stupid as you are!’
‘Well, I’ll come, I’ll come,’ interrupted the prince,
hastily, ‘and I’ll give you my word of honour that I will sit
the whole evening and not say a word.’
‘I believe that’s the best thing you can do. You said
you’d ‘plead sick-list’ just now; where in the world do you
get hold of such expressions? Why do you talk to me like
this? Are you trying to irritate me, or what?’
‘Forgive me, it’s a schoolboy expression. I won’t do it
again. I know quite well, I see it, that you are anxious on
my account (now, don’t be angry), and it makes me very The Idiot
976 of 1149
happy to see it. You wouldn’t believe how frightened I
am of misbehaving somehow, and how glad I am of your
instructions. But all this panic is simply nonsense, you
know, Aglaya! I give you my word it is; I am so pleased
that you are such a child, such a dear good child. How
CHARMING you can be if you like, Aglaya.’
Aglaya wanted to be angry, of course, but suddenly
some quite unexpected feeling seized upon her heart, all in
a moment.
‘And you won’t reproach me for all these rude words
of mine—some day—afterwards?’ she asked, of a sudden.
‘What an idea! Of course not. And what are you
blushing for again? And there comes that frown once
more! You’ve taken to looking too gloomy sometimes,
Aglaya, much more than you used to. I know why it is.’
‘Be quiet, do be quiet!’
‘No, no, I had much better speak out. I have long
wished to say it, and HAVE said it, but that’s not enough,
for you didn’t believe me. Between us two there stands a
being who—‘
‘Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet, be quiet!’ Aglaya struck
in, suddenly, seizing his hand in hers, and gazing at him
almost in terror. The Idiot
977 of 1149
At this moment she was called by someone. She broke
loose from him with an air of relief and ran away.
The prince was in a fever all night. It was strange, but
he had suffered from fever for several nights in succession.
On this particular night, while in semi-delirium, he had an
idea: what if on the morrow he were to have a fit before
everybody? The thought seemed to freeze his blood
within him. All night he fancied himself in some
extraordinary society of strange persons. The worst of it
was that he was talking nonsense; he knew that he ought
not to speak at all, and yet he talked the whole time; he
seemed to be trying to persuade them all to something.
Evgenie and Hippolyte were among the guests, and
appeared to be great friends.
He awoke towards nine o’clock with a headache, full
of confused ideas and strange impressions. For some reason
or other he felt most anxious to see Rogojin, to see and
talk to him, but what he wished to say he could not tell.
Next, he determined to go and see Hippolyte. His mind
was in a confused state, so much so that the incidents of
the morning seemed to be imperfectly realized, though
acutely felt.
One of these incidents was a visit from Lebedeff.
Lebedeff came rather early—before ten—but he was tipsy The Idiot
978 of 1149
already. Though the prince was not in an observant
condition, yet he could not avoid seeing that for at least
three days—ever since General Ivolgin had left the house
Lebedeff had been behaving very badly. He looked untidy
and dirty at all times of the day, and it was said that he had
begun to rage about in his own house, and that his temper
was very bad. As soon as he arrived this morning, he
began to hold forth, beating his breast and apparently
blaming himself for something.
‘I’ve—I’ve had a reward for my meanness—I’ve had a
slap in the face,’ he concluded, tragically.
‘A slap in the face? From whom? And so early in the
morning?’
‘Early?’ said Lebedeff, sarcastically. ‘Time counts for
nothing, even in physical chastisement; but my slap in the
face was not physical, it was moral.’
He suddenly took a seat, very unceremoniously, and
began his story. It was very disconnected; the prince
frowned, and wished he could get away; but suddenly a
few words struck him. He sat stiff with wonder—Lebedeff
said some extraordinary things.
In the first place he began about some letter; the name
of Aglaya Ivanovna came in. Then suddenly he broke off
and began to accuse the prince of something; he was The Idiot
979 of 1149
apparently offended with him. At first he declared that the
prince had trusted him with his confidences as to ‘a certain
person’ (Nastasia Philipovna), but that of late his friendship
had been thrust back into his bosom, and his innocent
question as to ‘approaching family changes’ had been
curtly put aside, which Lebedeff declared, with tipsy tears,
he could not bear; especially as he knew so much already
both from Rogojin and Nastasia Philipovna and her
friend, and from Varvara Ardalionovna, and even from
Aglaya Ivanovna, through his daughter Vera. ‘And who
told Lizabetha Prokofievna something in secret, by letter?
