Читать книгу The Little Demon - Fyodor Sologub - Страница 8

After Mass the members of the congregation scattered to their homes. A few stopped to talk under the old maples and lindens near the white stone walls, within the enclosure. All were in holiday dress and looked at one another cheerily. It appeared as if the inhabitants of this town lived peacefully and amicably—even happily. But it was only in appearance.

Peredonov, a schoolmaster in the gymnasia, stood among his friends, and as he looked at them gravely out of his small, stealthy eyes, across the golden rims of his spectacles, he remarked:

"Princess Volchanskaya herself made the promise to Vara. 'As soon,' she said, 'as you marry him, I'll hunt up an inspector's job for him.'"

"But how can you think of marrying Varvara Dmitrievna?" asked the red-faced Falastov. "She's your first cousin."

Everyone laughed. Peredonov's usually rosy, unconcerned, somnolent face showed anger.

"Second cousin," he said gruffly, as he looked angrily past his companions.

"Did the Princess give you the promise herself?" asked Routilov, a tall, pale, smartly dressed man.

"She didn't give it to me, but to Vara," answered Peredonov.

"Of course, you are ready to believe all she tells you," said Routilov with animation. "It's easy enough to make up a tale. Why didn't you see the Princess herself?"

"This is how it was: I went with Vara, but we didn't find her in, missed her by just five minutes," explained Peredonov. "She had gone to the country, and wouldn't be back for three weeks or so. I couldn't wait for her, because I had to be back here for the exams."

"It sounds suspicious," laughed Routilov, showing his yellow teeth.

Peredonov grew thoughtful. His companions left him; Routilov alone remained.

"Of course," said Peredonov, "I can marry whom I like. Varvara is not the only one."

"You're quite right, Ardalyon Borisitch, anyone would be glad to marry you," Routilov encouraged him.

They passed out of the gate, and walked slowly in the unpaved and dusty square. Peredonov said:

"But what about the Princess? She'll be angry if I chuck Varvara."

"What's the Princess to you?" said Routilov. "You're not going with her to a kitten's christening. She ought to get you the billet first. There'll be time enough to tie yourself up—you're taking things too much on trust!"

"That's true," agreed Peredonov irresolutely.

"You ought to say to Varvara," said Routilov persuasively, "'First the billet, my dear girl, then I'll believe you.' Once you get your place, you can marry whom you like. You'd better take one of my sisters—your choice of the three. Smart, educated, young ladies, any one of them, I can say without flattery, a queen to Varvara. She's not fit to tie their shoe-strings."

"Go on," shouted Peredonov.

"It's true. What's your Varvara? Here, smell this."

Routilov bent down, broke off a fleecy stalk of henbane, crumpled it up in his hand, together with the leaves and dirty white flowers, and crushing it all between his fingers, put it under Peredonov's nose. The heavy unpleasant odour made Peredonov frown. Routilov observed:

"To crush like this, and to throw away—there's your Varvara for you; there's a big difference between her and my sisters, let me tell you, my good fellow. They are fine, lively girls—take the one you like—but you needn't be afraid of getting bored with any of them. They're quite young too—the eldest is three times younger than your Varvara."

Routilov said all this in his usual brisk and happy manner, smiling—but he was tall and narrow-chested, and seemed consumptive and frail, while from under his new and fashionable hat his scant, close-trimmed bright hair stuck out pitifully.

"No less than three times!" observed Peredonov dryly, as he took off his spectacles and began to wipe them.

"It's true enough!" exclaimed Routilov. "But you'd better look out, and don't be slow about it, while I'm alive; they too have a good opinion of themselves—if you try later you may be too late. Any one of them would have you with great pleasure."

"Yes, everyone falls in love with me here," said Peredonov with a grave boastfulness.

"There, you see, it's for you to take advantage of the moment," said Routilov persuasively.

"The chief thing is that she mustn't be lean," said Peredonov with anxiety in his voice. "I prefer a fat one."

