The possessed or, The devils
_"Oh, c'est un histoire bien bête! Je vous attendais, ma bonne amie, pour
vous raconter..."_
"Enough, Stepan Trofimovitch. Leave me in peace. I'm worn out. We
shall have time to talk to our heart's content, especially of what's
unpleasant. You've begun to splutter when you laugh, it's a sign of
senility! And what a strange way of laughing you've taken to!... Good
Heavens, what a lot of bad habits you've fallen into! Karmazinov won't
come and see you! And people are only too glad to make the most of
anything as it is.... You've betrayed yourself completely now. Well,
come, that's enough, that's enough, I'm tired. You really might have
mercy upon one!"
Stepan Trofimovitch "had mercy," but he withdrew in great perturbation.
V
Our friend certainly had fallen into not a few bad habits, especially of
late. He had obviously and rapidly deteriorated; and it was true that
he had become slovenly. He drank more and had become more tearful and
nervous; and had grown too impressionable on the artistic side. His
face had acquired a strange facility for changing with extraordinary
quickness, from the most solemn expression, for instance, to the most
absurd, and even foolish. He could not endure solitude, and was always
craving for amusement. One had always to repeat to him some gossip, some
local anecdote, and every day a new one. If no one came to see him for
a long time he wandered disconsolately about the rooms, walked to the
window, puckering up his lips, heaved deep sighs, and almost fell to
whimpering at last. He was always full of forebodings, was afraid of
something unexpected and inevitable; he had become timorous; he began to
pay great attention to his dreams.
He spent all that day and evening in great depression, he sent for me,
was very much agitated, talked a long while, gave me a long account of
things, but all rather disconnected. Varvara Petrovna had known for a
long time that he concealed nothing from me. It seemed to me at last
that he was worried about something particular, and was perhaps unable
to form a definite idea of it himself. As a rule when we met _tête-à-tête_
and he began making long complaints to me, a bottle was almost always
brought in after a little time, and things became much more comfortable.
This time there was no wine, and he was evidently struggling all the
while against the desire to send for it.
"And why is she always so cross?" he complained every minute, like a
child. _"Tous les hommes de génie et de progrès en Russie étaient,
sont, et seront toujours des_ gamblers _et des_ drunkards _qui boivent_ in
outbreaks... and I'm not such a gambler after all, and I'm not such a
drunkard. She reproaches me for not writing anything. Strange
idea!... She asks why I lie down? She says I ought to stand, 'an example
and reproach.' _Mais, entre nous soit dit,_ what is a man to do who is
destined to stand as a 'reproach,' if not to lie down? Does she
understand that?"
And at last it became clear to me what was the chief particular trouble
which was worrying him so persistently at this time. Many times that
evening he went to the looking-glass, and stood a long while before
it. At last he turned from the looking-glass to me, and with a sort
of strange despair, said: "_Mon cher, je suis un_ broken-down man." Yes,
certainly, up to that time, up to that very day there was one thing only
of which he had always felt confident in spite of the "new views," and
of the "change in Varvara Petrovna's ideas," that was, the conviction
that still he had a fascination for her feminine heart, not simply as an
exile or a celebrated man of learning, but as a handsome man. For twenty
years this soothing and flattering opinion had been rooted in his mind,
and perhaps of all his convictions this was the hardest to part with.
Had he any presentiment that evening of the colossal ordeal which was
preparing for him in the immediate future?
VI
I will now enter upon the description of that almost forgotten incident
with which my story properly speaking begins.
At last at the very end of August the Drozdovs returned. Their arrival
made a considerable sensation in local society, and took place shortly
before their relation, our new governor's wife, made her long-expected
appearance. But of all these interesting events I will speak later.
For the present I will confine myself to saying that Praskovya Ivanovna
brought Varvara Petrovna, who was expecting her so impatiently, a most
perplexing problem: Nikolay had parted from them in July, and,
meeting Count K. on the Rhine, had set off with him and his family for
Petersburg. (N.B.--The Count's three daughters were all of marriageable
age.)
"Lizaveta is so proud and obstinate that I could get nothing out of
her," Praskovya Ivanovna said in conclusion. "But I saw for myself that
something had happened between her and Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. I don't
know the reasons, but I fancy, my dear Varvara Petrovna, that you
will have to ask your Darya Pavlovna for them. To my thinking Liza
was offended. I'm glad. I can tell you that I've brought you back your
favourite at last and handed her over to you; it's a weight off my
mind."
These venomous words were uttered with remarkable irritability. It was
evident that the "flabby" woman had prepared them and gloated beforehand
over the effect they would produce. But Varvara Petrovna was not the
woman to be disconcerted by sentimental effects and enigmas. She sternly
demanded the most precise and satisfactory explanations. Praskovya
Ivanovna immediately lowered her tone and even ended by dissolving into
tears and expressions of the warmest friendship. This irritable but
sentimental lady, like Stepan Trofimovitch, was forever yearning for
true friendship, and her chief complaint against her daughter Lizaveta
Nikolaevna was just that "her daughter was not a friend to her."
