The Idiot

“ did not expect you, gentlemen,” began the prince. “I have been ill
until to-day. A month ago,” he continued, addressing himself to Antip
Burdovsky, “I put your business into Gavrila Ardalionovitch Ivolgin’s
hands, as I told you then. I do not in the least object to having a
personal interview... but you will agree with me that this is hardly
the time... I propose that we go into another room, if you will not
keep me long... As you see, I have friends here, and believe me...”

“Friends as many as you please, but allow me,” interrupted the harsh
voice of Lebedeff’s nephew—“allow me to tell you that you might have
treated us rather more politely, and not have kept us waiting at least
two hours...

“No doubt... and I... is that acting like a prince? And you... you may
be a general! But I... I am not your valet! And I... I...” stammered
Antip Burdovsky.

He was extremely excited; his lips trembled, and the resentment of an
embittered soul was in his voice. But he spoke so indistinctly that
hardly a dozen words could be gathered.

“It was a princely action!” sneered Hippolyte.

“If anyone had treated me so,” grumbled the boxer.

“I mean to say that if I had been in Burdovsky’s place...I...”

“Gentlemen, I did not know you were there; I have only just been
informed, I assure you,” repeated Muishkin.

“We are not afraid of your friends, prince,” remarked Lebedeff’s
nephew, “for we are within our rights.”

The shrill tones of Hippolyte interrupted him. “What right have you...
by what right do you demand us to submit this matter, about
Burdovsky... to the judgment of your friends? We know only too well
what the judgment of your friends will be!...”

This beginning gave promise of a stormy discussion. The prince was much
discouraged, but at last he managed to make himself heard amid the
vociferations of his excited visitors.

“If you,” he said, addressing Burdovsky—“if you prefer not to speak
here, I offer again to go into another room with you... and as to your
waiting to see me, I repeat that I only this instant heard...”

“Well, you have no right, you have no right, no right at all!... Your
friends indeed!”... gabbled Burdovsky, defiantly examining the faces
round him, and becoming more and more excited. “You have no right!...”
As he ended thus abruptly, he leant forward, staring at the prince with
his short-sighted, bloodshot eyes. The latter was so astonished, that
he did not reply, but looked steadily at him in return.

“Lef Nicolaievitch!” interposed Madame Epanchin, suddenly, “read this
at once, this very moment! It is about this business.”

She held out a weekly comic paper, pointing to an article on one of its
pages. Just as the visitors were coming in, Lebedeff, wishing to
ingratiate himself with the great lady, had pulled this paper from his
pocket, and presented it to her, indicating a few columns marked in
pencil. Lizabetha Prokofievna had had time to read some of it, and was
greatly upset.

“Would it not be better to peruse it alone... later,” asked the prince,
nervously.

“No, no, read it—read it at once directly, and aloud, aloud!” cried
she, calling Colia to her and giving him the journal.—“Read it aloud,
so that everyone may hear it!”

An impetuous woman, Lizabetha Prokofievna sometimes weighed her anchors
and put out to sea quite regardless of the possible storms she might
encounter. Ivan Fedorovitch felt a sudden pang of alarm, but the others
were merely curious, and somewhat surprised. Colia unfolded the paper,
and began to read, in his clear, high-pitched voice, the following
article:

“Proletarians and scions of nobility! An episode of the brigandage of
today and every day! Progress! Reform! Justice!”

