Текст книги "Demons"
Автор книги: Федор Достоевский
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"But don't you love her?" Pyotr Stepanovich picked up, with a look of boundless amazement. "But in that case why did you keep her here when she came yesterday, and not inform her directly, like a noble man, that you didn't love her? That is terribly mean on your part; and what a mean position you put me in before her!"
Stavrogin suddenly laughed.
"I'm laughing at my ape," he clarified at once.
"Ah! You guessed I was clowning," Pyotr Stepanovich also burst into terribly gay laughter. "It was to make you laugh! Imagine, as soon as you came out to me, I guessed at once from your face that you'd had a 'misfortune.' Maybe even a complete fiasco, eh? Now, I'll bet," he cried, almost choking with delight, "that you spent the whole night side by side on chairs in the drawing room, and argued about some most lofty nobility the whole precious time ... Excuse me, excuse me; what do I care: I already knew for sure yesterday that it would end with foolishness between you. I brought her to you solely to amuse you, and to prove that with me you won't be bored; I'll be useful in that line three hundred times; I generally like being pleasant with people. And if you don't need her now, which is what I was figuring on, what I came for, then..."
"So you brought her here only for my amusement?"
"What else?" "And not to make me kill my wife?"
"Ah-ha, but did you kill her, really? What a tragic man!"
"It makes no difference. You killed her."
"Did I, really? I'm telling you, I didn't have a drop to do with it. However, you're beginning to worry me..."
"Go on. You said: 'If you don't need her now, then...’”
"Permit me, of course! I'll get her excellently married to Mavriky Nikolaevich, whom, incidentally, I did not plant there in your garden, don't take that into your head as well. In fact, I'm afraid of him now. In the racing droshky, you say; but I really just snicked by him... what if he does indeed have a revolver?... It's a good thing I brought mine along. Here it is" (he took a revolver from his pocket, showed it, and immediately put it back again). "I brought it along on account of the far distance ... Anyhow, I'll fix it up for you in a second: her little heart is precisely aching for Mavriky now ... at least it should be... and you know—by God, I'm even slightly sorry for her now! I'll put her together with Mavriky, and she'll immediately start remembering you—praising you to him and abusing him to his face—a woman's heart! Well, so you're laughing again? I'm terribly glad you've cheered up so much. Well, then, let's go. I'll start straight off with Mavriky, and those... the murdered ones... you know, why don't we just not mention them for now? She'll find out later anyway."
"Find out what? Who has been murdered? What did you say about Mavriky Nikolaevich?" Liza suddenly opened the door.
"Ah! you've been eavesdropping?"
"What did you just say about Mavriky Nikolaevich? Has he been murdered?"
"Ah! so you didn't quite hear! Calm yourself, Mavriky Nikolaevich is alive and well, which you can instantly ascertain for yourself, because he's here on the roadside, by the garden fence... and spent the whole night there, it seems; he's soaked through, in his greatcoat ... I drove by, he saw me."
"That isn't true. You said 'murdered'... Who has been murdered?" she insisted, with painful mistrust.
"Only my wife, her brother Lebyadkin, and their housekeeper have been murdered," Stavrogin declared firmly.
Liza gave a start and turned terribly pale.
"A brutal case, a strange case, Lizaveta Nikolaevna, a most stupid case of robbery," Pyotr Stepanovich began rattling at once, "just robbery, taking advantage of the fire; it's the doing of the brigand Fedka the Convict, and that fool Lebyadkin, who was showing everyone his money ... I came flying to tell you... like a smack on the head. Stavrogin could barely keep his feet when I told him. We were discussing whether to tell you now or not."
"Nikolai Vsevolodovich, is he telling the truth?" Liza barely uttered.
"No, it's not the truth."
"How, not the truth!" Pyotr Stepanovich jumped. "What's this now!"
"Lord, I'm losing my mind!" Liza cried out.
"But understand, at least, that right now he is the mad one!" Pyotr Stepanovich shouted with all his might. "After all, his wife has been murdered. See how pale he is ... Wasn't he with you all night, without leaving you for a moment, how can you suspect him?"
