“Who could have told her?”
“Ippolit, most likely. It would have been the greatest satisfaction to him to report the matter to mother, as soon as he moved here, I expect.”
“But how does he know? Tell me that, pray. The prince and Lebedyev made up their minds to tell nobody; Kolya knows nothing.”
“Ippolit? He found it out for himself. You can’t imagine what a sly beast he is; what a gossip he is; how quick he is at sniffing out anything bad, any sort of scandal. \bu may not believe it, but I am sure he has succeeded in getting a hold on Aglaia; and if he hasn’t, he will. Rogozhin has got to know him too. How is it the prince does not notice it? And how eager he is to score off me now! He looks upon me as his personal enemy, I’ve seen that a long time — why and with what object, since he is dying, I can’t make out. But I’ll get the better of him. \bu will see that I’ll score off him, not he off me!”
“What made you, then, entice him here, if you hate him so? And is he worth scoring off?”
“You advised me to entice him here.”
“I thought he would be of use. But do you know that he has fallen in love with Aglaia himself now, and has been writing to her? They asked me about him.. . . He may even have written to Lizaveta Prokofyevna.”
“He is not dangerous in that way,” said Ganya, with a spiteful laugh, “but most likely you are mistaken. It’s very possible he is in love, for he is a boy. But … he wouldn’t write anonymous letters to the old lady. He is such a spiteful, insignificant, self-satisfied mediocity! … I am convinced, I know, that he represented me to her as a scheming adventurer; that’s what he began with. I must own that, like a fool, I talked to him freely at first. I thought that, simply to revenge himself on the prince, he’d work in my interests. He is such a sly beast! Ah, I have seen through him now completely! And he heard about that theft from his mother, the captain’s widow. If the old man did bring himself to it, it was for that woman’s sake. He suddenly told me, apropos of nothing, that the general had promised his mother four hundred roubles; and he told me that without the least ceremony, absolutely apropos of nothing. Then I understood it all. And he peered right in my face with a sort of glee. He’s told mother too, most likely, for the mere pleasure of breaking her heart. And why on earth doesn’t he die, pray? He promised to die in three weeks, and here he is getting fatter! He is coughing less; he said himself last night that he hadn’t brought up blood for two days.”
“Turn him out.”
“I don’t hate him, I despise him!” Ganya pronounced proudly. “Well, yes, I do hate him then, I do,” he shouted suddenly with extraordinary fury, “and I’ll tell him so to his face, even if he lies dying on his bed! If you’d read his confession — good Lord, th e naivete of its insolence! He is a regular Lieutenant Pirogov, a Nozdryov — turned tragic, and, above all, he is a puppy! Oh, how I should have enjoyed thrashing him, simply to surprise him! Now he wants to pay every one out because he failed to . . . But what’s that? A noise again? What can it be, really? I won’t put up with it, Ptitsyn!” he cried to his brother-in-law who came into the room. “What’s the meaning of this? What are we coming to? This is . .. this is …”
But the noise was quickly coming nearer, the door was suddenly flung open, and old Ivolgin, wrathful, crimson in the face, and beside himself with agitation, attacked Ptitsyn too. The old man was followed by Nina Alexandrovna, Kolya and the last of all Ippolit.
Chapter 2
It WAS five days since Ippolit had moved to Ptitsyn’s house. This had happened naturally, without any break between him and Myshkin. Far from quarrelling, they appeared to part as friends. Gavril Ardalionovitch, who had been so antagonistic to Ippolit on that evening, came of himself, three days afterwards, however, to see him, probably moved to do so by some sudden idea. Rogozhin too, for some reason, took to visiting the invalid. It seemed to Myshkin at first that it would be better for the “poor boy” himself if he were to move out of his (Myshkin’s) house. But at the time of his removal Ippolit observed that he was going to stay with Ptitsyn, “who was so kind as to give him a corner,” and, as though purposely, he never once put it that he was going to stay with Ganya, though it was Ganya who had insisted on his being received into the house. Ganya noticed it at the time, and it rankled in his heart.
He was right when he told his sister that the invalid was better. Ippolit was somewhat better than before, and the improvement was evident at the first glance. He came into the room after every one else, with a sarcastic and malignant smile on his face. Nina Alexandrovna came in, very much frightened. She was thinner and had greatly changed during the last six months; since she had moved to her daughter’s house on the latter’s marriage, she had almost given up outwardly taking any part in her children’s affairs. Kolya was worried and seemed puzzled; there was a great deal he did not understand in the “general’s madness,” as he expressed it, being, of course, unaware of the reasons of this last upset in the house. But it was clear to him that his father was quarreling everywhere and all day long, and had suddenly so changed that he was not like the same man. It made him uneasy, too, to see that the old man had, for the last three days, entirely given up drinking. He knew that his father had fallen out and even quarrelled with Lebedyev and Myshkin. Kolya had just returned home with a pint bottle of vodka, paid for out of his own pocket.
“Really, mother,” he had assured Nina Alexandrovna upstairs, “really it’s better to let him drink. It’s three days since he touched a drop, he must be feeling wretched. It’s really better; I used to take it him to the prison.”
The general flung the door wide open, and stood in the doorway, seeming to quiver with indignation.
“Sir!” he shouted in a voice of thunderto Ptitsyn. “If you have really decided to sacrifice to a milksop and an atheist a venerable old man, your father, that is, at least, the father of your wife, who has served his sovereign, I will never set my foot within your doors from this hour. Choose, sir, choose at once; it’s either me or that . . . screw! “Vfes, a screw! I said it without thinking, but he is a screw, for he probes into my soul with a screw, and with no sort of respect.. . . What a screw!”
“Don’t you mean a cork-screw?” Ippolit put in.
“No, not a cork-screw! For I stand before you, a general, not a bottle. I have decorations, the rewards of distinction . . . and you have less than nothing. It’s either he or I. Make up your mind, sir, at once, at once!” he shouted frantically again to Ptitsyn.
At that moment Kolya set a chair for him and he sank on to it exhausted.
“You really had better . . . have a nap,” muttered Ptitsyn, overwhelmed.
“Fancy him threatening!” Ganya said to his sister in an undertone.
“Have a nap!” shouted the general. “I am not drunk, sir, and you insult me. I see,” he went on, getting up, “that everything is against me here, everything and everybody. Enough! I am going. . . . But you may be sure, sir, you may be sure …”
He was not allowed to finish. They made him sit down again; and began begging him to be calm. Ganya, in a fury, retired into a corner. Nina Alexandrovna was trembling and weeping.
“But what have I done to him? What’s he complaining of?” cried Ippolit, grinning.
“As though you had done nothing!” Nina Alexandrovna observed suddenly. “It’s particularly shameful of you . . . and inhuman to torment an old man … and in your place, too.”
“To begin with, what is my place, madam? I respect vou verv much, vou personally, but…”
“He’s a screw!” bawled the general. “He probes into my soul and heart. He wants me to believe in atheism. Let me tell you, young whippersnapper, that before you were born I was loaded with honours. And you’re only an envious man, torn in two with coughing and dying of spite and infidelity. And why has Gavril brought you here? They’re all against me, even to my own son.”
“Oh, leave off, you’ve got up a tragedy!” cried Ganya. “If you didn’t put us to shame all over the town, it would be better.”
“What, I put you to shame, milksop, you? I can only do you credit, I can’t dishonour you!”
He began shouting, and they could not restrain him, but Gavril Ardalionovitch could not control himself either.
“You talk about honour!” he shouted angrily.
“What do you say?” thundered the general, turning pale and taking a step towards him.
“That I need only open my mouth to . .
