The Idiot

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

present ofpearls for Nastasia’s birthday, and that he was looking forward to theoccasion when he should present his gift with the greatest excitementand impatience. The day before her birthday he was in a fever ofagitation.

  Mrs. Epanchin, long accustomed to her husband’s infidelities, hadheard of the pearls, and the rumour excited her liveliest curiosity andinterest. The general remarked her suspicions, and felt that a grandexplanation must shortly take place--which fact alarmed him much.

  This is the reason why he was so unwilling to take lunch (on the morningupon which we took up this narrative) with the rest of his family.Before the prince’s arrival he had made up his mind to plead business,and “cut” the meal; which simply meant running away.

  He was particularly anxious that this one day should bepassed--especially the evening--without unpleasantness between himselfand his family; and just at the right moment the prince turned up--“asthough Heaven had sent him on purpose,” said the general to himself, ashe left the study to seek out the wife of his bosom.

  V.

  Mrs. General Epanchin was a proud woman by nature. What must herfeelings have been when she heard that Prince Muishkin, the last ofhis and her line, had arrived in beggar’s guise, a wretched idiot, arecipient of charity--all of which details the general gave out forgreater effect! He was anxious to steal her interest at the first swoop,so as to distract her thoughts from other matters nearer home.

  Mrs. Epanchin was in the habit of holding herself very straight, andstaring before her, without speaking, in moments of excitement.

  She was a fine woman of the same age as her husband, with a slightlyhooked nose, a high, narrow forehead, thick hair turning a little grey,and a sallow complexion. Her eyes were grey and wore a very curiousexpression at times. She believed them to be most effective--a beliefthat nothing could alter.

  “What, receive him! Now, at once?” asked Mrs. Epanchin, gazing vaguelyat her husband as he stood fidgeting before her.

  “Oh, dear me, I assure you there is no need to stand on ceremony withhim,” the general explained hastily. “He is quite a child, not to saya pathetic-looking creature. He has fits of some sort, and has justarrived from Switzerland, straight from the station, dressed like aGerman and without a farthing in his pocket. I gave him twenty-fiveroubles to go on with, and am going to find him some easy place in oneof the government offices. I should like you to ply him well with thevictuals, my dears, for I should think he must be very hungry.”

  “You astonish me,” said the lady, gazing as before. “Fits, and hungrytoo! 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 himthrough his paces a bit, and see what he is good for. I think you shouldbe 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 itmight 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 mustgive the poor fellow something to eat after his journey; especially ashe has not the least idea where to go to,” said Alexandra, the eldest ofthe girls.

  “Besides, he’s quite a child; we can entertain him with a littlehide-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 himup, father; mother allows.”

  The general rang the bell and gave orders that the prince should beshown 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 heeats. Is he quiet when he has these fits? He doesn’t show violence, doeshe?”

  “On the contrary, he seems to be very well brought up. His mannersare excellent--but here he is himself. Here you are, prince--let meintroduce you, the last of the Muishkins, a relative of your own, mydear, or at least of the same name. Receive him kindly, please. They’llbring in lunch directly, prince; you must stop and have some, but youmust 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 meaningvoice.

  “Yes, yes--I must hurry away, I’m late! Look here, dears, let himwrite you something in your albums; you’ve no idea what a wonderfulcaligraphist he is, wonderful talent! He has just written out ‘AbbotPafnute 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 thecount, he’s waiting for me, I’m late--Good-bye! _Au revoir_, prince!”--andthe general bolted at full speed.

  “Oh, yes--I know what count you’re going to see!” remarked his wife ina cutting manner, as she turned her angry eyes on the prince. “Nowthen, 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, sitdown here, no, nearer, come nearer the light! I want to have a good lookat you. So, now then, who is this abbot?”

  “Abbot Pafnute,” said our friend, seriously and with deference.

  “Pafnute, yes. And who was he?”

  Mrs. Epanchin put these questions hastily and brusquely, and when theprince 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 whereour present Kostroma government lies. He went to Oreol and helped in thegreat matters then going on in the religious world; he signed an edictthere, and I have seen a print of his signature; it struck me, so Icopied it. When the general asked me, in his study, to write somethingfor him, to show my handwriting, I wrote ‘The Abbot Pafnute signedthis,’ in the exact handwriting of the abbot. The general liked it verymuch, and that’s why he recalled it just now.”

