The general shouted in his fury; but it was to be conclud-ed that his wrath was not kindled by the expressed doubt as to Kapiton’s existence. This was his scapegoat; but his ex-citement was caused by something quite different. As a rule he would have merely shouted down the doubt as to Kapi-ton, told a long yarn about his friend, and eventually retired upstairs to his room. But today, in the strange uncertainty of human nature, it seemed to require but so small an of-fence as this to make his cup to overflow. The old man grew purple in the face, he raised his hands. ‘Enough of this!’ he yelled. ‘My curse—away, out of the house I go! Colia, bring my bag away!’ He left the room hastily and in a paroxysm of rage.
His wife, Colia, and Ptitsin ran out after him.
‘What have you done now?’ said Varia to Gania. ‘He’ll probably be making off THERE again! What a disgrace it all is!’
‘Well, he shouldn’t steal,’ cried Gania, panting with fury. And just at this moment his eye met Hippolyte’s.
‘As for you, sir,’ he cried, ‘you should at least remember that you are in a strange house and—receiving hospitality; you should not take the opportunity of tormenting an old man, sir, who is too evidently out of his mind.’
Hippolyte looked furious, but he restrained himself.
‘I don’t quite agree with you that your father is out of his mind,’ he observed, quietly. ‘On the contrary, I cannot help thinking he has been less demented of late. Don’t you think so? He has grown so cunning and careful, and weighs his words so deliberately; he spoke to me about that Kapiton fellow with an object, you know! Just fancy—he wanted me to—‘
‘Oh, devil take what he wanted you to do! Don’t try to be too cunning with me, young man!’ shouted Gania. ‘If you are aware of the real reason for my father’s present con-dition (and you have kept such an excellent spying watch during these last few days that you are sure to be aware of it)—you had no right whatever to torment the—unfortu-nate man, and to worry my mother by your exaggerations of the affair; because the whole business is nonsense—simply a drunken freak, and nothing more, quite unproved by any evidence, and I don’t believe that much of it!’ (he snapped his fingers). ‘But you must needs spy and watch over us all, because you are a-a—‘
‘Screw!’ laughed Hippolyte.
‘Because you are a humbug, sir; and thought fit to worry people for half an hour, and tried to frighten them into be-lieving that you would shoot yourself with your little empty pistol, pirouetting about and playing at suicide! I gave you hospitality, you have fattened on it, your cough has left you, and you repay all this—‘
‘Excuse me—two words! I am Varvara Ardalionovna’s guest, not yours; YOU have extended no hospitality to me.
On the contrary, if I am not mistaken, I believe you are yourself indebted to Mr. Ptitsin’s hospitality. Four days ago I begged my mother to come down here and find lodgings, because I certainly do feel better here, though I am not fat, nor have I ceased to cough. I am today informed that my room is ready for me; therefore, having thanked your sister and mother for their kindness to me, I intend to leave the house this evening. I beg your pardon—I interrupted you— I think you were about to add something?’
‘Oh—if that is the state of affairs—‘ began Gania. ‘Excuse me—I will take a seat,’ interrupted Hippolyte
once more, sitting down deliberately; ‘for I am not strong yet. Now then, I am ready to hear you. Especially as this is the last chance we shall have of a talk, and very likely the last meeting we shall ever have at all.’
Gania felt a little guilty.
‘I assure you I did not mean to reckon up debits and cred-its,’ he began, ‘and if you—‘
‘I don’t understand your condescension,’ said Hippolyte. ‘As for me, I promised myself, on the first day of my arrival
in this house, that I would have the satisfaction of settling accounts with you in a very thorough manner before I said good-bye to you. I intend to perform this operation now, if you like; after you, though, of course.’
‘May I ask you to be so good as to leave this room?’ ‘You’d better speak out. You’ll be sorry afterwards if you
don’t.’
‘Hippolyte, stop, please! It’s so dreadfully undignified,’ said Varia.
