besides...’ the prince hesitated. ‘As to being undermined, I
don’t know what in the world you are driving at,
Hippolyte. I think we had better drop the subject!’
‘Very well, we’ll drop it for a while. You can’t look at
anything but in your exalted, generous way. You must put
out your finger and touch a thing before you’ll believe it,
eh? Ha! ha! ha! I suppose you despise me dreadfully,
prince, eh? What do you think?’
‘Why? Because you have suffered more than we have?’
‘No; because I am unworthy of my sufferings, if you
like!’
‘Whoever CAN suffer is worthy to suffer, I should
think. Aglaya Ivanovna wished to see you, after she had
read your confession, but—‘
‘She postponed the pleasure—I see—I quite
understand!’ said Hippolyte, hurriedly, as though he
wished to banish the subject. ‘I hear—they tell me—that
you read her all that nonsense aloud? Stupid @ bosh it
was—written in delirium. And I can’t understand how
anyone can be so I won’t say CRUEL, because the word
would be humiliating to myself, but we’ll say childishly
vain and revengeful, as to REPROACH me with this The Idiot
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confession, and use it as a weapon against me. Don’t be
afraid, I’m not referring to yourself.’
‘Oh, but I’m sorry you repudiate the confession,
Hippolyte—it is sincere; and, do you know, even the
absurd parts of it—and these are many’ (here Hippolyte
frowned savagely) ‘are, as it were, redeemed by
suffering—for it must have cost you something to admit
what you there say—great torture, perhaps, for all I know.
Your motive must have been a very noble one all
through. Whatever may have appeared to the contrary, I
give you my word, I see this more plainly every day. I do
not judge you; I merely say this to have it off my mind,
and I am only sorry that I did not say it all THEN—‘
Hippolyte flushed hotly. He had thought at first that
the prince was ‘humbugging’ him; but on looking at his
face he saw that he was absolutely serious, and had no
thought of any deception. Hippolyte beamed with
gratification.
‘And yet I must die,’ he said, and almost added: ‘a man
like me @
‘And imagine how that Gania annoys me! He has
developed the idea —or pretends to believe—that in all
probability three or four others who heard my confession
will die before I do. There’s an idea for you—and all this The Idiot
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by way of CONSOLING me! Ha! ha! ha! In the first place
they haven’t died yet; and in the second, if they DID
die—all of them—what would be the satisfaction to me in
that? He judges me by himself. But he goes further, he
actually pitches into me because, as he declares, ‘any
decent fellow’ would die quietly, and that ‘all this’ is mere
egotism on my part. He doesn’t see what refinement of
egotism it is on his own part—and at the same time, what
ox-like coarseness! Have you ever read of the death of one
Stepan Gleboff, in the eighteenth century? I read of it
yesterday by chance.’
‘Who was he?’
He was impaled on a stake in the time of Peter.’
‘I know, I know! He lay there fifteen hours in the hard
frost, and died with the most extraordinary fortitude—I
know—what of him?’
‘Only that God gives that sort of dying to some, and
not to others. Perhaps you think, though, that I could not
die like Gleboff?’
‘Not at all!’ said the prince, blushing. ‘I was only going
to say that you—not that you could not be like Gleboff—
but that you would have been more like @
‘I guess what you mean—I should be an Osterman, not
a Gleboff— eh? Is that what you meant?’ The Idiot
967 of 1149
‘What Osterman?’ asked the prince in some surprise.
‘Why, Osterman—the diplomatist. Peter’s Osterman,’
muttered Hippolyte, confused. There was a moment’s
pause of mutual confusion.
Oh, no, no!’ said the prince at last, ‘that was not what I
was going to say—oh no! I don’t think you would ever
have been like Osterman.’
Hippolyte frowned gloomily.
‘I’ll tell you why I draw the conclusion,’ explained the
prince, evidently desirous of clearing up the matter a little.
