“Tell me, then, tell me! Oh, damn it!”
And Ganya twice stamped his right foot, wearing a golosh, on the pavement.
“When I’d finished reading it, she told me that you were trying to catch her; that you wanted to compromise her so that she might give you hopes of her hand, and that, secure of that, you wouldn’t lose by abandoning your hopes of a hundred thousand. That if you had done so without bargaining with her and had broken it off without asking for a guarantee from her beforehand, she would perhaps have become your friend. I believe that’s all. Oh, something more. When I asked, after I’d taken the letter, what was the answer, she said that no answer was the best answer. I think that was it. bu must excuse me if I’ve forgotten her exact words and only repeat it as I understood it.”
Ganya was overcome by intense anger and his fury burst out without restraint.
“Ah, so that’s it!” he snarled. “So my notes are thrown out of the window! Ah, she won’t make bargains — then I will! And we shall see! I have other things to fall back upon. . . . We shall see! I’ll make her smart for it!”
His face was pale and distorted; he foamed at the mouth, he shook his fist. So they walked for some steps. He behaved exactly as though he were alone in his room and made no attempt to keep up appearances before Myshkin, as though he looked upon him as absolutely of no consequence. But suddenly he reflected and pulled himself up.
“But how is it,” he said suddenly, addressing Myshkin, “how is it you” — (“an idiot,” he added to himself)— “are suddenly trusted with such confidence after two hours’ acquaintanceship? How is it?”
Envy was all that was wanted to complete his suffering, and it suddenly stung him to the heart.
“That I can’t explain,” answered Myshkin.
Ganya looked wrathfully at him.
“Was it to make you a present of her confidence that she called you into the dining-room? She was going to give you something.”
“That’s just how I understand it.”
“But, damn it all, why? What have you done? How have you won their hearts? Listen.” He was violently agitated and in a terrible ferment; all his ideas seemed hopelessly scattered. “Listen. Can’t you remember what you’ve been talking about — every word from the beginning, and give some sort of account of it? Don’t you remember noticing anything?”
“Certainly I can,” answered Myshkin. “At the beginning when I first went in and made their acquaintance, we began talking about Switzerland.”
“Confound Switzerland!”
“Then we talked of capital punishment.”
“Capital punishment?”
“Yes, something suggested it. . . . Then I told them how I spent three years out there, and the story of a poor village girl....”
“Damn the poor village girl! What else?”
Ganya was raging with impatience.
“Then how Schneider told me his opinion of my character, and how he forced me to ...”
“Hang Schneider and damn his opinion of you! What else?”
“Then something led up to my speaking of faces, or rather of the expression of faces, and I said that Aglaia Ivanovna was almost as beautiful as Nastasya Filippovna. And that was how I came to mention the portrait....”
“But you didn’t repeat — you didn’t repeat what you heard this morning in the study? You didn’t? You didn’t?”
“I tell you again I did not.”
“How the devil then . . . Bah! Did Aglaia show the note to the old lady?”
“I can assure you positively that she did not do that. I was there all the while, and she hadn’t the time to.”
“But perhaps you missed something. . . . Oh, d-damned idiot!” he exclaimed, completely beside himself. “He can’t even tell anything properly.”
Ganya, having once begun to be abusive and meeting no resistance, lost all restraint, as is always the case with certain sorts of people. A little more and he would have begun to spit, he was so furious. But his fury made him blind, or he would have understood long ago that this “idiot,” whom he was treating so rudely, was sometimes rather quick and subtle in understanding and could give an extremely satisfactory account of things. But something unexpected happened all at once.
“I must tell vou, Gavril Ardalionovitch,” Mvshkin said suddenly, “that I was once so ill that I really was almost an idiot; but I’ve got over that long ago, and so I rather dislike it when people call me an idiot to my face. Though I can excuse it in you in consideration of your ill-luck, but in your vexation you’ve been abusive to me twice already. I don’t like that at all, especially so suddenly at first acquaintance; and so, as we are just at the crossroads, hadn’t we better part? You go to the right to your home, and I go to the left. I’ve got twenty-five roubles, and I shall be sure to find some lodging-house.”
