The old dignitary blushed a little, and murmured that
the prince had better not excite himself further.
‘And I have heard of YOU,’ continued the prince,
addressing Ivan Petrovitch, ‘that when some of your
villagers were burned out you gave them wood to build
up their houses again, though they were no longer your
serfs and had behaved badly towards you.’
‘Oh, come, come! You are exaggerating,’ said Ivan
Petrovitch, beaming with satisfaction, all the same. He was
right, however, in this instance, for the report had reached
the prince’s ears in an incorrect form.
‘And you, princess,’ he went on, addressing Princess
Bielokonski, ‘was it not you who received me in Moscow, The Idiot
1020 of 1149
six months since, as kindly as though I had been your own
son, in response to a letter from Lizabetha Prokofievna;
and gave me one piece of advice, again as to your own
son, which I shall never forget? Do you remember?’
‘What are you making such a fuss about?’ said the old
lady, with annoyance. ‘You are a good fellow, but very
silly. One gives you a halfpenny, and you are as grateful as
though one had saved your life. You think this is
praiseworthy on your part, but it is not —it is not,
indeed.’
She seemed to be very angry, but suddenly burst out
laughing, quite good-humouredly.
Lizabetha Prokofievna’s face brightened up, too; so did
that of General Epanchin.
‘I told you Lef Nicolaievitch was a man—a man—if
only he would not be in such a hurry, as the princess
remarked,’ said the latter, with delight.
Aglaya alone seemed sad and depressed; her face was
flushed, perhaps with indignation.
‘He really is very charming,’ whispered the old
dignitary to Ivan Petrovitch.
‘I came into this room with anguish in my heart,’
continued the prince, with ever-growing agitation,
speaking quicker and quicker, and with increasing The Idiot
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strangeness. ‘I—I was afraid of you all, and afraid of
myself. I was most afraid of myself. When I returned to
Petersburg, I promised myself to make a point of seeing
our greatest men, and members of our oldest families—the
old families like my own. I am now among princes like
myself, am I not? I wished to know you, and it was
necessary, very, very necessary. I had always heard so
much that was evil said of you all—more evil than good;
as to how small and petty were your interests, how absurd
your habits, how shallow your education, and so on.
There is so much written and said about you! I came here
today with anxious curiosity; I wished to see for myself
and form my own convictions as to whether it were true
that the whole of this upper stratum of Russian society is
WORTHLESS, has outlived its time, has existed too long,
and is only fit to die— and yet is dying with petty, spiteful
warring against that which is destined to supersede it and
take its place—hindering the Coming Men, and knowing
not that itself is in a dying condition. I did not fully
believe in this view even before, for there never was such
a class among us—excepting perhaps at court, by
accident—or by uniform; but now there is not even that,
is there? It has vanished, has it not?’ The Idiot
1022 of 1149
‘No, not a bit of it,’ said Ivan Petrovitch, with a
sarcastic laugh.
‘Good Lord, he’s off again!’ said Princess Bielokonski,
impatiently.
‘Laissez-le dire! He is trembling all over,’ said the old
man, in a warning whisper.
The prince certainly was beside himself.
‘Well? What have I seen?’ he continued. ‘I have seen
men of graceful simplicity of intellect; I have seen an old
man who is not above speaking kindly and even
LISTENING to a boy like myself; I see before me persons
who can understand, who can forgive—kind, good
Russian hearts—hearts almost as kind and cordial as I met
abroad. Imagine how delighted I must have been, and
how surprised! Oh, let me express this feeling! I have so
often heard, and I have even believed, that in society there
was nothing but empty forms, and that reality had
vanished; but I now see for myself that this can never be
the case HERE, among us—it may be the order
elsewhere, but not in Russia. Surely you are not all Jesuits
and deceivers! I heard Prince N.’s story just now. Was it
not simple-minded, spontaneous humour? Could such
words come from the lips of a man who is dead?—a man
whose heart and talents are dried up? Could dead men and The Idiot
1023 of 1149
women have treated me so kindly as you have all been
treating me to-day? Is there not material for the future in
all this—for hope? Can such people fail to
UNDERSTAND? Can such men fall away from reality?’