“Strange things are going on in our so-called Holy Russia in this age
of reform and great enterprises; this age of patriotism in which
hundreds of millions are yearly sent abroad; in which industry is
encouraged, and the hands of Labour paralyzed, etc.; there is no end to
this, gentlemen, so let us come to the point. A strange thing has
happened to a scion of our defunct aristocracy. (De profundis!) The
grandfathers of these scions ruined themselves at the gaming-tables;
their fathers were forced to serve as officers or subalterns; some have
died just as they were about to be tried for innocent thoughtlessness
in the handling of public funds. Their children are sometimes
congenital idiots, like the hero of our story; sometimes they are found
in the dock at the Assizes, where they are generally acquitted by the
jury for edifying motives; sometimes they distinguish themselves by one
of those burning scandals that amaze the public and add another blot to
the stained record of our age. Six months ago—that is, last winter—this
particular scion returned to Russia, wearing gaiters like a foreigner,
and shivering with cold in an old scantily-lined cloak. He had come
from Switzerland, where he had just undergone a successful course of
treatment for idiocy (sic!). Certainly Fortune favoured him, for,
apart from the interesting malady of which he was cured in Switzerland
(can there be a cure for idiocy?) his story proves the truth of the
Russian proverb that ‘happiness is the right of certain classes!’ Judge
for yourselves. Our subject was an infant in arms when he lost his
father, an officer who died just as he was about to be court-martialled
for gambling away the funds of his company, and perhaps also for
flogging a subordinate to excess (remember the good old days,
gentlemen). The orphan was brought up by the charity of a very rich
Russian landowner. In the good old days, this man, whom we will call
P——, owned four thousand souls as serfs (souls as serfs!—can you
understand such an expression, gentlemen? I cannot; it must be looked
up in a dictionary before one can understand it; these things of a
bygone day are already unintelligible to us). He appears to have been
one of those Russian parasites who lead an idle existence abroad,
spending the summer at some spa, and the winter in Paris, to the
greater profit of the organizers of public balls. It may safely be said
that the manager of the Chateau des Fleurs (lucky man!) pocketed at
least a third of the money paid by Russian peasants to their lords in
the days of serfdom. However this may be, the gay P—— brought up the
orphan like a prince, provided him with tutors and governesses (pretty,
of course!) whom he chose himself in Paris. But the little aristocrat,
the last of his noble race, was an idiot. The governesses, recruited at
the Chateau des Fleurs, laboured in vain; at twenty years of age their
pupil could not speak in any language, not even Russian. But ignorance
of the latter was still excusable. At last P—— was seized with a
strange notion; he imagined that in Switzerland they could change an
idiot into a man of sense. After all, the idea was quite logical; a
parasite and landowner naturally supposed that intelligence was a
marketable commodity like everything else, and that in Switzerland
especially it could be bought for money. The case was entrusted to a
celebrated Swiss professor, and cost thousands of roubles; the
treatment lasted five years. Needless to say, the idiot did not become
intelligent, but it is alleged that he grew into something more or less
resembling a man. At this stage P—— died suddenly, and, as usual, he
had made no will and left his affairs in disorder. A crowd of eager
claimants arose, who cared nothing about any last scion of a noble race
undergoing treatment in Switzerland, at the expense of the deceased, as
a congenital idiot. Idiot though he was, the noble scion tried to cheat
his professor, and they say he succeeded in getting him to continue the
treatment gratis for two years, by concealing the death of his
benefactor. But the professor himself was a charlatan. Getting anxious
at last when no money was forthcoming, and alarmed above all by his
patient’s appetite, he presented him with a pair of old gaiters and a
shabby cloak and packed him off to Russia, third class. It would seem
that Fortune had turned her back upon our hero. Not at all; Fortune,
who lets whole populations die of hunger, showered all her gifts at
once upon the little aristocrat, like Kryloff’s Cloud which passes over
an arid plain and empties itself into the sea. He had scarcely arrived
in St. Petersburg, when a relation of his mother’s (who was of
bourgeois origin, of course), died at Moscow. He was a merchant, an Old
Believer, and he had no children. He left a fortune of several millions
in good current coin, and everything came to our noble scion, our
gaitered baron, formerly treated for idiocy in a Swiss lunatic asylum.
Instantly the scene changed, crowds of friends gathered round our
baron, who meanwhile had lost his head over a celebrated demi-mondaine;
he even discovered some relations; moreover a number of young girls of
high birth burned to be united to him in lawful matrimony. Could anyone
possibly imagine a better match? Aristocrat, millionaire, and idiot, he
has every advantage! One might hunt in vain for his equal, even with
the lantern of Diogenes; his like is not to be had even by getting it
made to order!”

“Oh, I don’t know what this means” cried Ivan Fedorovitch, transported
with indignation.

“Leave off, Colia,” begged the prince. Exclamations arose on all sides.

“Let him go on reading at all costs!” ordered Lizabetha Prokofievna,
evidently preserving her composure by a desperate effort. “Prince, if
the reading is stopped, you and I will quarrel.”

