to foot permeated and saturated withthe longing to be original. This class, as I have said above, is farless happy. For the “clever commonplace” person, though he may possiblyimagine himself a man of genius and originality, none the less haswithin his heart the deathless worm of suspicion and doubt; and thisdoubt sometimes brings a clever man to despair. (As a rule, however,nothing tragic happens;--his liver becomes a little damaged in thecourse of time, nothing more serious. Such men do not give up theiraspirations after originality without a severe struggle,--and there havebeen men who, though good fellows in themselves, and even benefactorsto humanity, have sunk to the level of base criminals for the sake oforiginality).
Gania was a beginner, as it were, upon this road. A deep andunchangeable consciousness of his own lack of talent, combined with avast longing to be able to persuade himself that he was original, hadrankled in his heart, even from childhood.
He seemed to have been born with overwrought nerves, and in hispassionate desire to excel, he was often led to the brink of somerash step; and yet, having resolved upon such a step, when the momentarrived, he invariably proved too sensible to take it. He was ready,in the same way, to do a base action in order to obtain his wished-forobject; and yet, when the moment came to do it, he found that he was toohonest for any great baseness. (Not that he objected to acts of pettymeanness--he was always ready for _them_.) He looked with hate andloathing on the poverty and downfall of his family, and treated hismother with haughty contempt, although he knew that his whole futuredepended on her character and reputation.
Aglaya had simply frightened him; yet he did not give up all thoughts ofher--though he never seriously hoped that she would condescend to him.At the time of his “adventure” with Nastasia Philipovna he had come tothe conclusion that money was his only hope--money should do all forhim.
At the moment when he lost Aglaya, and after the scene with Nastasia, hehad felt so low in his own eyes that he actually brought the money backto the prince. Of this returning of the money given to him by a madwomanwho had received it from a madman, he had often repented since--thoughhe never ceased to be proud of his action. During the short time thatMuishkin remained in Petersburg Gania had had time to come to hate himfor his sympathy, though the prince told him that it was “not everyonewho would have acted so nobly” as to return the money. He had longpondered, too, over his relations with Aglaya, and had persuaded himselfthat with such a strange, childish, innocent character as hers, thingsmight have ended very differently. Remorse then seized him; he threw uphis post, and buried himself in self-torment and reproach.
He lived at Ptitsin’s, and openly showed contempt for the latter, thoughhe always listened to his advice, and was sensible enough to ask for itwhen he wanted it. Gavrila Ardalionovitch was angry with Ptitsin becausethe latter did not care to become a Rothschild. “If you are to be aJew,” he said, “do it properly--squeeze people right and left, show somecharacter; be the King of the Jews while you are about it.”
Ptitsin was quiet and not easily offended--he only laughed. But on oneoccasion he explained seriously to Gania that he was no Jew, that hedid nothing dishonest, that he could not help the market price of money,that, thanks to his accurate habits, he had already a good footing andwas respected, and that his business was flourishing.
“I shan’t ever be a Rothschild, and there is no reason why I should,” headded, smiling; “but I shall have a house in the Liteynaya, perhaps two,and that will be enough for me.” “Who knows but what I may have three!” he concluded to himself; but this dream, cherished inwardly, he neverconfided to a soul.
Nature loves and favours such people. Ptitsin will certainly have hisreward, not three houses, but four, precisely because from childhood uphe had realized that he would never be a Rothschild. That will be thelimit of Ptitsin’s fortune, and, come what may, he will never have morethan four houses.