"Nikolai Vsevolodovich, tell me, as before God, are you guilty or not, and I swear I'll believe your word as if it were God's own, and follow you to the ends of the earth, oh, I will! I'll go like a little dog..."
"Why are you tormenting her, you fantastic head?" Pyotr Stepanovich flew into a frenzy. "Lizaveta Nikolaevna, grind me in a mortar, by gosh, but he's innocent, on the contrary, he's crushed and raving, you can see that. He's not guilty of anything, not of anything, not even of the thought! ... It's all the doing of brigands alone, who will certainly be found within a week and punished with flogging... Fedka the Convict and the Shpigulin men are the ones, the whole town's rattling about it, which is why I am, too."
"Is that right? Is that right?" Liza waited, all trembling, for her final sentence.
"I didn't kill them and was against it, but I knew they would be killed, and I didn't stop the killers. Leave me, Liza," Stavrogin uttered, and he turned and went into the drawing room.
Liza covered her face with her hands, turned, and went out. Pyotr Stepanovich first dashed after her, but immediately came back to the drawing room.
"So that's how you are? So that's how you are? So you're not afraid of anything?" he fell upon Stavrogin in a perfect fury, muttering incoherently, almost at a loss for words, foaming at the mouth.
Stavrogin stood in the middle of the room without answering a word. He lightly grasped a tuft of his hair with his left hand and smiled forlornly. Pyotr Stepanovich pulled him hard by the sleeve.
"Are you all there, or what? So this is what you're doing now? You'll denounce everybody and take yourself to a monastery, or to the devil... But I'll bump you off all the same, even if you're not afraid of me!"
"Ah, it's you rattling!" Stavrogin finally made him out. "Run," he suddenly came to his senses, "run after her, order the carriage, don't abandon her ... Run, run! Take her home, so that no one knows, and so that she doesn't go there ... at the bodies ... at the bodies... force her to get into the carriage. Alexei Yegorych! Alexei Yegorych!"
"Stop, don't shout! She's in Mavriky's arms by now... Mavriky is not going to get into your carriage... Stop! This is more precious than the carriage!"
He snatched out the revolver again; Stavrogin gave him a serious look.
"Go ahead, kill me," he said softly, almost peaceably.
"Pah, the devil, what lies a man heaps on himself!" Pyotr Stepanovich was simply shaking. "By God, you ought to be killed! Truly, she should have spat on you! What sort of 'bark' are you; you're an old, leaky timber barge, fit to be broken up! ... Can't you come to your senses now, at least out of spite, at least out of spite! Ehh! Does it make any difference to you, since you're asking for a bullet in the head?"
Stavrogin grinned strangely.
"If you weren't such a clown, perhaps I'd say yes now ... If you were just a drop smarter..."
"I am a clown, but I don't want you, my main half, to be a clown! Do you understand me?"
Stavrogin did understand, and he alone, perhaps. For Shatov was amazed when Stavrogin told him there was enthusiasm in Pyotr Stepanovich.
"Leave me now, go to the devil, and by tomorrow I'll wring something out of myself. Come tomorrow."
"Yes? Yes?"
"How do I know! ... To the devil, to the devil!"
And he left the room.
"Maybe it's all still for the better," Pyotr Stepanovich muttered to himself, putting the revolver away.
III
He rushed to catch up with Lizaveta Nikolaevna. She had not gone very far yet, only a few steps from the house. She had been detained for a while by Alexei Yegorovich, who was still following her, a step behind, in a tailcoat, reverently inclined and hatless. He begged her persistently to wait for the carriage; the old man was frightened and almost weeping.
"Go, the master's asking for tea, there's no one to serve him," Pyotr Stepanovich pushed him away and at once took Lizaveta Nikolaevna's arm.
She did not pull her arm free, but seemed not to have quite recovered her reason, not to have come to her senses yet.
"First of all, you're not going the right way," Pyotr Stepanovich began to prattle, "we must go that way, not past the garden; and, second, in any case it's not possible on foot, it's a good two miles, and you're not dressed for it. If you'd wait a bit. I came in a droshky, the horse is here in the yard, I'll bring it in a moment, put you in, and deliver you so that no one will see."