Colia had no choice but to obey. With crimson cheeks he read on
unsteadily:

“But while our young millionaire dwelt as it were in the Empyrean,
something new occurred. One fine morning a man called upon him, calm
and severe of aspect, distinguished, but plainly dressed. Politely, but
in dignified terms, as befitted his errand, he briefly explained the
motive for his visit. He was a lawyer of enlightened views; his client
was a young man who had consulted him in confidence. This young man was
no other than the son of P——, though he bears another name. In his
youth P——, the sensualist, had seduced a young girl, poor but
respectable. She was a serf, but had received a European education.
Finding that a child was expected, he hastened her marriage with a man
of noble character who had loved her for a long time. He helped the
young couple for a time, but he was soon obliged to give up, for the
high-minded husband refused to accept anything from him. Soon the
careless nobleman forgot all about his former mistress and the child
she had borne him; then, as we know, he died intestate. P——’s son, born
after his mother’s marriage, found a true father in the generous man
whose name he bore. But when he also died, the orphan was left to
provide for himself, his mother now being an invalid who had lost the
use of her limbs. Leaving her in a distant province, he came to the
capital in search of pupils. By dint of daily toil he earned enough to
enable him to follow the college courses, and at last to enter the
university. But what can one earn by teaching the children of Russian
merchants at ten copecks a lesson, especially with an invalid mother to
keep? Even her death did not much diminish the hardships of the young
man’s struggle for existence. Now this is the question: how, in the
name of justice, should our scion have argued the case? Our readers
will think, no doubt, that he would say to himself: ‘P—— showered
benefits upon me all my life; he spent tens of thousands of roubles to
educate me, to provide me with governesses, and to keep me under
treatment in Switzerland. Now I am a millionaire, and P——’s son, a
noble young man who is not responsible for the faults of his careless
and forgetful father, is wearing himself out giving ill-paid lessons.
According to justice, all that was done for me ought to have been done
for him. The enormous sums spent upon me were not really mine; they
came to me by an error of blind Fortune, when they ought to have gone
to P——’s son. They should have gone to benefit him, not me, in whom P——
interested himself by a mere caprice, instead of doing his duty as a
father. If I wished to behave nobly, justly, and with delicacy, I ought
to bestow half my fortune upon the son of my benefactor; but as economy
is my favourite virtue, and I know this is not a case in which the law
can intervene, I will not give up half my millions. But it would be too
openly vile, too flagrantly infamous, if I did not at least restore to
P——’s son the tens of thousands of roubles spent in curing my idiocy.
This is simply a case of conscience and of strict justice. Whatever
would have become of me if P—— had not looked after my education, and
had taken care of his own son instead of me?’

“No, gentlemen, our scions of the nobility do not reason thus. The
lawyer, who had taken up the matter purely out of friendship to the
young man, and almost against his will, invoked every consideration of
justice, delicacy, honour, and even plain figures; in vain, the
ex-patient of the Swiss lunatic asylum was inflexible. All this might
pass, but the sequel is absolutely unpardonable, and not to be excused
by any interesting malady. This millionaire, having but just discarded
the old gaiters of his professor, could not even understand that the
noble young man slaving away at his lessons was not asking for
charitable help, but for his rightful due, though the debt was not a
legal one; that, correctly speaking, he was not asking for anything,
but it was merely his friends who had thought fit to bestir themselves
on his behalf. With the cool insolence of a bloated capitalist, secure
in his millions, he majestically drew a banknote for fifty roubles from
his pocket-book and sent it to the noble young man as a humiliating
piece of charity. You can hardly believe it, gentlemen! You are
scandalized and disgusted; you cry out in indignation! But that is what
he did! Needless to say, the money was returned, or rather flung back
in his face. The case is not within the province of the law, it must be
referred to the tribunal of public opinion; this is what we now do,
guaranteeing the truth of all the details which we have related.”

When Colia had finished reading, he handed the paper to the prince, and
retired silently to a corner of the room, hiding his face in his hands.
He was overcome by a feeling of inexpressible shame; his boyish
sensitiveness was wounded beyond endurance. It seemed to him that
something extraordinary, some sudden catastrophe had occurred, and that
he was almost the cause of it, because he had read the article aloud.

