MITYA.  I just study for my own education, in order to understand things.

GORDEY KARPYCH.  Education!  Do you know what education is?—­And yet you keep on talking!  You ought to get yourself a new coat!  For when you come up-stairs to us and there are guests, it’s a disgrace!  What do you do with your money?

MITYA.  I send it to my mother because she is old and has nowhere to get any.

GORDEY KARPYCH.  Send it to your mother!  You ought to educate yourself first; God knows what your mother needs!  She wasn’t brought up in luxury; most likely she used to look after the cows herself.

MITYA.  It’s better that I should suffer than that my mother should be in any want at all.

GORDEY KARPYCH.  This is simply disgusting!  If you don’t know yourself how to observe decency, then sit in your hovel!  If you haven’t anything to wear, then don’t have any fancies!  You write verses, you wish to educate yourself—­and you go about looking like a factory hand!  Does education consist in this, in singing idiotic songs?  You idiot! [Through his teeth and looking askance at MITYA] Fool! [Is silent] Don’t you dare to show yourself in that suit up-stairs.  Listen, I tell you! [To RAZLYULYAYEV] And you too!  Your father, to all appearances, rakes up money with a shovel, and you go about in this Russian smock.

RAZLYULYAYEV.  What do you say!  It’s new—­French goods—­I ordered it from Moscow—­from an acquaintance—­twenty rubles a yard!  Do you think I ought to go about in a bob-tailed coat, like Franz Fedorych at the apothecary’s!  Why, they all tease him there!—­the deuce of a coat!  What’s the use of making people laugh!  GORDEY KARPYCH.  Much you know!  It’s hopeless to expect anything of you!  You yourself are an idiot, and your father hasn’t much more sense—­he always goes about in dirty old clothes.  You live like ignorant fools, and like fools you will die.

RAZLYULYAYEV.  That’s enough!

GORDEY KARPYCH.  What?

RAZLYULYAYEV.  That’s enough, I say!

GORDEY KARPYCH.  Clown!  You don’t even know how to talk straight!  It’s simply waste of words to speak to you—­like shooting peas against a wall—­to waste words on such as you, fools! [Goes out.

SCENE VIII

The same without TORTSOV

RAZLYULYAYEV.  Just look!  How savage!  What a rage he’s in!  Oh, we’re awfully scared of you—­you bet we are!

MITYA. [To GUSLIN] There, that’s the sort of life I lead!  That’s the sort of thing I have to put up with!

RAZLYULYAYEV.  It’ll drive you to drink—­upon my word, it’ll drive you to drink!  But you’d better stop thinking about it. [Sings.

    “One mountain is high,
    And another is low;
    One darling is far,
    And another is near.”

Enter LYUBOV GORDEYEVNA, ANNA IVANOVNA, MASHA, and LIZA.