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The Idiot (New translation)
forward to having a laugh at him afterwards. I knew that your brother would make a blunder and give himself away to me shockingly. And so it has turned out… I am ready to spare him now, simply out of respect for you, Varvara Ardalionovna. But since I have made it clear that it is not so easy to catch me, I’ll explain why I was so anxious to make your brother look a fool. You must know that I’ve done it because I hate him, I confess it openly. When I die (for I am dying even if I have grown fatter as you say), when I die, I feel I shall go to paradise with my heart incomparably more at ease, if I succeed in making a fool of one at least of the class of people who have persecuted me all my life, whom I have hated all my life, and of which your excellent brother is a conspicuous example. I hate you, Gavril Ardalionovitch, simply because — this will perhaps seem marvellous to you — simply because you are the type, the incarnation, the acme of the most insolent and self-satisfied, the most vulgar and loathsome commonplaceness. \burs is the commonplaceness of pomposity, of self-satisfaction and Olympian serenity. You are the most ordinary of the ordinary! Not the smallest idea of your own will ever take shape in your heart or your mind. But you are infinitely envious; you are firmly persuaded that you are a great genius; but yet doubt does visit you sometimes at black moments, and you grow spiteful and envious. Oh, there are still black spots on your horizon; they will pass when you become quite stupid, and that’s not far off; but a long and chequered path lies before you! I can’t call it a cheerful one and I’m glad of it. In the first place I predict that you won’t gain a certain lady…”
“Oh, this is unbearable!” cried Varya. “Will you leave off, you horrid, spiteful creature?”
Ganya turned white, quivered and kept silent. Ippolit stopped, looked intentlvand with relish at him,
turned his eyes to Varya, bowed and went out, without adding another word.
Gavril Ardalionovitch might with justice have complained of his lot and of his ill-success. For some time Varya did not venture to speak to him, she did not even glance at him as he paced to and fro before her with long strides; at last he walked away to the window and stood with his back to her. Varya thought of the Russian proverb about “a knife that cuts both ways.” A noise began again overhead.
“Are you going?” Ganya asked suddenly, hearing her get up from her seat. “Wait a bit. Look at this.”
He went up and threw on the chair before her a piece of paperfolded into the shape of a tiny note.
“Good heavens!” cried Varya, clasping her hands.
There were just seven lines in the note:
“Gavril Ardalionovitch! As I am convinced of your friendly feeling for me I venture to ask your advice in a matter of great importance to me. I should like to meet you to-morrow morning at seven o’clock at the green seat. It’s not far from our villa. Varvara Ardalionovna who must accompany you knows the place well. A.E.”
“Good heavens, what will she do next?” Varvara Ardalionovna flung up her hands.
Little as Ganya was inclined to be boastful at that moment, he could not help showing his triumph, especially after Ippolit’s humiliating predictions. A self-satisfied smile lit up his face, and Varya, too, beamed all over with delight.
“And that on the very day when her betrothal is to be announced! Well, there’s no knowing what she’ll do next!”
“What do you think? What does she mean to speak about to-morrow?” asked Ganya.
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that she wants to see you for the first time after six months. Listen to me, Ganya, whatever’s happened, whatever turn it takes, I tell you it’s important! It’s tremendously important! Don’t swagger, don’t make another blunder, and don’t be faint-hearted either, mind that. She must have guessed why I’ve been trudging off there for the last six months? And fancy, she didn’t say a word to me to-day, she made no sign. I’ve been to them on the sly, you know. The old woman did not know I was there, or maybe she’d have sent me packing. I risked it for your sake, to find out at all costs….”
Again there was shouting and uproar overhead. Several persons were coming downstairs.
“This mustn’t be allowed now on any account!” cried Varya, flurried and alarmed. “Not a shadow of a scandal! Go, ask his forgiveness!”
But the head of the family was already in the street. Kolya was dragging his bag after him. Nina Alexandrovna was standing on the steps, crying; she would have run after him, but Ptitsyn held her back.
“You only make him worse like that,” he said to her. “He has nowhere to go. He’ll be brought back again in half an hour. I’ve spoken to Kolya already; let him play the fool.”
“Why these heroics? Where can you go?” Ganya shouted from the window. “You’ve nowhere to go!”
“Come back, father!” cried Varya, “the neighbours will hear.”
The general stopped, turned round, stretched out his hand, and exclaimed:
“My curse on this house!”
“He must take that theatrical tone!” muttered Ganya, closing the window with a slam.
The neighbours certainly were listening. Varya ran out of the room.
When Varya had gone out, Ganya took the note from the table, kissed it, gave a click of satisfaction and pirouetted round.

