"I see you haven't changed at all, Captain, in these four years," Nikolai Vsevolodovich said, as if somewhat more kindly. "It must be true that the whole second half of a man's life is most often made up only of habits accumulated during the first half."
"Lofty words! You've solved the riddle of life!" the captain cried, half shamming and half really in genuine delight, because he was a great lover of little sayings. "Of all your sayings, Nikolai Vsevolodovich, there's one I remember especially; you uttered it back in Petersburg: 'One must be a great man indeed to be able to hold out even against common sense.' There, sir!"
"Or else a fool."
"Yes, sir, or else a fool, I suppose, but you've poured out witticisms all your life, while they... Let Liputin, let Pyotr Stepanovich try uttering anything like that! Oh, how cruelly Pyotr Stepanovich acted with me! ..."
"But what about you, Captain, how did you act?"
"A drunken state, and the myriads of my enemies besides! But now all, all has gone past, and I renew myself like the serpent. Nikolai Vsevolodovich, do you know that I'm writing my will, and have already written it?"
"Curious. What is it you're leaving, and to whom?"
"To the fatherland, to mankind, and to students. Nikolai Vsevolodovich, in the newspapers I read a biography about an American. He left his whole huge fortune to factories and for the positive sciences, his skeleton to the students at the academy there, and his skin to make a drum so as to have the American national anthem drummed on it day and night. Alas, we're pygmies compared to the soaring ideas of the North American States; Russia is a freak of nature, but not of mind. If I were to try and bequeath my skin for a drum, to the Akmolinsk infantry regiment, for example, where I had the honor of beginning my service, so as to have the Russian national anthem drummed on it every day in front of the regiment, it would be regarded as liberalism, my skin would be forbidden... and so I limited myself only to students. I want to bequeath my skeleton to the academy, on condition, however, that a label be pasted to its forehead unto ages of ages, reading: 'Repentant Freethinker.' There, sir!"
The captain spoke ardently and, to be sure, already believed in the beauty of the American bequest, but he was also a knave and wanted very much to make Nikolai Vsevolodovich laugh, having for a long time been in the position of his buffoon. Yet he did not even smile, but, on the contrary, asked somehow suspiciously:
"So you intend to make your will public in your lifetime, and get rewarded for it?"
"And what if it were so, Nikolai Vsevolodovich, what if it were so?" Lebyadkin peered at him cautiously. "For just you look at my fate! I've even stopped writing poetry, and there was a time when even you were amused by my little verses, Nikolai Vsevolodovich, remember, over a bottle? But it's all finished with my pen. I've written only one poem, like Gogol's 'Last Story,' remember, how he announced to Russia then that it 'sang itself out of his breast. [100]Well, it's the same with me, I sang it and basta!"
"And what is this poem?"
“‘In Case If She Broke Her Leg'!"
"Wha-a-at?"
This was just what the captain had been waiting for. He respected and valued his poems beyond measure, but besides, through some knavish duplicity of soul, he also liked it that Nikolai Vsevolodovich had always made merry over his little poems in the past, and had sometimes roared with laughter at them, holding his sides. Thus two objects were achieved—one poetic, the other subservient; but now there was also a third, special and quite ticklish object: the captain, by bringing poetry onto the scene, hoped to justify himself on one point, about which for some reason he had great apprehensions, and in which he felt himself at fault most of all.
“‘In Case If She Broke Her Leg,' that is, in case of horseback riding. A fantasy, Nikolai Vsevolodovich, raving, but a poet's raving: I was struck once, in passing, when I encountered a girl on horseback, and asked a material question: 'What would happen then?'—that is, in such case. The answer is clear: all pretenders back out, all wooers vanish, so it goes and wipe your nose, the poet alone will be left with his heart squashed in his breast. Nikolai Vsevolodovich, even a louse, even he can be in love, even he is not forbidden by any laws. And yet the person was offended by both the letter and the poem. I hear even you got angry—is it so, sir; that's regrettable; I didn't even want to believe it. Who could I harm with just my imagination? Besides, I swear on my honor, it was Liputin: 'Send it, send it, every man deserves the right of correspondence'—so I sent it."
"I believe you proposed yourself as a fiancé?"
"Enemies, enemies, enemies!"
"Recite the poem," Nikolai Vsevolodovich sternly interrupted.
"Raving, raving, above all."
Nevertheless, he drew himself up, raised his hand, and began:
"The beauty of beauties broke her member And twice more intriguing she became, And twice more burning was love's ember In him who already felt the same."
"Well, enough," Nikolai Vsevolodovich waved his hand.
"I dream of Petersburg," Lebyadkin skipped quickly on, as if there never had been any poem, "I dream of regeneration... Benefactor! Can I count on not being denied the means for the journey? I've been waiting for you all week as for the sun."
"Ah, no, sorry, I have almost no means left, and, besides, why should I give you money?..."
It was as if Nikolai Vsevolodovich suddenly became angry. Dryly and briefly he listed all the captain's crimes: drinking, lying, spending money intended for Marya Timofeevna, taking her from the convent, insolent letters with threats to make the secret public, his conduct with Darya Pavlovna, and so on and so forth. The captain heaved, gesticulated, tried to object, but each time Nikolai Vsevolodovich imperiously stopped him.
"And, I beg your pardon," he finally observed, "but you keep writing about a 'family disgrace.' Why is it so disgraceful for you that your sister is legally married to Stavrogin?"
"But the marriage is kept covered up, Nikolai Vsevolodovich, covered up, a fatal secret. I get money from you, and suddenly I'm asked the question: What is this money for? My hands are tied, I can't answer, to the detriment of my sister, to the detriment of my family dignity."
The captain raised his tone: he loved this theme and was counting firmly on it. Alas, he in no way anticipated how dashed he was going to be. Calmly and precisely, as if it were a matter of the most ordinary household instructions, Nikolai Vsevolodovich informed him that one of those days, perhaps even the next day or the day after, he intended to make his marriage known everywhere, "to the police as well as to society," and, consequently, the question of family dignity would end of itself, and along with it the question of subsidies. The captain goggled his eyes; he did not even understand; he had to have it explained to him.
"But isn't she a... half-wit?"
"I'll make certain arrangements."
"But... what about your mother?"
"Well, that's as she likes."
"But won't you have to bring your wife into your house?"
"Perhaps so. That, however, is in the fullest sense none of your business and does not concern you at all."
"How does it not concern me!" cried the captain. "And what am I to do?"
"Well, you certainly will not enter the house."
"But am I not a relation?"
"One flees such relations. Consider for yourself, then, why should I give you any money?"
"Nikolai Vsevolodovich, Nikolai Vsevolodovich, this cannot be, perhaps you'll still consider, you don't want to lay hands on... what will the world think, what will it say?"
"Much I fear your world. Didn't I marry your sister then, when I wanted to, after a drunken dinner, on a bet for wine, and why shouldn't I now proclaim it aloud ... if it now amuses me?"