PART I
I.
Towards the end of November, during a thaw, at nine o’clock one
morning, a train on the Warsaw and Petersburg railway was approaching the
latter city at full speed. The morning was so damp and misty that it was
only with great difficulty that the day succeeded in breaking; and it was
impossible to distinguish anything more than a few yards away from the
carriage windows.
Some of the passengers by this particular train were returning from
abroad; but the third-class carriages were the best filled, chiefly with
insignificant persons of various occupations and degrees, picked up at the
different stations nearer town. All of them seemed weary, and most of them
had sleepy eyes and a shivering expression, while their complexions
generally appeared to have taken on the colour of the fog outside.
When day dawned, two passengers in one of the third-class carriages
found themselves opposite each other. Both were young fellows, both were
rather poorly dressed, both had remarkable faces, and both were evidently
anxious to start a conversation. If they had but known why, at this particular
moment, they were both remarkable persons, they would undoubtedly have
wondered at the strange chance which had set them down opposite to one
another in a third-class carriage of the Warsaw Railway Company.
One of them was a young fellow of about twenty-seven, not tall, with
black curling hair, and small, grey, fiery eyes. His nose was broad and flat,
and he had high cheek bones; his thin lips were constantly compressed into
an impudent, ironical—it might almost be called a malicious—smile; but
his forehead was high and well formed, and atoned for a good deal of the
ugliness of the lower part of his face. A special feature of this physiognomy
was its death-like pallor, which gave to the whole man an indescribably
emaciated appearance in spite of his hard look, and at the same time a sort
of passionate and suffering expression which did not harmonize with his
impudent, sarcastic smile and keen, self-satisfied bearing. He wore a large
fur—or rather astrachan—overcoat, which had kept him warm all night,
while his neighbour had been obliged to bear the full severity of a Russian
November night entirely unprepared. His wide sleeveless mantle with a
large cape to it—the sort of cloak one sees upon travellers during the winter
months in Switzerland or North Italy—was by no means adapted to the long
cold journey through Russia, from Eydkuhnen to St. Petersburg.
The wearer of this cloak was a young fellow, also of about twenty-six or
twenty-seven years of age, slightly above the middle height, very fair, with
a thin, pointed and very light coloured beard; his eyes were large and blue,
and had an intent look about them, yet that heavy expression which some
people affirm to be a peculiarity as well as evidence, of an epileptic subject.
His face was decidedly a pleasant one for all that; refined, but quite
colourless, except for the circumstance that at this moment it was blue with
cold. He held a bundle made up of an old faded silk handkerchief that
apparently contained all his travelling wardrobe, and wore thick shoes and
gaiters, his whole appearance being very un-Russian.
His black-haired neighbour inspected these peculiarities, having nothing
better to do, and at length remarked, with that rude enjoyment of the
discomforts of others which the common classes so often show:
“Cold?”
“Very,” said his neighbour, readily, “and this is a thaw, too. Fancy if it
had been a hard frost! I never thought it would be so cold in the old country.
I’ve grown quite out of the way of it.”
“What, been abroad, I suppose?”
“Yes, straight from Switzerland.”
“Wheugh! my goodness!” The black-haired young fellow whistled, and
then laughed.
The conversation proceeded. The readiness of the fair-haired young man
in the cloak to answer all his opposite neighbour’s questions was surprising.
He seemed to have no suspicion of any impertinence or inappropriateness in
the fact of such questions being put to him. Replying to them, he made
known to the inquirer that he certainly had been long absent from Russia,
more than four years; that he had been sent abroad for his health; that he
had suffered from some strange nervous malady—a kind of epilepsy, with
convulsive spasms. His interlocutor burst out laughing several times at his
answers; and more than ever, when to the question, “whether he had been
cured?” the patient replied:
“No, they did not cure me.”
“Hey! that’s it! You stumped up your money for nothing, and we believe
in those fellows, here!” remarked the black-haired individual, sarcastically.
