The Idiot

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

felt that he must go away somewhere, anywhere.

  Above his head some little bird sang out, of a sudden; he began to peerabout for it among the leaves. Suddenly the bird darted out of the treeand away, and instantly he thought of the “fly buzzing about in thesun’s rays” that Hippolyte had talked of; how that it knew its placeand was a participator in the universal life, while he alone was an“outcast.” This picture had impressed him at the time, and he meditatedupon it now. An old, forgotten memory awoke in his brain, and suddenlyburst into clearness and light. It was a recollection of Switzerland,during the first year of his cure, the very first months. At that timehe had been pretty nearly an idiot still; he could not speak properly,and had difficulty in understanding when others spoke to him. He climbedthe mountain-side, one sunny morning, and wandered long and aimlesslywith a certain thought in his brain, which would not become clear. Abovehim was the blazing sky, below, the lake; all around was the horizon,clear and infinite. He looked out upon this, long and anxiously. Heremembered how he had stretched out his arms towards the beautiful,boundless blue of the horizon, and wept, and wept. What had so tormentedhim was the idea that he was a stranger to all this, that he was outsidethis glorious festival.

  What was this universe? What was this grand, eternal pageant to whichhe had yearned from his childhood up, and in which he could never takepart? Every morning the same magnificent sun; every morning thesame rainbow in the waterfall; every evening the same glow on thesnow-mountains.

  Every little fly that buzzed in the sun’s rays was a singer in theuniversal chorus, “knew its place, and was happy in it.” Every blade ofgrass grew and was happy. Everything knew its path and loved it, wentforth with a song and returned with a song; only he knew nothing,understood nothing, neither men nor words, nor any of nature’s voices;he was a stranger and an outcast.

  Oh, he could not then speak these words, or express all he felt! He hadbeen tormented dumbly; but now it appeared to him that he must havesaid these very words--even then--and that Hippolyte must have taken hispicture of the little fly from his tears and words of that time.

  He was sure of it, and his heart beat excitedly at the thought, he knewnot why.

  He fell asleep on the bench; but his mental disquiet continued throughhis slumbers.

  Just before he dozed off, the idea of Hippolyte murdering ten menflitted through his brain, and he smiled at the absurdity of such athought.

  Around him all was quiet; only the flutter and whisper of the leavesbroke the silence, but broke it only to cause it to appear yet more deepand still.

  He dreamed many dreams as he sat there, and all were full of disquiet,so that he shuddered every moment.

  At length a woman seemed to approach him. He knew her, oh! he knew heronly too well. He could always name her and recognize her anywhere; but,strange, she seemed to have quite a different face from hers, as he hadknown it, and he felt a tormenting desire to be able to say she was notthe same woman. In the face before him there was such dreadful remorseand horror that he thought she must be a criminal, that she must havejust committed some awful crime.

  Tears were trembling on her white cheek. She beckoned him, but placedher finger on her lip as though to warn him that he must follow her veryquietly. His heart froze within him. He wouldn’t, he _couldn’t_ confessher to be a criminal, and yet he felt that something dreadful wouldhappen the next moment, something which would blast his whole life.

  She seemed to wish to show him something, not far off, in the park.

  He rose from his seat in order to follow her, when a bright, clear pealof laughter rang out by his side. He felt somebody’s hand suddenly inhis own, seized it, pressed it hard, and awoke. Before him stood Aglaya,laughing aloud.

  VIII.

  She laughed, but she was rather angry too.

  “He’s asleep! You were asleep,” she said, with contemptuous surprise.

  “Is it really you?” muttered the prince, not quite himself as yet,and recognizing her with a start of amazement. “Oh yes, of course,” headded, “this is our rendezvous. I fell asleep here.”

  “So I saw.”

  “Did no one awake me besides yourself? Was there no one else here? Ithought there was another woman.”

  “There was another woman here?”

  At last he was wide awake.

  “It was a dream, of course,” he said, musingly. “Strange that I shouldhave a dream like that at such a moment. Sit down--”

  He took her hand and seated her on the bench; then sat down beside herand reflected.

