“Oh, damn it all, damn it all!...”
“My dear sir, I am in terror, I am in alarm!”
“Oh, hang it! What is it to me that you are in terror and in alarm? Ah! Over there ... some one flitted by ... over there....”
“Where, where? You just shout, ‘Ivan Andreyitch,’ and I will run....”
“All right, all right. Oh, confound it! Ivan Andreyitch!”
“Here I am,” cried Ivan Andreyitch, returning, utterly breathless. “What is it, what is it? Where?”
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean anything ... I wanted to know what this lady’s name is.”
“Glaf....”
“Glafira?”
“No, not Glafira.... Excuse me, I cannot tell you her name.”
As he said this the worthy man was as white as a sheet.
“Oh, of course it is not Glafira, I know it is not Glafira, and mine’s not Glafira; but with whom can she be?”
“Where?”
“There! Oh, damn it, damn it!” (The young man was in such a fury that he could not stand still.)
“There, you see! How did you know that her name was Glafira?”
“Oh, damn it all, really! To have a bother with you, too! Why, you say — that yours is not called Glafira!...”
“My dear sir, what a way to speak!”
“Oh, the devil! As though that mattered now! What is she? Your wife?”
“No — that is, I am not married.... But I would not keep flinging the devil at a respectable man in trouble, a man, I will not say worthy of esteem, but at any rate a man of education. You keep saying, ‘The devil, the devil!’”
“To be sure, the devil take it; so there you are, do you understand?”
“You are blinded by anger, and I say nothing. Oh, dear, who is that?”
“Where?”
There was a noise and a sound of laughter; two pretty girls ran down the steps; both the men rushed up to them.
“Oh, what manners! What do you want?”
“Where are you shoving?”
“They are not the right ones!”
“Aha, so you’ve pitched on the wrong ones! Cab!”
“Where do you want to go, mademoiselle?”
“To Pokrov. Get in, Annushka; I’ll take you.”
“Oh, I’ll sit on the other side; off! Now, mind you drive quickly.”
The cab drove off.
“Where did they come from?”
“Oh, dear, oh, dear! Hadn’t we better go there?”
“Where?”
“Why, to Bobynitsyn’s....”
“No, that’s out of the question.”
“Why?”
“I would go there, of course, but then she would tell me some other story; she would ... get out of it. She would say that she had come on purpose to catch me with some one, and I should get into trouble.”
“And, you know, she may be there! But you — I don’t know for what reason — why, you might go to the general’s....”
“But, you know, he has moved!”
“That doesn’t matter, you know. She has gone there; so you go, too — don’t you understand? Behave as though you didn’t know the general had gone away. Go as though you had come to fetch your wife, and so on.”
“And then?”
“Well, and then find the person you want at Bobynitsyn’s. Tfoo, damnation take you, what a senseless....”
“Well, and what is it to you, my finding? You see, you see!”
“What, what, my good man? What? You are on the same old tack again. Oh, Lord have mercy on us! You ought to be ashamed, you absurd person, you senseless person!”
“Yes, but why are you so interested? Do you want to find out....”
“Find out what? What? Oh, well, damnation take you! I have no thoughts for you now; I’ll go alone. Go away; get along; look out; be off!”
“My dear sir, you are almost forgetting yourself!” cried the gentleman in raccoon in despair.
“Well, what of it? What if I am forgetting myself?” said the young man, setting his teeth and stepping up to the gentleman in raccoon in a fury. “What of it? Forgetting myself before whom?” he thundered, clenching his fists.
“But allow me, sir....”
“Well, who are you, before whom I am forgetting myself? What is your name?”
“I don’t know about that, young man; why do you want my name?... I cannot tell it you.... I better come with you. Let us go; I won’t hang back; I am ready for anything.... But I assure you I deserve greater politeness and respect! You ought never to lose your self-possession, and if you are upset about something — I can guess what about — at any rate there is no need to forget yourself.... You are still a very, very young man!...”
“What is it to me that you are old? There’s nothing wonderful in that! Go away. Why are you dancing about here?”
