Читать книгу The Little Demon - Fyodor Sologub - Страница 12

The billiard-room was full of tobacco-smoke. Peredonov, Routilov, Falastov, Volodin and Mourin were there. The last of these was a robust landed proprietor of stupid appearance; he was the owner of a small estate and a good business man. The five of them, having finished a game, were preparing to go.

It was dusk. The number of empty beer bottles on the soiled wooden table was increasing. The players had drunk a good deal during the game; their faces were flushed, and they were getting noisy. Routilov alone kept his usual consumptive pallor. He really drank less than the others and his pallor was only increased by heavy drinking.

Coarse words flew about the room. But no one was offended; it was all said among friends.

Peredonov had lost, as nearly always happened. He played billiards badly. But his face kept its expression of unperturbed moroseness and he paid his due grudgingly.

Mourin shouted out:

"Bang!"

And he aimed his billiard-cue at Peredonov. Peredonov exclaimed in fright and collapsed into a chair. The stupid idea that Mourin wanted to shoot him glimmered in his dull mind. Everyone laughed. Peredonov grumbled in irritation:

"I can't stand jokes like that."

Mourin was already regretting that he had frightened Peredonov. His son was attending the gymnasia and he considered it his duty to be affable to the gymnasia instructors. He began to apologise to Peredonov and treated him to hock and seltzer. Peredonov said morosely:

"My nerves are rather unstrung. I'm having trouble with the Head-Master."

"The future inspector has lost," exclaimed Volodin in his bleating voice. "He's sorry for his money."

"Unlucky in games, lucky in love," said Routilov, smiling slightly and showing his decaying teeth.

This was the last straw. Peredonov had already lost money and had a fright and now they were taunting him about Varvara.

He exclaimed:

"I'll get married and then Varka can clear out!"

His friends roared with laughter and continued provoking him:

"You won't dare!"

"Yes I will dare: I'll get married to-morrow!"

"Here's a bet!" said Falastov. "I'll bet ten roubles he doesn't do it!"

But Peredonov thought of the money; if he lost he would have to pay. He turned away and lapsed into gloomy silence.

At the garden gates they parted and scattered in different directions. Peredonov and Routilov went together. Routilov began to persuade Peredonov to marry one of his sisters at once.

"Don't be afraid. I've prepared everything," he assured Peredonov.

"But the banns haven't been published," objected Peredonov.

"I tell you I've prepared everything," argued Routilov. "I've found the right priest, who knows that you're not related to us."

"There are no bride-men," said Peredonov.

"That's quite true, but I can get them. All I have to do is to send for them and they'll come to the church immediately. Or I'll go after them myself. It wasn't possible earlier, your cousin might have found out and hindered us."

Peredonov did not reply. He looked gloomily about him, where, behind their drowsy little gardens and wavering hedges, loomed the dark shapes of a few scattered houses.

"You just wait at the gate," said Routilov persuasively, "I'll bring out the loveliest one—whichever one you like. Listen, I'll prove it to you. Twice two is four, isn't it?"

"Yes," assented Peredonov.

"Well, as twice two is four, so it's your duty to marry one of my sisters."

Peredonov was impressed. "It's quite true," he thought, "of course, twice two is four." And he looked respectfully at the shrewd Routilov. "Well, it'll come to marrying one of them. You can't argue with him."

The friends at that moment reached the Routilovs' house and stopped at the gate.

"Well, you can't do it by force," said Peredonov angrily.

"You're a queer fellow," exclaimed Routilov. "They've waited until they're tired."

"And perhaps I don't want to!" said Peredonov.

"What do you mean by that? You are a queer chap. Are you going to be a shiftless fellow all your life?" asked Routilov. "Or are you getting ready to enter a monastery? Or aren't you tired of Varya yet? Think what a face she'll make when you bring your young wife home."

Peredonov gave a cackle, but immediately frowned and said:

"And perhaps they also don't want to?"

"What do you mean—they don't want to? You are an odd fellow," answered Routilov, "I give you my word."

"They'll be too proud," objected Peredonov.

"Why should that bother you? It's all the better."

"They're gigglers."

"But they never giggle at your expense," said Routilov comfortingly.

"How do I know?"