Yet all the others were similarly affected. The girls were
uncomfortable and ashamed. Lizabetha Prokofievna restrained her violent
anger by a great effort; perhaps she bitterly regretted her
interference in the matter; for the present she kept silence. The
prince felt as very shy people often do in such a case; he was so
ashamed of the conduct of other people, so humiliated for his guests,
that he dared not look them in the face. Ptitsin, Varia, Gania, and
Lebedeff himself, all looked rather confused. Stranger still, Hippolyte
and the “son of Pavlicheff” also seemed slightly surprised, and
Lebedeff’s nephew was obviously far from pleased. The boxer alone was
perfectly calm; he twisted his moustaches with affected dignity, and if
his eyes were cast down it was certainly not in confusion, but rather
in noble modesty, as if he did not wish to be insolent in his triumph.
It was evident that he was delighted with the article.

“The devil knows what it means,” growled Ivan Fedorovitch, under his
breath; “it must have taken the united wits of fifty footmen to write
it.”

“May I ask your reason for such an insulting supposition, sir?” said
Hippolyte, trembling with rage.

“You will admit yourself, general, that for an honourable man, if the
author is an honourable man, that is an—an insult,” growled the boxer
suddenly, with convulsive jerkings of his shoulders.

“In the first place, it is not for you to address me as ‘sir,’ and, in
the second place, I refuse to give you any explanation,” said Ivan
Fedorovitch vehemently; and he rose without another word, and went and
stood on the first step of the flight that led from the verandah to the
street, turning his back on the company. He was indignant with
Lizabetha Prokofievna, who did not think of moving even now.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, let me speak at last,” cried the prince, anxious
and agitated. “Please let us understand one another. I say nothing
about the article, gentlemen, except that every word is false; I say
this because you know it as well as I do. It is shameful. I should be
surprised if any one of you could have written it.”

“I did not know of its existence till this moment,” declared Hippolyte.
“I do not approve of it.”

“I knew it had been written, but I would not have advised its
publication,” said Lebedeff’s nephew, “because it is premature.”

“I knew it, but I have a right. I... I...” stammered the “son of
Pavlicheff.”

“What! Did you write all that yourself? Is it possible?” asked the
prince, regarding Burdovsky with curiosity.

“One might dispute your right to ask such questions,” observed
Lebedeff’s nephew.

“I was only surprised that Mr. Burdovsky should have—however, this is
what I have to say. Since you had already given the matter publicity,
why did you object just now, when I began to speak of it to my
friends?”

“At last!” murmured Lizabetha Prokofievna indignantly.

Lebedeff could restrain himself no longer; he made his way through the
row of chairs.

“Prince,” he cried, “you are forgetting that if you consented to
receive and hear them, it was only because of your kind heart which has
no equal, for they had not the least right to demand it, especially as
you had placed the matter in the hands of Gavrila Ardalionovitch, which
was also extremely kind of you. You are also forgetting, most excellent
prince, that you are with friends, a select company; you cannot
sacrifice them to these gentlemen, and it is only for you to have them
turned out this instant. As the master of the house I shall have great
pleasure ....”

“Quite right!” agreed General Ivolgin in a loud voice.

“That will do, Lebedeff, that will do—” began the prince, when an
indignant outcry drowned his words.

“Excuse me, prince, excuse me, but now that will not do,” shouted
Lebedeff’s nephew, his voice dominating all the others. “The matter
must be clearly stated, for it is obviously not properly understood.
They are calling in some legal chicanery, and upon that ground they are
threatening to turn us out of the house! Really, prince, do you think
we are such fools as not to be aware that this matter does not come
within the law, and that legally we cannot claim a rouble from you? But
we are also aware that if actual law is not on our side, human law is
for us, natural law, the law of common-sense and conscience, which is
no less binding upon every noble and honest man—that is, every man of
sane judgment—because it is not to be found in miserable legal codes.
If we come here without fear of being turned out (as was threatened
just now) because of the imperative tone of our demand, and the
unseemliness of such a visit at this late hour (though it was not late
when we arrived, we were kept waiting in your anteroom), if, I say, we
came in without fear, it is just because we expected to find you a man
of sense; I mean, a man of honour and conscience. It is quite true that
we did not present ourselves humbly, like your flatterers and
parasites, but holding up our heads as befits independent men. We
present no petition, but a proud and free demand (note it well, we do
not beseech, we demand!). We ask you fairly and squarely in a dignified
manner. Do you believe that in this affair of Burdovsky you have right
on your side? Do you admit that Pavlicheff overwhelmed you with
benefits, and perhaps saved your life? If you admit it (which we take
for granted), do you intend, now that you are a millionaire, and do you
not think it in conformity with justice, to indemnify Burdovsky? Yes or
no? If it is yes, or, in other words, if you possess what you call
honour and conscience, and we more justly call common-sense, then
accede to our demand, and the matter is at an end. Give us
satisfaction, without entreaties or thanks from us; do not expect
thanks from us, for what you do will be done not for our sake, but for
the sake of justice. If you refuse to satisfy us, that is, if your
answer is no, we will go away at once, and there will be an end of the
matter. But we will tell you to your face before the present company
that you are a man of vulgar and undeveloped mind; we will openly deny
you the right to speak in future of your honour and conscience, for you
have not paid the fair price of such a right. I have no more to say—I
have put the question before you. Now turn us out if you dare. You can
do it; force is on your side. But remember that we do not beseech, we
demand! We do not beseech, we demand!”

