The Idiot

by Fyodor Dostoevsky

  An outside observer, if there had happened to be one, could have come to only one conclusion: that, judging by all the aforementioned facts, few as they were, the prince had managed in any case to leave a certain impression in the Epanchins’ house, though he had appeared there only once, and that fleetingly. It may have been an impression of simple curiosity, explainable by some of the prince’s extraordinary adventures. Be that as it may, the impression remained.

  Gradually the rumors that had begun to spread around town also managed to be shrouded in the darkness of ignorance. True, tales were told of some little fool of a prince (no one could name him for certain), who had suddenly inherited an enormous fortune and married some traveling Frenchwoman, a famous cancan dancer from the Château des Fleurs in Paris. But others said that the inheritance had gone to some general, and the one who had married the traveling Frenchwoman and famous cancan dancer was a Russian merchant, an enormously wealthy man, who, at the wedding, drunk, merely to show off, had burned up in a candle exactly seven hundred thousand worth of the latest lottery tickets. But all these rumors died down very quickly, a result to which circumstances contributed greatly. For instance, Rogozhin’s entire company, many of whom could have told a thing or two, set off in its whole bulk, with Rogozhin himself at its head, for Moscow, almost exactly a week after a terrible orgy in the Ekaterinhof vauxhall,1 at which Nastasya Filippovna had also been present. Some people, the very few who were interested, learned from other rumors that Nastasya Filippovna had fled the day after Ekaterinhof, had vanished, and had finally been traced, having gone off to Moscow; so that Rogozhin’s departure for Moscow came out as being somewhat coincident with this rumor.

  A rumor also went around concerning Gavrila Ardalionovich Ivolgin himself, who was also quite well known in his circle. But with him, too, a circumstance occurred which soon quickly cooled and ultimately stopped entirely all unkind stories concerning him: he became very ill and was unable to appear not only anywhere in society but also at his work. After a month of illness, he recovered, but for some reason gave up his job in the stock company, and his place was taken by someone else. He also did not appear even once in General Epanchin’s house, so that the general, too, had to hire another clerk. Gavrila Ardalionovich’s enemies might have supposed that he was so embarrassed by everything that had happened to him that he was even ashamed to go out; but he was indeed a bit unwell; he even fell into hypochondria, became pensive, irritable. That same winter Varvara Ardalionovna married Ptitsyn; everybody who knew them ascribed this marriage directly to the circumstance that Ganya refused to go back to work and not only stopped supporting his family but even began to need help and almost to be looked after himself.

  Let us note parenthetically that Gavrila Ardalionovich was never even mentioned in the Epanchins’ house—as if there had been no such person in the world, let alone in their house. And yet they all learned (and even quite soon) a very remarkable circumstance about him, namely: on that same night that was so fatal for him, after the unpleasant adventure at Nastasya Filippovna’s, Ganya, having returned home, did not go to bed, but began waiting with feverish impatience for the prince to come back. The prince, who had gone to Ekaterinhof, came back after five in the morning. Then Ganya went to his room and placed before him on the table the charred packet of money, given to him by Nastasya Filippovna while he lay in a swoon. He insistently begged the prince to return this gift to Nastasya Filippovna at the first opportunity. When Ganya entered the prince’s room, he was in a hostile and nearly desperate mood; but it seemed some words were exchanged between him and the prince, after which Ganya sat with him for two hours and spent the whole time weeping bitterly. The two parted on friendly terms.

  This news, which reached all the Epanchins, was, as later events confirmed, perfectly accurate. Of course, it was strange that news of this sort could travel and become known so quickly; for instance, everything that had happened at Nastasya Filippovna’s became known at the Epanchins’ almost the next day and even in quite accurate detail. Concerning the news about Gavrila Ardalionovich, it might be supposed that it was brought to the Epanchins by Varvara Ardalionovna, who somehow suddenly appeared among the Epanchin girls and very soon was even on a very intimate footing with them, which for Lizaveta Prokofyevna was extremely surprising. But though Varvara Ardalionovna for some reason found it necessary to become so close with the Epanchins, she surely would not have talked with them about her brother. She, too, was a very proud woman, in her own way, despite the fact that she had struck up a friendship there, where her brother had almost been thrown out. Before then, though she had been acquainted with the Epanchin girls, she had seen them rarely. Even now, however, she almost never appeared in the drawing room, and came in, or rather, dropped in, by the back door. Lizaveta Prokofyevna had never been disposed towards her, either before or now, though she greatly respected Nina Alexandrovna, Varvara Ardalionovna’s mother. She was astonished, became angry, ascribed the acquaintance with Varya to the capricious and power-loving character of her daughters, who “invent all kinds of things just to be contrary to her,” yet Varvara Ardalionovna went on visiting them all the same, both before and after her marriage.