Ganya was dreadfully disconcerted, and even flushed with shame at meeting with such an unexpected rebuff.
“Excuse me, prince,” he cried warmly, dropping his offensive tone for one of extreme politeness. “For mercy’s sake, forgive me! bu see what trouble I’m in. You know scarcely anything of it as yet, but if you knew all, I am sure you would feel there was some excuse for me. Though, of course, it is inexcusable. .
“Oh, I don’t need so much apology,” Myshkin hastened to answer. “I understand that it’s very horrid for you and that’s why you are rude. Well, let’s go to your house; I’ll come with pleasure.”
“No, I can’t let him go like that now,” Ganya was thinking to himself, looking resentfully at Myshkin on the way. “The rogue got it all out of me, and then removed his mask. . . . There’s something behind it. But we shall see! Everything will be decided — everything! To-day!”
They were by now standing opposite the house.
CHAPTER 8
Ganya’s flat was on the third story, on a very clean, light, spacious staircase, and consisted of six or seven rooms, big and little. Though the flat was ordinary enough, it seemed somewhat beyond the means of a clerk with a family, even with an income of two thousand roubles a year. But it had been taken by Ganya and his family not more than two months before with a view to taking boarders, to the intense annoyance of Ganya himself, to satisfy the urgent desires of his mother and sister, who were anxious to be of use and to increase the family income a little. Ganya scowled and called taking boarders degrading. It made him feel ashamed in the society where he was accustomed to appear as a somewhat brilliant young man with a future before him. All such concessions to the inevitable and all the cramped conditions of his life were a deep inner wound. For some time past he had become extremely and quite disproportionately irritable over every trifle, and if he still consented to submit and to put up with it for a time, it was only because he was resolved to change it all in the immediate future. But that very change, that very way of escape on which he had determined, involved a formidable difficulty — a difficulty the solution of which threatened to be more troublesome and harassing than all that had gone before.
The flat was divided by a passage, into which they stepped at once on entering. On one side of the passage were the three rooms which were intended for “specially recommended” boarders. On the same side of the passage, at the farthest end, next to the kitchen, was a fourth room, smaller than the rest, which was occupied by the father of the family, the retired General Ivolgin. He slept on a wide sofa, and was obliged to go in and out of the flat through the kitchen and by the back staircase. Ganya’s brother, Kolya, a schoolboy of thirteen, shared the same room. He too had to be packed away in it, to do his lessons there, to sleep in ragged sheets on another sofa, very old, short and narrow, and above all to wait on his father and to keep an eye on him, which was becoming more and more necessary. Myshkin was given the middle one of the three rooms; the first on the right was occupied by Ferdyshtchenko, and the one on the left was empty. But Ganya led Myshkin first into the other half of the flat, which consisted of a dining room, of a drawing-room which was a dra
wing-room only in the morning, being transformed later in the day into Ganya’s study and bedroom; and of a third room, very small and always shut up, where the mother and daughter slept. It was a tight fit, in fact, in the flat. Ganya could only grind his teeth and say nothing. Though he was and wished to be respectful to his mother, it could be seen from the first minute that he was a great despot in his family.
Nina Alexandrovna was not alone in the drawing-room. Her daughter was with her, and both ladies were busy with some knitting while talking to a visitor, Ivan Petrovitch Ptitsyn. Nina Alexandrovna looked about fifty, with a thin and sunken face and dark rings under her eyes. She looked in delicate health and somewhat melancholy, but her face and expression were rather pleasing. At the first word one could see that she was of an earnest disposition and had genuine dignity. In spite of her melancholy air one felt that she had firmness and even determination. She was very modestly dressed in some dark colour in an elderly style, but her manner, her conversation, all her ways betrayed that she was a woman who had seen better days.