But from all her explanations and outpourings nothing certain could be
gathered but that there actually had been some sort of quarrel between
Liza and Nikolay, but of the nature of the quarrel Praskovya Ivanovna
was obviously unable to form a definite idea. As for her imputations
against Darya Pavlovna, she not only withdrew them completely in the
end, but even particularly begged Varvara Petrovna to pay no attention
to her words, because "they had been said in irritation." In fact, it
had all been left very far from clear--suspicious, indeed. According to
her account the quarrel had arisen from Liza's "obstinate and ironical
character." "Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch is proud, too, and though he
was very much in love, yet he could not endure sarcasm, and began to be
sarcastic himself. Soon afterwards we made the acquaintance of a
young man, the nephew, I believe, of your 'Professor' and, indeed, the
surname's the same."
"The son, not the nephew," Varvara Petrovna corrected her.
Even in old days Praskovya Ivanovna had been always unable to recall
Stepan Trofimovitch's name, and had always called him the "Professor."
"Well, his son, then; so much the better. Of course, it's all the same
to me. An ordinary young man, very lively and free in his manners, but
nothing special in him. Well, then, Liza herself did wrong, she
made friends with the young man with the idea of making Nikolay
Vsyevolodovitch jealous. I don't see much harm in that; it's the way of
girls, quite usual, even charming in them. Only instead of being jealous
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch made friends with the young man himself, just as
though he saw nothing and didn't care. This made Liza furious. The young
man soon went away (he was in a great hurry to get somewhere) and
Liza took to picking quarrels with Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch at every
opportunity. She noticed that he used sometimes to talk to Dasha; and,
well, she got in such a frantic state that even my life wasn't worth
living, my dear. The doctors have forbidden my being irritated, and I
was so sick of their lake they make such a fuss about, it simply gave me
toothache, I had such rheumatism. It's stated in print that the Lake of
Geneva does give people the toothache. It's a feature of the place. Then
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch suddenly got a letter from the countess and he
left us at once. He packed up in one day. They parted in a friendly way,
and Liza became very cheerful and frivolous, and laughed a great deal
seeing him off; only that was all put on. When he had gone she became
very thoughtful, and she gave up speaking of him altogether and wouldn't
let me mention his name. And I should advise you, dear Varvara Petrovna,
not to approach the subject with Liza, you'll only do harm. But if you
hold your tongue she'll begin to talk of it herself, and then you'll
learn more. I believe they'll come together again, if only Nikolay
Vsyevolodovitch doesn't put off coming, as he promised."
"I'll write to him at once. If that's how it was, there was nothing in
the quarrel; all nonsense! And I know Darya too well. It's nonsense!"
"I'm sorry for what I said about Dashenka, I did wrong. Their
conversations were quite ordinary and they talked out loud, too. But it
all upset me so much at the time, my dear. And Liza, I saw, got on with
her again as affectionately as before...."
That very day Varvara Petrovna wrote to Nikolay, and begged him to come,
if only one month, earlier than the date he had fixed. But yet she still
felt that there was something unexplained and obscure in the matter.
She pondered over it all the evening and all night. Praskovya's opinion
seemed to her too innocent and sentimental. "Praskovya has always
been too sentimental from the old schooldays upwards," she reflected.
"Nicolas is not the man to run away from a girl's taunts. There's some
other reason for it, if there really has been a breach between them.
That officer's here though, they've brought him with them. As a relation
he lives in their house. And, as for Darya, Praskovya was in too much
haste to apologise. She must have kept something to herself, which she
wouldn't tell me."
By the morning Varvara Petrovna had matured a project for putting a stop
once for all to one misunderstanding at least; a project amazing in its
unexpectedness. What was in her heart when she conceived it? It would
be hard to decide and I will not undertake to explain beforehand all
the incongruities of which it was made up. I simply confine myself as
chronicler to recording events precisely as they happened, and it is not
my fault if they seem incredible. Yet I must once more testify that by
the morning there was not the least suspicion of Dasha left in Varvara
Petrovna's mind, though in reality there never had been any--she had
too much confidence in her. Besides, she could not admit the idea that
"Nicolas" could be attracted by her Darya. Next morning when Darya
Pavlovna was pouring out tea at the table Varvara Petrovna looked for a
long while intently at her and, perhaps for the twentieth time since the
previous day, repeated to herself: "It's all nonsense!"
All she noticed was that Dasha looked rather tired, and that she was
even quieter and more apathetic than she used to be. After their morning
tea, according to their invariable custom, they sat down to needlework.
Varvara Petrovna demanded from her a full account of her impressions
abroad, especially of nature, of the inhabitants, of the towns, the
customs, their arts and commerce--of everything she had time to observe.
She asked no questions about the Drozdovs or how she had got on with
them. Dasha, sitting beside her at the work-table helping her with the
embroidery, talked for half an hour in her even, monotonous, but rather
weak voice.
"Darya!" Varvara Petrovna interrupted suddenly, "is there nothing
special you want to tell me?"
"No, nothing," said Dasha, after a moment's thought, and she glanced at