“Gospel truth, sir, Gospel truth!” exclaimed another passenger, a shabbily
dressed man of about forty, who looked like a clerk, and possessed a red
nose and a very blotchy face. “Gospel truth! All they do is to get hold of our
good Russian money free, gratis, and for nothing.”
“Oh, but you’re quite wrong in my particular instance,” said the Swiss
patient, quietly. “Of course I can’t argue the matter, because I know only
my own case; but my doctor gave me money—and he had very little—to
pay my journey back, besides having kept me at his own expense, while
there, for nearly two years.”
“Why? Was there no one else to pay for you?” asked the black-haired
one.
“No—Mr. Pavlicheff, who had been supporting me there, died a couple
of years ago. I wrote to Mrs. General Epanchin at the time (she is a distant
relative of mine), but she did not answer my letter. And so eventually I
came back.”
“And where have you come to?”
“That is—where am I going to stay? I—I really don’t quite know yet, I
—”
Both the listeners laughed again.
“I suppose your whole set-up is in that bundle, then?” asked the first.
“I bet anything it is!” exclaimed the red-nosed passenger, with extreme
satisfaction, “and that he has precious little in the luggage van!—though of
course poverty is no crime—we must remember that!”
It appeared that it was indeed as they had surmised. The young fellow
hastened to admit the fact with wonderful readiness.
“Your bundle has some importance, however,” continued the clerk, when
they had laughed their fill (it was observable that the subject of their mirth
joined in the laughter when he saw them laughing); “for though I dare say it
is not stuffed full of friedrichs d’or and louis d’or—judge from your
costume and gaiters—still—if you can add to your possessions such a
valuable property as a relation like Mrs. General Epanchin, then your
bundle becomes a significant object at once. That is, of course, if you really
are a relative of Mrs. Epanchin’s, and have not made a little error through—
well, absence of mind, which is very common to human beings; or, say—
through a too luxuriant fancy?”
“Oh, you are right again,” said the fair-haired traveller, “for I really am
almost wrong when I say she and I are related. She is hardly a relation at
all; so little, in fact, that I was not in the least surprised to have no answer to
my letter. I expected as much.”
“H’m! you spent your postage for nothing, then. H’m! you are candid,
however—and that is commendable. H’m! Mrs. Epanchin—oh yes! a most
eminent person. I know her. As for Mr. Pavlicheff, who supported you in
Switzerland, I know him too—at least, if it was Nicolai Andreevitch of that
name? A fine fellow he was—and had a property of four thousand souls in
his day.”
“Yes, Nicolai Andreevitch—that was his name,” and the young fellow
looked earnestly and with curiosity at the all-knowing gentleman with the
red nose.
This sort of character is met with pretty frequently in a certain class.
They are people who know everyone—that is, they know where a man is
employed, what his salary is, whom he knows, whom he married, what
money his wife had, who are his cousins, and second cousins, etc., etc.
These men generally have about a hundred pounds a year to live on, and
they spend their whole time and talents in the amassing of this style of
knowledge, which they reduce—or raise—to the standard of a science.
During the latter part of the conversation the black-haired young man had
become very impatient. He stared out of the window, and fidgeted, and
evidently longed for the end of the journey. He was very absent; he would
appear to listen—and heard nothing; and he would laugh of a sudden,
evidently with no idea of what he was laughing about.
“Excuse me,” said the red-nosed man to the young fellow with the
bundle, rather suddenly; “whom have I the honour to be talking to?”
“Prince Lef Nicolaievitch Muishkin,” replied the latter, with perfect
readiness.
“Prince Muishkin? Lef Nicolaievitch? H’m! I don’t know, I’m sure! I
may say I have never heard of such a person,” said the clerk, thoughtfully.
“At least, the name, I admit, is historical. Karamsin must mention the
family name, of course, in his history—but as an individual—one never
hears of any Prince Muishkin nowadays.”
“Of course not,” replied the prince; “there are none, except myself. I
believe I am the last and only one. As to my forefathers, they have always
been a poor lot; my own father was a sublieutenant in the army. I don’t
know how Mrs. Epanchin comes into the Muishkin family, but she is
descended from the Princess Muishkin, and she, too, is the last of her line.”