With these last excited words, Lebedeff’s nephew was silent.

“We demand, we demand, we demand, we do not beseech,” spluttered
Burdovsky, red as a lobster.

The speech of Lebedeff’s nephew caused a certain stir among the
company; murmurs arose, though with the exception of Lebedeff, who was
still very much excited, everyone was careful not to interfere in the
matter. Strangely enough, Lebedeff, although on the prince’s side,
seemed quite proud of his nephew’s eloquence. Gratified vanity was
visible in the glances he cast upon the assembled company.

“In my opinion, Mr. Doktorenko,” said the prince, in rather a low
voice, “you are quite right in at least half of what you say. I would
go further and say that you are altogether right, and that I quite
agree with you, if there were not something lacking in your speech. I
cannot undertake to say precisely what it is, but you have certainly
omitted something, and you cannot be quite just while there is
something lacking. But let us put that aside and return to the point.
Tell me what induced you to publish this article. Every word of it is a
calumny, and I think, gentlemen, that you have been guilty of a mean
action.”

“Allow me—”

“Sir—”

“What? What? What?” cried all the visitors at once, in violent
agitation.

“As to the article,” said Hippolyte in his croaking voice, “I have told
you already that we none of us approve of it! There is the writer,” he
added, pointing to the boxer, who sat beside him. “I quite admit that
he has written it in his old regimental manner, with an equal disregard
for style and decency. I know he is a cross between a fool and an
adventurer; I make no bones about telling him so to his face every day.
But after all he is half justified; publicity is the lawful right of
every man; consequently, Burdovsky is not excepted. Let him answer for
his own blunders. As to the objection which I made just now in the name
of all, to the presence of your friends, I think I ought to explain,
gentlemen, that I only did so to assert our rights, though we really
wished to have witnesses; we had agreed unanimously upon the point
before we came in. We do not care who your witnesses may be, or whether
they are your friends or not. As they cannot fail to recognize
Burdovsky’s right (seeing that it is mathematically demonstrable), it
is just as well that the witnesses should be your friends. The truth
will only be more plainly evident.”

“It is quite true; we had agreed upon that point,” said Lebedeff’s
nephew, in confirmation.

“If that is the case, why did you begin by making such a fuss about
it?” asked the astonished prince.

The boxer was dying to get in a few words; owing, no doubt, to the
presence of the ladies, he was becoming quite jovial.

“As to the article, prince,” he said, “I admit that I wrote it, in
spite of the severe criticism of my poor friend, in whom I always
overlook many things because of his unfortunate state of health. But I
wrote and published it in the form of a letter, in the paper of a
friend. I showed it to no one but Burdovsky, and I did not read it all
through, even to him. He immediately gave me permission to publish it,
but you will admit that I might have done so without his consent.
Publicity is a noble, beneficent, and universal right. I hope, prince,
that you are too progressive to deny this?”

“I deny nothing, but you must confess that your article—”

“Is a bit thick, you mean? Well, in a way that is in the public
interest; you will admit that yourself, and after all one cannot
overlook a blatant fact. So much the worse for the guilty parties, but
the public welfare must come before everything. As to certain
inaccuracies and figures of speech, so to speak, you will also admit
that the motive, aim, and intention, are the chief thing. It is a
question, above all, of making a wholesome example; the individual case
can be examined afterwards; and as to the style—well, the thing was
meant to be humorous, so to speak, and, after all, everybody writes
like that; you must admit it yourself! Ha, ha!”