"You're so kind..." Liza said tenderly.
"For pity's sake, on such an occasion any humane person in my place would also..."
Liza looked at him and was surprised.
"Ah, my God, and I thought that old man was still here!"
"Listen, I'm terribly glad you're taking it this way, because it's all a terrible prejudice, and since that's the way it is, why don't I order this old man to take care of the carriage, it's just ten minutes, and we'll go back and wait under the porch, eh?"
"I first want... where are those murdered people?"
"Ah, what a fancy! Just what I was afraid of... No, we'd better leave that trash alone; and there's nothing there to look at."
"I know where they are, I know that house."
"So what if you do know! The rain, the fog, for pity's sake (what a sacred duty I've heaped on myself, though!)... Listen, Lizaveta Nikolaevna, it's one of two things: either you come with me in the droshky, in which case stop and don't go a step farther, because another twenty steps and Mavriky Nikolaevich will certainly notice us."
"Mavriky Nikolaevich! Where? Where?"
"Well, and if you want to go with him, then perhaps I'll take you a little farther and show you where he's sitting, and then—I'm your humble servant. I don't want to get near him right now."
"He's waiting for me, oh, God!" she suddenly stopped, and color spread over her face.
"But, for pity's sake, if he's a man without prejudices! You know, Lizaveta Nikolaevna, it's all none of my business; I'm completely outside of it, and you know that yourself; but still, I do wish you well ... If our 'bark' has failed, if it has turned out to be just an old, rotten barge, only fit to be broken up..."
"Ah, wonderful!" Liza cried out.
"Wonderful, and with tears pouring down. One needs courage here. One mustn't yield to a man in anything. In our day and age, when a woman... pah, the devil!" (Pyotr Stepanovich nearly spat). "And, mainly, there's nothing to be sorry for: maybe it will all turn out excellently. Mavriky Nikolaevich is a ... in a word, he's a sensitive man, though not very talkative, which, however, is also good, on condition, of course, if he's without prejudices..."
"Wonderful, wonderful!" Liza burst into hysterical laughter.
"Ah, well, the devil... Lizaveta Nikolaevna," Pyotr Stepanovich was suddenly piqued, "as a matter of fact, it's for you that I... what is it to me ... I did you a service yesterday when you yourself wanted it, but today... Well, from here you can see Mavriky Nikolaevich, there he sits, he doesn't see us. I wonder, Lizaveta Nikolaevna, have you ever read Polinka Sachs?" [187]
"What is it?"
"There's this novella, Polinka Sachs.I read it when I was still a student... In it some official, Sachs, with a big fortune, arrests his wife at their summer house for infidelity... Ah, well, the devil, spit on it! You'll see, Mavriky Nikolaevich will propose to you even before you get home. He still hasn't seen us."
"Ah, he mustn't see us!" Liza cried out suddenly, as if insane. "Let's go away, go away! To the forest, to the fields!"
And she started running back.
"Lizaveta Nikolaevna, this is real faintheartedness!" Pyotr Stepanovich ran after her. "Why don't you want him to see you? On the contrary, look him proudly and directly in the eye ... If it's something about that...maidenly... it's such a prejudice, such backwardness... But where are you going, where? Ehh, she's running! Let's better go back to Stavrogin, get my droshky... But where are you going? That's a field... hah, she fell! ..."
He stopped. Liza was flying like a bird, not knowing where, and Pyotr Stepanovich already lagged fifty steps behind her. She stumbled over a mound and fell. At the same moment, from in back, to one side, came a terrible cry, the cry of Mavriky Nikolaevich, who had seen her run and fall, and was running to her across the field. Pyotr Stepanovich instantly retreated through the gates of Stavrogin's house, to get quickly into his droshky.
And Mavriky Nikolaevich, terribly frightened, was already standing by Liza, who had gotten to her feet, was bending over her and holding her hand in his. The whole incredible situation of this encounter shook his reason, and tears streamed down his face. He had seen her, before whom he stood in awe, madly running across the field, at such an hour, in such weather, wearing only a dress, yesterday's magnificent dress, crumpled now, dirty from her fall... Unable to say a word, he took off his greatcoat and, with trembling hands, began to cover her shoulders. Suddenly he gave a cry, feeling her touch his hand with her lips.
