Текст книги "Demons"
Автор книги: Федор Достоевский
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"Was there one?" Shatov, who had been listening all the while with extreme attention, nudged me with his elbow.
"But, of course: little, pink, with such tiny fingernails, only my whole sorrow is that I don't remember whether it was a boy or a girl. One time I remember a boy, and another time a girl. And as soon as I gave birth to it then, I wrapped it in cambric and lace, tied it round with pink ribbons, strewed flowers, made it ready, prayed over it, and took it unbaptized, and as I was carrying it through the forest, I'd get frightened of the forest, and I'd be afraid and weeping most of all because I gave birth to it and did not know a husband."
"And might there have been one?" Shatov asked cautiously.
"You make me laugh, Shatushka, with your reasoning. There might have been one, but what of it, if it's the same as if there wasn't? There's an easy riddle for you—try and guess!" she smiled.
"Where did you take your baby?"
"To the pond," she sighed.
Shatov nudged me with his elbow again.
"And what if you never had any baby and all this is just raving, eh?"
"That's a hard question you're asking me, Shatushka," she replied pensively, and without being the least surprised at such a question. "I'll tell you nothing on that account, maybe there wasn't any; I think it's just your curiosity; but anyway I won't stop weeping over him, I didn't just see it in a dream, did I?" And big tears shone in her eyes. "Shatushka, Shatushka, is it true that your wife ran away from you?" She suddenly put both hands on his shoulders and looked at him with pity. "Don't be angry, I feel wretched myself. You know, Shatushka, I had such a dream: he comes to me again, beckons to me, calls me. 'Kitty,' he says, 'here, kitty, come out to me!' I was glad of that 'kitty' most of all: he loves me, I thought." [61]
"Maybe he really will come," Shatov muttered under his breath.
"No, Shatushka, it's a dream ... he won't really come. Do you know the song:
I need no high new house, I'll keep to this little cell. Saving my soul I'll be, And praying to God for thee. [62]
"Ah, Shatushka, Shatushka, my dear, why do you never ask me about anything?"
"But you won't tell, that's why I don't ask."
"I won't tell, I won't tell, put a knife into me, but I won't tell," she chimed in quickly, "burn me, but I won't tell. And however much I suffer, I won't say anything, people will never find out!"
"So you see, to each his own," Shatov said even more softly, bowing his head more and more.
"But if you asked, maybe I'd tell you; maybe I'd tell you!" she repeated rapturously. "Why won't you ask? Ask me, ask me well, Shatushka, and maybe I'll tell you; beg me, Shatushka, so that I myself consent... Shatushka, Shatushka!"
But Shatushka was silent; the general silence lasted for about a minute. Tears quietly flowed down her white made-up cheeks; she sat with both hands forgotten on Shatov's shoulders, but no longer looking at him.
"Eh, what do I care about you, it's even sinful," Shatov suddenly got up from the bench. "Get yourself up!" he angrily jerked the bench out from under me, took it and put it back where it had been.
"So that he won't guess when he comes back; and it's time we left."
"Ah, you're still talking about my lackey!" Marya Timofeevna suddenly laughed. "You're afraid! Well, good-bye, dear guests; only listen for a moment to what I'm going to tell you. Today this Nilych came here with Filippov, the landlord, the big red-beard, just as my man was flying at me. The landlord, he grabbed him, he dragged him across the room, and my man was shouting: 'It's not my fault, I'm suffering for someone else's fault!' And would you believe it, we all just fell down laughing right there..."
"Eh, Timofevna, it was me, not the red-beard, I pulled him away from you by the hair; and the landlord came the day before yesterday to have a row with you, you've got it all mixed up."
"Wait, I really did mix it up, maybe it was you. Well, why argue over trifles; isn't it all the same for him who pulls his hair?" she laughed.
"Let's go," Shatov suddenly tugged my arm, "the gate is creaking; if he finds us here, he'll beat her."
Before we had time to run up the stairs, there came a drunken shout from the gateway and a flood of curses. Shatov let me into his room and locked the door.
"You'll have to sit here for a moment, if you don't want to get into some whole story. Just listen to him squealing like a pig, he must have stumbled over the sill; he goes sprawling every time."
However, we did not get away without a story.
VI
Shatov stood at his locked door and listened down the stairs; suddenly he jumped back.
"He's coming here, I just knew it!" he whispered furiously. "Now he won't leave us alone before midnight."
There came several heavy thumps of a fist on the door. "Shatov, Shatov, open up!" yelled the captain. "Shatov, my friend! ...
