he knew that Nastasya Filippovna was an unmercenary woman. The day before Nastasya Filippovna's birthday he was as if in a fever, though he skillfully concealed it. It was precisely these pearls that Mrs. Epanchin had heard about. True, Elizaveta Prokofyevna had long ago begun to experience her husband's frivolity and was somewhat used to it; but it was impossible to overlook such an occasion: the rumor about the pearls interested her exceedingly. The general had perceived it just in time; certain little words had already been uttered the day before; he anticipated a major confrontation and was afraid of it. That was why he was terribly reluctant, on the morning on which we began our story, to go and have lunch in the bosom of his family. Before the prince's arrival, he had resolved to use the excuse that he was busy and get out of it. To get out, for the general, sometimes simply meant to get away. He wanted to gain at least that one day and, above all, that evening, without any unpleasantnesses. And suddenly the prince came along so opportunely. "As if sent by God!" the general thought to himself as he entered his wife's rooms.

V

The general's wife was jealous of her origins. Imagine her feelings when she was told, directly and without preliminaries, that this Prince Myshkin, the last of their line, whom she had already heard something about, was no more than a pathetic idiot and nearly destitute, and that he took beggar's alms. The general was precisely after that effect, in order to draw her interest all at once and somehow turn everything in another direction.

In extreme cases his wife usually rolled her eyes out exceedingly and, with her body thrown slightly back, stared vaguely ahead of her without saying a word. She was a tall, lean woman, of the same age as her husband, with much gray in her dark but still thick hair, a somewhat hooked nose, hollow yellow cheeks, and thin, sunken lips. Her forehead was high but narrow; her gray, rather large eyes sometimes had a most unexpected expression. She had once had the weakness of believing that her gaze produced an extraordinary effect; that conviction remained indelible in her.

"Receive him? You say receive him now, this minute?" and the general's wife rolled her eyes out with all her might at Ivan Fyodorovich as he fidgeted before her.

"Oh, in that respect you needn't stand on ceremony, my friend, provided you wish to see him," the general hastened to explain. "A perfect child, and even quite pathetic; he has fits of some illness; he's just come from Switzerland, straight from the train, strangely dressed, in some German fashion, and besides without a penny, literally; he's all but weeping. I gave him twenty-five roubles and want to obtain some scrivener's post for him in the chancellery. And you, mesdames, I ask to give him something to eat, because he also seems to be hungry ..."

"You astonish me," Mrs. Epanchin went on as before. "Hungry, and some sort of fits! What fits?"

"Oh, they don't occur too often, and besides, he's almost like a child, though he's cultivated. I'd like to ask you, mesdames," he again turned to his daughters, "to give him an examination; it would be good, after all, to know what he's able to do."

"An ex-am-i-na-tion?" Mrs. Epanchin drew out and, in deep amazement, again began to roll her eyes from her daughters to her husband and back.

"Ah, my friend, don't take it in that sense . . . however, as you wish; I had in mind to be nice to him and receive him in our house, because it's almost a good deed."

"In our house? From Switzerland?!"

"Switzerland is no hindrance. But anyhow, I repeat, it's as you wish. I suggested it, first, because he's your namesake and maybe even a relation, and second, he doesn't know where to lay his head. I even thought you might be somewhat interested, because, after all, he's of the same family."

"Of course, maman, if we needn't stand on ceremony with him; besides, he's hungry after the journey, why not give him something to eat, if he doesn't know where to go?" said the eldest daughter, Alexandra.

"And a perfect child besides, we can play blindman's buff with him."

"Play blindman's buff? In what sense?"

"Oh, maman, please stop pretending," Aglaya interfered vexedly.

The middle daughter, Adelaida, much given to laughter, could not help herself and burst out laughing.

"Send for him, papa, maman allows it," Aglaya decided. The general rang and sent for the prince.

"But be sure a napkin is tied around his neck when he sits at the table," Mrs. Epanchin decided. "Send for Fyodor, or let Mavra

... so as to stand behind his chair and tend to him while he eats. Is he at least quiet during his fits? Does he gesticulate?"

"On the contrary, he's very well brought up and has wonderful manners. A bit too simple at times . . . But here he is! Allow me to introduce Prince Myshkin, the last of the line, a namesake and maybe even a relation, receive him, be nice to him. They'll have lunch now, Prince, do them the honor . . . And I, forgive me, I'm late, I must hurry ..."

"We know where you're hurrying to," Mrs. Epanchin said imposingly.

"I must hurry, I must hurry, my friend, I'm late! Give him your albums,¹⁹ mesdames, let him write something for you, he's a rare calligrapher! A talent! He did such a piece of old handwriting for me: 'The hegumen Pafnuty here sets his hand to it . . .' Well, good-bye."

"Pafnuty? Hegumen? Wait, wait, where are you going? What Pafnuty?" Mrs. Epanchin cried with insistent vexation and almost anxiously to her fleeing husband.

"Yes, yes, my friend, there was such a hegumen in the old days . . . and I'm off to the count's, he's been waiting, waiting a long time, and, above all, it was he who made the appointment . . . Good-bye, Prince!"

The general withdrew with quick steps.

"I know which count that is!" Elizaveta Prokofyevna said sharply and turned her gaze irritably on the prince. "What was it!" she began, trying squeamishly and vexedly to recall. "What was it! Ah, yes. Well, what about this hegumen?"

"Maman," Alexandra began, and Aglaya even stamped her little foot.

"Don't interrupt me, Alexandra Ivanovna," Mrs. Epanchin rapped out to her, "I also want to know. Sit down here, Prince, in this chair, facing me—no, here, move closer to the sun, to the light, so that I can see. Well, what about this hegumen?"

"Hegumen Pafnuty," the prince replied attentively and seriously.

"Pafnuty? That's interesting. Well, who was he?"

Mrs. Epanchin asked impatiently, quickly, sharply, not taking her eyes off the prince, and when he answered, she nodded her head after each word he said.

"The hegumen Pafnuty, of the fourteenth century," the prince began. "He was the head of a hermitage on the Volga, in what is now Kostroma province. He was known for his holy life. He went

to the Horde,²⁰ helped to arrange some affairs of that time, and signed his name to a certain document, and I saw a copy of that signature. I liked the handwriting and learned it. Today, when the general wanted to see how I can write, in order to find a post for me, I wrote several phrases in various scripts, and among them 'The hegumen Pafnuty here sets his hand to it' in the hegumen Pafnuty's own handwriting. The general liked it very much, and he remembered it just now."