Demons (The Possessed / The Devils) - The Unabridged Garnett Translation. Fyodor Dostoevsky

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СКАЧАТЬ to pay calls was bound to offend local society. Yet every one knew that riding was prescribed her by the doctor's orders, and they talked sarcastically of her illness. She really was ill. What struck me at first sight in her was her abnormal, nervous, incessant restlessness. Alas, the poor girl was very unhappy, and everything was explained later. To-day, recalling the past, I should not say she was such a beauty as she seemed to me then. Perhaps she was really not pretty at all. Tall, slim, but strong and supple, she struck one by the irregularities of the lines of her face. Her eyes were set somewhat like a Kalmuck's, slanting; she was pale and thin in the face with high cheek-bones, but there was something in the face that conquered and fascinated! There was something powerful in the ardent glance of her dark eyes. She always made her appearance “like a Conquering heroine, and to spread her conquests.” She seemed proud and at times even arrogant. I don't know whether she succeeded in being kind, but I know that she wanted to, and made terrible efforts to force herself to be a little kind. There were, no doubt, many fine impulses and the very best elements in her character, but everything in her seemed perpetually seeking its balance and unable to find it; everything was in chaos, in agitation, in uneasiness. Perhaps the demands she made upon herself were too severe, and she was never able to find in herself the strength to satisfy them.

      She sat on the sofa and looked round the room.

      “Why do I always begin to feel sad at such moments; explain that mystery, you learned person? I've been thinking all my life that I should be goodness knows how pleased at seeing you and recalling everything, and here I somehow don't feel pleased at all, although I do love you. . . . Ach, heavens! He has my portrait on the wall! Give it here. I remember it! I remember it!”

      An exquisite miniature in water-colour of Liza at twelve years old had been sent nine years before to Stepan Trofimovitch from Petersburg by the Drozdovs. He had kept it hanging on his wall ever since.

      “Was I such a pretty child? Can that really have been my face?”

      She stood up, and with the portrait in her hand looked in the looking-glass.

      “Make haste, take it!” she cried, giving back the portrait. “Don't hang it up now, afterwards. I don't want to look at it.”

      She sat down on the sofa again. “One life is over and another is begun, then that one is over — a third begins, and so on, endlessly. All the ends are snipped off as it were with scissors. See what stale things I'm telling you. Yet how much truth there is in them!”

      She looked at me, smiling; she had glanced at me several times already, but in his excitement Stepan Trofimovitch forgot: that he had promised to introduce me.

      “And why have you hung my portrait under those daggers? And why have you got so many daggers and sabres?”

      He had as a fact hanging on the wall, I don't know why, two crossed daggers and above them a genuine Circassian sabre. As she asked this question she looked so directly at me that I wanted to answer, but hesitated to speak. Stepan Trofimovitch grasped the position at last and introduced me.

      “I know, I know,” she said, “I'm delighted to meet you. Mother has heard a great deal about you, too. Let me introduce you to Mavriky Nikolaevitch too, he's a splendid person. I had formed a funny notion of you already. You're Stepan Trofimovitch's confidant, aren't you?”

      I turned rather red.

      “Ach, forgive me, please. I used quite the wrong word: not funny at all, but only . . .” She was confused and blushed. '' Why be ashamed though at your being a splendid person? Well, it's time we were going, Mavriky Nikolaevitch! Stepan Trofimovitch, you must be with us in half an hour. Mercy, what a lot we shall talk! Now I'm your confidante, and about everything, everything, you understand?”

      Stepan Trofimovitch was alarmed at once.

      “Oh, Mavriky Nikolaevitch knows everything, don't mind him!”

      “What does he know?”

      “Why, what do you mean?” she cried in astonishment. “Bah, why it's true then that they're hiding it! I wouldn't believe it! And they're hiding Dasha, too. Aunt wouldn't let me go in to see Dasha to-day. She says she's got a headache.”

      “But . . . but how did you find out?”

      “My goodness, like every one else. That needs no cunning!”

      “But does every one else . . .?”

      “Why, of course. Mother, it's true, heard it first through Alyona Frolovna, my nurse; your Nastasya ran round to tell her. You told Nastasya, didn't you? She says you told her yourself.”

      “I . . . I did once speak,” Stepan Trofimovitch faltered, crimsoning all over, “but . . . I only hinted . . . j'etais si nerveux et malade, et puis . . . ”

      She laughed.

      “And your confidant didn't happen to be at hand, and Nastasya turned up. Well that was enough! And the whole town's full of her cronies! Come, it doesn't matter, let them know; it's all the better. Make haste and come to us, we dine early . . . . Oh, I forgot,” she added, sitting down again; “listen, what sort of person is Shatov?”

      “Shatov? He's the brother of Darya Pavlovna.”

      “I know he's her brother! What a person you are, really,” she interrupted impatiently. “I want to know what he's like; what sort of man he is.”

      “C'est un pense-creux d'ici. C'est le meilleur et le plus irascible l'homme, du monde.”

      “I've heard that he's rather queer. But that wasn't what I meant. I've heard that he knows three languages, one of them English, and can do literary work. In that case I've a lot of work for him. I want some one to help me and the sooner the better. Would he take the work or not? He's been recommended to me. . . . ”

      “Oh, most certainly he will. Et vous ferez un bienfait . . . .”

      “I'm not doing it as a bienfait. I need some one to help me.”

      “I know Shatov pretty well,” I said, “and if you will trust me with a message to him I'll go to him this minute.”

      “Tell him to come to me at twelve o'clock to-morrow morning. Capital! Thank you. Mavriky Nikolaevitch, are you ready?”

      They went away. I ran at once, of course, to Shatov.

      “Man ami!” said Stepan Trofimovitch, overtaking me on the steps. “Be sure to be at my lodging at ten or eleven o'clock when I come back. Oh, I've acted very wrongly in my conduct to you and to every one.”

      VIII

      I did not find Shatov at home. I ran round again, two hours later. He was still out. At last, at eight o'clock I went to him again, meaning to leave a note if I did not find him; again I failed to find him. His lodging was shut up, and he lived alone without a servant of any sort. I did think of knocking at Captain Lebyadkin's down below to ask about Shatov; but it was all shut up below, too, and there was no sound or light as though the place were empty. I passed by Lebyadkin's door with curiosity, remembering the stories I had heard that day. Finally, I made up my mind to come very early next morning: To tell the truth I did not put much confidence in the effect of a note. Shatov might take no notice of it; he was so obstinate and shy. Cursing my want of success, СКАЧАТЬ