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Updated: June 29, 2025
“Delighted to see you, dear ... and precious fellow, I always thought a lot of you.” Mitya responded, joyfully and eagerly, at once holding out his hand across the table. “Aie! How tight you squeeze! You’ve quite broken my fingers,” laughed Kalganov.
He has risen from the dead, hasn’t he, von Sohn?” “What is happening? What’s this?” voices were heard in the group of monks. “Let us go,” cried Miüsov, addressing Kalganov. “No, excuse me,” Fyodor Pavlovitch broke in shrilly, taking another step into the room. “Allow me to finish.
And in the hall, when you were treating the chorus, you shouted straight out that you would leave your sixth thousand here—that is with what you spent before, we must understand. Stepan and Semyon heard it, and Pyotr Fomitch Kalganov, too, was standing beside you at the time. Maybe he’d remember it....” The evidence as to the “sixth” thousand made an extraordinary impression on the two lawyers.
The Poles had already sat down, and opened the pack. They looked much more amiable, almost cordial. The Pole on the sofa had lighted another pipe and was preparing to throw. He wore an air of solemnity. “To your places, gentlemen,” cried Pan Vrublevsky. “No, I’m not going to play any more,” observed Kalganov, “I’ve lost fifty roubles to them just now.”
“Gentlemen, I was the cause of it all,” Mitya began again, unable to make anything of Grushenka’s words. “Come, why are we sitting here? What shall we do ... to amuse ourselves again?” “Ach, it’s certainly anything but amusing!” Kalganov mumbled lazily. “Let’s play faro again, as we did just now,” Maximov tittered suddenly. “Faro? Splendid!” cried Mitya. “If only the panovie—”
It’s the young gentleman that’s Mr. Miüsov’s relation ... I’ve forgotten his name.” “Kalganov.” “That’s it, Kalganov!” “All right. I’ll see for myself. Are they playing cards?” “They have been playing, but they’ve left off. They’ve been drinking tea, the official gentleman asked for liqueurs.” “Stay, Trifon Borissovitch, stay, my good soul, I’ll see for myself.
Rakitin, of course, was a person of too little consequence to be invited to the dinner, to which Father Iosif, Father Païssy, and one other monk were the only inmates of the monastery invited. They were already waiting when Miüsov, Kalganov, and Ivan arrived. The other guest, Maximov, stood a little aside, waiting also. The Father Superior stepped into the middle of the room to receive his guests.
The police captain was now standing by the window at the other end of the room, beside Kalganov, who was sitting there. “Drink some water,” said the investigating lawyer softly, for the tenth time. “I have drunk it, gentlemen, I have ... but ... come, gentlemen, crush me, punish me, decide my fate!” cried Mitya, staring with terribly fixed wide-open eyes at the investigating lawyer.
Afterwards, when we were married, after the wedding, that very evening, she confessed, and very touchingly asked forgiveness. ‘I once jumped over a puddle when I was a child,’ she said, ‘and injured my leg.’ He he!” Kalganov went off into the most childish laughter, almost falling on the sofa. Grushenka, too, laughed. Mitya was at the pinnacle of happiness.
I’ll marry you, and you shall become a peasant, a real peasant; we’ll keep a colt, shall we? Do you know Kalganov?” “Yes.” “He is always wandering about, dreaming. He says, ‘Why live in real life? It’s better to dream. One can dream the most delightful things, but real life is a bore.’ But he’ll be married soon for all that; he’s been making love to me already. Can you spin tops?” “Yes.”
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