  “Aglaya, make a note of ‘Pafnute,’ or we shall forget him. H’m! andwhere 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, “ifyou like!”

  “Of course, mamma!” said Alexandra. “But let’s have lunch now, we areall hungry!”

  “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 meanssuch 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 seeyour face. Alexandra, Adelaida, look after the prince! He doesn’t seemso 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; butnow 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 fitsnowadays. I don’t know how it may be here, though; they say the climatemay be bad for me.”

  “He talks very well, you know!” said Mrs. Epanchin, who still continuedto nod at each word the prince spoke. “I really did not expect it atall; in fact, I suppose it was all stuff and nonsense on the general’spart, as usual. Eat away, prince, and tell me where you were born, andwhere you were brought up. I wish to know all about you, you interest mevery much!”

  The prince expressed his thanks once more, and eating heartily thewhile, recomm
enced the narrative of his life in Switzerland, all ofwhich we have heard before. Mrs. Epanchin became more and more pleasedwith her guest; the girls, too, listened with considerable attention. Intalking over the question of relationship it turned out that the princewas very well up in the matter and knew his pedigree off by heart. Itwas found that scarcely any connection existed between himself and Mrs.Epanchin, but the talk, and the opportunity of conversing about herfamily tree, gratified the latter exceedingly, and she rose from thetable in great good humour.

  “Let’s all go to my boudoir,” she said, “and they shall bring somecoffee in there. That’s the room where we all assemble and busyourselves as we like best,” she explained. “Alexandra, my eldest,here, plays the piano, or reads or sews; Adelaida paints landscapes andportraits (but never finishes any); and Aglaya sits and does nothing.I don’t work too much, either. Here we are, now; sit down, prince, nearthe fire and talk to us. I want to hear you relate something. I wishto make sure of you first and then tell my old friend, PrincessBielokonski, about you. I wish you to know all the good people and tointerest them. Now then, begin!”

  “Mamma, it’s rather a strange order, that!” said Adelaida, who wasfussing among her paints and paint-brushes at the easel. Aglaya andAlexandra had settled themselves with folded hands on a sofa, evidentlymeaning to be listeners. The prince felt that the general attention wasconcentrated upon himself.

  “I should refuse to say a word if _I_ were ordered to tell a story likethat!” observed Aglaya.

  “Why? what’s there strange about it? He has a tongue. Why shouldn’t hetell us something? I want to judge whether he is a good story-teller;anything you like, prince--how you liked Switzerland, what was your firstimpression, anything. You’ll see, he’ll begin directly and tell us allabout it beautifully.”

  “The impression was forcible--” the prince began.

  “There, you see, girls,” said the impatient lady, “he _has_ begun, yousee.”

  “Well, then, _let_ him talk, mamma,” said Alexandra. “This prince is agreat humbug and by no means an idiot,” she whispered to Aglaya.

  “Oh, I saw that at once,” replied the latter. “I don’t think it at allnice 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. “Whenthey took me away from Russia, I remember I passed through many Germantowns and looked out of the windows, but did not trouble so much as toask questions about them. This was after a long series of fits. I alwaysused to fall into a sort of torpid condition after such a series, andlost my memory almost entirely; and though I was not altogether withoutreason at such times, yet I had no logical power of thought. This wouldcontinue for three or four days, and then I would recover myself again.I remember my melancholy was intolerable; I felt inclined to cry; Isat and wondered and wondered uncomfortably; the consciousness thateverything was strange weighed terribly upon me; I could understand thatit was all foreign and strange. I recollect I awoke from this state forthe 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 pleasedwith it, and from that moment my head seemed to clear.”

  “A donkey? How strange! Yet it is not strange. Anyone of us might fallin love with a donkey! It happened in mythological times,” said MadameEpanchin, 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 toask questions about them, for I had never seen one before; and I atonce came to the conclusion that this must be one of the most useful ofanimals--strong, willing, patient, cheap; and, thanks to this donkey,I began to like the whole country I was travelling through; and mymelancholy passed away.”