  But a month passed after the prince’s departure, and Mrs. Epanchin received a letter from the old Princess Belokonsky, who had left for Moscow some two weeks earlier to stay with her married elder daughter, and this letter produced a visible effect on her. Though she said nothing about what was in it either to her daughters or to Ivan Fyodorovich, the family noticed by many signs that she was somehow especially agitated, even excited. She kept starting somehow especially strange conversations with her daughters, and all on such extraordinary subjects; she obviously wanted to speak her mind, but for some reason she held back. The day she received the letter, she was nice to everyone, even kissed Aglaya and Adelaida, confessed something particular to them, but precisely what they could not tell. She suddenly became indulgent even to Ivan Fyodorovich, whom she had kept in disgrace for a whole month. Naturally, the next day she became extremely angry over her sentimentality of the day before and by dinnertime managed to quarrel with everyone, but towards evening the horizon cleared again. Generally, for the whole week she continued to be in very bright spirits, something that had not happened for a long time.

  But after another week, another letter came from Princess Belokonsky, and this time Mrs. Epanchin decided to speak out. She solemnly announced that “old Belokonsky” (she never referred to the princess otherwise, when speaking in her absence) had told her some very comforting news about this … “odd bird, well, that is, about this prince!” The old woman had sought him out in Moscow, made inquiries about him, and learned something very good; the prince had finally called on her in person and made an almost extraordinary impression on her. “That’s clear from the fact that she invited him to come every day from one till two, and the man drags himself there every day, and she’s still not sick of him,” Mrs. Epanchin concluded, adding that through “the old woman” the prince was now received in two or three good houses. “It’s good that he doesn’t sit in his corner feeling bashful like a fool.” The girls, to whom all this was imparted, noticed at once that their dear mama had concealed a great deal of her letter from them. They might have known it from Varvara Ardalionovna, who could and certainly did know everything that Ptitsyn knew about the prince and his stay in Moscow. And Ptitsyn might have been even better informed than anyone else. But he was a man of extreme reticence in business matters, though he certainly shared things with Varya. Mrs. Epanchin at once began to dislike Varvara Ardalionovna still more for it.

  But be that as it may, the ice was broken, and it suddenly became possible to talk openly about the prince. Besides that, the extraordinary impression and the exceedingly great interest that the prince had aroused and left behind him in the Epanchins’ house once more clearly showed itself. Mrs. Epanchin even marveled at the impression made on her daughters by the news from Moscow. And the daughters also m
arveled at their mother, who had so solemnly announced to them that it was “the chiefest feature of her life to be constantly mistaken about people,” and at the same time had recommended the prince to the attention of the “powerful” old Princess Belokonsky in Moscow, having, of course, to beg for her attention in the name of Christ and God, because on certain occasions the “old woman” was hard to get going.

  But once the ice was broken and a fresh wind blew, the general also hastened to speak his mind. It turned out that he, too, was extraordinarily interested. He informed them, however, only of “the business side of the subject.” It turned out that, in the interests of the prince, he had charged a couple of gentlemen, highly reliable and of a certain sort of influence in Moscow, to keep an eye on him and especially on his guide Salazkin. Everything that had been said about the inheritance, “about the fact of the inheritance, so to speak,” turned out to be true, but the inheritance itself turned out in the end to be by no means as significant as had originally been spread about. The fortune was half entangled; there turned out to be debts; there turned out to be some sort of claimants, and the prince, in spite of all guidance, behaved in a most unbusinesslike way. “Of course, God be with him”: now that the “ice of silence” was broken, the general was glad to declare this “in all the sincerity” of his soul, because, “though the fellow’s a bit like that,” all the same he deserved it. But meanwhile, all the same, he had made some blunders here: for instance, some of the dead merchant’s creditors had appeared, with disputable, worthless papers, and some, having heard about the prince, even came without any papers—and what then? The prince satisfied almost all of them, though his friends pointed out to him that all these petty folk and petty creditors were completely without rights; and he had only satisfied them because it actually turned out that a few of them had indeed suffered.