"You'd better believe me. I'm not fooling you. They respect you. After all you're not a kind of Pavloushka, who'd make anybody laugh."

"Yes, if I take your word for it," said Peredonov incredulously. "But no, I want to be convinced myself."

"Well, you are an odd fellow!" said Routilov in astonishment. "But how would they dare laugh at you? Still, is there any way I can prove it to you?"

Peredonov reflected and said:

"Let them come into the street at once."

"Very well, that's possible," agreed Routilov.

"All three of them," continued Peredonov.

"Very well."

"And let each one say how she'll please me."

"Why all this?" asked Routilov in astonishment.

"I'll find out what they want, and then you won't lead me by the nose."

"No one's going to lead you by the nose."

"Perhaps they'll want to laugh at me," argued Peredonov. "Now if they come out and want to laugh, it is I who'll be able to laugh at them!"

Routilov reflected, pushed his hat on to the back of his head and then forward over his forehead, and said at last:

"All right, you wait here and I'll go in and tell them—but you're certainly an odd fellow. You'd better come into the front garden or else the devil'll bring someone along the street and you'll be seen."

"I'll spit on them," said Peredonov. Nevertheless, he entered the gate.

Routilov went into the house to his sisters while Peredonov waited in the garden.

All the four sisters were sitting in the drawing-room, which was situated in the corner of the house that could be seen from the garden. They all had the same features and they all resembled their brother; they were handsome, rosy and cheerful. They were Larissa, a tranquil, pleasant, plump woman, who was married; the quick, agile Darya, the tallest and the slenderest of the sisters; the mischievous Liudmilla, and Valeria who was small, delicate and fragile-looking.

They were eating nuts and raisins. They were obviously waiting for something and were therefore rather agitated and laughed more than usual as they recalled the latest town gossip. They ridiculed both their own acquaintances and strangers.

Ever since the early morning they had been quite prepared to be married. It was only necessary for one of them to put on a suitable dress with a veil and flowers. Varvara was not mentioned in the sisters' conversation, as though she did not exist. But it was sufficient that they, the pitiless gossips, who pulled everyone to pieces, should refrain from mentioning Varvara; this complete silence showed that the idea of Varvara was fixed like a nail in the mind of each.

"I've brought him," announced Routilov entering the drawing-room. "He's at the gate." The sisters rose in an agitated way and all began to talk and laugh at the same time.

"There's only one difficulty," said Routilov laughingly.

"And what's that?" asked Darya.

Valeria frowned her handsome, dark eyebrows in a vexed way.

"I don't know whether to tell you or not," hesitated Routilov.

"Be quick about it," urged Darya.

Routilov in some confusion told them what Peredonov wanted. The girls raised an outcry and they all began to abuse Peredonov; but little by little their indignation gave place to jokes and laughter. Darya made a face of grim expectation and said:

"But he's waiting at the gate!"

It was becoming an amusing adventure.

The girls began to peep out the window towards the gate. Darya opened the window and cried out:

"Ardalyon Borisitch, can we say it out of the window?"

The morose answer came back:

"No!"

Darya quickly slammed down the window. The sisters burst into gay, unrestrained laughter, and ran from the drawing-room into the dining-room so that Peredonov might not hear them. The members of this family were so constituted that they could easily pass from a state of the most intense anger into a state of merriment, and it was the cheerful word that usually decided a matter.

Peredonov stood and waited. He felt depressed and afraid. He thought he would run away, but could not decide. Somewhere from afar the sounds of music reached him: the frail, tender sounds poured themselves out in the quiet, dark, night air, and they awoke sadness, and gave birth to pleasant reveries.

At the beginning, Peredonov's reveries took on an erotic turn. He imagined the Routilov girls in the most seductive poses. But the longer he waited, the more irritated he became at being forced to wait. And the music, which had barely aroused his hopelessly coarse emotions, died for him.

All around him the night descended quietly, and rustled with its ill-boding hoverings and whisperings. And it seemed even darker everywhere because Peredonov stood in an open space lit up by the drawing-room lamp; its two streaks of light broadened as they reached the neighbouring fence, the dark planks of which became visible. The trees in the depth of the garden assumed dark, suspicious, whispering shapes. Someone's slow, heavy footsteps sounded near-by on the street pavement. Peredonov began to feel apprehensive that while waiting here he might be attacked, and robbed, even murdered. He pressed against the very wall in the shadow, and timidly waited.

