was terrible.
The prince thought he knew what Gania meant by
‘such a moment.’
Hippolyte was not in the house. Lebedeff turned up
late in the afternoon; he had been asleep ever since his
interview with the prince in the morning. He was quite The Idiot
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sober now, and cried with real sincerity over the sick
general—mourning for him as though he were his own
brother. He blamed himself aloud, but did not explain
why. He repeated over and over again to Nina
Alexandrovna that he alone was to blame—no one else—
but that he had acted out of ‘pure amiable curiosity,’ and
that ‘the deceased,’ as he insisted upon calling the still
living general, had been the greatest of geniuses.
He laid much stress on the genius of the sufferer, as if
this idea must be one of immense solace in the present
crisis.
Nina Alexandrovna—seeing his sincerity of feeling—
said at last, and without the faintest suspicion of reproach
in her voice: ‘Come, come—don’t cry! God will forgive
you!’
Lebedeff was so impressed by these words, and the tone
in which they were spoken, that he could not leave Nina
Alexandrovna all the evening—in fact, for several days.
Till the general’s death, indeed, he spent almost all his
time at his side.
Twice during the day a messenger came to Nina
Alexandrovna from the Epanchins to inquire after the
invalid. The Idiot
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When—late in the evening—the prince made his
appearance in Lizabetha Prokofievna’s drawing-room, he
found it full of guests. Mrs. Epanchin questioned him very
fully about the general as soon as he appeared; and when
old Princess Bielokonski wished to know ‘who this
general was, and who was Nina Alexandrovna,’ she
proceeded to explain in a manner which pleased the
prince very much.
He himself, when relating the circumstances of the
general’s illness to Lizabetha Prokofievna, ‘spoke
beautifully,’ as Aglaya’s sisters declared afterwards—
‘modestly, quietly, without gestures or too many words,
and with great dignity.’ He had entered the room with
propriety and grace, and he was perfectly dressed; he not
only did not ‘fall down on the slippery floor,’ as he had
expressed it, but evidently made a very favourable
impression upon the assembled guests.
As for his own impression on entering the room and
taking his seat, he instantly remarked that the company
was not in the least such as Aglaya’s words had led him to
fear, and as he had dreamed of—in nightmare form—all
night.
This was the first time in his life that he had seen a little
corner of what was generally known by the terrible name The Idiot
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of ‘society.’ He had long thirsted, for reasons of his own,
to penetrate the mysteries of the magic circle, and,
therefore, this assemblage was of the greatest possible
interest to him.
His first impression was one of fascination. Somehow
or other he felt that all these people must have been born
on purpose to be together! It seemed to him that the
Epanchins were not having a party at all; that these people
must have been here always, and that he himself was one
of them—returned among them after a long absence, but
one of them, naturally and indisputably.
It never struck him that all this refined simplicity and
nobility and wit and personal dignity might possibly be no
more than an exquisite artistic polish. The majority of the
guests—who were somewhat empty-headed, after all, in
spite of their aristocratic bearing—never guessed, in their
self-satisfied composure, that much of their superiority was
mere veneer, which indeed they had adopted
unconsciously and by inheritance.
The prince would never so much as suspect such a
thing in the delight of his first impression.
He saw, for instance, that one important dignitary, old
enough to be his grandfather, broke off his own
conversation in order to listen to HIM—a young and The Idiot
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inexperienced man; and not only listened, but seemed to
attach value to his opinion, and was kind and amiable, and
yet they were strangers and had never seen each other
before. Perhaps what most appealed to the prince’s
impressionability was the refinement of the old man’s
courtesy towards him. Perhaps the soil of his susceptible
nature was really predisposed to receive a pleasant
impression.
Meanwhile all these people-though friends of the
family and of each other to a certain extent—were very far
from being such intimate friends of the family and of each
other as the prince concluded. There were some present
who never would think of considering the Epanchins their
equals. There were even some who hated one another
cordially. For instance, old Princess Bielokonski had all her
life despised the wife of the ‘dignitary,’ while the latter was
very far from loving Lizabetha Prokofievna. The dignitary
himself had been General Epanchin’s protector from his
youth up; and the general considered him so majestic a
personage that he would have felt a hearty contempt for
himself if he had even for one moment allowed himself to
pose as the great man’s equal, or to think of him—in his
fear and reverence-as anything less than an Olympic God!
There were others present who had not met for years, and The Idiot
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who had no feeling whatever for each other, unless it were
dislike; and yet they met tonight as though they had seen
each other but yesterday in some friendly and intimate
assembly of kindred spirits.
It was not a large party, however. Besides Princess
Bielokonski and the old dignitary (who was really a great
man) and his wife, there was an old military general—a
count or baron with a German name, a man reputed to
possess great knowledge and administrative ability. He was
one of those Olympian administrators who know
everything except Russia, pronounce a word of
extraordinary wisdom, admired by all, about once in five
years, and, after being an eternity in the service, generally
die full of honour and riches, though they have never
done anything great, and have even been hostile to all
greatness. This general was Ivan Fedorovitch’s immediate
superior in the service; and it pleased the latter to look
upon him also as a patron. On the other hand, the great
man did not at all consider himself Epanchin’s patron. He
was always very cool to him, while taking advantage of his
ready services, and would instantly have put another in his
place if there had been the slightest reason for the change.
Another guest was an elderly, important-looking
gentleman, a distant relative of Lizabetha Prokofievna’s. The Idiot
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This gentleman was rich, held a good position, was a great
talker, and had the reputation of being ‘one of the
dissatisfied,’ though not belonging to the dangerous
sections of that class. He had the manners, to some extent,
of the English aristocracy, and some of their tastes
(especially in the matter of under-done roast beef, harness,
men-servants, etc.). He was a great friend of the
dignitary’s, and Lizabetha Prokofievna, for some reason or
other, had got hold of the idea that this worthy intended
at no distant date to offer the advantages of his hand and
heart to Alexandra.