‘Because, though I often think over the men of those
times, I cannot for the life of me imagine them to be like
ourselves. It really appears to me that they were of another
race altogether than ourselves of today. At that time
people seemed to stick so to one idea; now, they are more
nervous, more sensitive, more enlightened—people of two
or three ideas at once—as it were. The man of today is a
broader man, so to speak—and I declare I believe that is
what prevents him from being so self-contained and
independent a being as his brother of those earlier days. Of
course my remark was only made under this impression,
and not in the least @
‘I quite understand. You are trying to comfort me for
the naiveness with which you disagreed with me—eh? Ha! The Idiot
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ha! ha! You are a regular child, prince! However, I cannot
help seeing that you always treat me like—like a fragile
china cup. Never mind, never mind, I’m not a bit angry!
At all events we have had a very funny talk. Do you
know, all things considered, I should like to be something
better than Osterman! I wouldn’t take the trouble to rise
from the dead to be an Osterman. However, I see I must
make arrangements to die soon, or I myself—. Well—
leave me now! Au revoir. Look here—before you go, just
give me your opinion: how do you think I ought to die,
now? I mean—the best, the most virtuous way? Tell me!’
‘You should pass us by and forgive us our happiness,’
said the prince in a low voice.
‘Ha! ha! ha! I thought so. I thought I should hear
something like that. Well, you are—you really are—oh
dear me! Eloquence, eloquence! Good-bye!’ The Idiot
969 of 1149
VI
As to the evening party at the Epanchins’ at which
Princess Bielokonski was to be present, Varia had reported
with accuracy; though she had perhaps expressed herself
too strongly.
The thing was decided in a hurry and with a certain
amount of quite unnecessary excitement, doubtless
because ‘nothing could be done in this house like
anywhere else.’
The impatience of Lizabetha Prokofievna ‘to get things
settled’ explained a good deal, as well as the anxiety of
both parents for the happiness of their beloved daughter.
Besides, Princess Bielokonski was going away soon, and
they hoped that she would take an interest in the prince.
They were anxious that he should enter society under the
auspices of this lady, whose patronage was the best of
recommendations for any young man.
Even if there seems something strange about the match,
the general and his wife said to each other, the ‘world’ will
accept Aglaya’s fiance without any question if he is under
the patronage of the princess. In any case, the prince
would have to be ‘shown’ sooner or later; that is, The Idiot
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introduced into society, of which he had, so far, not the
least idea. Moreover, it was only a question of a small
gathering of a few intimate friends. Besides Princess
Bielokonski, only one other lady was expected, the wife of
a high dignitary. Evgenie Pavlovitch, who was to escort
the princess, was the only young man.
Muishkin was told of the princess’s visit three days
beforehand, but nothing was said to him about the party
until the night before it was to take place.
He could not help observing the excited and agitated
condition of all members of the family, and from certain
hints dropped in conversation he gathered that they were
all anxious as to the impression he should make upon the
princess. But the Epanchins, one and all, believed that
Muishkin, in his simplicity of mind, was quite incapable of
realizing that they could be feeling any anxiety on his
account, and for this reason they all looked at him with
dread and uneasiness.
In point of fact, he did attach marvellously little
importance to the approaching event. He was occupied
with altogether different thoughts. Aglaya was growing
hourly more capricious and gloomy, and this distressed
him. When they told him that Evgenie Pavlovitch was
expected, he evinced great delight, and said that he had The Idiot
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long wished to see him—and somehow these words did
not please anyone.
Aglaya left the room in a fit of irritation, and it was not
until late in the evening, past eleven, when the prince was
taking his departure, that she said a word or two to him,
privately, as she accompanied him as far as the front door.
‘I should like you,’ she said, ‘not to come here
tomorrow until evening, when the guests are all
assembled. You know there are to be guests, don’t you?’
She spoke impatiently and with severity; this was the
first allusion she had made to the party of tomorrow.
She hated the idea of it, everyone saw that; and she
would probably have liked to quarrel about it with her
parents, but pride and modesty prevented her from
broaching the subject.
The prince jumped to the conclusion that Aglaya, too,
was nervous about him, and the impression he would
make, and that she did not like to admit her anxiety; and
this thought alarmed him.
‘Yes, I am invited,’ he replied.
