The Idiot

hen the widow hurried away to Pavlofsk, she went straight to Daria
Alexeyevna’s house, and telling all she knew, threw her into a state of
great alarm. Both ladies decided to communicate at once with Lebedeff,
who, as the friend and landlord of the prince, was also much agitated.
Vera Lebedeff told all she knew, and by Lebedeff’s advice it was
decided that all three should go to Petersburg as quickly as possible,
in order to avert “what might so easily happen.”

This is how it came about that at eleven o’clock next morning Rogojin’s
flat was opened by the police in the presence of Lebedeff, the two
ladies, and Rogojin’s own brother, who lived in the wing.

The evidence of the porter went further than anything else towards the
success of Lebedeff in gaining the assistance of the police. He
declared that he had seen Rogojin return to the house last night,
accompanied by a friend, and that both had gone upstairs very secretly
and cautiously. After this there was no hesitation about breaking open
the door, since it could not be got open in any other way.

Rogojin suffered from brain fever for two months. When he recovered
from the attack he was at once brought up on trial for murder.

He gave full, satisfactory, and direct evidence on every point; and the
prince’s name was, thanks to this, not brought into the proceedings.
Rogojin was very quiet during the progress of the trial. He did not
contradict his clever and eloquent counsel, who argued that the brain
fever, or inflammation of the brain, was the cause of the crime;
clearly proving that this malady had existed long before the murder was
perpetrated, and had been brought on by the sufferings of the accused.

But Rogojin added no words of his own in confirmation of this view, and
as before, he recounted with marvellous exactness the details of his
crime. He was convicted, but with extenuating circumstances, and
condemned to hard labour in Siberia for fifteen years. He heard his
sentence grimly, silently, and thoughtfully. His colossal fortune, with
the exception of the comparatively small portion wasted in the first
wanton period of his inheritance, went to his brother, to the great
satisfaction of the latter.

The old lady, Rogojin’s mother, is still alive, and remembers her
favourite son Parfen sometimes, but not clearly. God spared her the
knowledge of this dreadful calamity which had overtaken her house.

Lebedeff, Keller, Gania, Ptitsin, and many other friends of ours
continue to live as before. There is scarcely any change in them, so
that there is no need to tell of their subsequent doings.

Hippolyte died in great agitation, and rather sooner than he expected,
about a fortnight after Nastasia Philipovna’s death. Colia was much
affected by these events, and drew nearer to his mother in heart and
sympathy. Nina Alexandrovna is anxious, because he is “thoughtful
beyond his years,” but he will, we think, make a useful and active man.

The prince’s further fate was more or less decided by Colia, who
selected, out of all the persons he had met during the last six or
seven months, Evgenie Pavlovitch, as friend and confidant. To him he
made over all that he knew as to the events above recorded, and as to
the present condition of the prince. He was not far wrong in his
choice. Evgenie Pavlovitch took the deepest interest in the fate of the
unfortunate “idiot,” and, thanks to his influence, the prince found
himself once more with Dr. Schneider, in Switzerland.

Evgenie Pavlovitch, who went abroad at this time, intending to live a
long while on the continent, being, as he often said, quite superfluous
in Russia, visits his sick friend at Schneider’s every few months.

But Dr. Schneider frowns ever more and more and shakes his head; he
hints that the brain is fatally injured; he does not as yet declare
that his patient is incurable, but he allows himself to express the
gravest fears.

Evgenie takes this much to heart, and he has a heart, as is proved by
the fact that he receives and even answers letters from Colia. But
besides this, another trait in his character has become apparent, and
as it is a good trait we will make haste to reveal it. After each visit
to Schneider’s establishment, Evgenie Pavlovitch writes another letter,
besides that to Colia, giving the most minute particulars concerning
the invalid’s condition. In these letters is to be detected, and in
each one more than the last, a growing feeling of friendship and
sympathy.

The individual who corresponds thus with Evgenie Pavlovitch, and who
engages so much of his attention and respect, is Vera Lebedeff. We have
never been able to discover clearly how such relations sprang up. Of
course the root of them was in the events which we have already
recorded, and which so filled Vera with grief on the prince’s account
that she fell seriously ill. But exactly how the acquaintance and
friendship came about, we cannot say.

We have spoken of these letters chiefly because in them is often to be
found some news of the Epanchin family, and of Aglaya in particular.
Evgenie Pavlovitch wrote of her from Paris, that after a short and
sudden attachment to a certain Polish count, an exile, she had suddenly
married him, quite against the wishes of her parents, though they had
eventually given their consent through fear of a terrible scandal.
Then, after a six months’ silence, Evgenie Pavlovitch informed his
correspondent, in a long letter, full of detail, that while paying his
last visit to Dr. Schneider’s establishment, he had there come across
the whole Epanchin family (excepting the general, who had remained in
St. Petersburg) and Prince S. The meeting was a strange one. They all
received Evgenie Pavlovitch with effusive delight; Adelaida and
Alexandra were deeply grateful to him for his “angelic kindness to the
unhappy prince.”

Lizabetha Prokofievna, when she saw poor Muishkin, in his enfeebled and
humiliated condition, had wept bitterly. Apparently all was forgiven
him.

Prince S. had made a few just and sensible remarks. It seemed to
Evgenie Pavlovitch that there was not yet perfect harmony between
Adelaida and her fiance, but he thought that in time the impulsive
young girl would let herself be guided by his reason and experience.
Besides, the recent events that had befallen her family had given
Adelaida much to think about, especially the sad experiences of her
younger sister. Within six months, everything that the family had
dreaded from the marriage with the Polish count had come to pass. He
turned out to be neither count nor exile—at least, in the political
sense of the word—but had had to leave his native land owing to some
rather dubious affair of the past. It was his noble patriotism, of
which he made a great display, that had rendered him so interesting in
Aglaya’s eyes. She was so fascinated that, even before marrying him,
she joined a committee that had been organized abroad to work for the
restoration of Poland; and further, she visited the confessional of a
celebrated Jesuit priest, who made an absolute fanatic of her. The
supposed fortune of the count had dwindled to a mere nothing, although
he had given almost irrefutable evidence of its existence to Lizabetha
Prokofievna and Prince S.

Besides this, before they had been married half a year, the count and
his friend the priest managed to bring about a quarrel between Aglaya
and her family, so that it was now several months since they had seen
her. In a word, there was a great deal to say; but Mrs. Epanchin, and
her daughters, and even Prince S., were still so much distressed by
Aglaya’s latest infatuations and adventures, that they did not care to
talk of them, though they must have known that Evgenie knew much of the
story already.

Poor Lizabetha Prokofievna was most anxious to get home, and, according
to Evgenie’s account, she criticized everything foreign with much
hostility.

“They can’t bake bread anywhere, decently; and they all freeze in their
houses, during winter, like a lot of mice in a cellar. At all events,
I’ve had a good Russian cry over this poor fellow,” she added, pointing
to the prince, who had not recognized her in the slightest degree. “So
enough of this nonsense; it’s time we faced the truth. All this
continental life, all this Europe of yours, and all the trash about
‘going abroad’ is simply foolery, and it is mere foolery on our part to
come. Remember what I say, my friend; you’ll live to agree with me
yourself.”

So spoke the good lady, almost angrily, as she took leave of Evgenie
Pavlovitch.