Varvara Ardalionovna was a girl of twenty-three, of middle height, rather thin. Her face, though not very beautiful, possessed the secret of charm without beauty and was extraordinarily attractive. She was very like her mother and was dressed in almost the same way, showing absolutely no desire to be smart. Her grey eyes might have been at times very merry and caressing, if they had not as a rule looked grave and thoughtful; too much so, especially of late. Her face too showed firmness and decision; in fact it suggested an even more vigorous and enterprising determination than her mother’s. Varvara Ardalionovna was rather hot-tempered, and her brother was sometimes positively afraid of her temper. The visitor with them now, Ivan Petrovitch Ptitsyn, was a little afraid of her too. He was a young man, not yet thirty, modestly but elegantly dressed, with a pleasant but rather too solemn manner. His dark brown beard showed that he was not in the government service. He could talk cleverly and well, but was more often silent. He made a pleasant impression on the whole. He was obviously attracted by Varvara Ardalionovna and did not conceal his feelings. She treated him in a friendly way, but put off answering certain questions, and did not like them. But Ptitsyn was far from losing courage. Nina Alexandrovna was cordial to him and had of late begun to confide in him. It was known, moreover, that he was trying to make his fortune by lending money at high interest on more or less good security. He was a great friend of Ganya’s.
Ganya greeted his mother very frigidly, did not greet his sister at all, and after abruptly introducing Myshkin and giving a minute account of him, he at once drew Ptitsyn out of the room. Nina Alexandrovna said a few friendly words to Myshkin and told Kolya, who peeped in at the door, to conduct him to the middle room. Kolya was a boy with a merry and rather pleasant face and a confiding and simple manner.
“Where is your luggage?” he asked Myshkin, as they went into the room.
“I have a bundle. I left it in the passage.”
“I’ll bring it you directly. We have only the cook and Matryona, so I help too. Varya looks after everything and gets cross. Ganya says you’ve come from Switzerland to-day.”
“Yes.”
“Is it nice in Switzerland?”
“Very.”
“Mountains?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll bring you your bundles directly.”
Varvara Ardalionovna came in.
“Matryona will make your bed directly. Have you a trunk?”
“No, a bundle. Your brother has gone to fetch it; it’s in the passage.”
“There’s no bundle there except this little one. Where have you put it?” asked Kolya, coming back into the room.
“I haven’t any but that,” answered Myshkin, taking his bundle.
“A-ah! I was wondering whether they hadn’t been carried off by Ferdyshtchenko.”
“Don’t talk nonsense,” said Varya sternly. Even to Myshkin she spoke shortly and with bare civility.
“Chere Babette, you might treat me more tenderly, I am not Ptitsyn.”
“One can see you still want whipping, Kolya, you are so stupid. bu can ask Matryona for anything you want. Dinner is at half-past four. You can dine with us or in your own room, as you prefer. Come, Kolya, don’t be in the way.”
“Let us go, you determined character.”
As they went out they came upon Ganya.
“Is father at home?” Ganya asked Kolya, and on receiving an affirmative reply he whispered something in his ear. Kolya nodded and followed his sister out.
“One word, prince. I forgot to mention it with all this . . . business. I’ve a request to make. Be so good, if it won’t be a great bother to you — don’t gossip here of what has just passed between Aglaia and me, nor there of what you’ll find here, because there’s degradation enough here too. Damn it all, though! . . . Restrain yourself for to-day, anyway.”
“I assure you that I gossiped much less than you think,” said Myshkin, with some irritation at Ganya’s reproaches.
Their relations were obviously becoming more and more strained.
“Well, I have had to put up with enough to-day through you. Anyway, I beg you to keep quiet.”
“You must notice besides, Gavril Ardalionovitch, I was not bound in any way; and why shouldn’t I have spoken of the photograph? You didn’t ask me not to.”
“Foo! what a horrid room!” observed Ganya, looking round him contemptuously. “Dark and looking into the yard. bu’ve come to us at a bad time from every point of view. But that’s not my business, I don’t let the rooms.”