"Don't you worry on that account," said Routilov warmly. "Even now they are plump enough girls, but they have far from reached their full growth; all this will come in good time. As soon as they marry, they'll improve, like the oldest—well, you've seen our Larissa, a regular fishpie!"

"I'd marry," said Peredonov, "but I'm afraid that Vara will make a row."

"If you're afraid of a row—I'll tell you what you ought to do," said Routilov with a sly smile. "You ought to make quick work of it; marry, say, to-day or to-morrow, and suddenly show up at home with your young wife. Say the word, and I'll arrange it for to-morrow evening? Which one do you want?"

Peredonov suddenly burst into loud, cackling laughter.

"Well, I see you like the idea—it's all settled then?" asked Routilov.

Peredonov stopped laughing quite as suddenly, and said gravely, quietly, almost in a whisper:

"She'll inform against me—that miserable jade!"

"She'll do nothing of the sort," said Routilov persuasively.

"Or she'll poison me," whispered Peredonov in fear.

"You leave it all to me," Routilov prevailed upon him, "I'll see that you are well protected——"

"I shan't marry without a dot," said Peredonov sullenly.

Routilov was not astonished by the new turn in the thoughts of his surly companion. He replied with the same warmth:

"You're an odd fellow. Of course, my sisters have a dot. Are you satisfied? I'll run along now and arrange everything. Only keep your mouth shut, not a breath, do you hear, not to anyone!"

He shook Peredonov's hand, and made off in great haste. Peredonov looked silently after him. A picture rose up in his mind of the Routilov girls, always cheerful and laughing. An immodest thought squeezed a degrading likeness of a smile to his lips—it appeared for an instant and vanished. A confused restlessness stirred within him.

"What about the Princess?" he reflected. "The others have the cash without her power; but if I marry Varvara I'll fall into an inspector's job, and later perhaps they'll make me a Head-Master."

He looked after the bustling, scampering Routilov and thought maliciously:

"Let him run!"

And this thought gave him a lingering, vague pleasure. Then he began to feel sad because he was alone; he pulled his hat down over his forehead, knitted his bright eyebrows, and quickly turned towards his home across the unpaved, deserted streets, overgrown with pearl grass and white flowers, and water-cress and grass that had been stamped down into the mud.

Someone called to him in a quick, quiet voice:

"Ardalyon Borisitch, come in to us."

Peredonov raised his gloomy eyes, and looked angrily beyond the hedge. In the garden behind the gate stood Natalya Afanasyevna Vershina, a small, slender, dark-skinned woman, black-browed and black-eyed, and all in black. She was smoking a cigarette, in a dark, cherry-wood mouthpiece, and smiling lightly, as though she knew something that was not to be said, but to be smiled at. Not so much by words, as by her light, quick movements, she asked Peredonov into her garden; she opened the gate and stood aside, smiled invitingly, and at the same time motioned persuasively with her hands, as if to say: "Enter, why do you stand there?"

And Peredonov entered, submitting to her witching, silent movements. But he soon paused on the sand path where a few broken twigs caught his eye, and he looked at his watch.

"It's time for lunch," he grumbled.

Though his watch had served him a long time, yet even now, in the presence of people, he would glance with satisfaction at its large gold case. It was twenty minutes to twelve. Peredonov decided that he would remain for a short time. He walked morosely after Vershina along the garden-path, past the neglected clumps of raspberry canes and currants with their red and black clusters.

The garden was growing yellow and variegated with fruits and late flowers. There were many fruit and other trees and bushes; low-spreading apple trees, round-leafed pear trees, lindens, cherry trees with smooth, glossy leaves, plum trees and honeysuckle. The elderberry trees were red with berries. Close to the fence was a dense growth of Siberian geraniums—small pale-rose flowers with purple veins. Thorny purple buds stood out with intense vividness among the bushes. A small, one-storey, grey, wooden house stood near by, and a path at its door opened out wide into the garden. It seemed charming and cosy. A part of the vegetable garden was visible behind it. The dry poppy heads rocked there, as well as the large, white-yellow caps of camomile. The yellow heads of sunflowers were beginning to droop with ripeness, while among the useful herbs, some hemlock lifted its white, and the hemlock geranium its pale purple umbrellas. Here bright yellow buttercups and small slipper flowers also flourished.

