Complete Works of Fyodor Dostoyevsky

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

  “How ‘thrown over’? Why do you suppose that he has thrown her over?”

  “The simple fact that he allowed her to come here to a strange house, and with a man who was also a stranger, or nearly so; or, at all events, with whom his relations were such that — —”

  “Oh, but I took her myself, almost by force.”

  Liza was not surprised to see Velchaninoff alone. She only smiled bitterly, and turned her hot face to the wall. She made no reply to his passionate promises to bring her father down to-morrow without fail, or to his timid attempts at consolation.

  As soon as Velchaninoff left the sick child’s presence, he burst into tears.

  The doctor did not arrive until evening. On seeing the patient he frightened everybody by his very first remark, observing that it was a pity he had not been sent for before.

  When informed that the child had only been taken ill last night, he could not believe it at first.

  “Well, it all depends upon how this night is passed,” he decided at last.

  Having made all necessary arrangements, he took his departure, promising to come as early as possible next morning.

  Velchaninoff was anxious to stay the night, but Claudia Petrovna begged him to try once more “to bring down that brute of a man.”

  “Try once more!” cried Velchaninoff, passionately; “why, I’ll tie him hand and foot and bring him along myself!”

  The idea that he would tie Pavel Pavlovitch up and carry him down in his arms overpowered Velchaninoff, and filled him with impatience to execute his frantic desire.

  “I don’t feel the slightest bit guilty before him any more,” he said to Claudia Petrovna, at parting, “and I withdraw all my servile, abject words of yesterday — all I said to you,” he added, wrathfully.

  Liza lay with closed eyes, apparently asleep; she seemed to be better. When Velchaninoff bent cautiously over her in order to kiss — if it were but the edge of her bed linen — she suddenly opened her eyes, just as though she had been waiting for him, and whispered, “Take me away!”

  It was but a quiet, sad petition — without a trace of yesterday’s irritation; but at the same time there was that in her voice which betrayed that she made the request in the full knowledge that it could not be assented to.

  No sooner did Velchaninoff, in despair, begin to assure her as tenderly as he could that what she desired was impossible, than she silently closed her eyes and said not another word, just as though she neither saw nor heard him.

  Arrived in town Velchaninoff told his man to drive him to the Pokrofsky. It was ten o’clock at night.

  Pavel Pavlovitch was not at his lodgings. Velchaninoff waited for him half an hour, walking up and down the passage in a state of feverish impatience. Maria Sisevna assured him at last that Pavel Pavlovitch would not come in until the small hours.

  “Well, then, I’ll return here before daylight,” he said, beside himself with desperation, and he went home to his own rooms.

  What was his amazement, when, on arriving at the gate of his house, he learned from Mavra that “yesterday’s visitor” had been waiting for him ever since before ten o’clock.

  “He’s had some tea,” she added, “and sent me for wine again — the same wine as yesterday. He gave me the money to buy it with.”

  CHAPTER IX.

  Pavel Pavlovitch had made himself very comfortable. He was sitting in the same chair as he had occupied yesterday, smoking a cigar, and had just poured the fourth and last tumbler of champagne out of the bottle.

  The teapot and a half-emptied tumbler of tea stood on the table beside him; his red face beamed with benevolence. He had taken off his coat, and sat in his shirt sleeves.

  “Forgive me, dearest of friends,” he cried, catching sight of Velchaninoff, and hastening to put on his coat, “I took it off to make myself thoroughly comfortable.”

  Velchaninoff approached him menacingly.

  “You are not quite tipsy yet, are you? Can you understand what is said to you?”

  Paul Pavlovitch became a little confused.

  “No, not quite. I’ve been thinking of the dear deceased a bit, but I’m not quite drunk yet.”

  “Can you understand what I say?”

  “My dear sir, I came here on purpose to understand you.”

  “Very well, then I shall begin at once by telling you that you are an ass, sir!” cried Velchaninoff, at the top of his voice.

  “Why, if you begin that way where will you end, I wonder!” said Pavel Pavlovitch, clearly alarmed more than a little.

