thick hair turning a little grey, and a sallow complexion.
Her eyes were grey and wore a very curious expression at
times. She believed them to be most effective—a belief
that nothing could alter.
‘What, receive him! Now, at once?’ asked Mrs.
Epanchin, gazing vaguely at her husband as he stood
fidgeting before her.
‘Oh, dear me, I assure you there is no need to stand on
ceremony with him,’ the general explained hastily. ‘He is The Idiot
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quite a child, not to say a pathetic-looking creature. He
has fits of some sort, and has just arrived from Switzerland,
straight from the station, dressed like a German and
without a farthing in his pocket. I gave him twenty-five
roubles to go on with, and am going to find him some
easy place in one of the government offices. I should like
you to ply him well with the victuals, my dears, for I
should think he must be very hungry.’
‘You astonish me,’ said the lady, gazing as before. ‘Fits,
and hungry too! What sort of fits?’
‘Oh, they don’t come on frequently, besides, he’s a
regular child, though he seems to be fairly educated. I
should like you, if possible, my dears,’ the general added,
making slowly for the door, ‘to put him through his paces
a bit, and see what he is good for. I think you should be
kind to him; it is a good deed, you know—however, just
as you like, of course—but he is a sort of relation,
remember, and I thought it might interest you to see the
young fellow, seeing that this is so.’
‘Oh, of course, mamma, if we needn’t stand on
ceremony with him, we must give the poor fellow
something to eat after his journey; especially as he has not
the least idea where to go to,’ said Alexandra, the eldest of
the girls. The Idiot
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‘Besides, he’s quite a child; we can entertain him with a
little hide-and-seek, in case of need,’ said Adelaida.
‘Hide-and-seek? What do you mean?’ inquired Mrs.
Epanchin.
‘Oh, do stop pretending, mamma,’ cried Aglaya, in
vexation. ‘Send him up, father; mother allows.’
The general rang the bell and gave orders that the
prince should be shown in.
‘Only on condition that he has a napkin under his chin
at lunch, then,’ said Mrs. Epanchin, ‘and let Fedor, or
Mavra, stand behind him while he eats. Is he quiet when
he has these fits? He doesn’t show violence, does he?’
‘On the contrary, he seems to be very well brought up.
His manners are excellent—but here he is himself. Here
you are, prince—let me introduce you, the last of the
Muishkins, a relative of your own, my dear, or at least of
the same name. Receive him kindly, please. They’ll bring
in lunch directly, prince; you must stop and have some,
but you must excuse me. I’m in a hurry, I must be off—‘
‘We all know where YOU must be off to!’ said Mrs.
Epanchin, in a meaning voice.
‘Yes, yes—I must hurry away, I’m late! Look here,
dears, let him write you something in your albums; you’ve
no idea what a wonderful caligraphist he is, wonderful The Idiot
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talent! He has just written out ‘Abbot Pafnute signed this’
for me. Well, au revoir!’
‘Stop a minute; where are you off to? Who is this
abbot?’ cried Mrs. Epanchin to her retreating husband in a
tone of excited annoyance.
‘Yes, my dear, it was an old abbot of that name-I must
be off to see the count, he’s waiting for me, I’m late—
Good-bye! Au revoir, prince!’—and the general bolted at
full speed.
‘Oh, yes—I know what count you’re going to see!’
remarked his wife in a cutting manner, as she turned her
angry eyes on the prince. ‘Now then, what’s all this
about?—What abbot—Who’s Pafnute?’ she added,
brusquely.
‘Mamma!’ said Alexandra, shocked at her rudeness.
Aglaya stamped her foot.
‘Nonsense! Let me alone!’ said the angry mother. ‘Now
then, prince, sit down here, no, nearer, come nearer the
light! I want to have a good look at you. So, now then,
who is this abbot?’
‘Abbot Pafnute,’ said our friend, seriously and with
deference.
‘Pafnute, yes. And who was he?’ The Idiot
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Mrs. Epanchin put these questions hastily and
brusquely, and when the prince answered she nodded her
head sagely at each word he said.
