The Idiot

wo days after the strange conclusion to Nastasia Philipovna’s birthday
party, with the record of which we concluded the first part of this
story, Prince Muishkin hurriedly left St. Petersburg for Moscow, in
order to see after some business connected with the receipt of his
unexpected fortune.

It was said that there were other reasons for his hurried departure;
but as to this, and as to his movements in Moscow, and as to his
prolonged absence from St. Petersburg, we are able to give very little
information.

The prince was away for six months, and even those who were most
interested in his destiny were able to pick up very little news about
him all that while. True, certain rumours did reach his friends, but
these were both strange and rare, and each one contradicted the last.

Of course the Epanchin family was much interested in his movements,
though he had not had time to bid them farewell before his departure.
The general, however, had had an opportunity of seeing him once or
twice since the eventful evening, and had spoken very seriously with
him; but though he had seen the prince, as I say, he told his family
nothing about the circumstance. In fact, for a month or so after his
departure it was considered not the thing to mention the prince’s name
in the Epanchin household. Only Mrs. Epanchin, at the commencement of
this period, had announced that she had been “cruelly mistaken in the
prince!” and a day or two after, she had added, evidently alluding to
him, but not mentioning his name, that it was an unalterable
characteristic of hers to be mistaken in people. Then once more, ten
days later, after some passage of arms with one of her daughters, she
had remarked sententiously. “We have had enough of mistakes. I shall be
more careful in future!” However, it was impossible to avoid remarking
that there was some sense of oppression in the household—something
unspoken, but felt; something strained. All the members of the family
wore frowning looks. The general was unusually busy; his family hardly
ever saw him.

As to the girls, nothing was said openly, at all events; and probably
very little in private. They were proud damsels, and were not always
perfectly confidential even among themselves. But they understood each
other thoroughly at the first word on all occasions; very often at the
first glance, so that there was no need of much talking as a rule.

One fact, at least, would have been perfectly plain to an outsider, had
any such person been on the spot; and that was, that the prince had
made a very considerable impression upon the family, in spite of the
fact that he had but once been inside the house, and then only for a
short time. Of course, if analyzed, this impression might have proved
to be nothing more than a feeling of curiosity; but be it what it
might, there it undoubtedly was.

Little by little, the rumours spread about town became lost in a maze
of uncertainty. It was said that some foolish young prince, name
unknown, had suddenly come into possession of a gigantic fortune, and
had married a French ballet dancer. This was contradicted, and the
rumour circulated that it was a young merchant who had come into the
enormous fortune and married the great ballet dancer, and that at the
wedding the drunken young fool had burned seventy thousand roubles at a
candle out of pure bravado.

However, all these rumours soon died down, to which circumstance
certain facts largely contributed. For instance, the whole of the
Rogojin troop had departed, with him at their head, for Moscow. This
was exactly a week after a dreadful orgy at the Ekaterinhof gardens,
where Nastasia Philipovna had been present. It became known that after
this orgy Nastasia Philipovna had entirely disappeared, and that she
had since been traced to Moscow; so that the exodus of the Rogojin band
was found consistent with this report.

There were rumours current as to Gania, too; but circumstances soon
contradicted these. He had fallen seriously ill, and his illness
precluded his appearance in society, and even at business, for over a
month. As soon as he had recovered, however, he threw up his situation
in the public company under General Epanchin’s direction, for some
unknown reason, and the post was given to another. He never went near
the Epanchins’ house at all, and was exceedingly irritable and
depressed.

Varvara Ardalionovna married Ptitsin this winter, and it was said that
the fact of Gania’s retirement from business was the ultimate cause of
the marriage, since Gania was now not only unable to support his
family, but even required help himself.

We may mention that Gania was no longer mentioned in the Epanchin
household any more than the prince was; but that a certain circumstance
in connection with the fatal evening at Nastasia’s house became known
to the general, and, in fact, to all the family the very next day. This
fact was that Gania had come home that night, but had refused to go to
bed. He had awaited the prince’s return from Ekaterinhof with feverish
impatience.

On the latter’s arrival, at six in the morning, Gania had gone to him
in his room, bringing with him the singed packet of money, which he had
insisted that the prince should return to Nastasia Philipovna without
delay. It was said that when Gania entered the prince’s room, he came
with anything but friendly feelings, and in a condition of despair and
misery; but that after a short conversation, he had stayed on for a
couple of hours with him, sobbing continuously and bitterly the whole
time. They had parted upon terms of cordial friendship.