‘Well, only for the sake of a lady,’ said Hippolyte, laugh-ing. ‘I am ready to put off the reckoning, but only put it off, Varvara Ardalionovna, because an explanation between your brother and myself has become an absolute necessity, and I could not think of leaving the house without clearing up all misunderstandings first.’
‘In a word, you are a wretched little scandal-monger,’ cried Gania, ‘and you cannot go away without a scandal!’
‘You see,’ said Hippolyte, coolly, ‘ you can’t restrain your-self. You’ll be dreadfully sorry afterwards if you don’t speak out now. Come, you shall have the first say. I’ll wait.’
Gania was silent and merely looked contemptuously at him.
‘You won’t? Very well. I shall be as short as possible, for my part. Two or three times to-day I have had the word ‘hos-pitality’ pushed down my throat; this is not fair. In inviting me here you yourself entrapped me for your own use; you thought I wished to revenge myself upon the prince. You heard that Aglaya Ivanovna had been kind to me and read my confession. Making sure that I should give myself up to your interests, you hoped that you might get some assis-tance out of me. I will not go into details. I don’t ask either admission or confirmation of this from yourself; I am quite content to leave you to your conscience, and to feel that we understand one another capitally.’
‘What a history you are weaving out of the most ordinary circumstances!’ cried Varia.
‘I told you the fellow was nothing but a scandalmonger,’ said Gania.
‘Excuse me, Varia Ardalionovna, I will proceed. I can, of course, neither love nor respect the prince, though he is a good-hearted fellow, if a little queer. But there is no need whatever for me to hate him. I quite understood your broth-er when he first offered me aid against the prince, though I did not show it; I knew well that your brother was making a ridiculous mistake in me. I am ready to spare him, however, even now; but solely out of respect for yourself, Varvara Ar-dalionovna.
‘Having now shown you that I am not quite such a fool as I look, and that I have to be fished for with a rod and line for a good long while before I am caught, I will proceed to explain why I specially wished to make your brother look a fool. That my motive power is hate, I do not attempt to con-ceal. I have felt that before dying (and I am dying, however much fatter I may appear to you), I must absolutely make a fool of, at least, one of that class of men which has dogged me all my life, which I hate so cordially, and which is so prominently represented by your much esteemed brother. I should not enjoy paradise nearly so much without hav-ing done this first. I hate you, Gavrila Ardalionovitch, solely (this may seem curious to you, but I repeat)—solely because you are the type, and incarnation, and head, and crown of the most impudent, the most self-satisfied, the most vulgar and detestable form of commonplaceness. You are ordinary of the ordinary; you have no chance of ever fathering the pettiest idea of your own. And yet you are as jealous and conceited as you can possibly be; you consider yourself a great genius; of this you are persuaded, although there are
dark moments of doubt and rage, when even this fact seems uncertain. There are spots of darkness on your horizon, though they will disappear when you become completely stupid. But a long and chequered path lies before you, and of this I am glad. In the first place you will never gain a cer-tain person.’
‘Come, come! This is intolerable! You had better stop, you little mischief-making wretch!’ cried Varia. Gania had grown very pale; he trembled, but said nothing.
Hippolyte paused, and looked at him intently and with great gratification. He then turned his gaze upon Varia, bowed, and went out, without adding another word.
Gania might justly complain of the hardness with which fate treated him. Varia dared not speak to him for a long while, as he strode past her, backwards and forwards. At last he went and stood at the window, looking out, with his back turned towards her. There was a fearful row going on upstairs again.
‘Are you off?’ said Gania, suddenly, remarking that she had risen and was about to leave the room. ‘Wait a mo-ment—look at this.’
He approached the table and laid a small sheet of paper before her. It looked like a little note.
‘Good heavens!’ cried Varia, raising her hands. This was the note:
‘GAVRILA ARDOLIONOVITCH,—persuaded of your kindness of heart, I have determined to ask your advice on a matter of great importance to myself. I should like to meet you tomorrow morning at seven o’clock by the green
bench in the park. It is not far from our house. Varvara Ar-dalionovna, who must accompany you, knows the place well.
‘A.