‘The Abbot Pafnute lived in the fourteenth century,’
began the prince; ‘he was in charge of one of the
monasteries on the Volga, about where our present
Kostroma government lies. He went to Oreol and helped
in the great matters then going on in the religious world;
he signed an edict there, and I have seen a print of his
signature; it struck me, so I copied it. When the general
asked me, in his study, to write something for him, to
show my handwriting, I wrote ‘The Abbot Pafnute signed
this,’ in the exact handwriting of the abbot. The general
liked it very much, and that’s why he recalled it just now.
‘
‘Aglaya, make a note of ‘Pafnute,’ or we shall forget
him. H’m! and where is this signature?’
‘I think it was left on the general’s table.’
‘Let it be sent for at once!’
‘Oh, I’ll write you a new one in half a minute,’ said the
prince, ‘if you like!’
‘Of course, mamma!’ said Alexandra. ‘But let’s have
lunch now, we are all hungry!’ The Idiot
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‘Yes; come along, prince,’ said the mother, ‘are you
very hungry?’
‘Yes; I must say that I am pretty hungry, thanks very
much.’
‘H’m! I like to see that you know your manners; and
you are by no means such a person as the general thought
fit to describe you. Come along; you sit here, opposite to
me,’ she continued, ‘I wish to be able to see your face.
Alexandra, Adelaida, look after the prince! He doesn’t
seem so very ill, does he? I don’t think he requires a
napkin under his chin, after all; are you accustomed to
having one on, prince?’
‘Formerly, when I was seven years old or so. I believe I
wore one; but now I usually hold my napkin on my knee
when I eat.’
‘Of course, of course! And about your fits?’
‘Fits?’ asked the prince, slightly surprised. ‘I very
seldom have fits nowadays. I don’t know how it may be
here, though; they say the climate may be bad for me. ‘
‘He talks very well, you know!’ said Mrs. Epanchin,
who still continued to nod at each word the prince spoke.
‘I really did not expect it at all; in fact, I suppose it was all
stuff and nonsense on the general’s part, as usual. Eat away,
prince, and tell me where you were born, and where you The Idiot
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were brought up. I wish to know all about you, you
interest me very much!’
The prince expressed his thanks once more, and eating
heartily the while, recommenced the narrative of his life in
Switzerland, all of which we have heard before. Mrs.
Epanchin became more and more pleased with her guest;
the girls, too, listened with considerable attention. In
talking over the question of relationship it turned out that
the prince was very well up in the matter and knew his
pedigree off by heart. It was found that scarcely any
connection existed between himself and Mrs. Epanchin,
but the talk, and the opportunity of conversing about her
family tree, gratified the latter exceedingly, and she rose
from the table in great good humour.
‘Let’s all go to my boudoir,’ she said, ‘and they shall
bring some coffee in there. That’s the room where we all
assemble and busy ourselves as we like best,’ she explained.
‘Alexandra, my eldest, here, plays the piano, or reads or
sews; Adelaida paints landscapes and portraits (but never
finishes any); and Aglaya sits and does nothing. I don’t
work too much, either. Here we are, now; sit down,
prince, near the fire and talk to us. I want to hear you
relate something. I wish to make sure of you first and then
tell my old friend, Princess Bielokonski, about you. I wish The Idiot
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you to know all the good people and to interest them.
Now then, begin!’
‘Mamma, it’s rather a strange order, that!’ said Adelaida,
who was fussing among her paints and paint-brushes at the
easel. Aglaya and Alexandra had settled themselves with
folded hands on a sofa, evidently meaning to be listeners.
The prince felt that the general attention was concentrated
upon himself.
‘I should refuse to say a word if I were ordered to tell a
story like that!’ observed Aglaya.
‘Why? what’s there strange about it? He has a tongue.
Why shouldn’t he tell us something? I want to judge
whether he is a good story-teller; anything you like,
prince-how you liked Switzerland, what was your first
impression, anything. You’ll see, he’ll begin directly and
tell us all about it beautifully.’
‘The impression was forcible—’ the prince began.
‘There, you see, girls,’ said the impatient lady, ‘he has
begun, you see.’
‘Well, then, LET him talk, mamma,’ said Alexandra.
‘This prince is a great humbug and by no means an idiot,’
she whispered to Aglaya. The Idiot
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‘Oh, I saw that at once,’ replied the latter. ‘I don’t
think it at all nice of him to play a part. What does he
wish to gain by it, I wonder?’