  “All this is very strange and interesting,” said Mrs. Epanchin. “Nowlet’s leave the donkey and go on to other matters. What are you laughingat, Aglaya? and you too, Adelaida? The prince told us his experiencesvery 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 outloud, 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 bescolding them; they are all as silly and mad as march hares.”

  “Oh, why shouldn’t they laugh?” said the prince. “I shouldn’t have letthe 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 princecontinued laughing merrily.

  “I must say it’s very nice of you to laugh. I see you really are akind-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 bealways kind. I am often angry with these girls and their father; but theworst of it is, I am always kindest when I am cross. I was very angryjust 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 cameforward and kissed her lips and then her hand. “Now then, go on, prince.Perhaps 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 tellyou stories straight away, so,” said Adelaida. “I know I never could!”

  “Yes, but the prince can, because he is clever--cleverer than you areby ten or twenty times, if you like. There, that’s so, prince; andseriously, 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 thesame,” said Alexandra. “I have always been most interested to hear howpeople go mad and get well again, and that sort of thing. Especiallywhen 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 howlovely it was, but the loveliness weighed upon me somehow or other, andmade me feel melancholy.”

  “Why?” asked Alexandra.

  “I don’t know; I always feel like that when I look at the beauties ofnature for the first time; but then, I was ill at that time, of course!”

  “Oh, but I should like to see it!” said Adelaida; “and I don’t know_when_ we shall ever go abroad. I’ve been two years looking out for a goodsubject for a picture. I’ve done all I know. ‘The North and South I knowby heart,’ as our poet observes. Do help me to a subject, prince.”

  “Oh, but I know nothing about painting. It seems to me one only has tolook, and paint what one sees.”

  “But I don’t know _how_ to see!”

  “Nonsense, what rubbish you talk!” the mother struck in. “Not know howto see! Open your eyes and look! If you can’t see here, you won’t seeabroad either. Tell us what you saw yourself, prince!”

  “Yes, that’s better,” said Adelaida; “the prince _learned to see_ abroad.”

  “Oh, I hardly know! You see, I only went to restore my health. I don’tknow whether I learned to see, exactly. I was very happy, however,nearly all the time.”

  “Happy! you can be happy?” cried Aglaya. “Then how can you say you didnot learn to see? I should think you could teach _us_ to see!”

  “Oh! _do_ teach us,” laughed Adelaida.

  “Oh! I can’t do that,” said the princ
e, laughing too. “I lived almostall the while in one little Swiss village; what can I teach you? Atfirst I was only just not absolutely dull; then my health began toimprove--then every day became dearer and more precious to me, and thelonger I stayed, the dearer became the time to me; so much so that Icould not help observing it; but why this was so, it would be difficultto say.”

  “So that you didn’t care to go away anywhere else?”

  “Well, at first I did; I was restless; I didn’t know however I shouldmanage to support life--you know there are such moments, especially insolitude. There was a waterfall near us, such a lovely thin streak ofwater, like a thread but white and moving. It fell from a great height,but it looked quite low, and it was half a mile away, though it did notseem fifty paces. I loved to listen to it at night, but it was thenthat I became so restless. Sometimes I went and climbed the mountain andstood there in the midst of the tall pines, all alone in the terriblesilence, with our little village in the distance, and the sky so blue,and the sun so bright, and an old ruined castle on the mountain-side,far away. I used to watch the line where earth and sky met, and longedto go and seek there the key of all mysteries, thinking that I mightfind there a new life, perhaps some great city where life should begrander and richer--and then it struck me that life may be grand enougheven in a prison.”

  “I read that last most praiseworthy thought in my manual, when I wastwelve years old,” said Aglaya.

  “All this is pure philosophy,” said Adelaida. “You are a philosopher,prince, and have come here to instruct us in your views.”

  “Perhaps you are right,” said the prince, smiling. “I think I am aphilosopher, perhaps, and who knows, perhaps I do wish to teach my viewsof things to those I meet with?”

  “Your philosophy is rather like that of an old woman we know, who isrich and yet does nothing but try how little she can spend. She talks ofnothing but money all day. Your great philosophical idea of a grand lifein a prison and your four happy years in that Swiss village are likethis, rather,” said Aglaya.

  “As to life in a prison, of course there may be two opinions,” said theprince. “I once heard the story of a man who lived twelve years in aprison--I heard it from the man himself. He was one of the persons