Part I
I
Towards the end of November, during a thaw, at nine oâclock 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, ironicalâit might almost be called a maliciousâsmile; 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 furâor rather astrachanâovercoat, 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 itâthe sort of cloak one sees upon travellers during the winter months in Switzerland or North Italyâwas 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:
âCold?â
âVery,â said his neighbour, readily, âand 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. Iâve grown quite out of the way of it.â
âWhat, been abroad, I suppose?â
âYes, straight from Switzerland.â
âWheugh! my goodness!â 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 neighbourâs 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 maladyâa kind of epilepsy, with convulsive spasms. His interlocutor burst out laughing several times at his answers; and more than ever, when to the question, âwhether he had been cured?â the patient replied:
âNo, they did not cure me.â
âHey! thatâs it! You stumped up your money for nothing, and we believe in those fellows, here!â remarked the black-haired individual, sarcastically.
âGospel truth, sir, Gospel truth!â 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. âGospel truth! All they do is to get hold of our good Russian money free, gratis, and for nothing.â
âOh, but youâre quite wrong in my particular instance,â said the Swiss patient, quietly. âOf course I canât argue the matter, because I know only my own case; but my doctor gave me moneyâand he had very littleâto pay my journey back, besides having kept me at his own expense, while there, for nearly two years.â
âWhy? Was there no one else to pay for you?â asked the black-haired one.
âNoâMr. 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.â
âAnd where have you come to?â
âThat isâwhere am I going to stay? IâI really donât quite know yet, Iââ
Both the listeners laughed again.
âI suppose your whole set-up is in that bundle, then?â asked the first.
âI bet anything it is!â exclaimed the red-nosed passenger, with extreme satisfaction, âand that he has precious little in the luggage van!âthough of course poverty is no crimeâwe must remember that!â
It appeared that it was indeed as they had surmised. The young fellow hastened to admit the fact with wonderful readiness.
âYour bundle has some importance, however,â 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); âfor though I dare say it is not stuffed full of friedrichs dâor and louis dâorâjudge from your costume and gaitersâstillâif 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. Epanchinâs, and have not made a little error throughâwell, absence of mind, which is very common to human beings; or, sayâthrough a too luxuriant fancy?â
âOh, you are right again,â said the fair-haired traveller, âfor 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.â
âHâm! you spent your postage for nothing, then. Hâm! you are candid, howeverâand that is commendable. Hâm! Mrs. Epanchinâoh yes! a most eminent person. I know her. As for Mr. Pavlicheff, who supported you in Switzerland, I know him tooâat least, if it was Nicolai Andreevitch of that name? A fine fellow he wasâand had a property of four thousand souls in his day.â
âYes, Nicolai Andreevitchâthat was his name,â 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 everyoneâthat 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 reduceâor raiseâto 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 listenâand heard nothing; and he would laugh of a sudden, evidently with no idea of what he was laughing about.
âExcuse me,â said the red-nosed man to the young fellow with the bundle, rather suddenly; âwhom have I the honour to be talking to?â
âPrince Lef Nicolaievitch Muishkin,â replied the latter, with perfect readiness.
âPrince Muishkin? Lef Nicolaievitch? Hâm! I donât know, Iâm sure! I may say I have never heard of such a person,â said the clerk, thoughtfully. âAt least, the name, I admit, is historical. Karamsin must mention the family name, of course, in his historyâbut as an individualâone never hears of any Prince Muishkin nowadays.â
âOf course not,â replied the prince; âthere 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 donât 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.â
âAnd did you learn science and all that, with your professor over there?â asked the black-haired passenger.
âOh yesâI did learn a little, butââ
âIâve never learned anything whatever,â said the other.
âOh, but I learned very little, you know!â added the prince, as though excusing himself. âThey could not teach me very much on account of my illness.â
âDo you know the Rogojins?â asked his questioner, abruptly.
âNo, I donâtânot at all! I hardly know anyone in Russia. Why, is that your name?â
âYes, I am Rogojin, Parfen Rogojin.â
âParfen Rogojin? dear meâthen donât you belong to those very Rogojins, perhapsââ began the clerk, with a very perceptible increase of civility in his tone.
âYesâthose very ones,â 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.
âDear meâis it possible?â observed the clerk, while his face assumed an expression of great deference and servilityâif not of absolute alarm: âwhat, a son of that very Semen Rogojinâhereditary honourable citizenâwho died a month or so ago and left two million and a half of roubles?â
âAnd how do you know that he left two million and a half of roubles?â asked Rogojin, disdainfully, and not deigning so much as to look at the other. âHowever, itâs 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. Theyâve treated me like a dog! Iâve 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!â
âAnd now youâll have a million roubles, at leastâgoodness gracious me!â exclaimed the clerk, rubbing his hands.
âFive weeks since, I was just like yourself,â continued Rogojin, addressing the prince, âwith nothing but a bundle and the clothes I wore. I ran away from my father and came to Pskoff to my auntâs house, where I caved in at once with fever, and he went and died while I was away. All honour to my respected fatherâs memoryâbut he uncommonly nearly killed me, all the same. Give you my word, prince, if I hadnât cut and run then, when I did, heâd have murdered me like a dog.â
âI suppose you angered him somehow?â 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 latterâsince the information as to the identity of Rogojinâhung 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.
âOh, yes; I angered himâI certainly did anger him,â replied Rogojin. âBut what puts me out so is my brother. Of course my mother couldnât do anythingâsheâs too oldâand whatever brother Senka says is law for her! But why couldnât he let me know? He sent a telegram, they say. Whatâs the good of a telegram? It frightened my aunt so that she sent it back to the office unopened, and there itâs been ever since! Itâs 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 fatherâs coffin, at night âbecause theyâre worth a lot of money!â says he. Why, I can get him sent off to Siberia for that alone, if I like; itâs sacrilege. Here, youâscarecrow!â he added, addressing the clerk at his side, âis it sacrilege or not, by law?â
âSacrilege, certainlyâcertainly sacrilege,â said the latter.
âAnd itâs Siberia for sacrilege, isnât it?â
âUndoubtedly so; Siberia, of course!â
âThey will think that Iâm still ill,â continued Rogojin to the prince, âbut I sloped off quietly, seedy as I was, took the train and came away. Aha, brother Senka, youâll have to open your gates and let me in, my boy! I know he told tales about me to my fatherâI know that well enough but I certainly did rile my father about Nastasia Philipovna thatâs very sure, and that was my own doing.â
âNastasia Philipovna?â said the clerk, as though trying to think out something.
âCome, you know nothing about her,â said Rogojin, impatiently.
âAnd supposing I do know something?â observed the other, triumphantly.
âBosh! there are plenty of Nastasia Philipovnas. And what an impertinent beast you are!â he added angrily. âI thought some creature like you would hang on to me as soon as I got hold of my money.â
âOh, but I do know, as it happens,â said the clerk in an ...