I have come to you with greeting, To tell you that the sun has r-r-risen, And that its hot light down is beating
Upon the... for-r-rest ... as it glistens, To tell you that I have awakened, devil take you, All awa-a-akened 'neath... the boughs...
Just like 'neath the blows, ha, ha!
And every bird ... is stirred... with thirst, To tell you I will dr-r-rink my fill, Drink... lord knows what, but dr-r-rink my fill. [63]
So, devil take this foolish curiosity! Shatov, do you understand how good it is to live in the world!"
"Don't answer!" Shatov whispered to me again.
"Open up now! Do you understand that there's something higher than fistfights... among mankind; there are moments of a no-o-oble person... I'm kind, Shatov; I'll forgive you... To hell with tracts, eh, Shatov?"
Silence.
"Do you understand, you ass, that I'm in love, I've bought a tailcoat, look, a tailcoat of love, fifteen roubles; a captain's love calls for social decency... Open up!" he suddenly bellowed wildly, and again pounded violently with his fists.
"Go to hell!" Shatov suddenly bellowed back.
"Ser-r-rf! Slave! And your sister is a ser-r-rf and a slave woman ... a thief!"
"And you, you sold your sister."
"Lies! I'm a victim of slander, though... with one explanation I could ... do you understand who she is?"
"Who is she?" Shatov, curious, suddenly went up to the door.
"But do you understand?"
"I will, just tell me who she is!"
"I dare to tell! I always dare to tell everything among the public! ..."
"Well, that's hardly true," Shatov taunted him and motioned for me to listen.
"I don't dare?"
"I say you don't."
"I don't dare?"
"Go on, speak, if you're not afraid of the master's rod... You're a coward, captain or no!"
"I... I... she... she's..." the captain babbled in a trembling, agitated voice.
"Well?" Shatov put his ear to the door.
There was silence for at least half a minute.
"Sco-o-oundrel!" finally came from beyond the door, and the captain quickly retreated down the stairs, puffing like a samovar and stumbling noisily on each step.
"No, he's cunning, he won't let it out even when he's drunk," Shatov stepped away from the door.
"But what is all this?" I asked.
Shatov waved his hand, opened the door, and again began to listen down the stairs; he listened for a long time, he even went quietly down a few steps. Finally he came back.
"I don't hear anything, there was no fight; he must have dropped off at once. It's time for you to go."
"Listen, Shatov, what am I to conclude from all that?"
"Eh, conclude whatever you like," he answered in a weary and disgusted voice, and sat down at his desk.
I left. An incredible idea was growing stronger and stronger in my imagination. In anguish I thought of the next day...
VII
That "next day"—that is, the same Sunday on which Stepan Trofimovich's fate was to be irrevocably decided—was one of the most portentous days in my chronicle. It was a day of the unexpected, a day of the unraveling of the old and the raveling up of the new, a day of sharp explanations and of a still greater muddle. In the morning, as the reader already knows, I was obliged to accompany my friend to Varvara Petrovna's, at her own stipulation, and by three in the afternoon I had to be at Lizaveta Nikolaevna's, in order to tell her– about what I did not know, and to assist her—in what I did not know. And yet it all resolved itself in a way no one could have imagined. In short, it was a day of surprisingly converging accidents.
It all began when Stepan Trofimovich and I, having come to Varvara Petrovna's at exactly twelve o'clock, as she herself had stipulated, did not find her at home; she had not yet returned from the Sunday liturgy. My poor friend was so disposed, or, better, so indisposed, that this circumstance instantly crushed him: almost powerlessly he lowered himself into an armchair in the drawing room. I offered him a glass of water; but, despite his paleness and even the trembling of his hands, he declined it with dignity. Incidentally, his outfit this time was distinguished by its remarkable elegance: a shirt almost fit for a ball, cambric, embroidered, a white tie, a new hat in his hand, fresh straw-colored gloves, and even just a touch of perfume. No sooner had we sat down than Shatov entered, shown in by the valet, also clearly on official invitation. Stepan Trofimovich rose slightly to offer him his hand, but Shatov, after looking at the two of us attentively, turned to the corner, sat down there, and did not even nod to us. Stepan Trofimovich again looked at me timorously.
We sat for a few more minutes in complete silence. Stepan Trofimovich suddenly began to whisper something to me very quickly, but I did not hear, and he himself was so agitated that he dropped it without finishing. The valet came in again to straighten something on the table—or, rather, to have a look at us. Shatov suddenly addressed him with a loud question:
"Alexei Yegorych, do you know whether Darya Pavlovna went with her?"
"Varvara Petrovna went to the cathedral alone, if you please, sir, and Darya Pavlovna stayed in her room upstairs, as she is feeling somewhat unwell," Alexei Yegorych reported didactically and decorously.
