The Idiot

by Fyodor Dostoevsky

  Everyone burst out laughing.

  “A particular one, naturally, a particular one,” laughed Alexandra and Adelaida.

  “And allow me to remind you again, Evgeny Pavlych,” added Prince Shch., “that by now your joke has worn too thin.”

  “What do you think, Prince?” Evgeny Pavlovich did not listen, having caught the curious and grave gaze of Prince Lev Nikolaevich upon him. “How does it seem to you: is this a particular case or a general one? I confess, it was for you that I thought up this question.”

  “No, not particular,” the prince said quietly but firmly.

  “For pity’s sake, Lev Nikolaevich,” Prince Shch. cried with some vexation, “don’t you see that he’s trying to trap you; he’s decidedly laughing, and it’s precisely you that he intends to sharpen his teeth on.”

  “I thought Evgeny Pavlych was speaking seriously,” the prince blushed and lowered his eyes.

  “My dear Prince,” Prince Shch. went on, “remember what you and I talked about once, about three months ago; we precisely talked about the fact that, in our newly opened young courts,4 one can already point to so many remarkable and talented defense attorneys! And how many decisions remarkable in the highest degree have been handed down by the juries? How glad you were, and how glad I was then of your gladness … we said we could be proud … And this clumsy defense, this strange argument, is, of course, an accident, one in a thousand.”

  Prince Lev Nikolaevich pondered a little, but with the most convinced air, though speaking softly and even as if timidly, replied:

  “I only wanted to say that the distortion of ideas and notions (as Evgeny Pavlych put it) occurs very often, and is unfortunately much more of a general than a particular case. And to the point that, if this distortion were not such a general case, there might not be such impossible crimes as these …”

  “Impossible crimes? But I assure you that exactly the same crimes, and perhaps still more terrible ones, existed before, and have always existed, not only here but everywhere, and, in my opinion, will occur for a very long time to come. The difference is that before we had less publicity, while now we’ve begun to speak aloud and even to write about them, which is why it seems as if these criminals have appeared only now. That’s your mistake, an extremely naïve mistake, Prince, I assure you,” Prince Shch. smiled mockingly.

  “I myself know that there were very many crimes before, and just as terrible; I was in some prisons not long ago and managed to become acquainted with certain criminals and accused men. There are even more horrible criminals than this one, who have killed ten people and do not repent at all. But at the same time I noticed this: the most inveterate and unrepentant murderer still knows that he is a criminal, that is, in all conscience he considers that he has done wrong, though without any repentance. And every one of them is the same; but those whom Evgeny Pavlych has begun speaking about do not even want to consider themselves criminals and think to themselves that they had the right and … even did a good thing, or almost. That, in my opinion, is what makes the terrible difference. And note that they’re all young people, that is, precisely of an age when they can most easily and defenselessly fall under the influence of perverse ideas.”

  Prince Shch. was no longer laughing and listened to the prince with perplexity. Alexandra Ivanovna, who had long been wanting to make some remark, kept silent, as if some special thought stopped her. But Evgeny Pavlovich looked at the prince in decided astonishment and this time without any smile.

  “Why are you so astonished at him, my dear sir?” Lizaveta Prokofyevna stepped in unexpectedly. “What, is he stupider than you or something, can’t he reason as well as you?”

  “No, ma’am, it’s not that,” said Evgeny Pavlovich, “but how is it, Prince (forgive the question), if that’s the way you see and observe it, then how is it (again, forgive me) that in that strange affair … the other day … with Burdovsky, I believe … how is it that you didn’t notice the same perversion of ideas and moral convictions? Exactly the same! It seemed to me then that you didn’t notice it at all.”

  “But the thing is, my dear,” Lizaveta Prokofyevna was very excited, “that we noticed everything, we sit here and boast before him, and yet he received a letter today from one of them, the main one, with the blackheads, remember, Alexandra? He apologizes in his letter, though in his own manner, and says he has dropped that friend of his, the one who egged him on then—remember, Alexandra?—and that he now believes more in the prince. Well, and we haven’t received such a letter yet, though we know well enough how to turn up our noses at him.”

