‘I’ve forgotten nothing, nothing, come along! This way, up this magnificent staircase. I’m surprised there is no hall porter, but ... it’s a holiday, and the porter has taken the day off. They haven’t sacked the drunkard yet. This Sokolovich owes all the happiness of his life and position to me, to me alone, and no one else, but ... here we are.’
By now, the prince had stopped objecting to the visit, and obediently followed the general, in order not to irritate him, in the sanguine hope that General Sokolovich and all his household would gradually evaporate like a mirage and prove to be non-existent, so that they could, very calmly, come back down the staircase again. But, to his horror, this hope began to recede; the general led him up the staircase like a man who really did have acquaintances here, and kept constantly inserting biographical and topographical details that were full of a mathematical precision. At last, when they reached the first floor and stopped on the right, facing the door of a wealthy apartment, and the general took hold of the doorbell handle, the prince decided to run away; but at that moment a strange circumstance stopped him.
‘You’re mistaken, general,’ he said. ‘The name on the door is Kulakov, but it’s Sokolovich you want.’
‘Kulakov ... Kulakov proves nothing. This is Sokolovich’s apartment, and I’m ringing for Sokolovich; I don’t give a damn about Kulakov ... There, now they’re coming to open.’
The door really had opened. A lackey peered out and announced: ‘The master and mistress are not at home, sir.’
‘What a pity, what a pity, and what bad luck,’ Ardalion Alexandrovich repeated several times with the most profound regret. ‘Then please tell them, my dear fellow, that General Ivolgin and Prince Myshkin wished to pay their respects and were extremely, extremely sorry ...’
At this moment another face peeped through the door from the interior of the apartment, apparently that of a housekeeper, or possibly even a governess, a lady of about forty, wearing a dark
dress. On hearing the names of General Ivolgin and Prince Myshkin she approached with curiosity and mistrust.
‘Marya Alexandrovna is not at home,’ she said, giving the general a particularly close look. ‘She’s gone away with the young lady, Alexandra Mikhailovna, to the young lady’s grand-mother.’
‘And Alexandra Mikhailovna with her, good Lord, what misfortune! And imagine, madam, I always have such misfortune! I most humbly ask you to convey my greeting, and remember me to Alexandra Mikhailovna ... in a word, give them my heartfelt wishes for what they themselves wished for on Thursday, in the evening, to the strains of one of Chopin’s Ballades; they will remember ... My heartfelt wishes! General Ivolgin and Prince Myshkin!’
‘I won’t forget, sir,’ the lady said with a bow of farewell, more trusting now.
As they went down the staircase, the general, still with ardour uncooled, continued to express regret that they had not found them at home and that the prince had been deprived of such a charming acquaintance.
‘You know, my dear fellow, I’m something of a poet at heart, have you noticed that? However ... however, I think we didn’t quite go to the right place,’ he concluded, apropos of nothing at all. ‘The Sokoloviches, I remember now, live in another house and even, I think, in Moscow now. Yes, I was slightly mistaken, but it ... doesn’t matter.’
‘There’s only one thing I should like to know,’ the prince observed dismally. ‘Ought I to stop relying on you altogether and go on my own?’
‘Stop? Relying? On your own? But for what reason, when for me this is a most capital enterprise, on which so much of the fate of my household depends? But, my young friend, you don’t know Ivolgin very well. Whoever says “Ivolgin” says “a wall”; you can rely on Ivolgin like a wall, that’s what they used to say in the squadron where I began my service. All I want to do is to call in for a moment at a certain house where my soul finds repose, and has done for some years now, after many trials an
d tribulations ...’
‘You want to call in at your home?’
‘No! I want ... to go and see the widow of Captain Terentyev, my former subordinate ... There, at the captain’s widow’s house, I am reborn in spirit, and bring her the unhappiness of my everyday and family life ... And as today there is a great weight upon my mind, I ...’
‘I think I’ve already done something very stupid,’ the prince muttered, ‘by having troubled you this evening. What’s more, now you’re ... Goodbye!’
‘But I cannot, I cannot let you go, my young friend!’ the general flung back at him. ‘A widow, the mother of a family, and she pulls from her heart the strings that respond in all my being. A visit to her would take five minutes, in that house I don’t stand on ceremony, I almost live there; I shall have a wash, attend to the most essential items of dress
, and then we shall take a cab to the Bolshoi Theatre. I assure you that I have need of you for the whole evening ... It’s this house here, we’ve arrived ... Ah, Kolya, are you here already? Well, is Marfa Borisovna at home, or have you only just got here yourself?’