Varvara Ardalionovna was not like her brother. She too, had passionatedesires, but they were persistent rather than impetuous. Her plans wereas wise as her methods of carrying them out. No doubt she also belongedto the category of ordinary people who dream of being original, but shesoon discovered that she had not a grain of true originality, and shedid not let it trouble her too much. Perhaps a certain kind of pridecame to her help. She made her first concession to the demands ofpractical life with great resolution when she consented to marryPtitsin. However, when she married she did not say to herself, “Nevermind a mean action if it leads to the end in view,” as her brother wouldcertainly have said in such a case; it is quite probable that he mayhave said it when he expressed his elder-brotherly satisfaction at herdecision. Far from this; Varvara Ardalionovna did not marry until shefelt convinced that her future husband was unassuming, agreeable,almost cultured, and that nothing on earth would tempt him to a reallydishonourable deed. As to small meannesses, such trifles did not troubleher. Indeed, who is free from them? It is absurd to expect the ideal!Besides, she knew that her marriage would provide a refuge for all herfamily. Seeing Gania unhappy, she was anxious to help him, in spite oftheir former disputes and misunderstandings. Ptitsin, in a friendly way,would press his brother-in-law to enter the army. “You know,” he saidsometimes, jokingly, “you despise generals and generaldom, but you willsee that ‘they’ will all end by being generals in their turn. You willsee it if you live long enough!”
“But why should they suppose that I despise generals?” Gania thoughtsarcastically to himself.
To serve her brother’s interests, Varvara Ardalionovna was constantly atthe Epanchins’ house, helped by the fact that in childhood she and Ganiahad played with General Ivan Fedorovitch’s daughters. It would have beeninconsistent with her character if in these visits she had been pursuinga chimera; her project was not chimerical at all; she was building ona firm basis--on her knowledge of the character of the Epanchin family,especially Aglaya, whom she studied closely. All Varvara’s effortswere directed towards bringing Aglaya and Gania together. Perhaps sheachieved some result; perhaps, also, she made the mistake of dependingtoo much upon her brother, and expecting more from him than he wouldever be capable of giving. However this may be, her manoeuvres wereskilful enough. For weeks at a time she would never mention Gania. Herattitude was modest but dignified, and she was always extremely truthfuland sincere. Examining the depths of her conscience, she found nothingto reproach herself with, and this still further strengthened her inher designs. But Varvara Ardalionovna sometimes remarked that she feltspiteful; that there was a good deal of vanity in her, perhaps even ofwounded vanity. She noticed this at certain times more than at others,and especially after her visits to the Epanchins.
Today, as I have said, she returned from their house with a heavyfeeling of dejection. There was a sensation of bitterness, a sort ofmocking contempt, mingled with it.
Arrived at her own house, Varia heard a considerable commotion goingon in the upper storey, and distinguished the voices of her father andbrother. On entering the salon she found Gania pacing up and down atfrantic speed, pale with rage and almost tearing his hair. She frowned,and subsided on to the sofa with a tired air, and without taking thetrouble to remove her hat. She very well knew that if she kept quiet andasked her brother nothing about his reason for tearing up and down theroom, his wrath would fall upon her head. So she hastened to put thequestion:
“The old story, eh?”
“Old story? No! Heaven knows what’s up now--I don’t! Father has simplygone mad; mother’s in floods of tears. Upon my word, Varia, I must kickhim out of the house; or else go myself,” he added, probably rememberingthat he could not well turn people out of a house which was not his own.
“You must make allowances,” murmured Varia.
“Make allowances? For whom? Him--the old blackguard? No, no, Varia--thatwon’t do! It won’t do, I tell you! And look at the swagger of the man!He’s all to blame himself, and yet he puts on so much ‘side’ that you’dthink--my word!--‘It’s too much trouble to go through the gate, you mustbreak the fenc
e for me!’ That’s the sort of air he puts on; but what’sthe matter with you, Varia? What a curious expression you have!”
“I’m all right,” said Varia, in a tone that sounded as though she wereall wrong.
Gania looked more intently at her.
“You’ve been _there?_” he asked, suddenly.
“Yes.”
“Did you find out anything?”
“Nothing unexpected. I discovered that it’s all true. My husband waswiser than either of us. Just as he suspected from the beginning, so ithas fallen out. Where is he?”
“Out. Well--what has happened?--go on.”
“The prince is formally engaged to her--that’s settled. The eldersisters told me about it. Aglaya has agreed. They don’t attempt toconceal it any longer; you know how mysterious and secret they have allbeen up to now. Adelaida’s wedding is put off again, so that both can bemarried on one day. Isn’t that delightfully romantic? Somebody ought towrite a poem on it. Sit down and write an ode instead of tearing upand down like