The Epanchins heard about this, as well as about the episode at
Nastasia Philipovna’s. It was strange, perhaps, that the facts should
become so quickly, and fairly accurately, known. As far as Gania was
concerned, it might have been supposed that the news had come through
Varvara Ardalionovna, who had suddenly become a frequent visitor of the
Epanchin girls, greatly to their mother’s surprise. But though Varvara
had seen fit, for some reason, to make friends with them, it was not
likely that she would have talked to them about her brother. She had
plenty of pride, in spite of the fact that in thus acting she was
seeking intimacy with people who had practically shown her brother the
door. She and the Epanchin girls had been acquainted in childhood,
although of late they had met but rarely. Even now Varvara hardly ever
appeared in the drawing-room, but would slip in by a back way.
Lizabetha Prokofievna, who disliked Varvara, although she had a great
respect for her mother, was much annoyed by this sudden intimacy, and
put it down to the general “contrariness” of her daughters, who were
“always on the lookout for some new way of opposing her.” Nevertheless,
Varvara continued her visits.

A month after Muishkin’s departure, Mrs. Epanchin received a letter
from her old friend Princess Bielokonski (who had lately left for
Moscow), which letter put her into the greatest good humour. She did
not divulge its contents either to her daughters or the general, but
her conduct towards the former became affectionate in the extreme. She
even made some sort of confession to them, but they were unable to
understand what it was about. She actually relaxed towards the general
a little—he had been long disgraced—and though she managed to quarrel
with them all the next day, yet she soon came round, and from her
general behaviour it was to be concluded that she had had good news of
some sort, which she would like, but could not make up her mind, to
disclose.

However, a week later she received another letter from the same source,
and at last resolved to speak.

She solemnly announced that she had heard from old Princess
Bielokonski, who had given her most comforting news about “that queer
young prince.” Her friend had hunted him up, and found that all was
going well with him. He had since called in person upon her, making an
extremely favourable impression, for the princess had received him each
day since, and had introduced him into several good houses.

The girls could see that their mother concealed a great deal from them,
and left out large pieces of the letter in reading it to them.

However, the ice was broken, and it suddenly became possible to mention
the prince’s name again. And again it became evident how very strong
was the impression the young man had made in the household by his one
visit there. Mrs. Epanchin was surprised at the effect which the news
from Moscow had upon the girls, and they were no less surprised that
after solemnly remarking that her most striking characteristic was
“being mistaken in people” she should have troubled to obtain for the
prince the favour and protection of so powerful an old lady as the
Princess Bielokonski. As soon as the ice was thus broken, the general
lost no time in showing that he, too, took the greatest interest in the
subject. He admitted that he was interested, but said that it was
merely in the business side of the question. It appeared that, in the
interests of the prince, he had made arrangements in Moscow for a
careful watch to be kept upon the prince’s business affairs, and
especially upon Salaskin. All that had been said as to the prince being
an undoubted heir to a fortune turned out to be perfectly true; but the
fortune proved to be much smaller than was at first reported. The
estate was considerably encumbered with debts; creditors turned up on
all sides, and the prince, in spite of all advice and entreaty,
insisted upon managing all matters of claim himself—which, of course,
meant satisfying everybody all round, although half the claims were
absolutely fraudulent.

Mrs. Epanchin confirmed all this. She said the princess had written to
much the same effect, and added that there was no curing a fool. But it
was plain, from her expression of face, how strongly she approved of
this particular young fool’s doings. In conclusion, the general
observed that his wife took as great an interest in the prince as
though he were her own son; and that she had commenced to be especially
affectionate towards Aglaya was a self-evident fact.

All this caused the general to look grave and important. But, alas!
this agreeable state of affairs very soon changed once more.

A couple of weeks went by, and suddenly the general and his wife were
once more gloomy and silent, and the ice was as firm as ever. The fact
was, the general, who had heard first, how Nastasia Philipovna had fled
to Moscow and had been discovered there by Rogojin; that she had then
disappeared once more, and been found again by Rogojin, and how after
that she had almost promised to marry him, now received news that she
had once more disappeared, almost on the very day fixed for her
wedding, flying somewhere into the interior of Russia this time, and
that Prince Muishkin had left all his affairs in the hands of Salaskin
and disappeared also—but whether he was with Nastasia, or had only set
off in search of her, was unknown.