"Were you at Mass?" asked Vershina.

"Yes, I was," answered Peredonov gruffly.

"I hear Marta has just returned also," said Vershina. "She often goes to our church. I often laugh at her. 'On whose account,' I say to her, 'do you go to our church?' She blushes and says nothing. Let us go and sit in the summer-house," she added abruptly.

In the garden, in the shade of the spreading maples, stood an old, grey little summer-house. It had three small steps and a mossy floor, low walls, six roughly-cut posts, a sloping slate roof with six angles. Marta was sitting in the summer-house, still in her best clothes. She had on a brightly coloured dress with bows, which were very unbecoming to her. Her short sleeves showed her sharp, red elbows and her large, red hands. In other respects Marta was not unpleasant to look at. Her freckles did not spoil her face; she was even considered something of a beauty, especially by her own people, the Poles, of whom there were a number in the district. Marta was rolling cigarettes for Vershina. She was very anxious for Peredonov to see her and admire her. This desire gave her ingenuous face an expression of agitated affability. It was not that Marta was altogether in love with Peredonov but rather that Vershina wanted to get her a home—for her family was a large one. Marta was anxious to please Vershina, with whom she had lived several months, ever since the death of Vershina's old husband; not only on her own account but on that of her young brother, a schoolboy, who was also living with Vershina.

Vershina and Peredonov entered the summer-house. Peredonov greeted Marta rather gloomily, and sat down. He chose a place where one of the posts protected his back from the wind and kept the draught out of his ears. He glanced at Marta's yellow boots with their rose pompoms and thought that they were trying to entrap him into marrying Marta. He always thought this when he met girls who were pleasant to him. He only noticed faults in Marta—many freckles, large hands and a coarse skin. He knew that her father held a small farm on lease, about six versts from the town. The income was small and there were many children: Marta had left her preparatory school, his son was at school, the other children were still smaller.

"Let me give you some beer," said Vershina quickly.

There were some glasses, two bottles of beer and a tin box of granulated sugar on the table, and a spoon which had been dipped in the beer lay beside them.

"All right," said Peredonov abruptly.

Vershina glanced at Marta, who filled the glass and handed it to Peredonov. A half-pleased, half-timorous smile passed over her face as she did this.

"Put some sugar into the beer," suggested Vershina.

Marta passed Peredonov the tin sugar-box. But Peredonov exclaimed irritatedly:

"No, sugar makes it disgusting!"

"What do you mean?" said Vershina, "sugar makes it delicious."

"Very delicious," said Marta.

"I say disgusting!" repeated Peredonov, looking angrily at the sugar.

"As you please," said Vershina, and changing the subject at once, she remarked with a laugh:

"I get very tired of Cherepnin."

Marta also laughed. Peredonov looked indifferent: he did not take any interest in other people's lives—he did not care for people and he never thought of them except as they might contribute to his own benefit and pleasure. Vershina smiled with self-satisfaction and said:

"He thinks that I will marry him."

"He's very cheeky," said Marta, not because she thought so, but because she wished to please and flatter Vershina.

"Last night he looked into our window," related Vershina. "He got into the garden while we were at supper. There was a rain-tub under the window, full of water. It was covered with a plank. The water was hidden. He climbed on the tub and looked in the window. As the lamp on the table was lighted he could see us, but we couldn't see him. Suddenly we heard a noise. We were frightened at first and ran outside. The plank had slipped and he had fallen into the water. However, he climbed out before we got there and ran away, leaving wet tracks on the path. We recognised him by his back."