"Liza!" he cried, "I'm no good for anything, but don't drive me away from you!"
"Oh, yes, let's leave here quickly, don't abandon me!" and taking him by the hand, she drew him after her. "Mavriky Nikolaevich," she suddenly lowered her voice fearfully, "I kept pretending I was brave in there, but here I'm afraid of death. I'll die, I'll die very soon, but I'm afraid, afraid to die..." she whispered, squeezing his hand hard.
"Oh, if only someone," he kept looking around in despair, "if only someone would pass by! Your feet will get wet, you'll... lose your reason!"
"Never mind, never mind," she reassured him, "like that, I'm less afraid with you, hold my hand, lead me ... Where are we going now, home? No, I want to see the murdered ones first. I've heard they murdered his wife, and he says he murdered her himself; but it's not true, it's not true, is it? I myself want to see the ones who were murdered ... for me... because of them he stopped loving me last night. . . I'll see and I'll know everything. Hurry, hurry, I know that house... there's fire there... Mavriky Nikolaevich, my friend, don't forgive me, dishonorable as I am! Why forgive me? What are you crying for? Slap me in the face and kill me here in the field, like a dog!"
"No one can be your judge now," Mavriky Nikolaevich said firmly, "God forgive you, and least of all will I be your judge!"
But it would be strange to describe their conversation. And meanwhile the two were walking arm in arm, quickly, hurrying, as if half crazed. They were making straight for the fire. Mavriky Nikolaevich had still not lost hope of meeting some cart at least, but no one came along. A fine drizzle pervaded all the surroundings, absorbing every sheen and every shade, and turning everything into one smoky, leaden, indifferent mass. It had long been day, yet it seemed that dawn had still not come. Then suddenly, out of this cold, smoky haze, a figure materialized, strange and absurd, walking towards them. Picturing it now, I think I would not have believed my eyes, even if I had been in Lizaveta Nikolaevna's place; and yet she cried out joyfully and recognized the approaching man at once. It was Stepan Trofimovich. How he had left, in what way the insane, cerebral notion of his flight could have been carried out—of that later. I will only mention that he was already in a fever that morning, but even illness did not stop him: he strode firmly over the wet ground; one could see that he had thought the enterprise over as best he could, alone with all his bookish inexperience. He was dressed in "traveling fashion"—that is, in a greatcoat with sleeves and a wide patent-leather belt with a buckle, as well as high new boots with his trousers tucked into them. Probably he had long pictured a traveling man in this way, and several days earlier had provided himself with the belt and the high boots with their gleaming hussar tops, in which he did not know how to walk. A wide-brimmed hat, a worsted scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, a stick in his right hand, and in his left an extremely small but exceedingly tightly packed valise, completed the outfit. There was, besides, an open umbrella in that same right hand. These three objects—the umbrella, the stick, and the valise—had been very awkward to carry for the first half mile, and simply heavy for the second.
"Can it really be you?" Liza cried out, looking him over in sorrowful surprise, which replaced her first impulse of unconscious joy.
"Lise!"Stepan Trofimovich also cried out, rushing to her also almost in delirium. "Chère, chère,can it be that you, too ... in such fog? Do you see: a glow! Vous êtes malheureuse, n 'est-ce pas? [cliii] I see, I see, don't tell, but don't question me either. Nous sommes tous malheureux, mais il faut les pardonner tous. Pardonnons, Lise, [cliv] and be free forever. To settle accounts with the world and be fully free– il faut pardonner, pardonner, et pardonner!"
"But why are you kneeling down?"