  Velchaninoff did not listen, but roared again,

  “Your daughter is dying — she is very ill! Have you thrown her over altogether, or not?”

  “Oh, surely she isn’t dying yet?”

  “I tell you she’s ill; very, very ill — dangerously ill.”

  “What, fits? or — —”

  “Don’t talk nonsense. I tell you she is very dangerously ill. You ought to go down, if only for that reason.”

  “What, to thank your friends, eh? to return thanks for their hospitality? Of course, quite so; I well understand, Alexey Ivanovitch — dearest of friends!” He suddenly seized Velchaninoff by both hands, and added with intoxicated sentiment, almost melted to tears, “Alexey Ivanovitch, don’t shout at me — don’t shout at me, please! If you do, I may throw myself into the Neva — I don’t know! — and we have such important things to talk over. There’s lots of time to go to the Pogoryeltseffs another day.”

  Velchaninoff did his best to restrain his wrath. “You are drunk, and therefore I don’t understand what you are driving at,” he said sternly. “I’m ready to come to an explanation with you at any moment you like — delighted! — the the sooner the better. But first let me tell you that I am going to take my own measures to secure you. You will sleep here to-night, and to-morrow I shall take you with me to see Liza. I shall not let you go again. I shall bind you, if necessary, and carry you down myself. How do you like this sofa to sleep on?” he added, panting, and indicating a wide, soft divan opposite his own sofa, against the other wall.

  “Oh — anything will do for me!”

  “Very well, you shall have this sofa. Here, take these things — here are sheets, blankets, pillow” (Velchaninoff pulled all these things out of a cupboard, and tossed them impatiently to Pavel Pavlovitch, who humbly stood and received them); “now then, make your bed, — come, bustle up!”

  Pavel Pavlovitch laden with bed clothes had been standing in the middle of the room with a stupid drunken leer on his face, irresolute; but at Velchaninoff’s second bidding he hurriedly began the task of making his bed, moving the table away from in front of it, and smoothing a sheet over the seat of the divan. Velchaninoff approached to help him. He was more or less gratified with his guest’s alarm and submission.

  “Now, drink up that wine and lie down!” was his next command. He felt that he must order this man about, he could not help himself. “I suppose you took upon yourself to order this wine, did you?”

  “I did — I did, sir! I sent for the wine, Alexey Ivanovitch, because I knew you would not send out again!”

  “Well, it’s a good thing that you knew that; but I desire that you should know still more. I give you notice that I have taken my own measures for the future, I’m not going to put up with any more of your antics.”

  “Oh, I quite understand, Alexey Ivanovitch, that that sort of thing could only happen once!” said Pavel Pavlovitch, giggling feebly.

  At this reply Velchaninoff, who had been marching up and down the room stopped solemnly before Pavel Pavlovitch.

  “Pavel Pavlovitch,” he said, “speak plainly! You are a clever fellow — I admit the fact freely, — but I assure you you are going on a false track now. Speak plainly, and act like an honest man, and I give you my word of honour that I will answer all you wish to know.”

  Pavel Pavlovitch grinned his disagreeable grin (which always drove Velchaninoff wild) once more.

  “Wait!�
� cried the latter. “No humbug now, please; I see through you. I repeat that I give you my word of honour to reply candidly to anything you may like to ask, and to give you every sort of satisfaction — reasonable or even unreasonable — that you please. Oh! how I wish I could make you understand me!”

  “Since you are so very kind,” began Pavel Pavlovitch, cautiously bending towards him, “I may tell you that I am very much interested as to what you said yesterday about ‘bird of prey’?”

  Velchaninoff spat on the ground in utter despair and disgust, and recommenced his walk up and down the room, quicker than ever.

  “No, no, Alexey Ivanovitch, don’t spurn my question; you don’t know how interested I am in it. I assure you I came here on purpose to ask you about it. I know I’m speaking indistinctly, but you’ll forgive me that. I’ve read the expression before. Tell me now, was Bagantoff a ‘bird of prey,’ or — the other thing? How is one to distinguish one from the other?”

  Velchaninoff went on walking up and down, and answered nothing for some minutes.