‘Oh no,’ replied Kolya, who had just collided with them in the gateway of the house, ‘I’ve been here for ages, with Ippolit, he’s worse, he was in bed this morning. I’ve come down now to get some cards at the shop. Marfa Borisovna is waiting for you. But, Papa, oh, look at you! ...’ Kolya concluded, staring fixedly at the general’s walk and stance. ‘Well then, come on!’
The encounter with Kolya induced the prince to accompany the general to Marfa Borisovna’s, too, but only for a minute. The prince needed Kolya; as for the general, however, he had made up his mind to abandon him, and was kicking himself for having earlier thought he could rely on him. The ascent was a long one, to the fourth floor, and by the back stairs.
‘Are you going to introduce the prince?’ asked Kolya, on the way.
‘Yes,
mon ami
, I am: General Ivolgin and Prince Myshkin, but tell me ... how is ... Marfa Borisovna ...’
‘You know, Papa, you’d better not go in there! She’ll eat you alive! You haven’t shown your face for three days, and she’s waiting for the money. Why did you promise her that money? You’re always like that! Now you’ll have to settle with her.’
On the fourth floor they stopped in front of a low door. The general was visibly afraid, and pushed the prince ahead of him.
‘I’ll stay here,’ he muttered. ‘I want to make it a surprise ...’
Kolya went in first. Some lady or other kind, aged about forty, heavily powdered and rouged, in slippers and a dressing-jacket, her hair plaited in pigtails, peeped from the doorway, and the general’s surprise suddenly vanished. As soon as the lady caught sight of him she immediately began to shout:
‘There he is, the vile, insidious man, I knew it in my heart!’
‘Let’s go in, it’s all right,’ the general muttered to the prince, still trying to laugh it off innocently.
But it was not all right. No sooner had they entered, through a dark, low-ceilinged hallway, into a narrow sitting room lined with half a dozen wicker chairs and two card tables, than the mistress of the chambers continued in a studied, plaintive voice, the voice of habit:
‘And are you not ashamed, ashamed, you barbarian and tyrant of my household, barbarian and monster! You’ve robbed me of everything, sucked all the vital juices out of me and are still not satisfied! How much longer must I put up with you, you shameless and dishonourable man?’
‘Marfa Borisovna, Marfa Borisovna! This is ... Prince Myshkin. General Ivolgin and Prince Myshkin,’ muttered the trembling and flustered general.
‘Would you believe,’ the captain’s widow suddenly addressed the prince, ‘would you believe that this shameless man has had
no mercy on my orphaned children! He has robbed me of everything, stolen everything, sold everything and pawned it, has left me with nothing. What am I to do with your IOUs, you sly and unscrupulous man? Answer me, sly-boots, answer me, insatiable heart: how, how am I going to feed my orphaned children? Now he turns up drunk, hardly able to stand upright ... What have I done to incur the wrath of the Lord, infamous and disgraceful man, answer me that?’
But the general’s mind was elsewhere.
‘Marfa Borisovna, twenty-five roubles ... all I can manage, with the help of my most noble friend. Prince! I am cruelly mistaken! Such ... is life ... But now ... forgive me, I’m tired,’ the general continued, standing in the middle of the room and bowing in all directions, ‘I’m tired, forgive me! Lenochka! A pillow ... my dear!’
Lenochka, an eight-year-old girl, at once ran for a pillow and put it on the hard and tattered oilcloth-covered sofa. The general sat down on it, intending to say more, but as soon as he touched the sofa he at once slumped on his side, turned to the wall and fell into the sleep of the just. Marfa Borisovna ceremoniously and sorrowfully showed the prince to a chair at a card table, sat down opposite him, propped her right cheek in her hand, and silently began to sigh as she looked at the prince. Three small children, two girls and a boy, of whom Lenochka was the eldest, approached the table, all three put their hands on the table, and all three also began to watch the prince closely. Kolya appeared from the other room.
