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"
No
,
no
,
read
it
--
read
it
at
once
directly
,
and
aloud
,
aloud
!
"
cried
she
,
calling
Colia
to
her
and
giving
him
the
journal
.
--
"
Read
it
aloud
,
so
that
everyone
may
hear
it
!
"
An
impetuous
woman
,
Lizabetha
Prokofievna
sometimes
weighed
her
anchors
and
put
out
to
sea
quite
regardless
of
the
possible
storms
she
might
encounter
.
Ivan
Fedorovitch
felt
a
sudden
pang
of
alarm
,
but
the
others
were
merely
curious
,
and
somewhat
surprised
.
Colia
unfolded
the
paper
,
and
began
to
read
,
in
his
clear
,
high-pitched
voice
,
the
following
article
:
"
Proletarians
and
scions
of
nobility
!
An
episode
of
the
brigandage
of
today
and
every
day
!
Progress
!
Reform
!
Justice
!
"
"
Strange
things
are
going
on
in
our
so-called
Holy
Russia
in
this
age
of
reform
and
great
enterprises
;
this
age
of
patriotism
in
which
hundreds
of
millions
are
yearly
sent
abroad
;
in
which
industry
is
encouraged
,
and
the
hands
of
Labour
paralyzed
,
etc.
;
there
is
no
end
to
this
,
gentlemen
,
so
let
us
come
to
the
point
.
A
strange
thing
has
happened
to
a
scion
of
our
defunct
aristocracy
.
(
De
profundis
!
)
The
grandfathers
of
these
scions
ruined
themselves
at
the
gaming-tables
;
their
fathers
were
forced
to
serve
as
officers
or
subalterns
;
some
have
died
just
as
they
were
about
to
be
tried
for
innocent
thoughtlessness
in
the
handling
of
public
funds
.
Their
children
are
sometimes
congenital
idiots
,
like
the
hero
of
our
story
;
sometimes
they
are
found
in
the
dock
at
the
Assizes
,
where
they
are
generally
acquitted
by
the
jury
for
edifying
motives
;
sometimes
they
distinguish
themselves
by
one
of
those
burning
scandals
that
amaze
the
public
and
add
another
blot
to
the
stained
record
of
our
age
.
Six
months
ago
--
that
is
,
last
winter
--
this
particular
scion
returned
to
Russia
,
wearing
gaiters
like
a
foreigner
,
and
shivering
with
cold
in
an
old
scantily-lined
cloak
.
He
had
come
from
Switzerland
,
where
he
had
just
undergone
a
successful
course
of
treatment
for
idiocy
(
sic
!
)
.
Certainly
Fortune
favoured
him
,
for
,
apart
from
the
interesting
malady
of
which
he
was
cured
in
Switzerland
(
can
there
be
a
cure
for
idiocy
?
)
his
story
proves
the
truth
of
the
Russian
proverb
that
'
happiness
is
the
right
of
certain
classes
!
'
Judge
for
yourselves
.
Our
subject
was
an
infant
in
arms
when
he
lost
his
father
,
an
officer
who
died
just
as
he
was
about
to
be
court-martialled
for
gambling
away
the
funds
of
his
company
,
and
perhaps
also
for
flogging
a
subordinate
to
excess
(
remember
the
good
old
days
,
gentlemen
)
.
The
orphan
was
brought
up
by
the
charity
of
a
very
rich
Russian
landowner
.
In
the
good
old
days
,
this
man
,
whom
we
will
call
P
--
--
,
owned
four
thousand
souls
as
serfs
(
souls
as
serfs
!
--
can
you
understand
such
an
expression
,
gentlemen
?
I
can
not
;
it
must
be
looked
up
in
a
dictionary
before
one
can
understand
it
;
these
things
of
a
bygone
day
are
already
unintelligible
to
us
)
.
He
appears
to
have
been
one
of
those
Russian
parasites
who
lead
an
idle
existence
abroad
,
spending
the
summer
at
some
spa
,
and
the
winter
in
Paris
,
to
the
greater
profit
of
the
organizers
of
public
balls
.
It
may
safely
be
said
that
the
manager
of
the
Chateau
des
Fleurs
(
lucky
man
!