  Aglaya did not begin the conversation, but contented herself withwatching her companion intently.

  He looked back at her, but at times it was clear that he did not see herand was not thinking of her.

  Aglaya began to flush up.

  “Oh yes!” cried the prince, starting. “Hippolyte’s suicide--”

  “What? At your house?” she asked, but without much surprise. “He wasalive yesterday evening, wasn’t he? How could you sleep here afterthat?” she cried, growing suddenly animated.

  “Oh, but he didn’t kill himself; the pistol didn’t go off.” Aglayainsisted on hearing the whole story. She hurried the prince along, butinterrupted him with all sorts of questions, nearly all of which wereirrelevant. Among other things, she seemed greatly interested in everyword that Evgenie Pavlovitch had said, and made the prince repeat thatpart of the story over and over again.

  “Well, that’ll do; we must be quick,” she concluded, after hearing all.“We have only an hour here, till eight; I must be home by then withoutfail, so that they may not find out that I came and sat here with you;but I’ve come on business. I have a great deal to say to you. But youhave bowled me over considerably with your news. As to Hippolyte, Ithink his pistol was bound not to go off; it was more consistent withthe whole affair. Are you sure he really wished to blow his brains out,and that there was no humbug about the matter?”

  “No humbug at all.”

  “Very likely. So he wrote that you were to bring me a copy of hisconfession, did he? Why didn’t you bring it?”

  “Why, he didn’t die! I’ll ask him for it, if you like.”

  “Bring it by all means; you needn’t ask him. He will be delighted, youmay be sure; for, in all probability, he shot at himself simply in orderthat I might read his confession. Don’t laugh at what I say, please, LefNicolaievitch, because it may very well be the case.”

  “I’m not laughing. I am convinced, myself, that that may have beenpartly the reason.”

  “You are convinced? You don’t really mean to say you think thathonestly?” asked Aglaya, extremely surprised.

  She put her questions very quickly and talked fast, every now and thenforgetting what she had begun to say, and not finishing her sentence.She seemed to be impatient to warn the prince about something or other.She was in a state of unusual excitement, and though she put on a braveand even defiant air, she seemed to be rather alarmed. She was dressedvery simply, but this suited her well. She continually trembled andblushed, and she sat on the very edge of the seat.

  The fact that the prince confirmed her idea, about Hippolyte shootinghimself that she might read his confession, surprised her greatly.

  “Of course,” added the prince, “he wished us all to applaud hisconduct--besides yourself.”

  “How do you mean--applaud?”

  “Well--how am I to explain? He was very anxious that we should all comearound him, and say we were so sorry for him, and that we loved himvery much, and all that; and that we hoped he wouldn’t kill himself, butremain alive. Very likely he thought more of you than the rest of us,because he mentioned you at such a moment, though perhaps he did notknow himself that he had you in his mind’s eye.”

  “I don’t understand you. How could he have me in view, and not be awareof it himself? And yet, I don’t know--perhaps I do. Do you know Ihave intended to poison myself at least thirty times--ever since I wasthirteen or so--and to write to my parents before I did it? I usedto
think how nice it would be to lie in my coffin, and have them allweeping over me and saying it was all their fault for being so cruel,and all that--what are you smiling at?” she added, knitting her brow.“What do _you_ think of when you go mooning about alone? I supposeyou imagine yourself a field-marshal, and think you have conqueredNapoleon?”

  “Well, I really have thought something of the sort now and then,especially when just dozing off,” laughed the prince. “Only it is theAustrians whom I conquer--not Napoleon.”

  “I don’t wish to joke with you, Lef Nicolaievitch. I shall see Hippolytemyself. Tell him so. As for you, I think you are behaving very badly,because it is not right to judge a man’s soul as you are judgingHippolyte’s. You have no gentleness, but only justice--so you areunjust.”

  The prince reflected.

  “I think you are unfair towards me,” he said. “There is nothing wrongin the thoughts I ascribe to Hippolyte; they are only natural. But ofcourse I don’t know for certain what he thought. Perhaps he thoughtnothing, but simply longed to see human faces once more, and to hearhuman praise and feel human affection. Who knows? Only it all came