But suddenly long shadows shot out across the streaks of light in the garden, a door slammed, and voices were heard on the verandah. Peredonov grew animated. "They are coming," he thought joyously, and agreeable thoughts about the three beauties stole softly once more into his mind—disgusting children of his dull imagination.

The sisters stood in the passage. Routilov walked to the gate and looked to see if anyone was in the street. No one was to be seen or heard.

"There's no one about," he whispered loudly to his sisters, using his hands as a speaking-trumpet.

He remained in the street to keep watch. Peredonov joined him.

"They're coming out to speak to you," said Routilov.

Peredonov stood at the gate and looked through the chink between the gate and the gate-post.

His face was morose and almost frightened, and all sorts of fancies and thoughts expired in his mind and were replaced by a heavy, aimless desire.

Darya was the first to come up to the open gate.

"What can I do to please you?" she asked.

Peredonov was morosely silent.

Darya said:

"I will make you the crispest pancakes piping hot—only don't choke over them."

Liudmilla cried over her shoulder:

"I'll go down every morning and collect all the gossip to tell you. That will make us jolly."

Between the two girls' cheerful faces showed for a moment Valeria's slender, capricious face, and her slight, frail voice was heard:

"I wouldn't tell you for anything how I shall please you—you'd better guess yourself."

The sisters ran away laughing. Their voices and laughter ceased directly they were in the house. Peredonov turned away from the gate; he was not quite satisfied. He thought: "They babbled something and then ran away." It would have been far better if they'd put it on paper. But he had already stood here waiting long enough.

"Well, are you satisfied?" asked Routilov. "Which one do you like best?"

Peredonov was lost in thought. Of course, he concluded at last, he ought to take the youngest. A young woman is always better than an older one.

"Bring Valeria here," he said decisively.

Routilov went into the house and Peredonov again entered the garden.

Liudmilla looked stealthily out of the window, trying to make out what they were saying, without any success. But suddenly there were sounds of someone approaching by the garden path. The sisters kept silent and sat there nervously. Routilov entered and announced:

"He's chosen Valeria, and he's waiting at the gate!"

The sisters grew noisy at once and began to laugh.

Valeria went slightly pale.

"Well, well," she said ironically, "I needed him very badly."

Her hands trembled. All three of the sisters began to fuss about her and to put finery on her. She always spent a lot of time over her toilette—the other sisters hurried her. Routilov kept continually babbling with pleasure and excitement. He was delighted that he had managed the matter so cleverly.

"Did you get the cabbies?" asked Darya with a worried air. Routilov answered with slight annoyance:

"How could I? The whole town would have heard of it. Varvara would have come and dragged him away by his hair."

"Well, what shall we do?"

"Why, we can go to the Square in pairs and hire them there. It's quite simple. You and the bride go first. Then Larissa with the bridegroom—now, mind you, not all together or we shall be noticed in town. Liudmilla and I will stop at Falastov's. The two of them will go together and I will get Volodin."

Once alone Peredonov became immersed in pleasant reveries. He imagined Valeria in all the bewitchment of the bridal night—undressed, bashful but happy. All slenderness and subtlety.

He dreamed, and at the same time he pulled out of his pocket some caramels that had stuck there and began to chew them.

Then he remembered that Valeria was a coquette. Now she'll want expensive dresses, he thought. That meant that he would not only be unable to save money every month but that he would have to spend what he had saved. She would be hard to please. She would never even enter the kitchen. Besides, his food might get poisoned; Varvara, from spite, would bribe the cook. And on the whole, thought Peredonov, Valeria is a slender doll. It's difficult to know how to treat a girl like that. How could one abuse her? And how could one give her an occasional push? How could one spit on her? It would end in tears and she would shame him before the whole town. No, it was impossible to tie oneself to her. Now Liudmilla was simpler; wouldn't it be better to take her?

Peredonov walked up to the window and knocked with his stick on the pane. After a few moments Routilov stuck his head out of the window.