Ptitsyn peeped in and called Ganya, who hurriedly left Myshkin and went out. There was something more he wanted to say, but he was obviously ill at ease and seemed ashamed to say it. He had found fault with the room to cover his embarrassment.
As soon as Myshkin had washed and made himself a little tidier, the door opened again and another person looked in. This was a gentleman about thirty, tall and broad, with a huge curly red head. His face was red and fleshy, his lips were thick, his nose was broad and flat. He had little ironical eyes lost in fat, that looked as if they were always winking. The whole countenance produced an impression of insolence. He was rather dirtily dressed.
He first opened the door only far enough to poke his head in. The head looked about the room for five seconds, then the door began slowly opening and the whole person came into view in the doorway. “Vfet the visitor did not come in, but, screwing up his eyes, still stared at Myshkin from the doorway. At last he closed the door behind him, came nearer, sat down on a chair, took Myshkin’s hand, and made him sit on the sofa near him.
“Ferdyshtchenko,” he said, looking intently and inquiringly at Myshkin.
“What of it?” answered Myshkin, almost laughing.
“A boarder,” said Ferdyshtchenko, looking at him as before.
“Do you want to make my acquaintance?”
“E-ech,” said the visitor, sighing and ruffling up his hair, and he began staring in the opposite corner. “Have you money?” he asked, turning suddenly to Myshkin.
“A little.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five roubles.”
“Show me.”
Myshkin took the twenty-five-rouble note out of his waistcoat pocket and handed it to Ferdyshtchenko, who unfolded it, looked at it, turned it over, then held it to the light.
“That’s rather strange,” he said, seeming to reflect. “Why do they turn mud colour? These twenty-five-rouble notes often turn an awful colour, while others fade. Take it.”
Myshkin took back his note. Ferdyshtchenko got up from his chair.
“I’ve come in to warn you, in the first place, not to lend me money, for I shall be sure to ask you to.”
“Very well.”
“Do you mean to pay here?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I don’t. Thanks. I’m the next door on the right. Did you notice it? Try not to come and see me too often; I shall come and s
ee you, you needn’t be afraid. Have you seen the general?”
“No.”
“Nor heard him either?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, you’ll see him and hear him. What’s more, he tries to borrow even of me. Avis au lecteur. Good-bye. Can one exist with such a name as Ferdyshtchenko? Eh?”
“Why not?”
“Good-bye.”
And he went to the door. Myshkin learnt later that this gentleman felt it incumbent upon him to amaze everyone by his originality and liveliness, but never succeeded in doing so. Some people he impressed unfavourably, which was a real mortification to him. “Vfet he did not relinquish his efforts. At the door he succeeded in retrieving his position, so to speak, by stumbling against a gentleman who was coming in. Letting this fresh visitor, who was a stranger to Myshkin, into the room, he winked warningly several times behind his back, and so made a fairly effective exit.
The other gentleman was a tall and corpulent man of fifty-five or more, with a fleshy, bloated, purple-red face, set off by thick grey whiskers and moustache. He had large, rather prominent eyes. His appearance would have been rather impressive, if it had not been for something neglected, slovenly, even unclean about him. He was wearing shabby indoor clothes, an old frock-coat with elbows almost in holes and dirty linen. At close quarters he smelt a little of vodka, but his manner was impressive and rather studied. He betrayed a jealous desire to display his dignity.
The gentleman approached Myshkin deliberately, with an affable smile. He took his hand silently and, holding it for some time in his, looked into Myshkin’s face as though recognising familiarfeatures.
“It’s he! He!” he pronounced softly but solemnly. “His living picture! I heard them utter a dear and familiar name and it brought back a past that is gone forever.... Prince Myshkin?”
“Yes.”
“General Ivolgin, retired from service and unfortunate. bur name and your father’s, may I
venture to ask?”
“Lyov Nikolayevitch.”
“Yes, yes! Son of my friend, the companion of my childhood, I may say, Nikolay Petrovitch?”
Complete Works of Fyodor Dostoyevsky Page 274