he had formerly lived (I regretted to hear that). Likewise he spoke of
Saxony, his parents, his friend the tailor, Schonheit (beauty), and so
on.
I sympathised with his distress, and felt dreadfully sorry that he and
Papa (both of whom I loved about equally) had had a difference. Then I
returned to my corner, crouched down upon my heels, and fell to thinking
how a reconciliation between them might be effected.
Returning to the study, Karl ordered me to get up and prepare to write
from dictation. When I was ready he sat down with a dignified air in
his arm-chair, and in a voice which seemed to come from a profound abyss
began to dictate: 'Von al-len Lei-den-shaf-ten die grau-samste ist. Have
you written that?' He paused, took a pinch of snuff, and began again:
'Die grausamste ist die Un-dank-bar-keit [The most cruel of all passions
is ingratitude.] a capital U, mind.'
The last word written, I looked at him, for him to go on.
'Punctum' (stop), he concluded, with a faintly perceptible smile, as he
signed to us to hand him our copy-books.
Several times, and in several different tones, and always with an
expression of the greatest satisfaction, did he read out that sentence,
which expressed his predominant thought at the moment. Then he set us
to learn a lesson in history, and sat down near the window. His face did
not look so depressed now, but, on the contrary, expressed eloquently
the satisfaction of a man who had avenged himself for an injury dealt
him.
By this time it was a quarter to one o'clock, but Karl Ivanitch never
thought of releasing us. He merely set us a new lesson to learn. My
fatigue and hunger were increasing in equal proportions, so that I
eagerly followed every sign of the approach of luncheon. First came the
housemaid with a cloth to wipe the plates. Next, the sound of crockery
resounded in the dining-room, as the table was moved and chairs placed
round it. After that, Mimi, Lubotshka, and Katenka. (Katenka was Mimi's
daughter, and twelve years old) came in from the garden, but Foka (the
servant who always used to come and announce luncheon) was not yet to be
seen. Only when he entered was it lawful to throw one's books aside and
run downstairs.
Hark! Steps resounded on the staircase, but they were not Foka's. Foka's
I had learnt to study, and knew the creaking of his boots well. The door
opened, and a figure unknown to me made its appearance.
V -- THE IDIOT
The man who now entered the room was about fifty years old, with a pale,
attenuated face pitted with smallpox, long grey hair, and a scanty beard
of a reddish hue. Likewise he was so tall that, on coming through the
doorway, he was forced not only to bend his head, but to incline his
whole body forward. He was dressed in a sort of smock that was much
torn, and held in his hand a stout staff. As he entered he smote this
staff upon the floor, and, contracting his brows and opening his mouth
to its fullest extent, laughed in a dreadful, unnatural way. He had lost
the sight of one eye, and its colourless pupil kept rolling about and
imparting to his hideous face an even more repellent expression than it
otherwise bore.
'Hullo, you are caught!' he exclaimed as he ran to Woloda with little
short steps and, seizing him round the head, looked at it searchingly.
Next he left him, went to the table, and, with a perfectly serious
expression on his face, began to blow under the oil-cloth, and to make
the sign of the cross over it, 'O-oh, what a pity! O-oh, how it hurts!
They are angry! They fly from me!' he exclaimed in a tearful choking