"What do you want?" he asked anxiously.

"I've thought it over," growled Peredonov.

"Well?" exclaimed Routilov in apprehension.

"Bring Liudmilla here!" said Peredonov.

Routilov left the window.

"He's a devil in spectacles," he grumbled to himself and went to his sisters.

Valeria was glad.

"It's your happiness, Liudmilla," she said cheerfully.

Liudmilla began to laugh. She threw herself back in a chair and laughed and laughed.

"What shall I tell him?" asked Routilov. "Are you willing?"

Liudmilla could not speak for laughing, and only waved her hands.

"Of course she's willing," said Darya for her. "You'd better tell him at once, or else he may go off in a huff."

Routilov entered the drawing-room and said in a whisper through the window:

"Wait, she'll be ready at once."

"Let her make haste," said Peredonov angrily. "Why are they so long?"

Liudmilla was soon dressed. She was entirely ready in five minutes.

Peredonov began to think about her. She was cheerful and plump. But she was a giggler. She would always be laughing at him. That was terrible. Darya, though she was lively, was more sober. But she was quite handsome. He had better take her.

He knocked once more on the window.

"There! he's knocking again," said Larissa. "I wonder if he wants you now, Darya?"

"The devil!" said Routilov irritatedly, and ran to the window.

"What now?" he asked in an angry whisper. "Have you thought it over again?"

"Bring Darya," answered Peredonov.

"Well, just wait!" whispered Routilov in a rage.

Peredonov stood there and thought of Darya, and again his brief seductive vision of her was replaced by apprehension. She was too quick and impertinent. She would make life intolerable to him. "And what on earth's the good of standing here waiting," reflected Peredonov, "I might get a cold. And you can't tell, there may be someone hiding in the ditch or behind the grass, who'll suddenly jump out and murder me." Peredonov grew very depressed. Then again none of them had any dowry to speak of. That could command no patronage in the department of Education. Varvara would complain to the Princess. As it was the Head-Master was sharpening his teeth for Peredonov.

Peredonov began to get vexed with himself. Why was he here, entangling himself with the Routilovs? It must be that Routilov had bewitched him. Yes, he must really have bewitched him! He must make a counter-charm at once.

Peredonov twirled round on his heels, spat on each side of him and mumbled:

"Chure-churashki. Churki-balvashki, buki-bukashkii, vedi-tarakashki. Chure menya. Chure menya. Chure, chure, chure. Chure-perechure-raschiure."[1]

His face wore an expression of stern attention, as if at the carrying out of a dignified ceremony. After this indispensable action he felt himself out of danger of Routilov's spells. He struck the window decisively with his stick and muttered angrily:

"I've had enough of this! I won't be enticed any further. No, I don't want to get married to-day," he announced to Routilov, whose head was thrust out of the window.

"What on earth's the matter with you, Ardalyon Borisitch? Why, everything's ready!" said Routilov persuasively.

"I don't want to," repeated Peredonov with decision. "You'd better come along with me and have a game of cards."

"The devil take you," exclaimed Routilov.

"He doesn't want to get married. He's funked it!" he announced to his sisters. "But I'll persuade the fool yet. He's asked me to play cards with him."

All the sisters cried out at once, abusing Peredonov loudly.

"And you're going out with this blackguard?" asked Valeria angrily.

"Yes, and I'll get even with him. He has not escaped us yet by any means," said Routilov, trying to keep a tone of assurance, but feeling very awkward.

The girls' anger with Peredonov soon gave place to laughter. Routilov left. The girls ran to the windows.

"Ardalyon Borisitch," exclaimed Darya. "Why can't you make up your mind. You shouldn't do things like this!"

"Kislyai Kislyaevitch! (Sour Sourson!)" exclaimed Liudmilla, laughingly.

Peredonov was angry. In his opinion the sisters ought to have wept with disappointment that he had rejected them. "They're pretending," he thought, as he left the garden silently. The girls ran to the windows facing the street and shouted gibes after him until he was lost in the darkness.

[1] This is an exaggeration of a Russian charm used against witchcraft. The word "chure" implies, "Hence! away!" and is addressed to the evil spirits. The whole charm is a jargon practically untranslatable.