The Complete Novels of Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Fyodor Dostoyevsky

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СКАЧАТЬ hitherto innocent young girl into a …”

      “Another insulting word to her and I will kill you, Foma, I swear! …”

      “I say that word, since you have succeeded in turning the most innocent young girl into a most depraved girl.”

      Foma had hardly uttered this last word when my uncle seized him by the shoulder, turned him round like a straw, and flung him violently at the glass door, which led from the study into the courtyard. The shock was so violent that the closed door burst open, and Foma, flying head over heels down the stone steps, fell full length in the yard. Bits of broken glass wero scattered tinkling about the steps.

      “Gavrila, pick him up!” cried my uncle, as pale as a corpse. “Put him in the cart, and within two minutes let there be no trace of him in Stepantchikovo!”

      Whatever Foma’s design may have been, he certainly had not expected such a climax.

      I will not undertake to describe what happened for the first minutes after this episode. The heartrending wail of Madame la Générale as she rolled from side to side in an armchair; the stupefaction of Miss Perepelitsyn at this unexpected behaviour of my hitherto submissive uncle; the sighs and groans of the lady companions; Nastenka almost fainting with fright while her father hovered over her; Sashenka terror-stricken; my uncle in indescribable excitement pacing up and down the room waiting for his mother to come to herself; and lastly, the loud weeping of Falaley in lamentation over the troubles of his betters — all this made up an indescribable picture. I must add, too, that at this moment a violent storm broke over us; peals of thunder were more and more frequent, and big drops of rain began pattering on the window.

      “Here’s a nice holiday!” muttered Mr. Bahtcheyev, bowing his head and flinging wide his arms.

      “It’s a bad business,” I whispered to him, beside myself with excitement too. “But anyway they have turned Foma out, and he won’t come back again.”

      “Mamma! Are you conscious? Are you better? Can you listen to me at last?” asked my uncle, stopping before the old lady’s armchair.

      She raised her head, clasped her hands, and looked with imploring eyes at her son, whom she had never in her life before seen moved to such wrath.

      “Mamma,” he went on, “it was the last straw, you have seen for yourself. It was not like this that I meant to approach this subject, but the hour has come, and it is useless to put it off. You have heard the calumny, hear my defence. Mamma, I love this noble and high-minded girl, I have loved her a long while, and I shall never cease to love her. She will make the happiness of my children, and will be a dutiful daughter to you. And so now, before you, and in the presence of my friends and my family, I solemnly plead at her feet, and beseech her to do me infinite honour by consenting to be my wife.”

      Nastenka started, then flushed crimson all over and got up from her seat. Madame la Générale stared some time at her son as though she did not understand what he was saying to her, and all at once with a piercing wail flung herself on her knees.

      “Yegorushka, my darling, bring Foma Fomitch back,” she cried. “Bring him back at once, or without him I shall die before night.”

      My uncle was petrified at the sight of his self-willed and capricious old mother kneeling before him. His painful distress was reflected in his face. At last, recovering himself, he flew to raise her up and put her back in her chair.

      “Bring Foma Fomitch back, Yegorushka,” the old lady went on wailing. “Bring him back darling! I cannot live without him!”

      “Mamma,” my uncle cried sorrowfully, “have you heard nothing of what I have just said to you? I cannot bring Foma back — understand that. I cannot and I have not the right to after his low and scoundrelly slander on this angel of honour and virtue. Do you understand, mamma, that it is my duty, that my honour compels me now to defend virtue? You have heard: I am asking this young lady to be my wife, and I beg you to bless our union.”

      Madame la Generate got up from her seat again and fell on her knees before Nastenka.

      “My dear girl!” she wailed, “do not marry him. Do not marry him, but entreat him, my dear, to fetch back Foma Fomitch. Nastasya Yevgrafovna, darling! I will give up every-

      thing, I will sacrifice everything if only you will not marry him. Old as I am, I have not spent everything, I had a little left me when my poor husband died. It’s all yours, my dear, I will give you everything, and Yegorushka will give you something too, but do not lay me living in my grave, beg him to bring back Foma Fomitch.”

      And the old woman would have gone on wailing and diiveiling if Miss Perepelitsyn and all the lady companions nad not, with shrieks and moans, rushed to lift her up, indignant that she should be on her knees before a hired governess. Nastenka was so frightened that she could hardly stand, while Miss Perepelitsyn positively shed tears of fury.

      “You will be the death of your mamma,” she screamed at my uncle. “You will be the death of her. And you, Nastasva Yevgrafovna, ought not to make dissension between mother and son; the Lord has forbidden it… .”

      “Anna Nilovna, hold your tongue!” cried my uncle. “I have put up with enough!”

      “Yes, and I have had enough to put up with from you too. Why do you reproach me with my friendless position? It is easy to insult the friendless. I am not your slave yet. I am the daughter of a major myself. You won’t see me long in your house, this very day … I <diall be gone. …”

      But my uncle did not hear her; he went up to Nastenka and with reverence took her by the hand.

      “Nastasya Yevgrafovna! You have heard my offer?” he said, looking at her with anguish, almost with despair.

      “No, Yegor Ilyitch, no! We had better give it up,” said Nastenka, utterly dejected too. “It is all nonsense,” she said, pressing his hand and bursting into tears. “You only say this because of yesterday … but it cannot be. You see that yourself. We have made a mistake, Yegor Ilyitch… . But I shall always think of you as my benefactor and … I shall pray for you always, always! …”

      At this point tears choked her. “My poor uncle had evidently foreseen this answer; he did not even think of protecting, ot insisting. He listened, bending down to her, still holding her hand, crushed and speechless There were tears in his eyes.

      “I told you yesterday,” Nastya went on, “that I could not be your wife. You see that I am not wanted here … and I foresaw all this long ago; your mamma will not give vou her blessing … others too. Though you would not regret it afterwards, because you are the most generous of men, yet you would be made miserable through me … with your soft-heartedness. …”

      “Just because of your soft-heartedness! Just because you are so soft-hearted! That’s it, Nastenka, that’s it!” chimed in her old father, who was standing on the other side of her chair. “That’s just it, that’s just the right word.”

      “I don’t want to bring dissension into your house on my account,” Nastenka went on. “And don’t be uneasy about me, Yegor Ilyitch; no one will interfere with me, no one will insult me … I am going to my father’s … this very day… . We had better say goodbye, Yegor Ilyitch, …”

      And poor Nastenka dissolved into tears again.

      “Nastasya Yevgrafovna! Surely this not not your final answer!” СКАЧАТЬ