  To this Mrs. Epanchin responded that Belokonsky had written something of the same sort to her and that “this is stupid, very stupid; but there’s no curing a fool”—she added sharply, but one could see from her face how glad she was of what this “fool” had done. In conclusion to all this the general noticed that his wife was as concerned for the prince as if he were her own son and that she had also begun to be terribly affectionate to Aglaya; seeing which, Ivan Fyodorovich assumed a very businesslike air for a time.

  But once again all this pleasant mood did not exist for long. Only two weeks went by and something suddenly changed again, Mrs. Epanchin scowled, and the general, after shrugging his shoulders a few times, again submitted to the “ice of silence.” The thing was that just two weeks earlier he had received undercover information, brief and therefore not quite clear, but reliable, that Nastasya Filippovna, who had first disappeared in Moscow, had then been found in Moscow by Rogozhin, had then disappeared again somewhere and had again been found by him, had finally given him an almost certain promise that she would marry him. And now, only two weeks later, his excellency had suddenly received information that Nastasya Filippovna had run away for a third time, almost from the foot of the altar, and this time had disappeared somewhere in the provinces, and meanwhile Prince Myshkin had also vanished from Moscow, leaving Salazkin in charge of all his affairs, “together with her, or simply rushing after her, no one knows, but there’s something in it,” the general concluded. Lizaveta Prokofyevna, for her part, also received some unpleasant information. In the end, two months after the prince’s departure, almost all the rumors about him in Petersburg had definitively died out, and in the Epanchins’ house the “ice of silence” was not broken again. Varvara Ardalionovna, however, still visited the girls.

  To have done with all these rumors and reports, let us also add that a great many upheavals had taken place at the Epanchins’ by spring, so that it was hard not to forget about the prince, who for his part never sent, and perhaps did not wish to send, any news of himself. Gradually, in the course of the winter, they finally decided to go abroad for the summer—that is, Lizaveta Prokofyevna and her daughters; the general, naturally, could not spend time on “empty entertainment.” The decision was taken at the extreme and persistent urging of the girls, who had become completely convinced that their parents did not want to take them abroad because they were constantly concerned with getting them married and finding suitors for them. It may be that the parents also finally became convinced that suitors could be met abroad as well, and that one summer trip not only could not upset anything, but perhaps “might even contribute.” Here it would be appropriate to mention that the intended marriage between Afanasy Ivanovich Totsky and the eldest Epanchin girl broke up altogether, and no formal proposal ever took place. It happened somehow by itself, without long discussions and without any family struggles. Since the time of the prince’s departure, everything had suddenly quieted down on both sides. This circumstance was one of the causes of the then heavy mood in the Epanchin family, though Mrs. Epanchin said at the time that she would gladly “cross herself with both hands.” The general, though in disgrace and aware that it was his own fault, pouted for a long time all the same; he was sorry to lose Afanasy Ivanovich: “such a fortune, and such a dexterous man!” Not long afterwards the general learned that Afanasy Ivanovich had been captivated by a traveling high-society Frenchwoman, a marquise and a legitimiste,2 that a marriage was to take place, after which Afanasy Ivanovich would be taken to Paris and then somewhere in Brittany. “Well, the Frenchwoman will be the end of him,” the general decided.