  “And Ippolit also just moved to our dacha!” cried Kolya.

  “What? He’s already here?” the prince became alarmed.

  “You had only just left with Lizaveta Prokofyevna when he came. I brought him!”

  “Well, I’ll bet,” Lizaveta Prokofyevna suddenly boiled over, completely forgetting that she had just praised the prince, “I’ll bet he went to his attic yesterday and begged his forgiveness on his knees, so that the spiteful little stinker would deign to come here. Did you go yesterday? You admitted it yourself earlier. Is it so or not? Did you get on your knees or not?”

  “That’s quite wrong,” cried Kolya, “and it was quite the contrary: Ippolit seized the prince’s hand yesterday and kissed it twice, I saw it myself, and that was the end of all the explanations, except that the prince simply said it would be better for him at the dacha, and he instantly agreed to come as soon as he felt better.”

  “You shouldn’t, Kolya …” the prince murmured, getting up and taking his hat, “why are you telling them about that, I …”

  “Where now?” Lizaveta Prokofyevna stopped him.

  “Don’t worry, Prince,” the inflamed Kolya went on, “don’t go and don’t trouble him, he’s fallen asleep after the trip; he’s very glad; and you know, Prince, in my opinion it will be much better if you don’t meet today, even put it off till tomorrow, otherwise he’ll get embarrassed again. This morning he said it was a whole six months since he’d felt so well and so strong; he even coughs three times less.”

  The prince noticed that Aglaya suddenly left her place and came over to the table. He did not dare to look at her, but he felt with his whole being that she was looking at him at that moment, and perhaps looking menacingly, that there was certainly indignation in her dark eyes and her face was flushed.

  “But it seems to me, Nikolai Ardalionovich, that you shouldn’t have brought him here, if it’s that same consumptive boy who wept the other time and invited us to his funeral,” Evgeny Pavlovich observed. “He spoke so eloquently then about the wall of the neighboring house that he’s bound to feel sad without it, you may be sure.”

  “What he says is true: he’ll quarrel and fight with you and then leave, that’s what I say!”

  And Lizaveta Prokofyevna moved her sewing basket towards her with dignity, forgetting that they were all getting up to go for a walk.

  “I remember him boasting a great deal about that wall,” Evgeny Pavlovich picked up again. “Without that wall he won’t be able to die eloquently, and he wants very much to die eloquently.”

  “What of it?” murmured the prince. “If you don’t want to forgive him, he’ll die without it … He moved now for the sake of the trees.”

  “Oh, for my part I forgive him everything; you can tell him that.”

  “That’s not how it should be understood,” the prince replied quietly and as if reluctantly, continuing to look at one spot on the floor and not raising his eyes. “It should be that you, too, agree to accept his forgiveness.”

  “What is it to me? How am I guilty before him?”

  “If you don’t understand, then … but, no, you do understand. He wanted then … to bless you all and to receive your blessing, that’s all.”

  “My dear Prince,” Prince Shch. hastened to pick up somehow warily, exchanging glances with some of those present, “paradise on earth is not easily achieved; but all the same you are
counting on paradise in a way; paradise is a difficult thing, Prince, much more difficult than it seems to your wonderful heart. We’d better stop, otherwise we may all get embarrassed again, and then …”

  “Let’s go and listen to the music,” Lizaveta Prokofyevna said sharply, getting up angrily from her seat.

  They all stood up after her.

  II

  THE PRINCE SUDDENLY went over to Evgeny Pavlovich.

  “Evgeny Pavlych,” he said with a strange ardor, seizing him by the arm, “you may be sure that I consider you the noblest and best of men, in spite of everything; you may be sure of that …”

  Evgeny Pavlovich even stepped back in surprise. For a moment he tried to suppress an unbearable fit of laughter; but, on looking closer, he noticed that the prince was as if not himself, or at least in some sort of peculiar state.