“But, gentlemen, I assure you that you are quite astray,” exclaimed the
prince. “You have published this article upon the supposition that I
would never consent to satisfy Mr. Burdovsky. Acting on that
conviction, you have tried to intimidate me by this publication and to
be revenged for my supposed refusal. But what did you know of my
intentions? It may be that I have resolved to satisfy Mr. Burdovsky’s
claim. I now declare openly, in the presence of these witnesses, that I
will do so.”

“The noble and intelligent word of an intelligent and most noble man,
at last!” exclaimed the boxer.

“Good God!” exclaimed Lizabetha Prokofievna involuntarily.

“This is intolerable,” growled the general.

“Allow me, gentlemen, allow me,” urged the prince.

“I will explain matters to you. Five weeks ago I received a visit from
Tchebaroff, your agent, Mr. Burdovsky. You have given a very flattering
description of him in your article, Mr. Keller,” he continued, turning
to the boxer with a smile, “but he did not please me at all. I saw at
once that Tchebaroff was the moving spirit in the matter, and, to speak
frankly, I thought he might have induced you, Mr. Burdovsky, to make
this claim, by taking advantage of your simplicity.”

“You have no right.... I am not simple,” stammered Burdovsky, much
agitated.

“You have no sort of right to suppose such things,” said Lebedeff’s
nephew in a tone of authority.

“It is most offensive!” shrieked Hippolyte; “it is an insulting
suggestion, false, and most ill-timed.”

“I beg your pardon, gentlemen; please excuse me,” said the prince. “I
thought absolute frankness on both sides would be best, but have it
your own way. I told Tchebaroff that, as I was not in Petersburg, I
would commission a friend to look into the matter without delay, and
that I would let you know, Mr. Burdovsky. Gentlemen, I have no
hesitation in telling you that it was the fact of Tchebaroff’s
intervention that made me suspect a fraud. Oh! do not take offence at
my words, gentlemen, for Heaven’s sake do not be so touchy!” cried the
prince, seeing that Burdovsky was getting excited again, and that the
rest were preparing to protest. “If I say I suspected a fraud, there is
nothing personal in that. I had never seen any of you then; I did not
even know your names; I only judged by Tchebaroff; I am speaking quite
generally—if you only knew how I have been ‘done’ since I came into my
fortune!”

“You are shockingly naive, prince,” said Lebedeff’s nephew in mocking
tones.

“Besides, though you are a prince and a millionaire, and even though
you may really be simple and good-hearted, you can hardly be outside
the general law,” Hippolyte declared loudly.

“Perhaps not; it is very possible,” the prince agreed hastily, “though
I do not know what general law you allude to. I will go on—only please
do not take offence without good cause. I assure you I do not mean to
offend you in the least. Really, it is impossible to speak three words
sincerely without your flying into a rage! At first I was amazed when
Tchebaroff told me that Pavlicheff had a son, and that he was in such a
miserable position. Pavlicheff was my benefactor, and my father’s
friend. Oh, Mr. Keller, why does your article impute things to my
father without the slightest foundation? He never squandered the funds
of his company nor ill-treated his subordinates, I am absolutely
certain of it; I cannot imagine how you could bring yourself to write
such a calumny! But your assertions concerning Pavlicheff are
absolutely intolerable! You do not scruple to make a libertine of that
noble man; you call him a sensualist as coolly as if you were speaking
the truth, and yet it would not be possible to find a chaster man. He
was even a scholar of note, and in correspondence with several
celebrated scientists, and spent large sums in the interests of
science. As to his kind heart and his good actions, you were right
indeed when you said that I was almost an idiot at that time, and could
hardly understand anything—(I could speak and understand Russian,
though),—but now I can appreciate what I remember—”

“Excuse me,” interrupted Hippolyte, “is not this rather sentimental?
You said you wished to come to the point; please remember that it is
after nine o’clock.”

“Very well, gentlemen—very well,” replied the prince. “At first I
received the news with mistrust, then I said to myself that I might be
mistaken, and that Pavlicheff might possibly have had a son. But I was
absolutely amazed at the readiness with which the son had revealed the
secret of his birth at the expense of his mother’s honour. For
Tchebaroff had already menaced me with publicity in our interview....”

