"You're mistaken, General," he said. "The name on the door is Kulakov, and you're ringing for Sokolovich."
"Kulakov . . . Kulakov doesn't prove anything. It's Sokolovich's apartment, and I'm ringing for Sokolovich. I spit on Kulakov . . . And, you see, they're opening."
The door indeed opened. A footman peeped out and announced that "the masters aren't at home, sir."
"Too bad, too bad, as if on purpose," Ardalion Alexandrovich repeated several times with the deepest regret. "Tell them, my dear fellow, that General Ivolgin and Prince Myshkin wished to pay their personal respects and were extremely, extremely sorry . . ."
At that moment another face peeped from inside through the open door, the housekeeper's by the look of it, perhaps even the governess's, a lady of about forty, wearing a dark dress. She approached with curiosity and mistrust on hearing the names of General Ivolgin and Prince Myshkin.
"Marya Alexandrovna is not at home," she said, studying the general in particular, "she took the young lady, Alexandra Mikhailovna, to visit her grandmother."
"And Alexandra Mikhailovna went with her—oh, God, what bad luck! And imagine, madam, I always have such bad luck! I humbly ask you to give her my greetings, and to remind Alexandra Mikhailovna ... in short, convey to her my heartfelt wish for that which she herself wished for on Thursday, in the evening, to the strains of Chopin's ballade; she'll remember . . . My heartfelt wish! General Ivolgin and Prince Myshkin!"
"I won't forget, sir," the lady bowed out, having become more trustful.
Going downstairs, the general, his fervor not yet cooled, continued to regret the failure of the visit and that the prince had been deprived of such a charming acquaintance.
"You know, my dear, I'm something of a poet in my soul, have you noticed that? But anyhow . . . anyhow, it seems we didn't go to exactly the right place," he suddenly concluded quite unexpectedly. "The Sokoloviches, I now recall, live in another house, and it seems they're even in Moscow now. Yes, I was slightly mistaken, but that's ... no matter."
"I'd only like to know one thing," the prince remarked dejectedly, "am I to stop counting on you entirely and go ahead on my own?
"To stop? Counting? On your own? But why on earth, when for me it's a capital undertaking, upon which so much in the life of my whole family depends? No, my young friend, you don't know Ivolgin yet. Whoever says 'Ivolgin' says 'a wall': trust in Ivolgin as in a wall, that's what I used to say in the squadron where I began my service. It's just that I'd like to stop on the way at a certain house, where my soul has found repose these several years now, after anxieties and trials . . ."
"You want to stop at home?"
"No! I want ... to see Mrs. Terentyev, the widow of Captain Terentyev, my former subordinate . . . and even friend . . . There, in her house, I am reborn in spirit and there I bring the sorrows
of my personal and domestic life . . . And since today I precisely bear a great moral burden, I . . ."
"It seems to me that I did a very foolish thing anyway," the prince murmured, "in troubling you earlier. And besides that, you're now . . . Good-bye!"
"But I cannot, I cannot let you go, my young friend!" the general roused himself. "A widow, the mother of a family, and from her heart she produces chords to which my whole being responds. The visit to her is a matter of five minutes, in that house I behave without ceremony, I almost live there; I'll wash, do the most necessary brushing up, and then we'll take a cab to the Bolshoi Theater. You can be sure I shall have need of you for the whole evening . . . Here's the house, we've arrived . . . Ah, Kolya, you're already here? Well, is Marfa Borisovna at home, or have you only just arrived?"
"Oh, no," replied Kolya, who had run right into them in the gateway, "I've been here for a long time, with Ippolit, he's worse, he stayed in bed this morning. I went down to the grocer's just now for a deck of cards. Marfa Borisovna's expecting you. Only, papa, you're so . . . !" Kolya broke off, studying the general's gait and bearing. "Oh, well, come on!"
The meeting with Kolya induced the prince to accompany the general to Marfa Borisovna's as well, but only for a minute. The prince needed Kolya; as for the general, he decided to abandon him in any case, and could not forgive himself for venturing to trust him earlier. They climbed up for a long time, to the fourth floor, and by the back stairs.
"You want to introduce the prince?" Kolya asked on the way.
"Yes, my friend, I want to introduce him: General Ivolgin and Prince Myshkin, but what . . . how . . . Marfa Borisovna . . ."
"You know, papa, it would be better if you didn't go in. She'll eat you up! It's the third day you haven't poked your nose in there, and she's been waiting for money. Why did you promise her money? You're always like that! Now you'll have to deal with it."
On the fourth floor they stopped outside a low door. The general was visibly timid and shoved the prince forward.
"And I'll stay here," he murmured. "I want it to be a surprise . . ."
Kolya went in first. Some lady, in heavy red and white makeup, wearing slippers and a jerkin, her hair plaited in little braids, about forty years old, looked out the door, and the general's surprise unexpectedly blew up. The moment the lady saw him, she shouted:
"There he is, that low and insidious man, my heart was expecting it!"
"Let's go in, it's all right," the general murmured to the prince, still innocently laughing it off.
But it was not all right. As soon as they went through the dark and low front hall into the narrow drawing room, furnished with a half-dozen wicker chairs and two card tables, the hostess immediately started carrying on as if by rote in a sort of lamenting and habitual voice:
"And aren't you ashamed, aren't you ashamed of yourself, barbarian and tyrant of my family, barbarian and fiend! He's robbed me clean, sucked me dry, and he's still not content! How long will I put up with you, you shameless and worthless man!"
"Marfa Borisovna, Marfa Borisovna! This... is Prince Myshkin. General Ivolgin and Prince Myshkin," the general murmured, trembling and at a loss.
"Would you believe," the captain's widow suddenly turned to the prince, "would you believe that this shameless man hasn't spared my orphaned children! He's stolen everything, filched everything, sold and pawned everything, left nothing. What am I to do with your promissory notes, you cunning and shameless man? Answer, you sly fox, answer me, you insatiable heart: with what, with what am I to feed my orphaned children? Here he shows up drunk, can't stand on his feet . . . How have I angered the Lord God, you vile and outrageous villain, answer me?"
But the general had other things on his mind.
"Marfa Borisovna, twenty-five roubles ... all I can do, with the help of a most noble friend. Prince! I was cruelly mistaken! Such is . . . life . . . And now . . . forgive me, I feel weak," the general went on, standing in the middle of the room and bowing on all sides, "I feel weak, forgive me! Lenochka! a pillow . . . dear!"
Lenochka, an eight-year-old girl, immediately ran to fetch a pillow and put it on the hard and ragged oilcloth sofa. The general sat down on it with the intention of saying much more, but the moment he touched the sofa, he drooped sideways, turned to the wall, and fell into a blissful sleep. Marfa Borisovna ceremoniously and ruefully showed the prince to a chair by a card table, sat down facing him, propped her right cheek in her hand, and silently began to sigh, looking at the prince. The three small children, two girls and a boy, of whom Lenochka was the oldest, came up to the table; all three put their hands on the table, and all three