The Complete Novels of Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Fyodor Dostoyevsky

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СКАЧАТЬ Do you hear? … Goodbye! I thank you … and I entreat you …”

      Obnoskin vanished. A minute later, as though he had sprung out of the earth, my uncle was before me.

      “Is it you?” he greeted me. “It is all over, Seryozha, it is all over!”

      I noticed, too, that he was trembling from head to foot.

      “What is all over, uncle?”

      “Come along!” he said, gasping for breath, and clutching my hand tightly he drew me alter him. He did not utter a word all the way to the lodge, nor did he let me speak. I was expecting something monstrous, and my expectations were almost realised.

      When we went indoors he was overcome with giddiness, he was deathly pale. I promptly sprinkled him with water. “Something very awful must have happened,” I thought, “for a man like this to faint.”

      “Uncle, what is the matter with you?” I asked him at last.

      “All is over, Seryozha! Foma found me in the garden with Nastenka, at the very moment when I was kissing her.”

      “Kissing her! In the garden!” I cried, looking at my uncle in amazement.

      “In the garden, my boy. The Lord confounded me I I went there to be sure of seeing her. I wanted to speak openly to her, to make her see reason — about you, I mean. And she had been waiting for me a whole hour, on the broken seat, beyond the pond… . She often goes there when she wants to speak to me.”

      “Often, uncle?”

      “Yes, often, my boy! Of late we have been meeting almost every night. Only they must have watched us — in fact, I know that they watched us and that it was Anna Nilovna’s doing. We gave it up for a time. The last four days we have not met; but to-day it was necessary again. You saw yourself how necessary it was; how else could I have said anything to her? I went in the hope of finding her, and she had been sitting there a whole hour, waiting for me: she, too, wanted to tell me something. …”

      “Good heavens, how incautious! Why, you knew that you were being watched!”

      “But, you see, it was a critical matter, Seryozha; there was a great deal we had to discuss together. I don’t dare to look at her in the daytime. She looks in one corner and I look in another, as though she did not exist. But towards night we meet and have a talk. …”

      “Well, what happened, uncle?”

      “Before I could utter a couple of words, you know, my heart began throbbing and the tears gushed from my eyes. I began trying to persuade her to marry you, and she answered me: ‘You certainly don’t love me — you must be blind.’ And all of a sudden she flings herself on my neck, throws her arms round me, and begins crying and sobbing! T love no one but you,’ she said, ‘and won’t marry anyone. I have loved you for ever so long, but I will never marry you. And tomorrow I am going away and going into a nunnery.’”

      “My goodness! Did she really say that? Well, what then, uncle, what then?”

      “I looked up and there was Foma facing us! And where had he sprung from? Could he have been sitting behind a bush, and waiting for some such lapse?”

      “The scoundrel!”

      “I was petrified, Nastenka ran away, while Foma Fomitch passed by without a word and held up his finger at me. Sergey, do you understand what a hubbub there will be tomorrow?”

      “I should think I do!”

      “Do you understand?” he cried in despair, leaping up from his seat. “Do you understand that they will try to ruin her, to disgrace her, to dishonour her; they are looking for a pretext to accuse her of something disgraceful, and now the pretext is found. You know they will say that she is carrying on an abominable intrigue with me! You know, the scoundrels made out that she had an intrigue with Vidoplyasov! It’s all Anna Nilovna’s tales. What will happen now? What will happen tomorrow? Will Foma really tell them?”

      “He’ll certainly tell them, uncle.”

      “If he does, if he really does tell ..,” he brought out, biting his lips and clenching his fists. “But no, I don’t believe it! He won’t tell, he will understand … he is a man of the loftiest character! He will spare her. …”

      “Whether he spares her or whether he doesn’t,” I answered resolutely, “it is your duty in any case to make Nastasya Yevgrafovna an offer tomorrow.”

      My uncle looked fixedly at me.

      “Do you understand, uncle, that you have mined the girl’s reputation if this story gets about? Do you understand that you ought to prevent that calamity as quickly as possible; that you ought to look them all in the face boldly and proudly, ought to offer her your hand publicly, to spurn their arguments and pound Foma to a jelly if he hints a word against her?”

      “My dear boy,” cried my uncle. “I thought of that as I came along here!”

      “And did you make up your mind?”

      “Yes, and finally! I had made up my mind before I began speaking to you.”

      “Bravo, uncle!”

      And I rushed to embrace him.

      We talked for a long time. I put before him all the arguments, all the absolute necessity for marrying Nastenka, which, indeed, he understood far better than I did. But my eloquence was aroused. I was delighted on my uncle’s account. He was impelled by a sense of duty or he would never have taken a stand. He had the deepest reverence for duty, for obligation. But in spite of that I was quite unable to imagine how things would be settled. I knew and blindly believed that nothing would induce my uncle to fall short of what he had once recognised as his duty; but yet I could not believe that he would have the strength to stand out against his household. And so I did my utmost to incite him and urge him on, and set to work with all the fervour of youth.

      “The more so,” I said, “as now everything is settled and your last doubts have vanished! What you did not expect, though in reality everyone else saw it, and everyone noticed it before you did, has happened; Nastasya Yevgrafovna loves you! Surely,” I cried, “you will not let that pure love be turned into shame and disgrace for her?”

      “Never! But, my dear boy, can I really be going to be so happy?’ I cried my uncle, throwing himself on my neck. “And how is it she loves me, and what for? What for? It seems to me there is nothing in me likely to … I am an old man compared to her; I certainly did not expect it! My angel, my angel! … Listen, Seryozha! you asked me this evening whether I were not in love with her: had you any idea?”

      “All I saw, uncle, was that you love her as much as anyone can love: you love her and at the same time you don’t know it yourself. Upon my word! You invite me, you want to marry me to her solely in order that she may become your niece, and so you may have her always with you. …”

      “But you … you do forgive me, Sergey?”

      “Oh, uncle… .”

      And he embraced me again.

      “Mind, uncle, they will all be against you: you must stand up for yourself and resist them, and no later than tomorrow!”

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