My poor friend again glanced at me furtively and anxiously, so that I finally began to turn away from him. Suddenly a carriage clattered up to the entrance, and a certain distant commotion in the house informed us that the hostess had come back. We all jumped up from our chairs—then another unexpected thing: the sound of many steps was heard, which meant that the hostess had not come back alone, and that was indeed somewhat strange, since she herself had stipulated this hour to us. Finally, there came the sound as of someone entering with a strange quickness, almost running, a way in which Varvara Petrovna could not have entered. And suddenly she all but flew into the room, breathless and extremely excited. Following a little behind her, and much more slowly, Lizaveta Nikolaevna came in, and arm in arm with Lizaveta Nikolaevna—Marya Timofeevna Lebyadkin! If I had seen it in a dream, even then I would not have believed it.
To explain this totally unexpected thing, it is necessary to go back an hour and tell in more detail than usual about the remarkable adventure that had befallen Varvara Petrovna in the cathedral.
First of all, nearly the whole town had gathered for the liturgy, meaning, that is, the upper stratum of our society. It was known that the governor's wife would be coming, for the first time since her arrival here. I will note that there were already rumors among us that she was a freethinker and of "the new principles." It was also known to all the ladies that she would be dressed magnificently and with remarkable elegance, and therefore our ladies' costumes this time were distinguished by their refinement and splendor. Varvara Petrovna alone was, as usual, modestly dressed all in black; she had dressed thus invariably over the last four years. Coming to the cathedral, she settled in her usual place, to the left, in the first row, and the liveried footman placed in front of her a velvet cushion for kneeling; in short, all was as usual. But it was also noticed that this time, all through the service, she prayed somehow extremely zealously; it was even affirmed later, when everything was recalled, that tears even brimmed her eyes. Finally the liturgy ended, and our priest, Father Pavel, came out to deliver a solemn sermon. In our town his sermons were loved and highly valued; he had even been urged to publish them, but he could not make up his mind. This time the sermon came out somehow especially long.
And so it was that, during the sermon, a certain lady drove up to the cathedral in a light, hired droshky of the old style, the kind on which a lady could only sit sideways, holding on to the driver's belt and swaying with the jolting of the carriage like a blade of grass in the wind. Such cabbies are still driving about in our town. Stopping at the corner of the cathedral—for there were many carriages and even mounted police standing by the gates—the lady jumped down from the droshky and handed the driver four silver kopecks.
"What, isn't that enough for you?" she cried out, seeing the face he made. "It's all I have," she added pitifully.
"Well, God be with you, I took you without bargaining," the cabbie waved his hand, looking at her as if thinking: "And it would be a sin to offend you." Then he stuffed his leather purse into his bosom, touched up his horse, and drove off, followed by the jeers of the nearby cabbies. Jeers and even surprise also accompanied the lady all the while she was making her way to the cathedral gates, amid the carriages and lackeydom awaiting their soon-to-emerge masters. And indeed there was something unusual and unexpected for everyone in such a person suddenly appearing out of nowhere, in the street, among people. She was sickly thin and limped a little, her face was painted with white makeup and rouge, her long neck was completely bared, with no kerchief or cloak, and she was wearing only a dark old dress, despite the cold, windy, though clear September day; her head was completely uncovered, her hair tied at the nape in a tiny knot, into the right side of which a single artificial rose was stuck, of the sort used to decorate Palm Sunday cherubs. I had noticed precisely such a Palm Sunday cherub with a wreath of paper roses in the corner under the icons the day before, when I was sitting at Marya Timofeevna's. To crown it all, the lady, though she walked with modestly lowered eyes, was at the same time smiling gaily and coyly. If she had lingered a bit longer, she might not have been allowed into the cathedral... But she managed to slip in and, entering the church, pushed her way inconspicuously to the front.
Though the sermon was at its midpoint and the entire packed crowd that filled the church was listening with full and hushed attention, nevertheless a few eyes glanced sideways, with curiosity and bewilderment, at the woman who had just entered. She dropped down on the church dais, lowered her whitened face to it, and lay there for a long time, apparently weeping; but, having raised her head and gotten up from her knees, she very soon recovered and became distracted. Gaily, with obviously extreme pleasure, she let her eyes roam from face to face and around the cathedral walls; she stared with special curiosity at some of the ladies, even standing on tiptoe to do so, and even laughing a couple of times with a sort of strange giggle. But the sermon came to an end, and the cross was brought out. The governor's wife was the first to go up to the cross, but within two steps of it she stopped, apparently wishing to give way to Varvara Petrovna, who was approaching it from her own side all too directly and as if not noticing anyone ahead of her. The extraordinary courtesy of the governor's wife undoubtedly contained an obvious and, in its way, witty barb; so everyone understood it; so Varvara Petrovna must have understood it; but, as before, not noticing anyone, and with a most unshakable air of dignity, she kissed the cross and at once headed for the exit. The liveried footman cleared the way, though people were all parting before her even without that. But right at the exit, on the porch, her way was momentarily blocked by a closely packed crowd. Varvara Petrovna paused, and suddenly a strange, extraordinary being, a woman with a paper rose in her hair, squeezed through the people and knelt in front of her. Varvara Petrovna, who was not easily perplexed by anything, especially in public, looked at her imposingly and sternly.
