something moreand had only made the remark about the room to gain time. The prince hadhardly had time to wash and tidy himself a little when the door openedonce more, and another figure appeared.
This was a gentleman of about thirty, tall, broad-shouldered, andred-haired; his face was red, too, and he possessed a pair of thicklips, a wide nose, small eyes, rather bloodshot, and with an ironicalexpression in them; as though he were perpetually winking at someone.His whole appearance gave one the idea of impudence; his dress wasshabby.
He opened the door just enough to let his head in. His head remained soplaced for a few seconds while he quietly scrutinized the room; the doorthen opened enough to admit his body; but still he did not enter. Hestood on the threshold and examined the prince carefully. At last hegave the door a final shove, entered, approached the prince, took hishand and seated himself and the owner of the room on two chairs side byside.
“Ferdishenko,” he said, gazing intently and inquiringly into theprince’s eyes.
“Very well, what next?” said the latter, almost laughing in his face.
“A lodger here,” continued the other, staring as before.
“Do you wish to make acquaintance?” asked the prince.
“Ah!” said the visitor, passing his fingers through his hair andsighing. He then looked over to the other side of the room and aroundit. “Got any money?” he asked, suddenly.
“Not much.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five roubles.”
“Let’s see it.”
The prince took his banknote out and showed it to Ferdishenko. Thelatter unfolded it and looked at it; then he turned it round andexamined the other side; then he held it up to the light.
“How strange that it should have browned so,” he said, reflectively.“These twenty-five rouble notes brown in a most extraordinary way, whileother notes often grow paler. Take it.”
The prince took his note. Ferdishenko rose.
“I came here to warn you,” he said. “In the first place, don’t lend meany money, for I shall certainly ask you to.”
“Very well.”
“Shall you pay here?”
“Yes, I intend to.”
“Oh! I _don’t_ intend to. Thanks. I live here, next door to you; younoticed a room, did you? Don’t come to me very often; I shall see youhere quite often enough. Have you seen the general?”
“No.”
“Nor heard him?”
“No; of course not.”
“Well, you’ll both hear and see him soon; he even tries to borrow moneyfrom me. _Avis au lecteur._ Good-bye; do you think a man can possiblylive with a name like Ferdishenko?”
“Why not?”
“Good-bye.”
And so he departed. The prince found out afterwards that this gentlemanmade it his business to amaze people with his originality and wit, butthat it did not as a rule “come off.” He even produced a bad impressionon some people, which grieved him sorely; but he did not change his waysfor all that.
As he went out of the prince’s room, he collided with yet anothervisitor coming in. Ferdishenko took the opportunity of making severalwarning gestures to the prince from behind the new arrival’s back, andleft the room in conscious pride.
This next arrival was a tall red-faced man of about fifty-five, withgreyish hair and whiskers, and large eyes which stood out of theirsockets. His appearance would have been distinguished had it not beenthat he gave the idea of being rather dirty. He was dressed in an oldcoat, and he smelled of vodka when he came near. His walk was effective,and he clearly did his best to appear dignified, and to impress peopleby his manner.
This gentleman now approached the prince slowly, and with a mostcourteous smile; silently took his hand and held it in his own, as heexamined the prince’s features as though searching for familiar traitstherein.
“‘Tis he, ‘tis he!” he said at last, quietly, but with much solemnity.“As though he were alive once more. I heard the familiar name--thedear familiar name--and, oh! how it reminded me of the irrevocablepast--Prince Muishkin, I believe?”
“Exactly so.”
“General Ivolgin--retired and unfortunate. May I ask your Christian andgeneric names?”
“Lef Nicolaievitch.”
“So, so--the son of my old, I may say my childhood’s friend, NicolaiPetrovitch.”
“My father’s name was Nicolai Lvovitch.”
“Lvovitch,” repeated the general without the slightest haste, and withperfect confidence, just as though he had not committed himself theleast in the world, but merely made a little slip of the tongue. He satdown, and taking the prince’s hand, drew him to a seat next to himself.
“I carried you in my arms as a baby,” he observed.
“Really?” asked the prince. “Why, it’s twenty years since my fatherdied.”