“And did you learn science and all that, with your professor over there?”
asked the black-haired passenger.
“Oh yes—I did learn a little, but—”
“I’ve never learned anything whatever,” said the other.
“Oh, but I learned very little, you know!” added the prince, as though
excusing himself. “They could not teach me very much on account of my
illness.”
“Do you know the Rogojins?” asked his questioner, abruptly.
“No, I don’t—not at all! I hardly know anyone in Russia. Why, is that
your name?”
“Yes, I am Rogojin, Parfen Rogojin.”
“Parfen Rogojin? dear me—then don’t you belong to those very
Rogojins, perhaps—” began the clerk, with a very perceptible increase of
civility in his tone.
“Yes—those very ones,” interrupted Rogojin, impatiently, and with scant
courtesy. I may remark that he had not once taken any notice of the blotchy-
faced passenger, and had hitherto addressed all his remarks direct to the
prince.
“Dear me—is it possible?” observed the clerk, while his face assumed an
expression of great deference and servility—if not of absolute alarm: “what,
a son of that very Semen Rogojin—hereditary honourable citizen—who
died a month or so ago and left two million and a half of roubles?”
“And how do you know that he left two million and a half of roubles?”
asked Rogojin, disdainfully, and not deigning so much as to look at the
other. “However, it’s true enough that my father died a month ago, and that
here am I returning from Pskoff, a month after, with hardly a boot to my
foot. They’ve treated me like a dog! I’ve been ill of fever at Pskoff the
whole time, and not a line, nor farthing of money, have I received from my
mother or my confounded brother!”
“And now you’ll have a million roubles, at least—goodness gracious
me!” exclaimed the clerk, rubbing his hands.
“Five weeks since, I was just like yourself,” continued Rogojin,
addressing the prince, “with nothing but a bundle and the clothes I wore. I
ran away from my father and came to Pskoff to my aunt’s house, where I
caved in at once with fever, and he went and died while I was away. All
honour to my respected father’s memory—but he uncommonly nearly
killed me, all the same. Give you my word, prince, if I hadn’t cut and run
then, when I did, he’d have murdered me like a dog.”
“I suppose you angered him somehow?” asked the prince, looking at the
millionaire with considerable curiosity. But though there may have been
something remarkable in the fact that this man was heir to millions of
roubles there was something about him which surprised and interested the
prince more than that. Rogojin, too, seemed to have taken up the
conversation with unusual alacrity it appeared that he was still in a
considerable state of excitement, if not absolutely feverish, and was in real
need of someone to talk to for the mere sake of talking, as safety-valve to
his agitation.
As for his red-nosed neighbour, the latter—since the information as to the
identity of Rogojin—hung over him, seemed to be living on the honey of
his words and in the breath of his nostrils, catching at every syllable as
though it were a pearl of great price.
“Oh, yes; I angered him—I certainly did anger him,” replied Rogojin.
“But what puts me out so is my brother. Of course my mother couldn’t do
anything—she’s too old—and whatever brother Senka says is law for her!
But why couldn’t he let me know? He sent a telegram, they say. What’s the
good of a telegram? It frightened my aunt so that she sent it back to the
office unopened, and there it’s been ever since! It’s only thanks to Konief
that I heard at all; he wrote me all about it. He says my brother cut off the
gold tassels from my father’s coffin, at night ‘because they’re worth a lot of
money!’ says he. Why, I can get him sent off to Siberia for that alone, if I
like; it’s sacrilege. Here, you—scarecrow!” he added, addressing the clerk
at his side, “is it sacrilege or not, by law?”
“Sacrilege, certainly—certainly sacrilege,” said the latter.
“And it’s Siberia for sacrilege, isn’t it?”
“Undoubtedly so; Siberia, of course!”
“They will think that I’m still ill,” continued Rogojin to the prince, “but I
sloped off quietly, seedy as I was, took the train and came away. Aha,
brother Senka, you’ll have to open your gates and let me in, my boy! I
know he told tales about me to my father—I know that well enough but I
certainly did rile my father about Nastasia Philipovna that’s very sure, and
that was my own doing.”