I hasten to note here, as briefly as possible, that although Varvara Petrovna had in recent years become exceedingly economical, as they said, and even a bit stingy, still she could on occasion be unsparing of money for charity proper. She was a member of a charitable society in the capital. In a recent famine year she had sent five hundred roubles to Petersburg, to the main committee for the receipt of aid for the victims, and this was talked about in town. Finally, quite recently, before the appointment of the new governor, she had all but established a local ladies' committee to aid the poorest new mothers in our town and in the province. She was severely reproached among us for being ambitious; but the notorious impetuousness of Varvara Petrovna's character, together with her persistence, nearly triumphed over the obstacles; the society was almost set up, and the initial idea broadened more and more in the delighted mind of the foundress: she was already dreaming of establishing a similar committee in Moscow, of gradually expanding its activities through all the provinces. And then, with the sudden change of governors, everything came to a halt; and the new governor's wife, it was said, had already managed to utter in society a few pointed and, above all, apt and sensible objections regarding the supposed impracticability of the basic idea of such a committee, which—with embellishments, of course—had already been passed on to Varvara Petrovna. God alone knows what's hidden in men's hearts, but I suppose it was even with a certain pleasure that Varvara Petrovna now paused at the very gates of the cathedral, knowing that the governor's wife would pass by presently, and then everyone else, and "let her see for herself how it makes no difference to me what she thinks or what further witticisms she may produce concerning the vanity of my charitable works. Take that, all of you!"
"What is it, my dear, what do you ask?" Varvara Petrovna looked more attentively at the petitioner kneeling before her. The latter looked at her with terribly timid, abashed, but almost adoring eyes, and suddenly smiled with the same strange giggle.
"What is she? Who is she?" Varvara Petrovna glanced around at everyone there with a peremptory and inquisitive look. They were all silent.
"You are unfortunate? You are in need of assistance?"
"I need... I've come..." the "unfortunate" woman prattled, in a voice breaking with excitement. "I've come just to kiss your hand..." and she giggled again. With a most childlike look, as when children are being affectionate in order to beg for something, she reached out to seize Varvara Petrovna's hand, but suddenly, as though frightened, she jerked her hands back.
"You've come just for that?" Varvara Petrovna smiled a compassionate smile, but at once quickly took her mother-of-pearl purse from her pocket, took a ten-rouble bill from it, and gave it to the unknown woman. The latter took it. Varvara Petrovna was very interested, and apparently did not consider the unknown woman as some common petitioner.
"Ten roubles she gave her," someone said in the crowd.
"Your hand, please," prattled the "unfortunate" woman, firmly grasping with the fingers of her left hand the corner of the received ten-rouble bill, which was twirling in the wind. Varvara Petrovna frowned slightly for some reason, and with a serious, almost stern, look held out her hand; the woman kissed it adoringly. Her grateful eyes even shone with some sort of rapture. Just at that moment the governor's wife drew near, and the whole crowd of our ladies and senior dignitaries came pouring after her. The governor's wife had unwillingly to stop for a moment in the crush; many people stopped.
"You're shivering; are you cold?" Varvara Petrovna suddenly noticed, and throwing off her cloak, which was caught in midair by the footman, she took from her shoulders her black (far from inexpensive) shawl and with her own hands wrapped it around the bare neck of the still kneeling petitioner.
"But do get up, get up from your knees, I beg you!" The woman got up.
"Where do you live? Doesn't anyone at least know where she lives?" Varvara Petrovna again glanced around impatiently. But the former little crowd was no longer there; she saw familiar society faces gazing at the scene, some with stern surprise, others with sly curiosity and, at the same time, with an innocent desire for a bit of scandal, while still others even began to titter.
"Seems she's one of the Lebyadkins, ma'am," one good man finally stepped forward to answer Varvara Petrovna's question—our venerable and widely respected merchant Andreev, gray-bearded, bespectacled, in Russian dress, and with a round cylindrical hat which he was now holding in his hands. "She lives at Filippov's house, on Bogoyavlensky Street."