)
pocketed
at
least
a
third
of
the
money
paid
by
Russian
peasants
to
their
lords
in
the
days
of
serfdom
.
However
this
may
be
,
the
gay
P
--
--
brought
up
the
orphan
like
a
prince
,
provided
him
with
tutors
and
governesses
(
pretty
,
of
course
!
)
whom
he
chose
himself
in
Paris
.
But
the
little
aristocrat
,
the
last
of
his
noble
race
,
was
an
idiot
.
The
governesses
,
recruited
at
the
Chateau
des
Fleurs
,
laboured
in
vain
;
at
twenty
years
of
age
their
pupil
could
not
speak
in
any
language
,
not
even
Russian
.
But
ignorance
of
the
latter
was
still
excusable
.
At
last
P
--
--
was
seized
with
a
strange
notion
;
he
imagined
that
in
Switzerland
they
could
change
an
idiot
into
a
man
of
sense
.
After
all
,
the
idea
was
quite
logical
;
a
parasite
and
landowner
naturally
supposed
that
intelligence
was
a
marketable
commodity
like
everything
else
,
and
that
in
Switzerland
especially
it
could
be
bought
for
money
.
The
case
was
entrusted
to
a
celebrated
Swiss
professor
,
and
cost
thousands
of
roubles
;
the
treatment
lasted
five
years
.
Needless
to
say
,
the
idiot
did
not
become
intelligent
,
but
it
is
alleged
that
he
grew
into
something
more
or
less
resembling
a
man
.
At
this
stage
P
--
--
died
suddenly
,
and
,
as
usual
,
he
had
made
no
will
and
left
his
affairs
in
disorder
.
A
crowd
of
eager
claimants
arose
,
who
cared
nothing
about
any
last
scion
of
a
noble
race
undergoing
treatment
in
Switzerland
,
at
the
expense
of
the
deceased
,
as
a
congenital
idiot
.
Idiot
though
he
was
,
the
noble
scion
tried
to
cheat
his
professor
,
and
they
say
he
succeeded
in
getting
him
to
continue
the
treatment
gratis
for
two
years
,
by
concealing
the
death
of
his
benefactor
.
But
the
professor
himself
was
a
charlatan
.
Getting
anxious
at
last
when
no
money
was
forthcoming
,
and
alarmed
above
all
by
his
patient
's
appetite
,
he
presented
him
with
a
pair
of
old
gaiters
and
a
shabby
cloak
and
packed
him
off
to
Russia
,
third
class
.
It
would
seem
that
Fortune
had
turned
her
back
upon
our
hero
.
Not
at
all
;
Fortune
,
who
lets
whole
populations
die
of
hunger
,
showered
all
her
gifts
at
once
upon
the
little
aristocrat
,
like
Kryloff
's
Cloud
which
passes
over
an
arid
plain
and
empties
itself
into
the
sea
.
He
had
scarcely
arrived
in
St.
Petersburg
,
when
a
relation
of
his
mother
's
(
who
was
of
bourgeois
origin
,
of
course
)
,
died
at
Moscow
.
He
was
a
merchant
,
an
Old
Believer
,
and
he
had
no
children
.
He
left
a
fortune
of
several
millions
in
good
current
coin
,
and
everything
came
to
our
noble
scion
,
our
gaitered
baron
,
formerly
treated
for
idiocy
in
a
Swiss
lunatic
asylum
.
Instantly
the
scene
changed
,
crowds
of
friends
gathered
round
our
baron
,
who
meanwhile
had
lost
his
head
over
a
celebrated
demi-mondaine
;
he
even
discovered
some
relations
;
moreover
a
number
of
young
girls
of
high
birth
burned
to
be
united
to
him
in
lawful
matrimony
.
Could
anyone
possibly
imagine
a
better
match
?
Aristocrat
,
millionaire
,
and
idiot
,
he
has
every
advantage
!
One
might
hunt
in
vain
for
his
equal
,
even
with
the
lantern
of
Diogenes
;
his
like
is
not
to
be
had
even
by
getting
it
made
to
order
!
"
"
Oh
,
I
do
n't
know
what
this
means
"
cried
Ivan
Fedorovitch
,
transported
with
indignation
.
"
Leave
off
,
Colia
,
"
begged
the
prince
.
Exclamations
arose
on
all
sides
.