“Nastasia Philipovna?” said the clerk, as though trying to think out
something.
“Come, you know nothing about her,” said Rogojin, impatiently.
“And supposing I do know something?” observed the other, triumphantly.
“Bosh! there are plenty of Nastasia Philipovnas. And what an impertinent
beast you are!” he added angrily. “I thought some creature like you would
hang on to me as soon as I got hold of my money.”
“Oh, but I do know, as it happens,” said the clerk in an aggravating
manner. “Lebedeff knows all about her. You are pleased to reproach me,
your excellency, but what if I prove that I am right after all? Nastasia
Philipovna’s family name is Barashkoff—I know, you see—and she is a
very well known lady, indeed, and comes of a good family, too. She is
connected with one Totski, Afanasy Ivanovitch, a man of considerable
property, a director of companies, and so on, and a great friend of General
Epanchin, who is interested in the same matters as he is.”
“My eyes!” said Rogojin, really surprised at last. “The devil take the
fellow, how does he know that?”
“Why, he knows everything—Lebedeff knows everything! I was a month
or two with Lihachof after his father died, your excellency, and while he
was knocking about—he’s in the debtor’s prison now—I was with him, and
he couldn’t do a thing without Lebedeff; and I got to know Nastasia
Philipovna and several people at that time.”
“Nastasia Philipovna? Why, you don’t mean to say that she and Lihachof
—” cried Rogojin, turning quite pale.
“No, no, no, no, no! Nothing of the sort, I assure you!” said Lebedeff,
hastily. “Oh dear no, not for the world! Totski’s the only man with any
chance there. Oh, no! He takes her to his box at the opera at the French
theatre of an evening, and the officers and people all look at her and say,
‘By Jove, there’s the famous Nastasia Philipovna!’ but no one ever gets any
further than that, for there is nothing more to say.”
“Yes, it’s quite true,” said Rogojin, frowning gloomily; “so Zaleshoff told
me. I was walking about the Nefsky one fine day, prince, in my father’s old
coat, when she suddenly came out of a shop and stepped into her carriage. I
swear I was all of a blaze at once. Then I met Zaleshoff—looking like a
hair-dresser’s assistant, got up as fine as I don’t know who, while I looked
like a tinker. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, my boy,’ said he; ‘she’s not for such as
you; she’s a princess, she is, and her name is Nastasia Philipovna
Barashkoff, and she lives with Totski, who wishes to get rid of her because
he’s growing rather old—fifty-five or so—and wants to marry a certain
beauty, the loveliest woman in all Petersburg.’ And then he told me that I
could see Nastasia Philipovna at the opera-house that evening, if I liked,
and described which was her box. Well, I’d like to see my father allowing
any of us to go to the theatre; he’d sooner have killed us, any day. However,
I went for an hour or so and saw Nastasia Philipovna, and I never slept a
wink all night after. Next morning my father happened to give me two
government loan bonds to sell, worth nearly five thousand roubles each.
‘Sell them,’ said he, ‘and then take seven thousand five hundred roubles to
the office, give them to the cashier, and bring me back the rest of the ten
thousand, without looking in anywhere on the way; look sharp, I shall be
waiting for you.’ Well, I sold the bonds, but I didn’t take the seven thousand
roubles to the office; I went straight to the English shop and chose a pair of
earrings, with a diamond the size of a nut in each. They cost four hundred
roubles more than I had, so I gave my name, and they trusted me. With the
earrings I went at once to Zaleshoff’s. ‘Come on!’ I said, ‘come on to
Nastasia Philipovna’s,’ and off we went without more ado. I tell you I
hadn’t a notion of what was about me or before me or below my feet all the
way; I saw nothing whatever. We went straight into her drawing-room, and
then she came out to us.
“I didn’t say right out who I was, but Zaleshoff said: ‘From Parfen
Rogojin, in memory of his first meeting with you yesterday; be so kind as to
accept these!’