"Lebyadkin? Filippov's house? I've heard something... thank you, Nikon Semyonych, but who is this Lebyadkin?"
"They call him a captain—an imprudent man, I'd have to say. And this is his sister right enough. It seems she's escaped from under supervision," Nikon Semyonych said, lowering his voice and giving Varvara Petrovna a significant look.
"I understand; thank you, Nikon Semyonych. So, my dear, you are Miss Lebyadkin?"
"No, I'm not Miss Lebyadkin."
"Then perhaps your brother is Lebyadkin?"
"My brother is Lebyadkin."
"Here's what I'll do, I'll take you with me, my dear, and from my house you will be driven to your family; would you like to come with me?"
"Ah, yes, I would!" Miss Lebyadkin clapped her hands.
"Auntie, auntie! Take me with you, too!" cried the voice of Lizaveta Nikolaevna. I will note that Lizaveta Nikolaevna had come to the liturgy with the governor's wife, and that Praskovya Ivanovna, on doctor's orders, had meanwhile gone for a ride in the carriage, taking Mavriky Nikolaevich along for diversion. Liza suddenly abandoned the governor's wife and sprang over to Varvara Petrovna.
"My dear, you know I'm always glad to have you, but what will your mother say?" Varvara Petrovna began imposingly, but suddenly became confused, seeing Liza's extraordinary agitation.
"Auntie, auntie, I must come with you now," Liza begged, kissing Varvara Petrovna.
"Mais qu'avez vous donc, Lise!" [lxxi] the governor's wife said with emphatic surprise.
"Ah, forgive me, my dear, chère cousine,I am going to my aunt's," Liza turned in midflight to her unpleasantly surprised chère cousineand kissed her twice.
"And tell maman to come at once to fetch me at auntie's; maman really, really wanted to come, she told me so today, I forgot to tell you," Liza kept on rattling, "it's not my fault, don't be angry, Julie... chère cousine...auntie, I'm ready!"
"If you don't take me with you, auntie, I'll run screaming after your carriage," she whispered, quickly and desperately, right into Varvara Petrovna's ear; luckily no one else heard it. Varvara Petrovna even started back a step and gave the mad girl a piercing look. This look decided everything: she resolved definitely to take Liza with her!
"We must put an end to this," escaped from her. "Very well, Liza, I shall take you with pleasure," she at once added loudly, "if Yulia Mikhailovna consents to let you go, of course," she turned directly to the governor's wife, with an open look and straightforward dignity.
"Oh, I certainly would not want to deprive her of that pleasure, the less so in that I myself..." Yulia Mikhailovna suddenly began prattling with surprising amiability, "I myself... well know what a fantastic, domineering little head we have on our pretty shoulders" (Yulia Mikhailovna smiled charmingly)...
"I thank you greatly," Varvara Petrovna thanked her, with a polite and imposing bow.
"And it is all the more pleasant," Yulia Mikhailovna went on with her prattling, now almost enraptured, even blushing all over with pleasant excitement, "that, besides the delight of visiting you, Liza has been carried away by such a beautiful, such a—I might say—lofty feeling ... compassion ..." (she glanced at the "unfortunate" woman) "and... right on the porch of the church..."
"Such a view does you honor," Varvara Petrovna approved magnificently. Yulia Mikhailovna impetuously offered her hand, and Varvara Petrovna with perfect readiness touched it with her fingers. The general impression was excellent, the faces of some of those present began to beam with pleasure, several sweet and fawning smiles appeared.
In short, it was suddenly revealed clearly to the whole town that it was not Yulia Mikhailovna who had scorned Varvara Petrovna all along and had not paid her a visit, but, on the contrary, it was Varvara Petrovna herself who had "kept Yulia Mikhailovna within bounds, when she would perhaps have run on foot to visit her, if only she had been sure that Varvara Petrovna would not chase her away." Varvara Petrovna's prestige rose in the extreme.
"Do get in, my dear," Varvara Petrovna motioned Mlle. Lebyadkin to the carriage that had driven up; the "unfortunate" woman ran joyfully to the door, where a footman caught her up.
"What! You're lame!" Varvara Petrovna cried out, as if totally frightened, and turned pale. (Everyone noticed it at the time but did not understand...)
The carriage drove off. Varvara Petrovna's house was quite near the cathedral. Liza told me later that Miss Lebyadkin laughed hysterically for all three minutes of the ride, while Varvara Petrovna sat "as if in some magnetic sleep"—Liza's own expression.