  “The bird of prey, sir,” he began suddenly, stopping in front of Pavel Pavlovitch, and speaking vehemently, “is the man who would poison Bagantoff while drinking champagne with him under the cloak of goodfellowship, as you did with me yesterday, instead of escorting his wretched body to the burial ground as you did — the deuce only knows why, and with what dirty, mean, underhand, petty motives, which only recoil upon yourself and make you viler than you already are. Yes, sir, recoil upon yourself!”

  “Quite so, quite so, I oughtn’t to have gone,” assented Pavel Pavlovitch, “but aren’t you a little — —”

  “The bird of prey is not a man who goes and learns his grievance off by heart, like a lesson, and whines it about the place, grimacing and posing, and hanging it round other people’s necks, and who spends all his time in such pettifogging. Is it true you wanted to hang yourself? Come, is it true, or not?”

  “I — I don’t know — I may have when I was drunk — I don’t remember. You see, Alexey Ivanovitch, it wouldn’t be quite nice for me to go poisoning people. I’m too high up in the service, and I have money, too, you know — and I may wish to marry again, who knows.”

  “Yes; you’d be sent to Siberia, which would be awkward.”

  “Quite so; though they say the penal servitude is not so bad as it was. But you remind me of an anecdote, Alexey Ivanovitch. I thought of it in the carriage, and meant to tell you afterwards. Well! you may remember Liftsoff at T —— . He came while you were there. His younger brother — who is rather a swell, too — was serving at L —— under the governor, and one fine day he happened to quarrel with Colonel Golubenko in the presence of ladies, and of one lady especially. Liftsoff considered himself insulted, but concealed his grievance; and, meanwhile, Golubenko proposed to a certain lady and was accepted. Would you believe it, Liftsoff made great friends with Golubenko, and even volunteered to be best man at his wedding. But when the ceremony was all over, and Liftsoff approached the bridegroom to wish him joy and kiss him, as usual, he took the opportunity of sticking a knife into Golubenko. Fancy! his own best man stuck him! Well, what does the assassin do but run about the room crying. ‘Oh! what have I done? Oh! what have I done?’ says he, and throws himself on everyone’s neck by turns, ladies and all! Ha-ha-ha! He starved to death in Siberia, sir! One is a little sorry for Golubenko; but he recovered, after all.”

  “I don’t understand why you told me that story,” said Velchaninoff, frowning heavily.

  “Why, because he stuck the other fellow with a knife,” giggled Pavel Pavlovitch, “which proves that he was no type, but an ass of a fellow, who could so forget the ordinary manners of society as to hang around ladies’ necks, and in the presence of the governor, too — and yet he stuck the other fellow. Ha-ha-ha! He did what he intended to do, that’s all, sir!”

  “Go to the devil, will you — you and your miserable humbug — you miserable humbug yourself,” yelled Velchaninoff, wild with rage and fury, and panting so that he could hardly get his words out. “You think you are going to alarm me, do you, you frightener of children — you mean beast — you low scoundrel you? — scoundrel — scoundrel — scoundrel!” He had quite forgotten himself in his rage.

  Pavel Pavlovitch shuddered all over; his drunkenness seemed to vanish in an instant; his lips trembled and shook.

  “Are you calling me a scoundrel, Alexey Ivanovitch — you — me?”

  But Velchaninoff was himself again now.

  “I’ll apologise if you like,” he said, and relapsed into gloomy silence. After a moment he added, “But only on condition that you yourself agree to speak out fully, and at once.”

  “In your place I should apologise unconditionally, Alexey Ivanovitch.”

  “Very well; so be it then.” Velchaninoff was silent again for a while. “I apologise,” he resumed; “but admit yourself, Pavel Pavlovitch, that I need not feel myself in any way bound to you after this. I mean with regard to anything — not only this particular matter.”

  “All right! Why, what is there to settle between us?” laughed Pavel Pavlovitch, without looking up.

  “In that case, so much the better — so much the better. Come, drink up your wine and get into bed, for I shall not let you go now, anyhow.”