Lizabetha Prokofievna received confirmatory news from the princess—and
alas, two months after the prince’s first departure from St.
Petersburg, darkness and mystery once more enveloped his whereabouts
and actions, and in the Epanchin family the ice of silence once more
formed over the subject. Varia, however, informed the girls of what had
happened, she having received the news from Ptitsin, who generally knew
more than most people.

To make an end, we may say that there were many changes in the Epanchin
household in the spring, so that it was not difficult to forget the
prince, who sent no news of himself.

The Epanchin family had at last made up their minds to spend the summer
abroad, all except the general, who could not waste time in “travelling
for enjoyment,” of course. This arrangement was brought about by the
persistence of the girls, who insisted that they were never allowed to
go abroad because their parents were too anxious to marry them off.
Perhaps their parents had at last come to the conclusion that husbands
might be found abroad, and that a summer’s travel might bear fruit. The
marriage between Alexandra and Totski had been broken off. Since the
prince’s departure from St. Petersburg no more had been said about it;
the subject had been dropped without ceremony, much to the joy of Mrs.
General, who, announced that she was “ready to cross herself with both
hands” in gratitude for the escape. The general, however, regretted
Totski for a long while. “Such a fortune!” he sighed, “and such a good,
easy-going fellow!”

After a time it became known that Totski had married a French marquise,
and was to be carried off by her to Paris, and then to Brittany.

“Oh, well,” thought the general, “he’s lost to us for good, now.”

So the Epanchins prepared to depart for the summer.

But now another circumstance occurred, which changed all the plans once
more, and again the intended journey was put off, much to the delight
of the general and his spouse.

A certain Prince S—— arrived in St. Petersburg from Moscow, an eminent
and honourable young man. He was one of those active persons who always
find some good work with which to employ themselves. Without forcing
himself upon the public notice, modest and unobtrusive, this young
prince was concerned with much that happened in the world in general.

He had served, at first, in one of the civil departments, had then
attended to matters connected with the local government of provincial
towns, and had of late been a corresponding member of several important
scientific societies. He was a man of excellent family and solid means,
about thirty-five years of age.

Prince S—— made the acquaintance of the general’s family, and Adelaida,
the second girl, made a great impression upon him. Towards the spring
he proposed to her, and she accepted him. The general and his wife were
delighted. The journey abroad was put off, and the wedding was fixed
for a day not very distant.

The trip abroad might have been enjoyed later on by Mrs. Epanchin and
her two remaining daughters, but for another circumstance.

It so happened that Prince S—— introduced a distant relation of his own
into the Epanchin family—one Evgenie Pavlovitch, a young officer of
about twenty-eight years of age, whose conquests among the ladies in
Moscow had been proverbial. This young gentleman no sooner set eyes on
Aglaya than he became a frequent visitor at the house. He was witty,
well-educated, and extremely wealthy, as the general very soon
discovered. His past reputation was the only thing against him.

Nothing was said; there were not even any hints dropped; but still, it
seemed better to the parents to say nothing more about going abroad
this season, at all events. Aglaya herself perhaps was of a different
opinion.

All this happened just before the second appearance of our hero upon
the scene.

By this time, to judge from appearances, poor Prince Muishkin had been
quite forgotten in St. Petersburg. If he had appeared suddenly among
his acquaintances, he would have been received as one from the skies;
but we must just glance at one more fact before we conclude this
preface.

Colia Ivolgin, for some time after the prince’s departure, continued
his old life. That is, he went to school, looked after his father,
helped Varia in the house, and ran her errands, and went frequently to
see his friend, Hippolyte.

The lodgers had disappeared very quickly—Ferdishenko soon after the
events at Nastasia Philipovna’s, while the prince went to Moscow, as we
know. Gania and his mother went to live with Varia and Ptitsin
immediately after the latter’s wedding, while the general was housed in
a debtor’s prison by reason of certain IOU’s given to the captain’s
widow under the impression that they would never be formally used
against him. This unkind action much surprised poor Ardalion
Alexandrovitch, the victim, as he called himself, of an “unbounded
trust in the nobility of the human heart.”

When he signed those notes of hand he never dreamt that they would be a
source of future trouble. The event showed that he was mistaken. “Trust
in anyone after this! Have the least confidence in man or woman!” he
cried in bitter tones, as he sat with his new friends in prison, and
recounted to them his favourite stories of the siege of Kars, and the
resuscitated soldier. On the whole, he accommodated himself very well
to his new position. Ptitsin and Varia declared that he was in the
right place, and Gania was of the same opinion. The only person who
deplored his fate was poor Nina Alexandrovna, who wept bitter tears
over him, to the great surprise of her household, and, though always in
feeble health, made a point of going to see him as often as possible.