“How am I old? Of course, in position; but I am not dancing about....”
“I can see that. But get away with you.”
“No, I’ll stay with you; you cannot forbid me; I am mixed up in it, too; I will come with you....”
“Well, then, keep quiet, keep quiet, hold your tongue....”
They both went up the steps and ascended the stairs to the third storey. It was rather dark.
“Stay; have you got matches?”
“Matches! What matches?”
“Do you smoke cigars?”
“Oh, yes, I have, I have; here they are, here they are; here, stay....” The gentleman in raccoon rummaged in a fluster.
“Tfoo, what a senseless ... damnation! I believe this is the door....”
“This, this, this?”
“This, this, this... Why are you bawling? Hush!...”
“My dear sir, overcoming my feelings, I ... you are a reckless fellow, so there!...”
The light flared up.
“Yes, so it is; here is the brass plate. This is Bobynitsyn’s; do you see Bobynitsyn?”
“I see it, I see it.”
“Hu-ush!”
“Why, has it gone out?”
“Yes, it has.”
“Should we knock?”
“Yes, we must,” responded the gentleman in raccoon.
“Knock, then.”
“No, why should I? You begin, you knock!”
“Coward!”
“You are a coward yourself!”
“G-et a-way with you!”
“I almost regret having confided my secret to you; you....”
“I — what about me?”
“You take advantage of my distress; you see that I am upset....”
“But do I care? I think it’s ridiculous, that’s all about it!”
“Why are you here?”
“Why are you here, too?...”
“Delightful morality!” observed the gentleman in raccoon, with indignation.
“What are you saying about morality? What are you?”
“Well, it’s immoral!”
“What?...”
“Why, to your thinking, every deceived husband is a noodle!”
“Why, are you the husband? I thought the husband was on Voznesensky Bridge? So what is it to you? Why do you meddle?”
“I do believe that you are the lover!...”
“Listen: if you go on like this I shall be forced to think you are a noodle! That is, do you know who?”
“That is, you mean to say that I am the husband,” said the gentleman in raccoon, stepping back as though he were scalded with boiling water.
“Hush, hold your tongue. Do you hear?...”
“It is she.”
“No!”
“Tfoo, how dark it is!”
There was a hush; a sound was audible in Bobynitsyn’s flat.
“Why should we quarrel, sir?” whispered the gentleman in raccoon.
“But you took offence yourself, damn it all!”
“But you drove me out of all patience.”
“Hold your tongue!”
“You must
admit that you are a very young man.”
“Hold your tongue!”
“Of course I share your idea, that a husband in such a position is a noodle.”
“Oh, will you hold your tongue? Oh!...”
“But why such savage persecution of the unfortunate husband?...”
“It is she!”
But at that moment the sound ceased.
“Is it she?”
“It is, it is, it is! But why are you — you worrying about it? It is not your trouble!”
“My dear sir, my dear sir,” muttered the gentleman in raccoon, turning pale and gulping, “I am, of course, greatly agitated ... you can see for yourself my abject position; but now it’s night, of course, but to-morrow ... though indeed we are not likely to meet to-morrow, though I am not afraid of meeting you — and besides, it is not I, it is my friend on the Voznesensky Bridge, it really is he! It is his wife, it is somebody else’s wife. Poor fellow! I assure you, I know him very intimately; if you will allow me I will tell you all about it. I am a great friend of his, as you can see for yourself, or I shouldn’t be in such a state about him now — as you see for yourself. Several times I said to him: ‘Why are you getting married, dear boy? You have position, you have means, you are highly respected. Why risk it all at the caprice of coquetry? You must see that.’ ‘No, I am going to be married,’ he said; ‘domestic bliss.’... Here’s domestic bliss for you! In old days he deceived other husbands ... now he is drinking the cup ... you must excuse me, but this explanation was absolutely necessary.... He is an unfortunate man, and is drinking the cup — now!...” At this point the gentleman in raccoon gave such a gulp that he seemed to be sobbing in earnest.
“Ah, damnation take them all! There are plenty of fools. But who are you?”