  But the Epanchins were preparing to leave by summer. And suddenly a circumstance occurred which again changed everything in a new way, and the trip was again postponed, to the greatest joy of the general and his wife. A certain prince arrived in Petersburg from Moscow, Prince Shch., a well-known man, incidentally, and known from a quite, quite good point. He was one of those people, or, one might even say, activists of recent times, honest, modest, who sincerely and consciously wish to be useful, are always working, and are distinguished by this rare and happy quality of always finding work. Without putting himself forward, avoiding the bitterness and idle talk of parties, not counting himself among the foremost, the prince nevertheless had a quite substantial understanding of much that was happening in recent times. Formerly he had been in government service, then he began to participate in zemstvo3 activity. Besides that, he was a useful corresponding member of several Russian learned societies. Together with an engineer acquaintance, he contributed, by gathering information and research, to correcting the planned itinerary of one of the most important railways. He was about thirty-five years old. He was a man “of the highest society” and, besides that, had a fortune that was “good, serious, incontestable,” as the general put it, having met and become acquainted with the prince on the occasion of some rather serious business at the office of the count, his superior. The prince, out of some special curiosity, never avoided making the acquaintance of Russia’s “businesspeople.” It so happened that the prince also became acquainted with the general’s family. Adelaida Ivanovna, the middle sister, made a very strong impression on him. By spring the prince had proposed. Adelaida liked him very much, and so did Lizaveta Prokofyevna. The general was very glad. Needless to say, the trip was postponed. A spring wedding was planned.

  The trip, however, might have taken place by the middle or the end of summer, if only in the form of a one- or two-month excursion of Lizaveta Prokofyevna and her two remaining daughters, in order to dispel the sadness of Adelaida’s leaving them. But again something new happened: at the end of spring (Adelaida’s wedding had been delayed somewhat and was postponed till the middle of summer) Prince Shch. introduced into the Epanchins’ house a distant relation of his, with whom, however, he was rather well acquainted. This was a certain Evgeny Pavlovich R., still a young man, about twenty-eight, an imperial aide-de-camp, strikingly handsome, “of a noble family,” a witty, brilliant “new” man, “exceedingly educated,” and—somehow much too fabulously wealthy. With regard to this last point the general was always careful
. He made inquiries: “There is actually something of the sort—though, in any case, it must be verified.” This young and “promising” imperial aide-de-camp was given a strong boost by the opinion of the old Princess Belokonsky from Moscow. In one respect only was his reputation somewhat ticklish: there had been several liaisons and, as it was maintained, “victories” over certain unfortunate hearts. Having seen Aglaya, he became extraordinarily sedentary in the Epanchins’ house. True, nothing had been said yet, nor had any allusions been made, but all the same the parents thought that there was no need even to think about a trip abroad that summer. Aglaya herself was perhaps of a different opinion.

  This happened just before our hero’s second appearance on the scene of our story. By that time, judging from appearances, poor Prince Myshkin had been totally forgotten in Petersburg. If he had suddenly appeared now among those who had known him, it would have been as if he had dropped from the moon. And yet we still have one more fact to report, and with that we shall end our introduction.

  Kolya Ivolgin, on the prince’s departure, at first went on with his former life, that is, went to school, visited his friend Ippolit, looked after the general, and helped Varya around the house, that is, ran errands for her. But the tenants quickly vanished: Ferdyshchenko moved somewhere three days after the adventure at Nastasya Filippovna’s and quite soon disappeared, so that even all rumors about him died out; he was said to be drinking somewhere, but nothing was certain. The prince left for Moscow; that was the end of the tenants. Afterwards, when Varya was already married, Nina Alexandrovna and Ganya moved with her to Ptitsyn’s, in the Ismailovsky quarter; as for General Ivolgin, a quite unforeseen circumstance occurred with him at almost that same time: he went to debtors’ prison. He was dispatched there by his lady friend, the captain’s widow, on the strength of documents he had given her at various times, worth about two thousand. All this came as a total surprise to him, and the poor general was “decidedly the victim of his boundless faith in the nobility of the human heart, broadly speaking.” Having adopted the soothing habit of signing vouchers and promissory notes, he never supposed the possibility of their effect, at least at some point, always thinking it was just so. It turned to be not so. “Trust people after that, show them your noble trustfulness!” he exclaimed ruefully, sitting with his new friends in Tarasov House4 over a bottle of wine and telling them anecdotes about the siege of Kars and a resurrected soldier. His life there, however, was excellent. Ptitsyn and Varya used to say it was the right place for him; Ganya agreed completely. Only poor Nina Alexandrovna wept bitterly on the quiet (which even surprised her household) and, though eternally ill, dragged herself as often as she could to see her husband in Tarasov House.