“Yes, yes--twenty years and three months. We were educated together; Iwent straight into the army, and he--”
“My father went into the army, too. He was a sub-lieutenant in theVasiliefsky regiment.”
“No, sir--in the Bielomirsky; he changed into the latter shortly beforehis death. I was at his bedside when he died, and gave him my blessingfor eternity. Your mother--” The general paused, as though overcome withemotion.
“She died a few months later, from a cold,” said the prince.
“Oh, not cold--believe an old man--not from a cold, but from grief forher prince. Oh--your mother, your mother! heigh-ho! Youth--youth! Yourfather and I--old friends as we were--nearly murdered each other for hersake.”
The prince began to be a little incredulous.
“I was passionately in love with her when she was engaged--engaged to myfriend. The prince noticed the fact and was furious. He came and woke meat seven o’clock one morning. I rise and dress in amazement; silence onboth sides. I understand it all. He takes a couple of pistols out of hispocket--across a handkerchief--without witnesses. Why invite witnesseswhen both of us would be walking in eternity in a couple of minutes? Thepistols are loaded; we stretch the handkerchief and stand opposite oneanother. We aim the pistols at each other’s hearts. Suddenly tears startto our eyes, our hands shake; we weep, we embrace--the battle is one ofself-sacrifice now! The prince shouts, ‘She is yours;’ I cry, ‘She isyours--’ in a word, in a word--You’ve come to live with us, hey?”
“Yes--yes--for a while, I think,” stammered the prince.
“Prince, mother begs you to come to her,” said Colia, appearing at thedoor.
The prince rose to go, but the general once more laid his hand in afriendly manner on his shoulder, and dragged him down on to the sofa.
“As the true friend of your father, I wish to say a few words to you,” he began. “I have suffered--there was a catastrophe. I suffered withouta trial; I had no trial. Nina Alexandrovna my wife, is an excellentwoman, so is my daughter Varvara. We have to let lodgings because we arepoor--a dreadful, unheard-of come-down for us--for me, who shouldhave been a governor-general; but we are very glad to have _you_, at allevents. Meanwhile there is a tragedy in the house.”
The prince looked inquiringly at the other.
“Yes, a marriage is being arranged--a marriage between a questionablewoman and a young fellow who might be a flunkey. They wish to bring thiswoman into the house where my wife and daughter reside, but while Ilive and breathe she shall never enter my doors. I shall lie at thethreshold, and she shall trample me underfoot if she does. I hardlytalk to Gania now, and avoid him as much as I can. I warn you of thisbeforehand, but you cannot fail to observe it. But you are the son of myold friend, and I hope--”
“Prince, be so kind as to come to me for a moment in the drawing-room,” said Nina Alexandrovna herself, appearing at the door.
“Imagine, my dear,” cried the general, “it turns out that I have nursedthe prince on my knee in the old days.” His wife looked searchingly athim, and glanced at the prince, but said nothing. The prince rose andfollowed her; but hardly had they reached the drawing-roo
m, and NinaAlexandrovna had begun to talk hurriedly, when in came the general.She immediately relapsed into silence. The master of the house may haveobserved this, but at all events he did not take any notice of it; hewas in high good humour.
“A son of my old friend, dear,” he cried; “surely you must rememberPrince Nicolai Lvovitch? You saw him at--at Tver.”
“I don’t remember any Nicolai Lvovitch. Was that your father?” sheinquired of the prince.
“Yes, but he died at Elizabethgrad, not at Tver,” said the prince,rather timidly. “So Pavlicheff told me.”
“No, Tver,” insisted the general; “he removed just before his death. Youwere very small and cannot remember; and Pavlicheff, though an excellentfellow, may have made a mistake.”
“You knew Pavlicheff then?”
“Oh, yes--a wonderful fellow; but I was present myself. I gave him myblessing.”
“My father was just about to be tried when he died,” said the prince,“although I never knew of what he was accused. He died in hospital.”
“Oh! it was the Kolpakoff business, and of course he would have beenacquitted.”
“Yes? Do you know that for a fact?” asked the prince, whose curiositywas aroused by
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