‘Once more let us beg you to be calm, my dear boy.
We’ll talk of all this another time—I shall do so with the
greatest pleasure, for one,’ said the old dignitary, with a
smile.
Ivan Petrovitch grunted and twisted round in his chair.
General Epanchin moved nervously. The latter’s chief had
started a conversation with the wife of the dignitary, and
took no notice whatever of the prince, but the old lady
very often glanced at him, and listened to what he was
saying.
‘No, I had better speak,’ continued the prince, with a
new outburst of feverish emotion, and turning towards the
old man with an air of confidential trustfulness.’ Yesterday,
Aglaya Ivanovna forbade me to talk, and even specified
the particular subjects I must not touch upon—she knows
well enough that I am odd when I get upon these matters.
I am nearly twenty-seven years old, and yet I know I am
little better than a child. I have no right to express my
ideas, and said so long ago. Only in Moscow, with
Rogojin, did I ever speak absolutely freely! He and I read The Idiot
1024 of 1149
Pushkin together—all his works. Rogojin knew nothing
of Pushkin, had not even heard his name. I am always
afraid of spoiling a great Thought or Idea by my absurd
manner. I have no eloquence, I know. I always make the
wrong gestures— inappropriate gestures—and therefore I
degrade the Thought, and raise a laugh instead of doing
my subject justice. I have no sense of proportion either,
and that is the chief thing. I know it would be much
better if I were always to sit still and say nothing. When I
do so, I appear to be quite a sensible sort of a person, and
what’s more, I think about things. But now I must speak;
it is better that I should. I began to speak because you
looked so kindly at me; you have such a beautiful face. I
promised Aglaya Ivanovna yesterday that I would not
speak all the evening.’
‘Really?’ said the old man, smiling.
‘But, at times, I can’t help thinking that I am. wrong in
feeling so about it, you know. Sincerity is more important
than elocution, isn’t it?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘I want to explain all to you—everything—everything!
I know you think me Utopian, don’t you—an idealist?
Oh, no! I’m not, indeed—my ideas are all so simple. You
don’t believe me? You are smiling. Do you know, I am The Idiot
1025 of 1149
sometimes very wicked—for I lose my faith? This evening
as I came here, I thought to myself, ‘What shall I talk
about? How am I to begin, so that they may be able to
understand partially, at all events?’ How afraid I was—
dreadfully afraid! And yet, how COULD I be afraid—was
it not shameful of me? Was I afraid of finding a bottomless
abyss of empty selfishness? Ah! that’s why I am so happy at
this moment, because I find there is no bottomless abyss at
all—but good, healthy material, full of life.
‘It is not such a very dreadful circumstance that we are
odd people, is it? For we really are odd, you know—
careless, reckless, easily wearied of anything. We don’t
look thoroughly into matters—don’t care to understand
things. We are all like this—you and I, and all of them!
Why, here are you, now—you are not a bit angry with
me for calling you odd,’ are you? And, if so, surely there is
good material in you? Do you know, I sometimes think it
is a good thing to be odd. We can forgive one another
more easily, and be more humble. No one can begin by
being perfect—there is much one cannot understand in
life at first. In order to attain to perfection, one must begin
by failing to understand much. And if we take in
knowledge too quickly, we very likely are not taking it in
at all. I say all this to you—you who by this time The Idiot
1026 of 1149
understand so much—and doubtless have failed to
understand so much, also. I am not afraid of you any
longer. You are not angry that a mere boy should say such
words to you, are you? Of course not! You know how to
forget and to forgive. You are laughing, Ivan Petrovitch?
You think I am a champion of other classes of people—
that I am THEIR advocate, a democrat, and an orator of
Equality?’ The prince laughed hysterically; he had several
times burst into these little, short nervous laughs. ‘Oh,
no—it is for you, for myself, and for all of us together, that
I am alarmed. I am a prince of an old family myself, and I
am sitting among my peers; and I am talking like this in
the hope of saving us all; in the hope that our class will not
disappear altogether—into the darkness—unguessing its
danger—blaming everything around it, and losing ground
every day. Why should we disappear and give place to
others, when we may still, if we choose, remain in the
front rank and lead the battle? Let us be servants, that we
may become lords in due season!’