‘I’m very glad that I met you here, Kolya,’ the prince addressed him, ‘I wonder if you can help me? I absolutely must be at Nastasya Filippovna’s this evening. I asked Ardalion Ardalionovich earlier today, but now he’s fallen asleep. Please come with me, for I know neither the streets nor the way. I do, however have the address: near the Bolshoi Theatre, Mytovtsova’s house.
‘Nastasya Filippovna? But she’s never lived near the Bolshoi Theatre, and father has never been to Nastasya Filippovna’s, if you want to know; it’s strange that you expected anything of him. She lives near Vladimirskaya, by the Five Corners, that’s much closer to here. Do you want to go right now? It’s half past nine. If you like, I’ll take you there.’
The prince and Kolya went out at once. Alas! The prince had no money for a cab, and they had to go on foot.
‘I was going to introduce you to Ippolit,’ said Kolya. ‘He’s the eldest son of that captain’s widow in the dressing-jacket, and he was in the other room; he’s ill, and has been in bed all day today. But he’s a strange fellow; he’s terribly touchy, and I thought he might be ashamed in front of you, because you’d come at such a moment ... All the same, I’m not as ashamed as he is, because I have a father, and he has a mother, it makes all the difference, because the male sex is not disgraced by such a situation. Though actually, it may perhaps be a prejudice regarding the p
redomination of one sex in this case. Ippolit is a splendid fellow, but he’s a slave to certain prejudices.’
‘You say he has consumption?’
‘Yes, apparently, he’d do better to die as soon as possible. If I were in his place I’d certainly want to die. He feels sorry for his brothers and sisters, those little ones, you know. If it were possible, if only we had the money, he and I would have rented separate lodgings and renounced our families. That is our dream. And you know, when I told him earlier about your incident, he even got angry, and said that anyone who allows his face to be slapped and doesn’t challenge the man who did it to a duel is a scoundrel. However, he’s dreadfully excitable, and I’ve given up arguing with him. So let’s see, Nastasya Filippovna invited you to her house straight away, did she?’
‘Well, no, not exactly - she didn’t.’
‘Then why are you going?’ exclaimed Kolya, even stopping in the middle of the pavement. ‘And ... in such clothes, and it’s a formal soiree.’
‘I honestly really don’t know how I shall get in. If I’m received - good, if not - it means the business falls through. And as far as clothes are concerned - what can I do?’
‘So you have business? Or are you just going
pour passer le temps
2
in “good society”?’
‘No, I actually ... that is, I’m going on business ... it’s hard for me to explain, but...’
‘Well, as to its precise nature, let that be as you wish, but for me the important thing is that you shouldn’t simply go gate-crashing a soiree to join the charming company of “camellias”, generals and moneylenders. If that were the case, forgive me, Prince, but I should laugh at you and begin to despise you. There are awfully few decent people here, there’s even no one to respect at all. One finds oneself looking down on them, but they all demand respect; Varya’s the first among them. And have you noticed, Prince, that in our age everyone is an adventurer! Especially here in Russia, in our dear fatherland. And how it all came to be like this, I don’t understand. Everything seemed to be so solid, but what do we see now? Everyone talks about it and writes about it everywhere. They accuse. In our country everyone accuses. The parents are the first to go back on their word, and are ashamed of their former moral probity. Down there in Moscow a father tried to persuade his son not to stop
at anything
in order to get money; it was in the press.
3
Take my general. Well, what has become of him? Though actually, you know: I think my general is an honourable man; I honestly do! It’s all just confusion and drink. It honestly is so! I even feel sorry for him; I’m just afraid to say it, because everyone laughs; but quite honestly, I feel sorry for him. And what about them, the clever ones? They’re all moneylenders, every last one of them! Ippolit says that money-lending is justified, he says it has to be that way, the economic crisis, some kind of ebb and flow, the devil take it. I find it awfully annoying when
he says that, but he’s embittered. Imagine, his mother, the captain’s widow there, gets money from the general and then lends it back to him at high interest; horribly shameful! And you know, Mother, my mother that is, Nina Alexandrovna, the general’s wife, helps Ippolit with money, clothes, linen and everything, and she even helps the children, too, through Ippolit, because they’re neglected by their own mother. And Varya helps, too.’
‘There you are, you see, you say there are no decent, strong people, and they’re all just moneylenders; but there are strong people, your mother and Varya. Isn’t helping here and in such circumstances a sign of moral strength?’