Page 380 - the-idiot

or subalterns; some have died just as they were about to be
tried for innocent thoughtlessness in the handling of pub-
lic 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 shiv-
ering 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 fa-
voured 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 ‘hap-
piness 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-mar-
tialled for gambling away the funds of his company, and
perhaps also for flogging a subordinate to excess (remem-
ber 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 cannot; 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