“What nonsense!” Lebedeff’s nephew interrupted violently.

“You have no right—you have no right!” cried Burdovsky.

“The son is not responsible for the misdeeds of his father; and the
mother is not to blame,” added Hippolyte, with warmth.

“That seems to me all the more reason for sparing her,” said the prince
timidly.

“Prince, you are not only simple, but your simplicity is almost past
the limit,” said Lebedeff’s nephew, with a sarcastic smile.

“But what right had you?” said Hippolyte in a very strange tone.

“None—none whatever,” agreed the prince hastily. “I admit you are right
there, but it was involuntary, and I immediately said to myself that my
personal feelings had nothing to do with it,—that if I thought it right
to satisfy the demands of Mr. Burdovsky, out of respect for the memory
of Pavlicheff, I ought to do so in any case, whether I esteemed Mr.
Burdovsky or not. I only mentioned this, gentlemen, because it seemed
so unnatural to me for a son to betray his mother’s secret in such a
way. In short, that is what convinced me that Tchebaroff must be a
rogue, and that he had induced Mr. Burdovsky to attempt this fraud.”

“But this is intolerable!” cried the visitors, some of them starting to
their feet.

“Gentlemen, I supposed from this that poor Mr. Burdovsky must be a
simple-minded man, quite defenceless, and an easy tool in the hands of
rogues. That is why I thought it my duty to try and help him as
‘Pavlicheff’s son’; in the first place by rescuing him from the
influence of Tchebaroff, and secondly by making myself his friend. I
have resolved to give him ten thousand roubles; that is about the sum
which I calculate that Pavlicheff must have spent on me.”

“What, only ten thousand!” cried Hippolyte.

“Well, prince, your arithmetic is not up to much, or else you are
mighty clever at it, though you affect the air of a simpleton,” said
Lebedeff’s nephew.

“I will not accept ten thousand roubles,” said Burdovsky.

“Accept, Antip,” whispered the boxer eagerly, leaning past the back of
Hippolyte’s chair to give his friend this piece of advice. “Take it for
the present; we can see about more later on.”

“Look here, Mr. Muishkin,” shouted Hippolyte, “please understand that
we are not fools, nor idiots, as your guests seem to imagine; these
ladies who look upon us with such scorn, and especially this fine
gentleman” (pointing to Evgenie Pavlovitch) “whom I have not the honour
of knowing, though I think I have heard some talk about him—”

“Really, really, gentlemen,” cried the prince in great agitation, “you
are misunderstanding me again. In the first place, Mr. Keller, you have
greatly overestimated my fortune in your article. I am far from being a
millionaire. I have barely a tenth of what you suppose. Secondly, my
treatment in Switzerland was very far from costing tens of thousands of
roubles. Schneider received six hundred roubles a year, and he was only
paid for the first three years. As to the pretty governesses whom
Pavlicheff is supposed to have brought from Paris, they only exist in
Mr. Keller’s imagination; it is another calumny. According to my
calculations, the sum spent on me was very considerably under ten
thousand roubles, but I decided on that sum, and you must admit that in
paying a debt I could not offer Mr. Burdovsky more, however kindly
disposed I might be towards him; delicacy forbids it; I should seem to
be offering him charity instead of rightful payment. I don’t know how
you cannot see that, gentlemen! Besides, I had no intention of leaving
the matter there. I meant to intervene amicably later on and help to
improve poor Mr. Burdovsky’s position. It is clear that he has been
deceived, or he would never have agreed to anything so vile as the
scandalous revelations about his mother in Mr. Keller’s article. But,
gentlemen, why are you getting angry again? Are we never to come to an
understanding? Well, the event has proved me right! I have just seen
with my own eyes the proof that my conjecture was correct!” he added,
with increasing eagerness.

He meant to calm his hearers, and did not perceive that his words had
only increased their irritation.

“What do you mean? What are you convinced of?” they demanded angrily.