The young man ground his teeth in anger.
“Well, you must admit after this that I have been gentlemanly and open with you ... and you take such a tone!”
“No, excuse me ... what is your name?”
“Why do you want to know my name?...”
“Ah!”
“I cannot tell you my name....”
“Do you know Shabrin?” the young man said quickly.
“Shabrin!!!”
“Yes, Shabrin! Ah!!!” (Saying this, the gentleman in the wadded overcoat mimicked the gentleman in raccoon.) “Do you understand?”
“No, what Shabrin?” answered the gentleman in raccoon, in a fluster. “He’s not Shabrin; he is a very respectable man! I can excuse your discourtesy, due to the tortures of jealousy.”
“He’s a scoundrel, a mercenary soul, a rogue that takes bribes, he steals government money! He’ll be had up for it before long!”
“Excuse me,” said the gentleman in raccoon, turning pale, “you don’t know him; I see that you don’t know him at all.”
“No, I don’t know him personally, but I know him from others who are in close touch with him.”
“From what others, sir? I am agitated, as you see....”
“A fool! A jealous idiot! He doesn’t look after his wife! That’s what he is, if you like to know!”
“Excuse me, young man, you are grievously mistaken....”
“Oh!”
“Oh!”
A sound was heard in Bobynitsyn’s flat. A door was opened, voices were heard.
“Oh, that’s not she! I recognise her voice; I understand it all now, this is not she!” said the gentleman in raccoon, turning as white as a sheet.
“Hush!”
The young man leaned against the wall.
“My dear sir, I am off. It is not she, I am glad to say.”
“All right! Be off, then!”
“Why are you staying, then?”
“What’s that to you?”
The door opened, and the gentleman in raccoon could not refrain from dashing headlong downstairs.
A man and a woman walked by the young man, and his heart stood still.... He heard a familiar feminine voice and then a husky male voice, utterly unfamiliar.
“Never mind, I will order the sledge,” said the husky voice.
“Oh, yes, yes; very well, do....”
“It will be here directly.”
The lady was left alone.
“Glafira! Where are your vows?” cried the young man in the wadded overcoat, clutching the lady’s arm.
“Oh, who is it? It’s you, Tvorogov? My goodness! What are you doing here?”
“Who is it you have been with here?”
“Why, my husband. Go away, go away; he’ll be coming out directly ... from ... in there ... from the Polovitsyns’. Go away; for goodness’ sake, go away.”
“It’s three weeks since the Polovitsyns moved! I know all about it!”
“Aïe!” The lady dashed downstairs. The young man overtook her.
“Who told you?” asked the lady.
“Your husband, madam, Ivan Andreyitch; he is here before you, madam....”
Ivan Andreyitch was indeed standing at the front door.
“Aïe, it’s you,” cried the gentleman in raccoon.
“Ah! C’est vous,” cried Glafira Petrovna, rushing up to him with unfeigned delight. “Oh, dear, you can’t think what has been happening to me. I went to see the Polovitsyns; only fancy ... you know they are living now by Izmailovsky Bridge; I told you, do you remember? I took a sledge from there. The horses took fright and bolted, they broke the sledge, and I was thrown out about a hundred yards from here; the coachman was taken up; I was in despair. Fortunately Monsieur Tvorogov ...”
“What!”
Monsieur Tvorogov was more like a fossil than like Monsieur Tvorogov.
“Monsieur Tvorogov saw me here and undertook to escort me; but now you are here, and I can only express my warm gratitude to you, Ivan Ilyitch....”
The lady gave her hand to the stupefied Ivan Ilyitch, and almost pinched instead of pressing it.
“Monsieur Tvorogov, an acquaintance of mine; it was at the Skorlupovs’ ball we had the pleasure of meeting; I believe I told you; don’t you remember, Koko?”
“Oh, of course, of course! Ah, I remember,” said the gentleman in raccoon addressed as Koko. “Delighted, delighted!” And he warmly pressed the hand of Monsieur Tvorogov.