"Because, as I am bidding the world farewell, I want to bid farewell, in your image, to the whole of my past!" He began to weep and brought both her hands to his weeping eyes. "I kneel before all that was beautiful in my life, I kiss and give thanks! I've now broken myself in two: there—a madman who dreamed of soaring up into the sky, vingt-deux ans! [clv] Here—a crushed and chilled old tutor... chez ce marchand, s'il existe pourtant ce marchand [clvi] ...But how soaked you are, Lise!"he cried, jumping to his feet, feeling that his knees, too, had become soaked on the sodden ground, "and how is this possible, you, in this dress?... and on foot, and in this field... You're crying? Vous êtes malheureuse?Hah, I heard something... But where are you coming from now?" he quickened his questions, with a timorous look, glancing in deep perplexity at Mavriky Nikolaevich, "mais savez-vous l'heure qu'il est!" [clvii]
"Stepan Trofimovich, did you hear anything there about murdered people ... Is it true? Is it?"
"Those people! I saw the glow of their deeds all night. They couldn't have ended otherwise..." (His eyes began to flash again.) "I'm running from a delirium, from a feverish dream, running to seek Russia, existe-t-elle la Russie? Bah, c'est vous, cher capitaine! [clviii] I never doubted but that I'd meet you somewhere at some lofty deed... But do take my umbrella and—why must you go on foot? For God's sake, at least take my umbrella, and I'll hire a carriage somewhere anyway. I'm on foot only because Stasie(that is, Nastasya) would have started shouting for the whole street to hear, if she'd found out I was leaving; so I slipped away as incognito as possible. I don't know, in the Voicethey're writing about robberies everywhere, but it can't be, I thought, that the moment I get out on the road, there will be a robber? Chère Lise,it seems you said someone murdered someone? O, mon Dieu,you're not well!"
"Let's go, let's go!" Liza cried out as if in hysterics, again drawing Mavriky Nikolaevich after her. "Wait, Stepan Trofimovich," she suddenly went back to him, "wait, poor dear, let me make a cross over you. It might be better to tie you up, but I'd better make a cross over you. You, too, pray for 'poor' Liza—just so, a little, don't trouble yourself too much. Mavriky Nikolaevich, give this child back his umbrella, you must give it back. There... Let's go now! Let's go!"
Their arrival at the fatal house occurred precisely at the moment when the thick crowd thronging in front of the house had heard a good deal about Stavrogin and how it was profitable for him to kill his wife. But still, I repeat, the great majority went on listening silently and motionlessly. Only bawling drunkards and "breaking-loose" people like that arm-waving tradesman lost control of themselves. Everyone knew him as even a quiet man, but it was as if he would suddenly break loose and fly off somewhere if something suddenly struck him in a certain way. I did not see Liza and Mavriky Nikolaevich arrive. I first noticed Liza, to my stupefied amazement, when she was already far away from me in the crowd, and in the beginning I did not even make out Mavriky Nikolaevich. It seems there was a moment when he lagged a couple of steps behind her because of the crowd, or else he was forced aside. Liza, who was tearing through the crowd without seeing or noticing anything around her, like someone in a fever, like someone escaped from a hospital, of course drew attention to herself all too quickly: there was loud talk and suddenly shouting. Then someone yelled: "That's Stavrogin's woman!" And from the other side: "They don't just kill, they also come and look!" Suddenly I saw someone's hand, above her head, from behind, raised and lowered; Liza fell. There came a terrible cry from Mavriky Nikolaevich, who tore to her aid and struck the man who was between him and Liza with all his strength. But at the same moment that tradesman seized him from behind with both arms. For some time it was impossible to make anything out in the ensuing scuffle. It seems Liza got up, but fell again from another blow. Suddenly the crowd parted and a small empty circle formed around the prostrate Liza, with the bloody, crazed Mavriky Nikolaevich standing over her, shouting, weeping, and wringing his hands. I do not remember with complete precision how things went after that; I only remember that Liza was suddenly being carried away. I ran after her; she was still alive, and perhaps still conscious. From among the crowd, the tradesman and another three men were seized. These three up to now have denied any participation in the evil-doing, stubbornly insisting that they were seized by mistake; perhaps they are right. The tradesman, though clearly exposed, being a witless man, has been unable up to now to explain coherently what happened. I, too, had to give my evidence at the investigation, as a witness, though a distant one: I declared that everything had happened to the highest degree by chance, through people who, though perhaps of a certain inclination, had very little awareness, were drunk, and had already lost the thread. I am still of that opinion.
