THE COMPLETE NOVELLAS & SHORT STORIES OF FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY. Fyodor Dostoyevsky

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СКАЧАТЬ yes! Ha-ha-ha! Khee-khee-khee! He is funny and he is in a mess — khee-khee-khee!”

      “Your Excellency, your Excellency, I am now perfectly happy. I would offer you my hand, but I do not venture to, your Excellency. I feel that I have been in error, but now I am opening my eyes. I am certain my wife is pure and innocent! I was wrong in suspecting her.”

      “Wife — his wife!” cried the lady, with tears in her eyes through laughing.

      “He married? Impossible! I should never have thought it,” said the old gentleman.

      “Your Excellency, my wife — it is all her fault; that is, it is my fault: I suspected her; I knew that an assignation had been arranged here — here upstairs; I intercepted a letter, made a mistake about the storey and got under the bed….”

      “He-he-he-he!”

      “Ha-ha-ha-ha!”

      “Ha-ha-ha-ha!” Ivan Andreyitch began laughing at last. “Oh, how happy I am! Oh, how wonderful to see that we are all so happy and harmonious! And my wife is entirely innocent. That must be so, your Excellency!”

      “He-he-he! Khee-khee! Do you know, my love, who it was?” said the old man at last, recovering from his mirth.

      “Who? Ha-ha-ha.”

      “She must be the pretty woman who makes eyes, the one with the dandy. It’s she, I bet that’s his wife!”

      “No, your Excellency, I am certain it is not she; I am perfectly certain.”

      “But, my goodness! You are losing time,” cried the lady, leaving off laughing. “Run, go upstairs. Perhaps you will find them.”

      “Certainly, your Excellency, I will fly. But I shall not find any one, your Excellency; it is not she, I am certain of it beforehand. She is at home now. It is all my fault! It is simply my jealousy, nothing else…. What do you think? Do you suppose that I shall find them there, your Excellency?”

      “Ha-ha-ha!”

      “He-he-he! Khee-khee!”

      “You must go, you must go! And when you come down, come in and tell us!” cried the lady; “or better still, tomorrow morning. And do bring her too, I should like to make her acquaintance.”

      “Goodbye, your Excellency, goodbye! I will certainly bring her, I shall be very glad for her to make your acquaintance. I am glad and happy that it was all ended so and has turned out for the best.”

      “And the lapdog! Don’t forget it: be sure to bring the lapdog!”

      “I will bring it, your Excellency, I will certainly bring it,” responded Ivan Andreyitch, darting back into the room, for he had already made his bows and withdrawn. “I will certainly bring it. It is such a pretty one. It is just as though a confectioner had made it of sweetmeats. And it’s such a funny little thing — gets entangled in its own coat and falls over. It really is a lapdog! I said to my wife: ‘How is it, my love, it keeps tumbling over?’ ‘It is such a little thing,’ she said. As though it were made of sugar, of sugar, your Excellency! Goodbye, your Excellency, very, very glad to make your acquaintance, very glad to make your acquaintance!”

      Ivan Andreyitch bowed himself out.

      “Hey, sir! Stay, come back,” cried the old gentleman, after the retreating Ivan Andreyitch.

      The latter turned back for the third time.

      “I still can’t find the cat, didn’t you meet him when you were under the bed?”

      “No, I didn’t, your Excellency. Very glad to make his acquaintance, though, and I shall look upon it as an honour….”

      “He has a cold in his head now, and keeps sneezing and sneezing. He must have a beating.”

      “Yes, your Excellency, of course; corrective punishment is essential with domestic animals.”

      “What?”

      “I say that corrective punishment is necessary, your Excellency, to enforce obedience in the domestic animals.”

      “Ah!… Well, goodbye, goodbye, that is all I had to say.”

      Coming out into the street, Ivan Andreyitch stood for a long time in an attitude that suggested that he was expecting to have a fit in another minute. He took off his hat, wiped the cold sweat from his brow, screwed up his eyes, thought a minute, and set off homewards.

      What was his amazement when he learned at home that Glafira Petrovna had come back from the theatre a long, long time before, that she had toothache, that she had sent for the doctor, that she had sent for leeches, and that now she was lying in bed and expecting Ivan Andreyitch.

      Ivan Andreyitch slapped himself on the forehead, told the servant to help him wash and to brush his clothes, and at last ventured to go into his wife’s room.

      “Where is it you spend your time? Look what a sight you are! What do you look like? Where have you been lost all this time? Upon my word, sir; your wife is dying and you have to be hunted for all over the town. Where have you been? Surely you have not been tracking me, trying to disturb a rendezvous I am supposed to have made, though I don’t know with whom. For shame, sir, you are a husband! People will soon be pointing at you in the street.”

      “My love ..,” responded Ivan Andreyitch.

      But at this point he was so overcome with confusion that he had to feel in his pocket for his handkerchief and to break off in the speech he was beginning, because he had neither words, thoughts or courage…. What was his amazement, horror and alarm when with his handkerchief fell out of his pocket the corpse of Amishka. Ivan Andreyitch had not noticed that when he had been forced to creep out from under the bed, in an access of despair and unreasoning terror he had stuffed Amishka into his pocket with a faraway idea of burying the traces, concealing the evidence of his crime, and so avoiding the punishment he deserved.

      “What’s this?” cried his spouse; “a nasty dead dog! Goodness! where has it come from?… What have you been up to?… Where have you been? Tell me at once where have you been?”

      “My love,” answered Ivan Andreyitch, almost as dead as Amishka, “my love….”

      But here we will leave our hero — till another time, for a new and quite different adventure begins here. Some day we will describe all these calamities and misfortunes, gentlemen. But you will admit that jealousy is an unpardonable passion, and what is more, it is a positive misfortune.

      A Faint Heart

       Table of Contents

      UNDER the same roof in the same flat on the same fourth storey lived two young men, colleagues in the service, Arkady Ivanovitch Nefedevitch and Vasya Shumkov… . The author of course, feels the necessity of explaining to the reader why one is given his full title, while the other’s name is abbreviated, if only that such a mode of expression may not be regarded as unseemly and rather familiar. But, to do so, it would first be necessary СКАЧАТЬ