The Idiot

This is a story about a very special prince. His name was Lev Nikolayevich, but almost everyone just called him the prince. He was kind and always told the truth, even when others thought it was strange. Some thought he was stupid, but really he saw things that others didn’t. He had been sick and lived for a long time in Switzerland with a kind doctor. Now he was back in Russia, and everything was going to be different. The train had roared into the station, and the prince was the last to get off. He looked around with wonder. Everything reminded him of something, but he didn’t quite know what. People rushed by, but the prince stood still and breathed in the cold, smoky air. Home, he thought. Finally home.

The prince soon met three people who would change his life. Nastasya was beautiful, but carried a heavy secret. Aglaya was proud and brave, and wanted to decide her own life. Rogozhin was a dark man who loved so hard that everything else disappeared. And then there was Hippolyte, a young boy who was dying and didn’t want to wait for death. They all met one sunny afternoon in a garden full of lilacs. The prince immediately felt that these four were different. Something in their eyes said they carried secrets bigger than words.

Hippolyte put an explanation on the table. He had been sick for a long time and knew he would die soon. He didn’t want others to decide for him. He had thought about it for a long time, not in anger, but as a hard, clear idea. He wrote that maybe the pursuit of happiness is more important than happiness itself. And that some thoughts are so big they can’t be said with words. The room fell silent as he read. The prince looked at him and understood more than he could say. Sometimes wanting to die is a way of saying you can’t live the way you want.

Hippolyte told about a time he found a wallet on the street. It belonged to a young doctor who was very poor. Hippolyte gave it back, and the doctor was so grateful. Together they went to a rich uncle who helped the doctor. Hippolyte felt good. He thought that a good deed can spread like ripples in water, farther than you know. He smiled weakly as he told it, but there was something sad in his smile. Maybe because he knew he would never get to do enough good deeds.

Later that same evening, Hippolyte stood on a bridge talking to his uncle. “And you will soon leave us,” said the uncle. Hippolyte laughed, but inside he felt fear. Suddenly he realized that his thoughts were running faster than he could walk. Soon after came the big decision. It came from many small things, and one thing that almost didn’t fit with the rest: a painting at Rogozhin’s. It was as if the picture had lit a spark in him, a spark that burned stronger every second.

Rogozhin lived in a dark house. On the wall hung a painting of Jesus, taken down from the cross. It was not beautiful. The face was green and gray, and the body was heavy. Hippolyte stared and thought: How could anyone believe He rose again? The painting scared him. At night he dreamed of an ugly insect that laughed at him. The insect had many eyes, and all of them looked at Hippolyte without blinking. He woke up with a racing heart.

In the middle of the night, the door opened. There stood Rogozhin, silent and with hard eyes. They had not parted as friends. The silence was like a mockery. Hippolyte decided not to say anything until the other spoke. Rogozhin stood there for a while, then walked softly out and closed the door. The next morning, the door was locked from inside. Hippolyte felt that someone was playing with him. He clenched his fists. Why did everything have to be so complicated?

Hippolyte had an old revolver. He chose sunrise in Pavlovsk park, so the family wouldn’t have to find him. He wrote an explanation: “Why should I obey laws I don’t understand?” The night before sunrise, there were many guests at Lebedev’s. Hippolyte read what he had written. Some laughed, others got angry. The prince looked at him with eyes that said: I understand you. It was as if the prince looked right into his soul.