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Updated: June 29, 2025
He held it up and showed it to all in the room. “From where I stood I saw him slip my pack away, and put his in place of it—you’re a cheat and not a gentleman!” “And I twice saw the pan change a card!” cried Kalganov. “How shameful! How shameful!” exclaimed Grushenka, clasping her hands, and blushing for genuine shame. “Good Lord, he’s come to that!” “I thought so, too!” said Mitya.
Kalganov, when called, came in reluctantly, frowning and ill-humored, and he spoke to the lawyers as though he had never met them before in his life, though they were acquaintances whom he had been meeting every day for a long time past.
Only till morning, for the last time, in this same room?” So he finished, turning to the fat little man, with the pipe, sitting on the sofa. The latter removed his pipe from his lips with dignity and observed severely: “Panie, we’re here in private. There are other rooms.” “Why, it’s you, Dmitri Fyodorovitch! What do you mean?” answered Kalganov suddenly. “Sit down with us. How are you?”
“Pour out some for us,” said Grushenka; “I’ll drink to Russia, too!” “So will I,” said Kalganov. “And I would, too ... to Russia, the old grandmother!” tittered Maximov. “All! All!” cried Mitya. “Trifon Borissovitch, some more bottles!” The other three bottles Mitya had brought with him were put on the table. Mitya filled the glasses. “To Russia! Hurrah!” he shouted again.
“I’ll bet another rouble, a ‘single’ stake,” Maximov muttered gleefully, hugely delighted at having won a rouble. “Lost!” shouted Mitya. “A ‘double’ on the seven!” The seven too was trumped. “Stop!” cried Kalganov suddenly. “Double! Double!” Mitya doubled his stakes, and each time he doubled the stake, the card he doubled was trumped by the Poles. The rouble stakes kept winning.
But when he saw all this bowing and kissing on the part of the monks he instantly changed his mind. With dignified gravity he made a rather deep, conventional bow, and moved away to a chair. Fyodor Pavlovitch did the same, mimicking Miüsov like an ape. Ivan bowed with great dignity and courtesy, but he too kept his hands at his sides, while Kalganov was so confused that he did not bow at all.
Fenardi really was called Fenardi, only he wasn’t an Italian but a Russian, and Mamsel Fenardi was a pretty girl with her pretty little legs in tights, and she had a little short skirt with spangles, and she kept turning round and round, only not for four hours but for four minutes only, and she bewitched every one...” “But what were you beaten for?” cried Kalganov. “For Piron!” answered Maximov.
“Leave off laughing at Poland,” said Kalganov sententiously. He too was drunk. “Be quiet, boy! If I call him a scoundrel, it doesn’t mean that I called all Poland so. One lajdak doesn’t make a Poland. Be quiet, my pretty boy, eat a sweetmeat.” “Ach, what fellows! As though they were not men. Why won’t they make friends?” said Grushenka, and went forward to dance.
You bleed the people, you know, holy fathers.” “This is too disgraceful!” said Father Iosif. Father Païssy kept obstinately silent. Miüsov rushed from the room, and Kalganov after him. “Well, Father, I will follow Pyotr Alexandrovitch! I am not coming to see you again. You may beg me on your knees, I shan’t come. I sent you a thousand roubles, so you have begun to keep your eye on me. He he he!
This was a man of character: he had so good an opinion of himself that after all that had passed, he still expected that she would marry him. Mitya slammed the door after him. “Lock it,” said Kalganov. But the key clicked on the other side, they had locked it from within. “That’s capital!” exclaimed Grushenka relentlessly. “Serve them right!”
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