Since the general’s “mishap,” as Colia called it, and the marriage of
his sister, the boy had quietly possessed himself of far more freedom.
His relations saw little of him, for he rarely slept at home. He made
many new friends; and was moreover, a frequent visitor at the debtor’s
prison, to which he invariably accompanied his mother. Varia, who used
to be always correcting him, never spoke to him now on the subject of
his frequent absences, and the whole household was surprised to see
Gania, in spite of his depression, on quite friendly terms with his
brother. This was something new, for Gania had been wont to look upon
Colia as a kind of errand-boy, treating him with contempt, threatening
to “pull his ears,” and in general driving him almost wild with
irritation. It seemed now that Gania really needed his brother, and the
latter, for his part, felt as if he could forgive Gania much since he
had returned the hundred thousand roubles offered to him by Nastasia
Philipovna. Three months after the departure of the prince, the Ivolgin
family discovered that Colia had made acquaintance with the Epanchins,
and was on very friendly terms with the daughters. Varia heard of it
first, though Colia had not asked her to introduce him. Little by
little the family grew quite fond of him. Madame Epanchin at first
looked on him with disdain, and received him coldly, but in a short
time he grew to please her, because, as she said, he “was candid and no
flatterer”—a very true description. From the first he put himself on an
equality with his new friends, and though he sometimes read newspapers
and books to the mistress of the house, it was simply because he liked
to be useful.

One day, however, he and Lizabetha Prokofievna quarrelled seriously
about the “woman question,” in the course of a lively discussion on
that burning subject. He told her that she was a tyrant, and that he
would never set foot in her house again. It may seem incredible, but a
day or two after, Madame Epanchin sent a servant with a note begging
him to return, and Colia, without standing on his dignity, did so at
once.

Aglaya was the only one of the family whose good graces he could not
gain, and who always spoke to him haughtily, but it so happened that
the boy one day succeeded in giving the proud maiden a surprise.

It was about Easter, when, taking advantage of a momentary tête-à-tête
Colia handed Aglaya a letter, remarking that he “had orders to deliver
it to her privately.” She stared at him in amazement, but he did not
wait to hear what she had to say, and went out. Aglaya broke the seal,
and read as follows:

“Once you did me the honour of giving me your confidence. Perhaps you
have quite forgotten me now! How is it that I am writing to you? I do
not know; but I am conscious of an irresistible desire to remind you of
my existence, especially you. How many times I have needed all three of
you; but only you have dwelt always in my mind’s eye. I need you—I need
you very much. I will not write about myself. I have nothing to tell
you. But I long for you to be happy. Are you happy? That is all I
wished to say to you—Your brother,

“Pr. L. Muishkin.”

On reading this short and disconnected note, Aglaya suddenly blushed
all over, and became very thoughtful.

It would be difficult to describe her thoughts at that moment. One of
them was, “Shall I show it to anyone?” But she was ashamed to show it.
So she ended by hiding it in her table drawer, with a very strange,
ironical smile upon her lips.

Next day, she took it out, and put it into a large book, as she usually
did with papers which she wanted to be able to find easily. She laughed
when, about a week later, she happened to notice the name of the book,
and saw that it was Don Quixote, but it would be difficult to say
exactly why.

I cannot say, either, whether she showed the letter to her sisters.

But when she had read it herself once more, it suddenly struck her that
surely that conceited boy, Colia, had not been the one chosen
correspondent of the prince all this while. She determined to ask him,
and did so with an exaggerated show of carelessness. He informed her
haughtily that though he had given the prince his permanent address
when the latter left town, and had offered his services, the prince had
never before given him any commission to perform, nor had he written
until the following lines arrived, with Aglaya’s letter. Aglaya took
the note, and read it.

“DEAR COLIA,—Please be so kind as to give the enclosed sealed letter to
Aglaya Ivanovna. Keep well—Ever your loving,

“Pr. L. Muishkin.”

“It seems absurd to trust a little pepper-box like you,” said Aglaya,
as she returned the note, and walked past the “pepper-box” with an
expression of great contempt.

This was more than Colia could bear. He had actually borrowed Gania’s
new green tie for the occasion, without saying why he wanted it, in
order to impress her. He was very deeply mortified.