  “Oh, my wine — never mind my wine!” muttered Pavel Pavlovitch; but he went to the table all the same, and took up his tumbler of champagne which had long been poured out. Either he had been drinking copiously before, or there was some other unknown cause at work, but his hand shook so as he drank the wine that a quantity of it was spilled over his waistcoat and the floor. However, he drank it all, to the last drop, as though he could not leave the tumbler without emptying it. He then placed the empty glass on the table, approached his bed, sat down on it, and began to undress.

  “I think perhaps I had better not sleep here,” he said suddenly, with one boot off, and half undressed.

  “Well, I don’t think so,” said Velchaninoff, who was walking up and down, without looking at him.

  Pavel Pavlovitch finished undressing and lay down. A quarter of an hour later Velchaninoff also got into bed, and put the candle out.

  He soon began to doze uncomfortably. Some new trouble seemed to have suddenly come over him and worried him, and at the same time he felt a sensation of shame that he could allow himself to be worried by the new trouble. Velchaninoff was just falling definitely asleep, however, when a rustling sound awoke him. He immediately glanced at Pavel Pavlovitch’s bed. The room was quite dark, the blinds being down and curtains drawn; but it seemed to him that Pavel Pavlovitch was not lying in his bed; he seemed to be sitting on the side of it.

  “What’s the matter?” cried Velchaninoff.

  “A ghost, sir,” said Pavel Pavlovitch, in a low tone, after a few moments of silence.

  “What? What sort of a ghost?”

  “Th — there — in that room — just at the door, I seemed to see a ghost!”

  “Whose ghost?” asked Velchaninoff, pausing a minute before putting the question.

  “Natalia Vasilievna’s!”

  Velchaninoff jumped out of bed and walked to the door, whence he could see into the room opposite, across the passage. There were no curtains in that room, so that it was much lighter than his own.

  “There’s nothing there at all. You are drunk; lie down again!” he said, and himself set the example, rolling his blanket around him.

  Pavel Pavlovitch said nothing, but lay down as he was told.

  “Did you ever see any ghosts before?” asked Velchaninoff suddenly, ten minutes later.

  “I think I saw one once,” said Pavel Pavlovitch in the same low voice; after which there was silence once more. Velchaninoff was not sure whether he had been asleep or not, but an hour or so had passed, when suddenly he was wide awake again. Was it a rustle that awoke him? He could not tell; but one thing was evident — in the midst of the profound darkness of the room something white stood before him; no
t quite close to him, but about the middle of the room. He sat up in bed, and stared for a full minute.

  “Is that you, Pavel Pavlovitch?” he asked. His voice sounded very weak.

  There was no reply; but there was not the slightest doubt of the fact that someone was standing there.

  “Is that you, Pavel Pavlovitch?” cried Velchaninoff again, louder this time; in fact, so loud that if the former had been asleep in bed he must have started up and answered.

  But there was no reply again. It seemed to Velchaninoff that the white figure had approached nearer to him.

  Then something strange happened; something seemed to “let go” within Velchaninoff’s system, and he commenced to shout at the top of his voice, just as he had done once before this evening, in the wildest and maddest way possible, panting so that he could hardly articulate his words: “If you — drunken ass that you are — dare to think that you could frighten me, I’ll turn my face to the wall, and not look round once the whole night, to show you how little I am afraid of you — a fool like you — if you stand there from now till morning! I despise you!” So saying, Velchaninoff twisted round with his face to the wall, rolled his blanket round him, and lay motionless, as though turned to stone. A deathlike stillness supervened.

  Did the ghost stand where it was, or had it moved? He could not tell; but his heart beat, and beat, and beat — At least five minutes went by, and then, not a couple of paces from his bed, there came the feeble voice of Pavel Pavlovitch:

  “I got up, Alexey Ivanovitch, to look for a little water. I couldn’t find any, and was just going to look about nearer your bed — —”

  “Then why didn’t you answer when I called?” cried Velchaninoff angrily, after a minute’s pause.

  “I was frightened; you shouted so, you alarmed me!”

  “You’ll find a caraffe and glass over there, on the little table. Light a candle.”

  “Oh, I’ll find it without. You’ll forgive me, Alexey Ivanovitch, for frightening you so; I felt thirsty so suddenly.”