‘My first impression was a very strong one,’ repeated
the prince. ‘When they took me away from Russia, I
remember I passed through many German towns and
looked out of the windows, but did not trouble so much
as to ask questions about them. This was after a long series
of fits. I always used to fall into a sort of torpid condition
after such a series, and lost my memory almost entirely;
and though I was not altogether without reason at such
times, yet I had no logical power of thought. This would
continue for three or four days, and then I would recover
myself again. I remember my melancholy was intolerable;
I felt inclined to cry; I sat and wondered and wondered
uncomfortably; the consciousness that everything was
strange weighed terribly upon me; I could understand that
it was all foreign and strange. I recollect I awoke from this
state for the first time at Basle, one evening; the bray of a
donkey aroused me, a donkey in the town market. I saw
the donkey and was extremely pleased with it, and from
that moment my head seemed to clear.’
‘A donkey? How strange! Yet it is not strange. Anyone
of us might fall in love with a donkey! It happened in The Idiot
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mythological times,’ said Madame Epanchin, looking
wrathfully at her daughters, who had begun to laugh. ‘Go
on, prince.’
‘Since that evening I have been specially fond of
donkeys. I began to ask questions about them, for I had
never seen one before; and I at once came to the
conclusion that this must be one of the most useful of
animals—strong, willing, patient, cheap; and, thanks to
this donkey, I began to like the whole country I was
travelling through; and my melancholy passed away.’
‘All this is very strange and interesting,’ said Mrs.
Epanchin. ‘Now let’s leave the donkey and go on to other
matters. What are you laughing at, Aglaya? and you too,
Adelaida? The prince told us his experiences very cleverly;
he saw the donkey himself, and what have you ever seen?
YOU have never been abroad.’
‘I have seen a donkey though, mamma!’ said Aglaya.
‘And I’ve heard one!’ said Adelaida. All three of the
girls laughed out loud, and the prince laughed with them.
‘Well, it’s too bad of you,’ said mamma. ‘You must
forgive them, prince; they are good girls. I am very fond
of them, though I often have to be scolding them; they are
all as silly and mad as march hares.’ The Idiot
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‘Oh, why shouldn’t they laugh?’ said the prince. ‘ I
shouldn’t have let the chance go by in their place, I know.
But I stick up for the donkey, all the same; he’s a patient,
good-natured fellow.’
‘Are you a patient man, prince? I ask out of curiosity,’
said Mrs. Epanchin.
All laughed again.
‘Oh, that wretched donkey again, I see!’ cried the lady.
‘I assure you, prince, I was not guilty of the least—‘
‘Insinuation? Oh! I assure you, I take your word for it.’
And the prince continued laughing merrily.
‘I must say it’s very nice of you to laugh. I see you
really are a kind-hearted fellow,’ said Mrs. Epanchin.
‘I’m not always kind, though.’
‘I am kind myself, and ALWAYS kind too, if you
please!’ she retorted, unexpectedly; ‘and that is my chief
fault, for one ought not to be always kind. I am often
angry with these girls and their father; but the worst of it
is, I am always kindest when I am cross. I was very angry
just before you came, and Aglaya there read me a lesson—
thanks, Aglaya, dear—come and kiss me—there—that’s
enough’ she added, as Aglaya came forward and kissed her
lips and then her hand. ‘Now then, go on, prince. Perhaps The Idiot
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you can think of something more exciting than about the
donkey, eh?’
‘I must say, again, I can’t understand how you can
expect anyone to tell you stories straight away, so,’ said
Adelaida. ‘I know I never could!’
‘Yes, but the prince can, because he is clever—cleverer
than you are by ten or twenty times, if you like. There,
that’s so, prince; and seriously, let’s drop the donkey
now—what else did you see abroad, besides the donkey?’
‘Yes, but the prince told us about the donkey very
cleverly, all the same,’ said Alexandra. ‘I have always been
most interested to hear how people go mad and get well
again, and that sort of thing. Especially when it happens
suddenly.’
‘Quite so, quite so!’ cried Mrs. Epanchin, delighted. ‘I
see you CAN be sensible now and then, Alexandra. You
were speaking of Switzerland, prince?’
‘Yes. We came to Lucerne, and I was taken out in a
boat. I felt how lovely it was, but the loveliness weighed
upon me somehow or other, and made me feel
melancholy.’
‘Why?’ asked Alexandra. The Idiot
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‘I don’t know; I always feel like that when I look at the
