“And you take no notice of it?”
“And I take no notice of it. He-he! And would you believe it, honoured prince, though the subject is not worthy of so much notice on your part, my pockets were always perfectly good, and then a hole like that, all of a sudden, in one night! I began to look at it more curiously; it’s as though some one had cut it with a pen-knife. Isn’t it almost incredible?”
“And … the general?”
“He’s been angry all day; both yesterday and today; fearfully ill-humoured. At one time he’d be beaminq and hilarious till he beqan to pav me compliments, then he’d be sentimental to tears, then suddenly angry; so much so, that I’d be frightened really, for I’m not a military man, after all. We were sitting yesterday in the tavern, and the lappet of my coat stood out as though by chance, in the most prominent way; a perfect mountain. He looked at it on the sly, and was angry. He hasn’t looked me straight in the face for a long time, unless he’s very drunk or sentimental; but yesterday he gave me a look that made a shudder run down my spine. Tomorrow, though, I mean to find the pocket-book, but I shall have an evening’s fun with him before then.”
“Why are you tormenting him so?” cried Myshkin.
“I’m not tormenting him, prince, I’m not tormenting him,” Lebedyev replied with warmth. “I sincerely love and . . . respect him; and now, whether you believe it or not, he’s dearer to me than ever. I have come to appreciate him even more.”
Lebedyev said all this so earnestly and sincerely that Myshkin was positively indignant.
“You love him and you torment him like this! Why, by the very act of putting the lost pocket-book where it could be seen under the chair and in your coat, by that alone he shows you that he doesn’t want to deceive you, but with open-hearted simplicity asks your forgiveness. Do you hear? He’s asking your forgiveness! So he relies on the delicacy of your feelings, so he believes in your friendship for him. And yet you reduce to such humiliation a man like that… a most honest man!”
“Most honest, prince, most honest!” Lebedyev assented, with sparkling eyes. “And you, most noble prince, are the only person capable of uttering that true word about him! For that, I am devoted to you and ready to worship you, though I am rotten to the core with vices of all sorts! That’s settled it! I will find the pocket-book now, at once, not to-morrow. Look, I take it out before your eyes; here it is. Here’s the money, untouched, here. Take it, most noble prince, take care of it till to-morrow. To-morrow or next day I’ll have it. And, do you know, prince, it’s evident that it must have been lying somewhere in my garden, hidden under some stone, the first night it was lost. What do you think?”
“Mind you don’t tell him directly to his face that you’ve found the pocket-book. Let him simply see that there’s nothing in the lappet of your coat, and he’ll understand.”
“You think so? Wouldn’t it be better to tell him I have found it, and to pretend I had not guessed about it till now?”
“N-no,” Myshkin pondered, “n-no; it’s too late for that now. That’s more risky. You’d really better not speak of it! Be kind to him, but . . . don’t show too much, and … and … you know….”
“I know, prince, I know. That is I know that I shan’t do it properly, perhaps. For one needs to have a heart like yours to do it. Besides, he’s irritable and prone to it himself, he has begun to treat me too superciliously sometimes of late. One minute he is whimpering and embracing me, and then he’ll suddenly begin to snub me, and sneer at me contemptuously, and then I just show him the lappet on purpose. He-he! Good-bye, prince; for it’s clear I’m keeping you and interrupting you in your most interesting feelings, so to say….”
“But for goodness’ sake, the same secrecy as before!”
“Treading softly, treading softly!”
But, though the matter was settled, Myshkin remained almost more puzzled than before. He awaited with impatience his interview with the general next day.
Chapter 4
The HOUR fixed was twelve, but Myshkin was, quite unexpectedly, late. On his return home he found the general waiting for him. He saw at the first glance that the old man was displeased, and very likely, just because he had been kept waiting. Apologising, Myshkin made haste to sit down, but he felt strangely timid, as though his guest were made of porcelain and he were afraid of breaking him. He had never felt timid with the general before; it had never entered his head to feel so. Myshkin soon perceived that he was a perfectly different man from what he had been yesterday. Instead of agitation and incoherence, there was an unmistakable, a visible and marked reserve; it could be seen that this was a man who had taken an irrevocable decision. But his composure was more apparent than real. In any case the visitor displayed a gentlemanly ease of manner, though with reserved dignity. He even treated Myshkin at first with an air of condescension, as proud people who have been gratuitously insulted sometimes do behave with gentlemanly ease. He spoke affably, though with a certain aggrieved intonation.
“Your book, which I borrowed from you the other day,” he said, nodding significantly at a book he had brought which was lying on the table. “I thank you.”
“Oh, yes. Have you read that article, general? How did you like it? It’s interesting, isn’t it?” Myshkin was delighted at the chance of beginning to talk on an irrelevant subject.
“Interesting, perhaps, but crude, and of course absurd. Probably a lie in every sentence.”
The general spoke with aplomb, and even drawled his words a little.
“Ah, it’s such an unpretentious story; the story of an old soldier who was an eye-witness of the arrival of the French in Moscow; some things in it are charming. Besides, every account given by an eyewitness is precious, isn’t it, whoever he may be?”
“Had I been the editor, I would not have printed it; as for the descriptions of eye-witnesses in general, people are more ready to believe crude liars, who are amusing, than a man of worth who has seen service. I know some descriptions of the year 1812 which . . . I’ve come to a determination, prince, I am leaving this house … the house of Mr. Lebedyev.”
The general looked significantly at Myshkin.
“You have your own rooms at Pavlovsk at … at your daughter’s . . ,” said Myshkin, not knowing what to say.
He remembered that the general had come to ask his advice about a most important matter, on which his fate depended.
“At my wife’s; in other words, at home, in my daughter’s house.”
“I beg your pardon. I…”
“I am leaving Lebedyev’s house, because, dear prince, because I have broken with that man. I broke with him yesterday evening and regret I did not do so before. I insist on respect, prince, and I wish to receive it even from those, upon whom I bestow, so to speak, my heart. Prince, I often bestow my heart, and I am almost always deceived. That man is not worthy of what I gave him.”
“There’s a great deal in him that’s extravagant,” Myshkin observed discreetly, “and some traits . . . but in the midst of it all one can perceive a good heart, and a sly, and sometimes amusing intelligence.”
The nicety of the expressions and the respectfulness of the tone flattered the general, though he still looked at Myshkin sometimes with sudden mistrustfulness. But Myshkin’s tone was so natural and sincere that he could not suspect it.
“That he has good qualities,” the general assented, “I was the first to declare, when I almost bestowed my friendship on that individual. I have no need of his house and his hospitality, having a family of my own. I do not justify my failings. I am weak; I have drunk with him, and now perhaps I am weeping for it. But it was not for the sake of the drink alone (excuse, prince, the coarseness of candour in an irritated man), it was not for the sake of the drink alone I became friendly with him. What allured me was just, as you say, his qualities. But all only to a certain point, even his qualities; and if he suddenly has the impudence to declare to one’s face, that in 1812, when he was a little child he lost his left leg, and buried it in the Vagankovsky cemetery in Moscow, he is going beyond the limit, showing disrespect and being impertinent….”
“Perhaps it was only a joke to raise a laugh.”
“I understand. An innocent lie, however crude, to raise a laugh, does not wound a human heart. One man will tell a lie, if you like, simply from friendship, to please the man he is talking to; but if there’s a suspicion of disrespect, if he means to show just by such disrespect that he is weary of the friendship, there’s nothing left for a man of honour but to turn away and break off all connection, putting the offender in his proper place.”
The general positively flushed as he spoke.
“Why, Lebedyev