He tried to get upon his feet again, but the old man still
restrained him, gazing at him with increasing perturbation
as he went on.
‘Listen—I know it is best not to speak! It is best simply
to give a good example—simply to begin the work. I have The Idiot
1027 of 1149
done this— I have begun, and—and—oh! CAN anyone
be unhappy, really? Oh! what does grief matter—what
does misfortune matter, if one knows how to be happy?
Do you know, I cannot understand how anyone can pass
by a green tree, and not feel happy only to look at it! How
anyone can talk to a man and not feel happy in loving
him! Oh, it is my own fault that I cannot express myself
well enough! But there are lovely things at every step I
take—things which even the most miserable man must
recognize as beautiful. Look at a little child—look at God’s
day-dawn—look at the grass growing— look at the eyes
that love you, as they gaze back into your eyes!’
He had risen, and was speaking standing up. The old
gentleman was looking at him now in unconcealed alarm.
Lizabetha Prokofievna wrung her hands. ‘Oh, my God!’
she cried. She had guessed the state of the case before
anyone else.
Aglaya rushed quickly up to him, and was just in time
to receive him in her arms, and to hear with dread and
horror that awful, wild cry as he fell writhing to the
ground.
There he lay on the carpet, and someone quickly
placed a cushion under his head.
No one had expected this. The Idiot
1028 of 1149
In a quarter of an hour or so Prince N. and Evgenie
Pavlovitch and the old dignitary were hard at work
endeavouring to restore the harmony of the evening, but
it was of no avail, and very soon after the guests separated
and went their ways.
A great deal of sympathy was expressed; a considerable
amount of advice was volunteered; Ivan Petrovitch
expressed his opinion that the young man was ‘a
Slavophile, or something of that sort"; but that it was not a
dangerous development. The old dignitary said nothing.
True enough, most of the guests, next day and the day
after, were not in very good humour. Ivan Petrovitch was
a little offended, but not seriously so. General Epanchin’s
chief was rather cool towards him for some while after the
occurrence. The old dignitary, as patron of the family,
took the opportunity of murmuring some kind of
admonition to the general, and added, in flattering terms,
that he was most interested in Aglaya’s future. He was a
man who really did possess a kind heart, although his
interest in the prince, in the earlier part of the evening,
was due, among other reasons, to the latter’s connection
with Nastasia Philipovna, according to popular report. He
had heard a good deal of this story here and there, and was The Idiot
1029 of 1149
greatly interested in it, so much so that he longed to ask
further questions about it.
Princess Bielokonski, as she drove away on this eventful
evening, took occasion to say to Lizabetha Prokofievna:
‘Well—he’s a good match—and a bad one; and if you
want my opinion, more bad than good. You can see for
yourself the man is an invalid.’
Lizabetha therefore decided that the prince was
impossible as a husband for Aglaya; and during the ensuing
night she made a vow that never while she lived should he
marry Aglaya. With this resolve firmly impressed upon her
mind, she awoke next day; but during the morning, after
her early lunch, she fell into a condition of remarkable
inconsistency.
In reply to a very guarded question of her sisters’,
Aglaya had answered coldly, but exceedingly haughtily:
‘I have never given him my word at all, nor have I ever
counted him as my future husband—never in my life. He
is just as little to me as all the rest.’
Lizabetha Prokofievna suddenly flared up.
‘I did not expect that of you, Aglaya,’ she said. ‘He is
an impossible husband for you,—I know it; and thank
God that we agree upon that point; but I did not expect
to hear such words from you. I thought I should hear a The Idiot
1030 of 1149
very different tone from you. I would have turned out
everyone who was in the room last night and kept him,—
that’s the sort of man he is, in my opinion!’
Here she suddenly paused, afraid of what she had just
said. But she little knew how unfair she was to her
