The possessed or, The devils
"You are trembling. Are you cold?" Varvara Petrovna observed suddenly,
and flinging off her pelisse which a footman caught in mid-air, she took
from her own shoulders a very expensive black shawl, and with her own
hands wrapped it round the bare neck of the still kneeling woman.
"But get up, get up from your knees I beg you!"
The woman got up.
"Where do you live? Is it possible no one knows where she lives?"
Varvara Petrovna glanced round impatiently again. But the crowd was
different now: she saw only the faces of acquaintances, people in
society, surveying the scene, some with severe astonishment, others with
sly curiosity and at the same time guileless eagerness for a sensation,
while others positively laughed.
"I believe her name's Lebyadkin," a good-natured person volunteered at
last in answer to Varvara Petrovna. It was our respectable and respected
merchant Andreev, a man in spectacles with a grey beard, wearing Russian
dress and holding a high round hat in his hands. "They live in the
Filipovs' house in Bogoyavlensky Street."
"Lebyadkin? Filipovs' house? I have heard something.... Thank you, Nikon
Semyonitch. But who is this Lebyadkin?"
"He calls himself a captain, a man, it must be said, not over careful
in his behaviour. And no doubt this is his sister. She must have escaped
from under control," Nikon Semyonitch went on, dropping his voice, and
glancing significantly at Varvara Petrovna.
"I understand. Thank you, Nikon Semyonitch. Your name is Mlle.
Lebyadkin?"
"No, my name's not Lebyadkin."
"Then perhaps your brother's name is Lebyadkin?"
"My brother's name is Lebyadkin."
"This is what I'll do, I'll take you with me now, my dear, and you shall
be driven from me to your family. Would you like to go with me?"
"Ach, I should!" cried Mlle. Lebyadkin, clasping her hands.
"Auntie, auntie, take me with you too!" the voice of Lizaveta Nikolaevna
cried suddenly.
I must observe that Lizaveta Nikolaevna had come to the cathedral with
the governor's wife, while Praskovya Ivanovna had by the doctor's
orders gone for a drive in her carriage, taking Mavriky Nikolaevitch
to entertain her. Liza suddenly left the governor's wife and ran up to
Varvara Petrovna.
"My dear, you know I'm always glad to have you, but what will your
mother say?" Varvara Petrovna began majestically, but she became
suddenly confused, noticing Liza's extraordinary agitation.
"Auntie, auntie, I must come with you!" Liza implored, kissing Varvara
Petrovna.
_"Mais qu'avez vous donc, Lise?"_ the governor's wife asked with
expressive wonder.
"Ah, forgive me, darling, _chère cousine,_ I'm going to auntie's."
Liza turned in passing to her unpleasantly surprised _chère cousine_, and
kissed her twice.
"And tell maman to follow me to auntie's directly; maman meant, fully
meant to come and see you, she said so this morning herself, I forgot to
tell you," Liza pattered on. "I beg your pardon, don't be angry, _Julie,
chère...cousine...._Auntie, I'm ready!"
"If you don't take me with you, auntie, I'll run after your carriage,
screaming," she whispered rapidly and despairingly in Varvara Petrovna's
ear; it was lucky that no one heard. Varvara Petrovna positively
staggered back, and bent her penetrating gaze on the mad girl. That gaze
settled everything. She made up her mind to take Liza with her.
"We must put an end to this!" broke from her lips. "Very well, I'll
take you with pleasure, Liza," she added aloud, "if Yulia Mihailovna
is willing to let you come, of course." With a candid air and
straightforward dignity she addressed the governor's wife directly.
"Oh, certainly, I don't want to deprive her of such a pleasure
especially as I am myself..." Yulia Mihailovna lisped with amazing
affability--"I myself... know well what a fantastic, wilful little head
it is!" Yulia Mihailovna gave a charming smile.
"I thank you extremely," said Varvara Petrovna, with a courteous and
dignified bow.
"And I am the more gratified," Yulia Mihailovna went on, lisping almost
rapturously, flushing all over with agreeable excitement, "that, apart
from the pleasure of being with you Liza should be carried away by such
an excellent, I may say lofty, feeling... of compassion..." (she
glanced at the "unhappy creature") "and... and at the very portal of the
temple...."
"Such a feeling does you honour," Varvara Petrovna approved
magnificently. Yulia Mihailovna impulsively held out her hand and
Varvara Petrovna with perfect readiness touched it with her fingers. The
general effect was excellent, the faces of some of those present beamed
with pleasure, some bland and insinuating smiles were to be seen.
In short it was made manifest to every one in the town that it was not
Yulia Mihailovna who had up till now neglected Varvara Petrovna in not
calling upon her, but on the contrary that Varvara Petrovna had "kept
Yulia Mihailovna within bounds at a distance, while the latter would
have hastened to pay her a visit, going on foot perhaps if necessary,
had she been fully assured that Varvara Petrovna would not turn her
away." And Varvara Petrovna's prestige was enormously increased.
"Get in, my dear." Varvara Petrovna motioned Mlle. Lebyadkin towards the
carriage which had driven up.
The "unhappy creature" hurried gleefully to the carriage door, and there
the footman lifted her in.
"What! You're lame!" cried Varvara Petrovna, seeming quite alarmed,
and she turned pale. (Every one noticed it at the time, but did not
understand it.)
The carriage rolled away. Varvara Petrovna's house was very near
the cathedral. Liza told me afterwards that Miss Lebyadkin laughed
hysterically for the three minutes that the drive lasted, while Varvara
Petrovna sat "as though in a mesmeric sleep." Liza's own expression.
