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

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СКАЧАТЬ to me!' And I was more delighted at that 'little puss' than anything; he loves me, I thought.”

      “Perhaps he will come in reality,” Shatov muttered in an undertone.

      “No, Shatushka, that's a dream. . . . He can't come in reality. You know the song:

      'A new fine house I do not crave,

      This tiny cell's enough for me;

      There will I dwell my soul to save

      And ever pray to God for thee.'

      Ach, Shatushka, Shatushka, my dear, why do you never ask

      me about anything?”

      “Why, you won't tell. That's why I don't ask.”

      “I won't tell, I won't tell,” she answered quickly. “You may kill me, I won't tell. You may burn me, I won't tell.

      And whatever I had to bear I'd never tell, people won't find out!”

      “There, you see. Every one has something of their own,” Shatov said, still more softly, his head drooping lower and lower.

      “But if you were to ask perhaps I should tell, perhaps I should!” she repeated ecstatically. “Why don't you ask I Ask, ask me nicely, Shatushka, perhaps I shall tell you. Entreat me, Shatushka, so that I shall consent of myself. Shatushka, Shatushka!”

      But Shatushka was silent. There was complete silence lasting a minute. Tears slowly trickled down her painted cheeks. She sat forgetting her two hands on Shatov's shoulders, but no longer looking at him.

      “Ach, what is it to do with me, and it's a sin.” Shatov suddenly got up from the bench.

      “Get up!” He angrily pulled the bench from under me and put it back where it stood before.

      “He'll be coming, so we must mind he doesn't guess. It's time we were off.”

      “Ach, you're talking of my footman,” Marya Timofyevna laughed suddenly. “You're afraid of him. Well, good-bye, dear visitors, but listen for one minute, I've something to tell you. That Nilitch came here with Filipov, the landlord, a red beard, and my fellow had flown at me just then, so the landlord caught hold of him and pulled him about the room while he shouted 'It's not my fault, I'm suffering for another man's sin!' So would you believe it, we all burst out laughing . . . .”

      “Ach, Timofyevna, why it was I, not the red beard, it was I pulled him away from you by his hair, this morning; the landlord came the day before yesterday to make a row; you've mixed it up.”

      “Stay, I really have mixed it up. Perhaps it was you. Why dispute about trifles? What does it matter to him who it is gives him a beating?” She laughed.

      “Come along!” Shatov pulled me. “The gate's creaking, he'll find us and beat her.”

      And before we had time to run out on to the stairs we heard a drunken shout and a shower of oaths at the gate.

      Shatov let me into his room and locked the door.

      “You'll have to stay a minute if you don't want a scene. He's squealing like a little pig, he must have stumbled over the gate again. He falls flat every time.”

      We didn't get off without a scene, however.

      VI

      Shatov stood at the closed door of his room and listened; suddenly he sprang back.

      “He's coming here, I knew he would,” he whispered furiously. “Now there'll be no getting rid of him till midnight.”

      Several violent thumps of a fist on the door followed.

      “Shatov, Shatov, friend . . . .! open!” yelled the captain. “Shatov,

       ‘I have come, to thee to tell thee That the sun doth r-r-rise apace, That the forest glows and tr-r-rembles In . . . the fire of . . . his . . . embrace. Tell thee I have waked, God damn thee, Wakened under the birch-twigs . . . .’

      (“As it might be under the birch-rods, ha ha!”)

       ‘Silvery little bird . . . is . . . thirsty, Says I’m going to . . . have a drink, But I don’t . . . know what to drink . . . .’

      Damn his stupid curiosity! Shatov, do you understand how good it is to be alive!”

      “Don't answer!” Shatov whispered to me again.

      “Open the door! Do you understand that there's something higher than brawling . . . in mankind; there are moments of an hon-hon-honourable man. . . . Shatov, I'm good; I'll forgive you. . . . Shatov, damn the manifestoes, eh?”

      Silence.

      “Do you understand, you ass, that I'm in love, that I've bought a dress-coat, look, the garb of love, fifteen roubles; a captain's love calls for the niceties of style. . . . Open the door!” he roared savagely all of a sudden, and he began furiously banging with his fists again.

      “Go to hell!” Shatov roared suddenly. .

      “S-s-slave! Bond-slave, and your sister's a slave, a bondswoman . . . a th . . . th . . . ief!”

      “And you sold your sister.”

      “That's a lie! I put up with the libel though. I could with one word . . . do you understand what she is?”

      “What?” Shatov at once drew near the door inquisitively.

      “But will you understand?”

      “Yes, I shall understand, tell me what?”

      “I'm not afraid to say! I'm never afraid to say anything in public! . . .”

      “You not afraid? A likely story,” said Shatov, taunting him, and nodding to me to listen.

      “Me afraid?”

      “Yes, I think you are.”

      “Me afraid?”

      “Well then, tell away if you're not afraid of your master's whip. . . . You're a coward, though you are a captain!”

      “I . . . I . . . she's . . . she's . . .” faltered Lebyadkin in a voice shaking with excitement.

      “Well?” Shatov put his ear to the door.

      A silence followed, lasting at least half a minute.

      “Sc-ou-oundrel!” came from the other side of the door at last, and the captain hurriedly beat a retreat downstairs, puffing like a samovar, stumbling on every step.

      “Yes, he's a sly one, and won't give himself away even when he's drunk.”

      Shatov СКАЧАТЬ