Who told her all about the movements of a certain person
called Nastasia Philipovna? Who was the anonymous
person, eh? Tell me!’
‘Surely not you?’ cried the prince.
‘Just so,’ said Lebedeff, with dignity; ‘and only this very
morning I have sent up a letter to the noble lady, stating
that I have a matter of great importance to communicate.
She received the letter; I know she got it; and she received
ME, too.’
‘Have you just seen Lizabetha Prokofievna?’ asked the
prince, scarcely believing his ears.
‘Yes, I saw her, and got the said slap in the face as
mentioned. She chucked the letter back to me unopened, The Idiot
980 of 1149
and kicked me out of the house, morally, not physically,
although not far off it.’
‘What letter do you mean she returned unopened?’
‘What! didn’t I tell you? Ha, ha, ha! I thought I had.
Why, I received a letter, you know, to be handed over—
‘From whom? To whom?’
But it was difficult, if not impossible, to extract
anything from Lebedeff. All the prince could gather was,
that the letter had been received very early, and had a
request written on the outside that it might be sent on to
the address given.
‘Just as before, sir, just as before! To a certain person,
and from a certain hand. The individual’s name who
wrote the letter is to be represented by the letter A.—‘
‘What? Impossible! To Nastasia Philipovna? Nonsense!’
cried the prince.
‘It was, I assure you, and if not to her then to Rogojin,
which is the same thing. Mr. Hippolyte has had letters,
too, and all from the individual whose name begins with
an A.,’ smirked Lebedeff, with a hideous grin.
As he kept jumping from subject to subject, and
forgetting what he had begun to talk about, the prince said
nothing, but waited, to give him time. The Idiot
981 of 1149
It was all very vague. Who had taken the letters, if
letters there were? Probably Vera—and how could
Lebedeff have got them? In all probability, he had
managed to steal the present letter from Vera, and had
himself gone over to Lizabetha Prokofievna with some
idea in his head. So the prince concluded at last.
‘You are mad!’ he cried, indignantly.
‘Not quite, esteemed prince,’ replied Lebedeff, with
some acerbity. ‘I confess I thought of doing you the
service of handing the letter over to yourself, but I decided
that it would pay me better to deliver it up to the noble
lady aforesaid, as I had informed her of everything hitherto
by anonymous letters; so when I sent her up a note from
myself, with the letter, you know, in order to fix a
meeting for eight o’clock this morning, I signed it ‘your
secret correspondent.’ They let me in at once— very
quickly—by the back door, and the noble lady received
me.’
‘Well? Go on.’
‘Oh, well, when I saw her she almost punched my
head, as I say; in fact so nearly that one might almost say
she did punch my head. She threw the letter in my face;
she seemed to reflect first, as if she would have liked to
keep it, but thought better of it and threw it in my face The Idiot
982 of 1149
instead. ‘If anybody can have been such a fool as to trust a
man like you to deliver the letter,’ says she,’ take it and
deliver it! ‘Hey! she was grandly indignant. A fierce, fiery
lady that, sir!’
‘Where’s the letter now?’
‘Oh, I’ve still got it, here!’
And he handed the prince the very letter from Aglaya
to Gania, which the latter showed with so much triumph
to his Sister at a later hour.
‘This letter cannot be allowed to remain in your hands.’
‘It’s for you—for you! I’ve brought it you on purpose!’
cried Lebedeff, excitedly. ‘Why, I’m yours again now,
heart and hand, your slave; there was but a momentary
pause in the flow of my love and esteem for you. Mea
culpa, mea culpa! as the Pope of Rome says.
‘This letter should be sent on at once,’ said the prince,
disturbed. ‘I’ll hand it over myself.’
‘Wouldn’t it be better, esteemed prince, wouldn’t it be
better— to—don’t you know—‘
Lebedeff made a strange and very expressive grimace;
he twisted about in his chair, and did something,
apparently symbolical, with his hands.