CHAPTER V. THE SUBTLE SERPENT
I
VARVARA PETROVNA rang the bell and threw herself into an easy chair by
the window.
"Sit here, my dear." She motioned Marya Timofyevna to a seat in the
middle of the room, by a large round table. "Stepan Trofimovitch,
what is the meaning of this? See, see, look at this woman, what is the
meaning of it?"
"I... I..." faltered Stepan Trofimovitch.
But a footman came in.
"A cup of coffee at once, we must have it as quickly as possible! Keep
the horses!"
_"Mais, chère et excellente amie, dans quelle inquiétude..."_ Stepan
Trofimovitch exclaimed in a dying voice.
"Ach! French! French! I can see at once that it's the highest society,"
cried Marya Timofyevna, clapping her hands, ecstatically preparing
herself to listen to a conversation in French. Varvara Petrovna stared
at her almost in dismay.
We all sat in silence, waiting to see how it would end. Shatov did not
lift up his head, and Stepan Trofimovitch was overwhelmed with confusion
as though it were all his fault; the perspiration stood out on his
temples. I glanced at Liza (she was sitting in the corner almost beside
Shatov). Her eyes darted keenly from Varvara Petrovna to the cripple and
back again; her lips were drawn into a smile, but not a pleasant
one. Varvara Petrovna saw that smile. Meanwhile Marya Timofyevna was
absolutely transported. With evident enjoyment and without a trace
of embarrassment she stared at Varvara Petrovna's beautiful
drawing-room--the furniture, the carpets, the pictures on the walls, the
old-fashioned painted ceiling, the great bronze crucifix in the corner,
the china lamp, the albums, the objects on the table.
"And you're here, too, Shatushka!" she cried suddenly. "Only fancy, I
saw you a long time ago, but I thought it couldn't be you! How could you
come here!" And she laughed gaily.
"You know this woman?" said Varvara Petrovna, turning to him at once.
"I know her," muttered Shatov. He seemed about to move from his chair,
but remained sitting.
"What do you know of her? Make haste, please!"
"Oh, well..." he stammered with an incongruous smile. "You see for
yourself...."
"What do I see? Come now, say something!"
"She lives in the same house as I do... with her brother... an officer."
"Well?"
Shatov stammered again.
"It's not worth talking about..." he muttered, and relapsed into
determined silence. He positively flushed with determination.
"Of course one can expect nothing else from you," said Varvara Petrovna
indignantly. It was clear to her now that they all knew something and,
at the same time, that they were all scared, that they were evading her
questions, and anxious to keep something from her.
The footman came in and brought her, on a little silver tray, the cup of
coffee she had so specially ordered, but at a sign from her moved with
it at once towards Marya Timofyevna.
"You were very cold just now, my dear; make haste and drink it and get
warm."
_"Merci."_
Marya Timofyevna took the cup and at once went off into a giggle
at having said _merci_ to the footman. But meeting Varvara Petrovna's
reproving eyes, she was overcome with shyness and put the cup on the
table.
"Auntie, surely you're not angry?" she faltered with a sort of flippant
playfulness.
"Wh-a-a-t?" Varvara Petrovna started, and drew herself up in her chair.
"I'm not your aunt. What are you thinking of?"
Marya Timofyevna, not expecting such an angry outburst, began trembling
all over in little convulsive shudders, as though she were in a fit, and
sank back in her chair.
"I... I... thought that was the proper way," she faltered, gazing
open-eyed at Varvara Petrovna. "Liza called you that."
"What Liza?"
"Why, this young lady here," said Marya Timofyevna, pointing with her
finger.
"So she's Liza already?"
"You called her that yourself just now," said Marya Timofyevna growing
a little bolder. "And I dreamed of a beauty like that," she added,
laughing, as it were accidentally.
Varvara Petrovna reflected, and grew calmer, she even smiled faintly at
Marya Timofyevna's last words; the latter, catching her smile, got up
from her chair, and limping, went timidly towards her.
"Take it. I forgot to give it back. Don't be angry with my rudeness."
She took from her shoulders the black shawl that Varvara Petrovna had
wrapped round her.
"Put it on again at once, and you can keep it always. Go and sit down,
drink your coffee, and please don't be afraid of me, my dear, don't
worry yourself. I am beginning to understand you."
_"Chère amie..."_ Stepan Trofimovitch ventured again.
"Ach, Stepan Trofimovitch, it's bewildering enough without you. You
might at least spare me.... Please ring that bell there, near you, to
the maid's room."
A silence followed. Her eyes strayed irritably and suspiciously over all
our faces. Agasha, her favourite maid, came in.
"Bring me my check shawl, the one I bought in Geneva. What's Darya
Pavlovna doing?"
"She's not very well, madam."
"Go and ask her to come here. Say that I want her particularly, even if
she's not well."
At that instant there was again, as before, an unusual noise of steps
and voices in the next room, and suddenly Praskovya Ivanovna, panting
and "distracted," appeared in the doorway. She was leaning on the arm of
Mavriky Nikolaevitch.
"Ach, heavens, I could scarcely drag myself here. Liza, you mad girl,
how you treat your mother!" she squeaked, concentrating in that squeak,
as weak and irritable people are wont to do, all her accumulated
irritability. "Varvara Petrovna, I've come for my daughter!"
Varvara Petrovna looked at her from under her brows, half rose to meet
her, and scarcely concealing her vexation brought out: "Good morning,
Praskovya Ivanovna, please be seated, I knew you would come!"
II
There could be nothing surprising to Praskovya Ivanovna in such a
reception. Varvara Petrovna had from childhood upwards treated her