“She opened the parcel, looked at the earrings, and laughed.
“‘Thank your friend Mr. Rogojin for his kind attention,’ says she, and
bowed and went off. Why didn’t I die there on the spot? The worst of it all
was, though, that the beast Zaleshoff got all the credit of it! I was short and
abominably dressed, and stood and stared in her face and never said a word,
because I was shy, like an ass! And there was he all in the fashion, pomaded
and dressed out, with a smart tie on, bowing and scraping; and I bet
anything she took him for me all the while!
“‘Look here now,’ I said, when we came out, ‘none of your interference
here after this—do you understand?’ He laughed: ‘And how are you going
to settle up with your father?’ says he. I thought I might as well jump into
the Neva at once without going home first; but it struck me that I wouldn’t,
after all, and I went home feeling like one of the damned.”
“My goodness!” shivered the clerk. “And his father,” he added, for the
prince’s instruction, “and his father would have given a man a ticket to the
other world for ten roubles any day—not to speak of ten thousand!”
The prince observed Rogojin with great curiosity; he seemed paler than
ever at this moment.
“What do you know about it?” cried the latter. “Well, my father learned
the whole story at once, and Zaleshoff blabbed it all over the town besides.
So he took me upstairs and locked me up, and swore at me for an hour.
‘This is only a foretaste,’ says he; ‘wait a bit till night comes, and I’ll come
back and talk to you again.’
“Well, what do you think? The old fellow went straight off to Nastasia
Philipovna, touched the floor with his forehead, and began blubbering and
beseeching her on his knees to give him back the diamonds. So after awhile
she brought the box and flew out at him. ‘There,’ she says, ‘take your
earrings, you wretched old miser; although they are ten times dearer than
their value to me now that I know what it must have cost Parfen to get
them! Give Parfen my compliments,’ she says, ‘and thank him very much!’
Well, I meanwhile had borrowed twenty-five roubles from a friend, and off
I went to Pskoff to my aunt’s. The old woman there lectured me so that I
left the house and went on a drinking tour round the public-houses of the
place. I was in a high fever when I got to Pskoff, and by nightfall I was
lying delirious in the streets somewhere or other!”
“Oho! we’ll make Nastasia Philipovna sing another song now!” giggled
Lebedeff, rubbing his hands with glee. “Hey, my boy, we’ll get her some
proper earrings now! We’ll get her such earrings that—”
“Look here,” cried Rogojin, seizing him fiercely by the arm, “look here,
if you so much as name Nastasia Philipovna again, I’ll tan your hide as sure
as you sit there!”
“Aha! do—by all means! if you tan my hide you won’t turn me away
from your society. You’ll bind me to you, with your lash, for ever. Ha, ha!
here we are at the station, though.”
Sure enough, the train was just steaming in as he spoke.
Though Rogojin had declared that he left Pskoff secretly, a large
collection of friends had assembled to greet him, and did so with profuse
waving of hats and shouting.
“Why, there’s Zaleshoff here, too!” he muttered, gazing at the scene with
a sort of triumphant but unpleasant smile. Then he suddenly turned to the
prince: “Prince, I don’t know why I have taken a fancy to you; perhaps
because I met you just when I did. But no, it can’t be that, for I met this
fellow” (nodding at Lebedeff) “too, and I have not taken a fancy to him by
any means. Come to see me, prince; we’ll take off those gaiters of yours
and dress you up in a smart fur coat, the best we can buy. You shall have a
dress coat, best quality, white waistcoat, anything you like, and your pocket
shall be full of money. Come, and you shall go with me to Nastasia
Philipovna’s. Now then will you come or no?”
“Accept, accept, Prince Lef Nicolaievitch” said Lebedef solemnly; “don’t
let it slip! Accept, quick!”
Prince Muishkin rose and stretched out his hand courteously, while he
replied with some cordiality:
“I will come with the greatest pleasure, and thank you very much for
taking a fancy to me. I dare say I may even come today if I have time, for I
tell you frankly that I like you very much too. I liked you especially when
