our century of vices and railways, because I am
drunk but truthful! Show me a single idea which unites
men nowadays with half the strength that it had in those
centuries, and dare to maintain that the ‘springs of life’
have not been polluted and weakened beneath this ‘star,’
beneath this network in which men are entangled! Don’t
talk to me about your prosperity, your riches, the rarity of
famine, the rapidity of the means of transport! There is
more of riches, but less of force. The idea uniting heart
and soul to heart and soul exists no more. All is loose, soft, The Idiot
697 of 1149
limp—we are all of us limp.... Enough, gentlemen! I have
done. That is not the question. No, the question is now,
excellency, I believe, to sit down to the banquet you are
about to provide for us!’
Lebedeff had roused great indignation in some of his
auditors (it should be remarked that the bottles were
constantly uncorked during his speech); but this
unexpected conclusion calmed even the most turbulent
spirits. ‘That’s how a clever barrister makes a good point!’
said he, when speaking of his peroration later on. The
visitors began to laugh and chatter once again; the
committee left their seats, and stretched their legs on the
terrace. Keller alone was still disgusted with Lebedeff and
his speech; he turned from one to another, saying in a
loud voice:
‘He attacks education, he boasts of the fanaticism of the
twelfth century, he makes absurd grimaces, and added to
that he is by no means the innocent he makes himself out
to be. How did he get the money to buy this house, allow
me to ask?’
In another corner was the general, holding forth to a
group of hearers, among them Ptitsin, whom he had
buttonholed. ‘I have known,’ said he, ‘a real interpreter of
the Apocalypse, the late Gregory Semeonovitch The Idiot
698 of 1149
Burmistroff, and he—he pierced the heart like a fiery flash!
He began by putting on his spectacles, then he opened a
large black book; his white beard, and his two medals on
his breast, recalling acts of charity, all added to his
impressiveness. He began in a stern voice, and before him
generals, hard men of the world, bowed down, and ladies
fell to the ground fainting. But this one here—he ends by
announcing a banquet! That is not the real thing!’
Ptitsin listened and smiled, then turned as if to get his
hat; but if he had intended to leave, he changed his mind.
Before the others had risen from the table, Gania had
suddenly left off drinking, and pushed away his glass, a
dark shadow seemed to come over his face. When they all
rose, he went and sat down by Rogojin. It might have
been believed that quite friendly relations existed between
them. Rogojin, who had also seemed on the point of
going away now sat motionless, his head bent, seeming to
have forgotten his intention. He had drunk no wine, and
appeared absorbed in reflection. From time to time he
raised his eyes, and examined everyone present; one might
have imagined that he was expecting something very
important to himself, and that he had decided to wait for
it. The prince had taken two or three glasses of
champagne, and seemed cheerful. As he rose he noticed The Idiot
699 of 1149
Evgenie Pavlovitch, and, remembering the appointment
he had made with him, smiled pleasantly. Evgenie
Pavlovitch made a sign with his head towards Hippolyte,
whom he was attentively watching. The invalid was fast
asleep, stretched out on the sofa.
‘Tell me, prince, why on earth did this boy intrude
himself upon you?’ he asked, with such annoyance and
irritation in his voice that the prince was quite surprised. ‘I
wouldn’t mind laying odds that he is up to some mischief.’
‘I have observed,’ said the prince, ‘that he seems to be
an object of very singular interest to you, Evgenie
Pavlovitch. Why is it?’
‘You may add that I have surely enough to think of, on
my own account, without him; and therefore it is all the
more surprising that I cannot tear my eyes and thoughts
away from his detestable physiognomy.’
‘Oh, come! He has a handsome face.’
‘Why, look at him—look at him now!’
The prince glanced again at Evgenie Pavlovitch with
considerable surprise. The Idiot
700 of 1149
V
HIPPOLYTE, who had fallen asleep during Lebedeff’s
discourse, now suddenly woke up, just as though someone
had jogged him in the side. He shuddered, raised himself
on his arm, gazed around, and grew very pale. A look
almost of terror crossed his face as he recollected.
‘What! are they all off? Is it all over? Is the sun up?’ He
trembled, and caught at the prince’s hand. ‘What time is
it? Tell me, quick, for goodness’ sake! How long have I
slept?’ he added, almost in despair, just as though he had
overslept something upon which his whole fate depended.
‘You have slept seven or perhaps eight minutes,’ said
Evgenie Pavlovitch.
Hippolyte gazed eagerly at the latter, and mused for a
few moments.
‘Oh, is that all?’ he said at last. ‘Then I—‘
He drew a long, deep breath of relief, as it seemed. He
realized that all was not over as yet, that the sun had not
risen, and that the guests had merely gone to supper. He
smiled, and two hectic spots appeared on his cheeks.
‘So you counted the minutes while I slept, did you,
Evgenie Pavlovitch?’ he said, ironically. ‘You have not The Idiot
701 of 1149
taken your eyes off me all the evening—I have noticed
that much, you see! Ah, Rogojin! I’ve just been dreaming
about him, prince,’ he added, frowning. ‘Yes, by the by,’
starting up, ‘where’s the orator? Where’s Lebedeff? Has he
finished? What did he talk about? Is it true, prince, that
you once declared that ‘beauty would save the world’?
Great Heaven! The prince says that beauty saves the
world! And I declare that he only has such playful ideas
because he’s in love! Gentlemen, the prince is in love. I
guessed it the moment he came in. Don’t blush, prince;
you make me sorry for you. What beauty saves the world?
Colia told me that you are a zealous Christian; is it so?
Colia says you call yourself a Christian.’
The prince regarded him attentively, but said nothing.
‘You don’t answer me; perhaps you think I am very
fond of you?’ added Hippolyte, as though the words had
been drawn from him.
‘No, I don’t think that. I know you don’t love me.’
‘What, after yesterday? Wasn’t I honest with you?’