  “I’ll bet,” he cried, “that you were going to say something quite different, Prince, and maybe not to me at all … But what’s the matter? Do you feel bad?”

  “That may be, that may well be, and it was a very subtle observation that I may have wanted to approach someone else!”

  Having said this, he smiled somehow strangely and even ridiculously, but suddenly, as if becoming excited, he exclaimed:

  “Don’t remind me of what I did three days ago! I’ve been feeling very ashamed these three days … I know I’m to blame …”

  “But … but what did you do that was so terrible?”

  “I can see that you are perhaps more ashamed for me than anyone else, Evgeny Pavlovich; you’re blushing, that’s the sign of a beautiful heart. I’ll leave presently, you may be sure.”

  “What’s the matter with him? Is this how his fits begin?” Lizaveta Prokofyevna turned fearfully to Kolya.

  “Never mind, Lizaveta Prokofyevna, I’m not having a fit; I’ll leave right now. I know I’ve been … mistreated by nature. I’ve been ill for twenty-four years, from birth to the age of twenty-four. Take it from me now as from a sick man. I’ll leave right now, right now, you may be sure. I’m not blushing—because it would be strange to blush at that, isn’t it so?—but I’m superfluous in society … I don’t say it out of vanity … I was thinking it over during these three days and decided that I should inform you candidly and nobly at the first opportunity. There are certain ideas, there are lofty ideas, which I ought not to start talking about, because I’ll certainly make everyone laugh; Prince Shch. has just reminded me of that very thing … My gestures are inappropriate, I have no sense of measure; my words are wrong, they don’t correspond to my thoughts, and that is humiliating for the thoughts. And therefore I have no right … then, too, I’m insecure, I … I’m convinced that I cannot be offended in this house, that I am loved more than I’m worth, but I know (I know for certain) that after twenty years of illness there must surely be some trace left, so that it’s impossible not to laugh at me … sometimes … is that so?”

  He looked around as if waiting for a response and a decision. Everyone stood in painful perplexity from this unexpected, morbid, and, as it seemed, in any case groundless outburst. But this outburst gave occasion to a strange episode.

  “Why do you say that here?” Aglaya suddenly cried. “Why do you say it to them? To them! To them!”

  She seemed to be in the ultimate degree of indignation: her eyes flashed fire. The prince stood dumb and speechless before her and suddenly turned pale.

  “There’s no one here who is worth such words!” Aglaya burst out. “No one, no one here is worth your little finger, or your intelligence, or your heart! You’re more honest than all of them, nobler than all of them, better than all of them, kinder than all of them, more intelligent than all of them! There are people here who aren’t worthy of bending down to pick up the handkerchief you’ve just dropped … Why do you humiliate yourself and place yourself lower than everyone else? Why have you twisted everything in yourself, why is there no pride in you?”

  “Lord, who’d have thought it?” Lizaveta Prokofyevna clasped her hands.

  “The poor knight! Hurrah!” Kolya shouted in delight.

  “Quiet!… How do they dare offend me here in your house!” Aglaya suddenly fell upon Lizaveta Prokofyevna, now in that hysterical state in which one disregards all limits and overcomes all obstacles. “Why do they all torment me, every last one of them! Why do they all badger me on account of you, Prince? I won’t marry you for anything! Know that, never and not for anything! Can one marry such a ridiculous man as you? Look at yourself in the mirror now, see how you’re standing there!… Why, why do they tease me, saying that I should marry you? You must know it! You’re also in conspiracy with them!”

  “No one ever teased her!” Adelaida murmured in fright.

  “It never entered anyone’s mind, no one ever said a word about it!” cried Alexandra Ivanovna.

  “Who teased her? When? Who could have told her that? Is she raving?” Lizaveta Prokofyevna, trembling with wrath, turned to them all.

  “You all said it, all of you, all these three days! I’ll never, never marry him!”

  Having shouted that, Aglaya dissolved in bitter tears, covered her face with a handkerchief, and collapsed into a chair.

  “But he hasn’t asked you yet …”

  “I haven’t asked you, Aglaya Ivanovna,” suddenly escaped from the prince.