‘What do you mean?’ said the prince. The Idiot
983 of 1149
‘Why, open it, for the time being, don’t you know?’ he
said, most confidentially and mysteriously.
The prince jumped up so furiously that Lebedeff ran
towards the door; having gained which strategic position,
however, he stopped and looked back to see if he might
hope for pardon.
‘Oh, Lebedeff, Lebedeff! Can a man really sink to such
depths of meanness?’ said the prince, sadly.
Lebedeff’s face brightened.
‘Oh, I’m a mean wretch—a mean wretch!’ he said,
approaching the prince once more, and beating his breast,
with tears in his eyes.
‘It’s abominable dishonesty, you know!’
‘Dishonesty—it is, it is! That’s the very word!’
‘What in the world induces you to act so? You are
nothing but a spy. Why did you write anonymously to
worry so noble and generous a lady? Why should not
Aglaya Ivanovna write a note to whomever she pleases?
What did you mean to complain of today? What did you
expect to get by it? What made you go at all?’
‘Pure amiable curiosity,—I assure you—desire to do a
service. That’s all. Now I’m entirely yours again, your
slave; hang me if you like!’ The Idiot
984 of 1149
‘Did you go before Lizabetha Prokofievna in your
present condition?’ inquired the prince.
‘No—oh no, fresher—more the correct card. I only
became this like after the humiliation I suffered there,
‘Well—that’ll do; now leave me.’
This injunction had to be repeated several times before
the man could be persuaded to move. Even then he
turned back at the door, came as far as the middle of the
room, and there went through his mysterious motions
designed to convey the suggestion that the prince should
open the letter. He did not dare put his suggestion into
words again.
After this performance, he smiled sweetly and left the
room on tiptoe.
All this had been very painful to listen to. One fact
stood out certain and clear, and that was that poor Aglaya
must be in a state of great distress and indecision and
mental torment ("from jealousy,’ the prince whispered to
himself). Undoubtedly in this inexperienced, but hot and
proud little head, there were all sorts of plans forming,
wild and impossible plans, maybe; and the idea of this so
frightened the prince that he could not make up his mind
what to do. Something must be done, that was clear. The Idiot
985 of 1149
He looked at the address on the letter once more. Oh,
he was not in the least degree alarmed about Aglaya
writing such a letter; he could trust her. What he did not
like about it was that he could not trust Gania.
However, he made up his mind that he would himself
take the note and deliver it. Indeed, he went so far as to
leave the house and walk up the road, but changed his
mind when he had nearly reached Ptitsin’s door.
However, he there luckily met Colia, and commissioned
him to deliver the letter to his brother as if direct from
Aglaya. Colia asked no questions but simply delivered it,
and Gania consequently had no suspicion that it had
passed through so many hands.
Arrived home again, the prince sent for Vera Lebedeff
and told her as much as was necessary, in order to relieve
her mind, for she had been in a dreadful state of anxiety
since she had missed the letter. She heard with horror that
her father had taken it. Muishkin learned from her that she
had on several occasions performed secret missions both
for Aglaya and for Rogojin, without, however, having had
the slightest idea that in so doing she might injure the
prince in any way.
The latter, with one thing and another, was now so
disturbed and confused, that when, a couple of hours or so The Idiot
986 of 1149
later, a message came from Colia that the general was ill,
he could hardly take the news in.
However, when he did master the fact, it acted upon
him as a tonic by completely distracting his attention. He
went at once to Nina Alexandrovna’s, whither the general
had been carried, and stayed there until the evening. He
could do no good, but there are people whom to have
near one is a blessing at such times. Colia was in an almost
hysterical state; he cried continuously, but was running
about all day, all the same; fetching doctors, of whom he
collected three; going to the chemist’s, and so on.
The general was brought round to some extent, but the
doctors declared that he could not be said to be out of
danger. Varia and Nina Alexandrovna never left the sick
man’s bedside; Gania was excited and distressed, but
would not go upstairs, and seemed afraid to look at the
patient. He wrung his hands when the prince spoke to
him, and said that ‘such a misfortune at such a moment’