Besides the elevated and more solid individuals
enumerated, there were present a few younger though not
less elegant guests. Besides Prince S. and Evgenie
Pavlovitch, we must name the eminent and fascinating
Prince N.—once the vanquisher of female hearts all over
Europe. This gentleman was no longer in the first bloom
of youth—he was forty-five, but still very handsome. He
was well off, and lived, as a rule, abroad, and was noted as
a good teller of stories. Then came a few guests belonging
to a lower stratum of society—people who, like the
Epanchins themselves, moved only occasionally in this
exalted sphere. The Epanchins liked to draft among their
more elevated guests a few picked representatives of this The Idiot
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lower stratum, and Lizabetha Prokofievna received much
praise for this practice, which proved, her friends said, that
she was a woman of tact. The Epanchins prided
themselves upon the good opinion people held of them.
One of the representatives of the middle-class present
today was a colonel of engineers, a very serious man and a
great friend of Prince S., who had introduced him to the
Epanchins. He was extremely silent in society, and
displayed on the forefinger of his right hand a large ring,
probably bestowed upon him for services of some sort.
There was also a poet, German by name, but a Russian
poet; very presentable, and even handsome-the sort of
man one could bring into society with impunity. This
gentleman belonged to a German family of decidedly
bourgeois origin, but he had a knack of acquiring the
patronage of ‘big-wigs,’ and of retaining their favour. He
had translated some great German poem into Russian
verse, and claimed to have been a friend of a famous
Russian poet, since dead. (It is strange how great a
multitude of literary people there are who have had the
advantages of friendship with some great man of their own
profession who is, unfortunately, dead.) The dignitary’s
wife had introduced this worthy to the Epanchins. This
lady posed as the patroness of literary people, and she The Idiot
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certainly had succeeded in obtaining pensions for a few of
them, thanks to her influence with those in authority on
such matters. She was a lady of weight in her own way.
Her age was about forty-five, so that she was a very young
wife for such an elderly husband as the dignitary. She had
been a beauty in her day and still loved, as many ladies of
forty-five do love, to dress a little too smartly. Her
intellect was nothing to boast of, and her literary
knowledge very doubtful. Literary patronage was,
however, with her as much a mania as was the love of
gorgeous clothes. Many books and translations were
dedicated to her by her proteges, and a few of these
talented individuals had published some of their own
letters to her, upon very weighty subjects.
This, then, was the society that the prince accepted at
once as true coin, as pure gold without alloy.
It so happened, however, that on this particular
evening all these good people were in excellent humour
and highly pleased with themselves. Every one of them felt
that they were doing the Epanchins the greatest possible
honour by their presence. But alas! the prince never
suspected any such subtleties! For instance, he had no
suspicion of the fact that the Epanchins, having in their
mind so important a step as the marriage of their daughter, The Idiot
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would never think of presuming to take it without having
previously ‘shown off’ the proposed husband to the
dignitary—the recognized patron of the family. The latter,
too, though he would probably have received news of a
great disaster to the Epanchin family with perfect
composure, would nevertheless have considered it a
personal offence if they had dared to marry their daughter
without his advice, or we might almost say, his leave.
The amiable and undoubtedly witty Prince N. could
not but feel that he was as a sun, risen for one night only
to shine upon the Epanchin drawing-room. He accounted
them immeasurably his inferiors, and it was this feeling
which caused his special amiability and delightful ease and
grace towards them. He knew very well that he must tell
some story this evening for the edification of the
company, and led up to it with the inspiration of
anticipatory triumph.
The prince, when he heard the story afterwards, felt
that he had never yet come across so wonderful a
humorist, or such remarkable brilliancy as was shown by
this man; and yet if he had only known it, this story was
the oldest, stalest, and most worn-out yarn, and every
drawing-room in town was sick to death of it. It was only
in the innocent Epanchin household that it passed for a The Idiot
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new and brilliant tale—as a sudden and striking
reminiscence of a splendid and talented man.
Even the German poet, though as amiable as possible,
felt that he was doing the house the greatest of honours by
his presence in it.
But the prince only looked at the bright side; he did
not turn the coat and see the shabby lining.
Aglaya had not foreseen that particular calamity. She
herself looked wonderfully beautiful this evening. All three
sisters were dressed very tastefully, and their hair was done
with special care.
Aglaya sat next to Evgenie Pavlovitch, and laughed and
talked to him with an unusual display of friendliness.
Evgenie himself behaved rather more sedately than usual,
probably out of respect to the dignitary. Evgenie had been
known in society for a long while. He had appeared at the
Epanchins’ today with crape on his hat, and Princess
Bielokonski had commended this action on his part. Not
every society man would have worn crape for ‘such an
uncle.’ Lizabetha Prokofievna had liked it also, but was
too preoccupied to take much notice. The prince
remarked that Aglaya looked attentively at him two or
three times, and seemed to be satisfied with his behaviour. The Idiot
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Little by little he became very happy indeed. All his late
anxieties and apprehensions (after his conversation with
Lebedeff) now appeared like so many bad dreams—
impossible, and even laughable.
He did not speak much, only answering such questions
as were put to him, and gradually settled down into
unbroken silence, listening to what went on, and steeped
in perfect satisfaction and contentment.
Little by little a sort of inspiration, however, began to
stir within him, ready to spring into life at the right