  “Wha-a-at?” Lizaveta Prokofyevna suddenly drew out in astonishment, indignation, and horror. “What’s tha-a-at?”

  She refused to believe her ears.

  “I meant to say … I meant to say,” the prince was trembling, “I only meant to explain to Aglaya Ivanovna … to have the honor of explaining to her that I never had any intention … to have the honor of asking for her hand … even once … I’m not to blame for any of it, by God, I’m not, Aglaya Ivanovna! I never meant to, it never entered my mind and never will, you’ll see for yourself: you may be sure! Some wicked man has slandered me before you! You may rest assured!”

  Saying this, he approached Aglaya. She took away the handkerchief with which she had covered her face, quickly glanced at him and his whole frightened figure, realized what he had just said, and suddenly burst out laughing right in his face—such merry, irrepressible laughter, such funny and mocking laughter, that Adelaida was the first to succumb, especially when she also looked at the prince, rushed to her sister, embraced her, and laughed the same irrepressible, merry schoolgirl’s laughter as Aglaya. Looking at them, the prince suddenly began to smile, too, and to repeat with a joyful and happy expression:

  “Well, thank God, thank God!”

  At this point Alexandra also could not help herself and laughed wholeheartedly. It seemed there would be no end to this laughter of the three of them.

  “Ah, crazy girls!” Lizaveta Prokofyevna muttered. “First they frighten you, then …”

  But Prince Shch., too, was laughing now, Evgeny Pavlovich was laughing, Kolya was guffawing nonstop, and, looking at them all, the prince also guffawed.

  “Let’s go for a walk, let’s go for a walk!” cried Adelaida. “All of us together, and certainly the prince with us. There’s no need for you to leave, you dear man! What a dear man he is, Aglaya! Isn’t it so, mama? Besides, I must certainly, certainly kiss him and embrace him for … for what he just said to Aglaya. Maman, dear, will you allow me to kiss him? Aglaya, allow me to kiss your prince!” cried the mischievous girl, and she indeed ran over to the prince and kissed him on the forehead. He seized her hands, squeezed them so hard that Adelaida nearly cried out, looked at her with infinite joy, and suddenly brought her hand quickly to his lips and kissed it three times.

  “Let’s go, then!” Aglaya called. “Prince, you’ll escort me. Can he, maman? A suitor who has rejected me? You have rejected me forever, haven’t you, Prince? No, you don’t offer a lady your arm like that, don’t you know how to take a lady’s arm? Like this, come on, we’ll go ahead of them all; do you want to go ahead of them, těte-à-těte?”

  She talked nonstop, still
with bursts of laughter.

  “Thank God! Thank God!” Lizaveta Prokofyevna kept repeating, not knowing herself what she was glad about.

  “Extremely strange people!” thought Prince Shch., maybe for the hundredth time since he had become close with them, but … he liked these strange people. As for the prince, maybe he did not like him so much; Prince Shch. was a bit glum and as if preoccupied as they all went out for a walk.

  Evgeny Pavlovich seemed to be in the merriest spirits; he made Alexandra and Adelaida laugh all the way to the vauxhall, and they laughed somehow especially readily at his jokes, so much so that he began to have a sneaking suspicion that they might not be listening to him at all. At this thought, suddenly and without explaining the reason, he burst at last into extremely and absolutely sincere laughter (such was his character!). The sisters, though they were in a most festive mood, glanced constantly at Aglaya and the prince, who were walking ahead of them; it was clear that their little sister had set them a great riddle. Prince Shch. kept trying to strike up a conversation with Lizaveta Prokofyevna about unrelated things, perhaps in order to distract her, but she found him terribly tiresome. Her thoughts seemed quite scattered, she gave inappropriate answers and sometimes did not answer at all. But Aglaya Ivanovna’s riddles were not yet ended for that evening. The last one fell to the prince’s lot. When they had gone about a hundred steps from the dacha, Aglaya said in a rapid half whisper to her stubbornly silent escort:

  “Look to the right.”