She was evidently in difficulties as to how best to go
on. ‘May I speak of something serious to you, for once in
my life?’ she asked, angrily. She was irritated at she knew
not what, and could not restrain her wrath. The Idiot
972 of 1149
‘Of course you may; I am very glad to listen,’ replied
Muishkin.
Aglaya was silent a moment and then began again with
evident dislike of her subject:
‘I do not wish to quarrel with them about this; in some
things they won’t be reasonable. I always did feel a
loathing for the laws which seem to guide mamma’s
conduct at times. I don’t speak of father, for he cannot be
expected to be anything but what he is. Mother is a
noble-minded woman, I know; you try to suggest
anything mean to her, and you’ll see! But she is such a
slave to these miserable creatures! I don’t mean old
Bielokonski alone. She is a contemptible old thing, but she
is able to twist people round her little finger, and I admire
that in her, at all events! How mean it all is, and how
foolish! We were always middle-class, thoroughly middle-
class, people. Why should we attempt to climb into the
giddy heights of the fashionable world? My sisters are all
for it. It’s Prince S. they have to thank for poisoning their
minds. Why are you so glad that Evgenie Pavlovitch is
coming?’
‘Listen to me, Aglaya,’ said the prince, ‘I do believe
you are nervous lest I shall make a fool of myself
tomorrow at your party?’ The Idiot
973 of 1149
‘Nervous about you?’ Aglaya blushed. ‘Why should I
be nervous about you? What would it matter to me if you
were to make ever such a fool of yourself? How can you
say such a thing? What do you mean by ‘making a fool of
yourself’? What a vulgar expression! I suppose you intend
to talk in that sort of way tomorrow evening? Look up a
few more such expressions in your dictionary; do, you’ll
make a grand effect! I’m sorry that you seem to be able to
come into a room as gracefully as you do; where did you
learn the art? Do you think you can drink a cup of tea
decently, when you know everybody is looking at you, on
purpose to see how you do it?’
‘Yes, I think I can.’
‘Can you? I’m sorry for it then, for I should have had a
good laugh at you otherwise. Do break SOMETHING at
least, in the drawing-room! Upset the Chinese vase, won’t
you? It’s a valuable one; DO break it. Mamma values it,
and she’ll go out of her mind—it was a present. She’ll cry
before everyone, you’ll see! Wave your hand about, you
know, as you always do, and just smash it. Sit down near it
on purpose.’
‘On the contrary, I shall sit as far from it as I can.
Thanks for the hint.’ The Idiot
974 of 1149
‘Ha, ha! Then you are afraid you WILL wave your
arms about! I wouldn’t mind betting that you’ll talk about
some lofty subject, something serious and learned. How
delightful, how tactful that will be!’
‘I should think it would be very foolish indeed, unless
it happened to come in appropriately.’
‘Look here, once for all,’ cried Aglaya, boiling over, ‘if
I hear you talking about capital punishment, or the
economical condition of Russia, or about Beauty
redeeming the world, or anything of that sort, I’ll—well,
of course I shall laugh and seem very pleased, but I warn
you beforehand, don’t look me in the face again! I’m
serious now, mind, this time I AM REALLY serious.’ She
certainly did say this very seriously, so much so, that she
looked quite different from what she usually was, and the
prince could not help noticing the fact. She did not seem
to be joking in the slightest degree.
‘Well, you’ve put me into such a fright that I shall
certainly make a fool of myself, and very likely break
something too. I wasn’t a bit alarmed before, but now I’m
as nervous as can be.’
‘Then don’t speak at all. Sit still and don’t talk.’
‘Oh, I can’t do that, you know! I shall say something
foolish out of pure ‘funk,’ and break something for the The Idiot
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same excellent reason; I know I shall. Perhaps I shall slip
and fall on the slippery floor; I’ve done that before now,
you know. I shall dream of it all night now. Why did you
say anything about it?’
Aglaya looked blackly at him.
‘Do you know what, I had better not come at all
tomorrow! I’ll plead sick-list and stay away,’ said the
prince, with decision.
Aglaya stamped her foot, and grew quite pale with
anger.
Oh, my goodness! Just listen to that! ‘Better not come,’
when the party is on purpose for him! Good Lord! What a
delightful thing it is to have to do with such a—such a