“In the first place, I have had the opportunity of getting a correct
idea of Mr. Burdovsky. I see what he is for myself. He is an innocent
man, deceived by everyone! A defenceless victim, who deserves
indulgence! Secondly, Gavrila Ardalionovitch, in whose hands I had
placed the matter, had his first interview with me barely an hour ago.
I had not heard from him for some time, as I was away, and have been
ill for three days since my return to St. Petersburg. He tells me that
he has exposed the designs of Tchebaroff and has proof that justifies
my opinion of him. I know, gentlemen, that many people think me an
idiot. Counting upon my reputation as a man whose purse-strings are
easily loosened, Tchebaroff thought it would be a simple matter to
fleece me, especially by trading on my gratitude to Pavlicheff. But the
main point is—listen, gentlemen, let me finish!—the main point is that
Mr. Burdovsky is not Pavlicheff’s son at all. Gavrila Ardalionovitch
has just told me of his discovery, and assures me that he has positive
proofs. Well, what do you think of that? It is scarcely credible, even
after all the tricks that have been played upon me. Please note that we
have positive proofs! I can hardly believe it myself, I assure you; I
do not yet believe it; I am still doubtful, because Gavrila
Ardalionovitch has not had time to go into details; but there can be no
further doubt that Tchebaroff is a rogue! He has deceived poor Mr.
Burdovsky, and all of you, gentlemen, who have come forward so nobly to
support your friend—(he evidently needs support, I quite see that!). He
has abused your credulity and involved you all in an attempted fraud,
for when all is said and done this claim is nothing else!”

“What! a fraud? What, he is not Pavlicheff’s son? Impossible!”

These exclamations but feebly expressed the profound bewilderment into
which the prince’s words had plunged Burdovsky’s companions.

“Certainly it is a fraud! Since Mr. Burdovsky is not Pavlicheff’s son,
his claim is neither more nor less than attempted fraud (supposing, of
course, that he had known the truth), but the fact is that he has been
deceived. I insist on this point in order to justify him; I repeat that
his simple-mindedness makes him worthy of pity, and that he cannot
stand alone; otherwise he would have behaved like a scoundrel in this
matter. But I feel certain that he does not understand it! I was just
the same myself before I went to Switzerland; I stammered incoherently;
one tries to express oneself and cannot. I understand that. I am all
the better able to pity Mr. Burdovsky, because I know from experience
what it is to be like that, and so I have a right to speak. Well,
though there is no such person as ‘Pavlicheff’s son,’ and it is all
nothing but a humbug, yet I will keep to my decision, and I am prepared
to give up ten thousand roubles in memory of Pavlicheff. Before Mr.
Burdovsky made this claim, I proposed to found a school with this
money, in memory of my benefactor, but I shall honour his memory quite
as well by giving the ten thousand roubles to Mr. Burdovsky, because,
though he was not Pavlicheff’s son, he was treated almost as though he
were. That is what gave a rogue the opportunity of deceiving him; he
really did think himself Pavlicheff’s son. Listen, gentlemen; this
matter must be settled; keep calm; do not get angry; and sit down!
Gavrila Ardalionovitch will explain everything to you at once, and I
confess that I am very anxious to hear all the details myself. He says
that he has even been to Pskoff to see your mother, Mr. Burdovsky; she
is not dead, as the article which was just read to us makes out. Sit
down, gentlemen, sit down!”

The prince sat down, and at length prevailed upon Burdovsky’s company
to do likewise. During the last ten or twenty minutes, exasperated by
continual interruptions, he had raised his voice, and spoken with great
vehemence. Now, no doubt, he bitterly regretted several words and
expressions which had escaped him in his excitement. If he had not been
driven beyond the limits of endurance, he would not have ventured to
express certain conjectures so openly. He had no sooner sat down than
his heart was torn by sharp remorse. Besides insulting Burdovsky with
the supposition, made in the presence of witnesses, that he was
suffering from the complaint for which he had himself been treated in
Switzerland, he reproached himself with the grossest indelicacy in
having offered him the ten thousand roubles before everyone. “I ought
to have waited till to-morrow and offered him the money when we were
alone,” thought Muishkin. “Now it is too late, the mischief is done!
Yes, I am an idiot, an absolute idiot!” he said to himself, overcome
with shame and regret.

Till then Gavrila Ardalionovitch had sat apart in silence. When the
prince called upon him, he came and stood by his side, and in a calm,
clear voice began to render an account of the mission confided to him.
All conversation ceased instantly. Everyone, especially the Burdovsky
party, listened with the utmost curiosity.