“Who is it? What does it mean? I am waiting...,” said a husky voice.
Before the group stood a gentleman of extraordinary height; he took out a lorgnette and looked intently at the gentleman in the raccoon coat.
“Ah, Monsieur Bobynitsyn!” twittered the lady. “Where have you come from? What a meeting! Only fancy, I have just had an upset in a sledge ... but here is my husband! Jean! Monsieur Bobynitsyn, at the Karpovs’ ball....”
“Ah, delighted, very much delighted!... But I’ll take a carriage at once, my dear.”
“Yes, do, Jean, do; I still feel frightened; I am all of a tremble, I feel quite giddy.... At the masquerade to-night,” she whispered to Tvorogov.... “Good-bye, good-bye, Mr. Bobynitsyn! We shall meet to-morrow at the Karpovs’ ball, most likely.”
“No, excuse me, I shall not be there to-morrow; I don’t know about to-morrow, if it is like this now....” Mr. Bobynitsyn muttered something between his teeth, made a scrape with his boot, got into his sledge and drove away.
A carriage drove up; the lady got into it. The gentleman in the raccoon coat stopped, seemed incapable of making a movement and gazed blankly at the gentleman in the wadded coat. The gentleman in the wadded coat smiled rather foolishly.
“I don’t know....”
“Excuse me, delighted to make your acquaintance,” answered the young man, bowing with curiosity and a little intimidated.
“Delighted, delighted!...”
“I think you have lost your galosh....”
“I — oh, yes, thank you, thank you. I keep meaning to get rubber ones.”
“The foot gets so hot in rubbers,” said the young man, apparently with immense interest.
“Jean! Are you coming?”
“It does
make it hot. Coming directly, darling; we are having an interesting conversation! Precisely so, as you say, it does make the foot hot.... But excuse me, I ...”
“Oh, certainly.”
“Delighted, very much delighted to make your acquaintance!...”
The gentleman in raccoon got into the carriage, the carriage set off, the young man remained standing looking after it in astonishment.
II
The following evening there was a performance of some sort at the Italian opera. Ivan Andreyitch burst into the theatre like a bomb. Such furore, such a passion for music had never been observed in him before. It was known for a positive fact, anyway, that Ivan Andreyitch used to be exceeding fond of a nap for an hour or two at the Italian opera; he even declared on several occasions how sweet and pleasant it was. “Why, the prima donna,” he used to say to his friends, “mews a lullaby to you like a little white kitten.” But it was a long time ago, last season, that he used to say this; now, alas! even at home Ivan Andreyitch did not sleep at nights. Nevertheless he burst into the crowded opera-house like a bomb. Even the conductor started suspiciously at the sight of him, and glanced out of the corner of his eye at his side-pocket in the full expectation of seeing the hilt of a dagger hidden there in readiness. It must be observed that there were at that time two parties, each supporting the superior claims of its favourite prima donna. They were called the —— sists and the —— nists. Both parties were so devoted to music, that the conductors actually began to be apprehensive of some startling manifestation of the passion for the good and the beautiful embodied in the two prima donnas. This was how it was that, looking at this youthful dash into the parterre of a grey-haired senior (though, indeed, he was not actually grey-haired, but a man about fifty, rather bald, and altogether of respectable appearance), the conductor could not help recalling the lofty judgment of Hamlet Prince of Denmark upon the evil example set by age to youth, and, as we have mentioned above, looking out of the corner of his eye at the gentleman’s side-pocket in the expectation of seeing a dagger. But there was a pocket-book and nothing else there.
Darting into the theatre, Ivan Andreyitch instantly scanned all the boxes of the second tier, and, oh — horror! His heart stood still, she was here! She was sitting in the box! General Polovitsyn, with his wife and sister-in-law, was there too. The general’s adjutant — an extremely alert young man, was there too; there was a civilian too.... Ivan Andreyitch strained his attention and his eyesight, but — oh, horror! The civilian treacherously concealed himself behind the adjutant and remained in the darkness of obscurity.
Complete Works of Fyodor Dostoyevsky Page 662