Chapter 3

The SCENE with the general would never have come to anything in other circumstances. He had had sudden outbursts of temper of the same kind before, though not often; for, generally speaking, he was a very good-tempered man, and of a rather kindly disposition. A hundred times perhaps he had struggled against the bad habits that had gained the mastery of him of late years. He used suddenly to remember that he was head of a family, would make it up with his wife, and shed genuine tears. He respected and almost worshipped Nina Alexandrovna, for having forgiven him so much in silence, and for loving him, even though he had become a grotesque and degraded figure. But his noble-hearted efforts to overcome his failings did not usually last long. The general was besides of a too “impulsive” character, though in his own peculiar fashion. He could not stand for long his empty mode of life as a penitent in his family and ended by revolting. He flew into a paroxysm of excitement, for which, perhaps he was inwardly reproaching himself at the very moment, though he could not restrain himself: he quarrelled, began talking eloquently and rhetorically, insisting upon being treated with the most exaggerated and impossible respect and finally would disappear from the house, sometimes remaining absent for a long time. For the last two years he had only a vague idea from hearsay of the circumstances of the family. He had given up going further into matters, feeling not the slightest impulse to do so.

But this time there was something exceptional in the “general’s outbreak.” Every one seemed to be aware of something, and every one seemed afraid to speak of it. The general had “formally” presented himself to his family, that is to Nina Alexandrovna, only three days before, but not humble and penitent as on all previous “reappearances,” but on the contrary — with marked irritability. He was loquacious, restless, talked heatedly to all, and, as it were, hurled himself upon every one he met, but always speaking of such irrelevant and unexpected subjects that it was impossible to get to the bottom of what was worrying him. At moments he was cheerful, but for the most part he was thoughtful, though he did not know himself what he was thinking about. He would suddenly begin to talk of something — of the Epanchins, of Myshkin, of Lebedyev — and then he would suddenly break off and cease speaking, and only responded to further questions with a vacant smile, without being conscious himself that he was being questioned or that he was smiling. He had spent the previous night moaning and groaning and had exhausted Nina Alexandrovna, who had been up all night, preparing fomentations. Towards morning he had suddenly fallen asleep; he slept for four hours and waked up with a most violent and irrational attack of hypochondria, which ended in a quarrel with Ippolit and “a curse on this house.” They noticed, too, that for those three days he had been liable to violent attacks of self-esteem, which made him morbidly ready to take offence. Kolya assured his mother and insisted that this was all due to a craving for drink, and perhaps for Lebedyev, with whom the general had become extraordinarily friendly of late. But, three days before he had suddenly quarrelled with Lebedyev, and had parted from him in a terrible fury. There had even been some sort of a scene with Myshkin. Kolya begged Myshkin for an explanation, and began at last to suspect that he too knew something he did not want to tell him. If, as Ganya, with every possibility of correctness, supposed, some special conversation had taken place between Ippolit and Nina Alexandrovna, it seemed strange that this spiteful youth, whom Ganya called so openly a “scandalmonger,” had not found satisfaction in initiating Kolya into the secret in the same way. It was very possible that he was not such a malicious and nasty “puppy” as Ganya had described him

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forward to having a laugh at him afterwards. I knew that your brother would make a blunder and give himself away to me shockingly. And so it has turned out…