Marta laughed shrilly and happily like a good-natured child. Vershina told this in her usual quick, monotonous voice and then was suddenly silent, and smiled at the corners of her mouth, which puckered up her smooth, dry face. The smoke-darkened teeth showed themselves slightly. Peredonov reflected a moment and suddenly burst into a laugh. He did not always respond at once to what he thought was funny—his receptivity was sluggish and dull.

Vershina smoked one cigarette after another. She could not live without tobacco smoke under her nose.

"We'll soon be neighbours," announced Peredonov.

Vershina glanced quickly at Marta, who flushed slightly and looked at Peredonov with a timorous air of expectation, and then at once turned away towards the garden.

"So you're moving?" asked Vershina; "why?"

"It's too far from the gymnasia," explained Peredonov.

Vershina smiled incredulously.

It's more likely, she thought, he wants to be nearer Marta.

"But you've lived there for several years," she said.

"Yes," said Peredonov angrily. "And the landlady's a swine."

"Why?" asked Vershina, with an ambiguous smile.

Peredonov grew somewhat animated.

"She's repapered the rooms most damnably," he exclaimed, "one piece doesn't match another. When you open the dining-room door you find quite another pattern. Most of the room has bunches of large and small flowers, while behind the door there is a pattern of stripes and nails. And the colours are different too. We shouldn't have noticed it, if Falastov had not come and laughed. And everybody laughs at it."

"It certainly must be ridiculous," agreed Vershina.

"We're not telling her that we're going to leave," said Peredonov, and at this he lowered his voice. "We're going to find new apartments and we shall go without giving notice."

"Of course," said Vershina.

"Or else she'll make a row," said Peredonov, with a touch of anxiety in his eyes. "That means that we should have to pay her a month's rent for her beastly hole."

Peredonov laughed with joy at the thought of leaving the house without paying.

"She's bound to make a demand," observed Vershina.

"Let her—she won't get anything out of me," replied Peredonov angrily.

"We went to Peter[1] and we made no use of the house while we were away."

"But you had rented it."

"What then? She ought to make a discount; why should we have to pay for time when we weren't there? Besides, she is very impertinent."

"Well, your landlady is impertinent because she's yours—your cousin is particularly quarrelsome," said Vershina, with an emphasis on the "cousin."

Peredonov frowned and looked dully in front of him with his half-sleepy eyes. Vershina changed the subject. Peredonov pulled a caramel out of his pocket, tore the paper off and began to chew it. He happened to glance at Marta and thought that she wanted a caramel.

"Shall I give her one or not?" thought Peredonov. "She's not worth it. I suppose I ought to give her one to show that I'm not stingy. After all, I've got a pocketful."

And he pulled out a handful of caramels.

"Here you are!" he said, and held out the sweets, first to Vershina and then to Marta.

"They're very good bonbons," he said, "expensive ones—thirty kopecks a pound."

Each of the women took a sweet.

"Take more," he said, "I've lots of them. They're very nice bonbons—I wouldn't eat bad ones."

"Thank you, I don't want any more," said Vershina in her quick, monotonous voice.

And Marta repeated after her the same words, but with less decision.

Peredonov glanced incredulously at Marta and said:

"What do you mean—you don't want them? Have another."

He took a single caramel for himself from the handful and laid the others before Marta. She smiled without speaking and bent her head a little.

"Little idiot!" thought Peredonov, "she doesn't even know how to thank one properly."

He did not know what to converse about with Marta. She had no interest for him, like all objects and people with which he had no well-defined relations, either pleasant or unpleasant.

The rest of the beer was poured into Peredonov's glass. Vershina glanced at Marta.

"I'll get it," said Marta.

She always guessed what Vershina wanted without being told.

"Send Vladya—he's in the garden," suggested Vershina.

"Vladislav!" shouted Marta.

"Yes?" answered the boy from so close that it seemed as if he had been listening to them.

"Bring some more beer—two bottles," said Marta, "they're in the box in the corridor."

Vladislav soon came back noiselessly, handed the beer to Marta through the window and greeted Peredonov.

"How are you?" asked Peredonov with a scowl. "How many bottles of beer have you got away with to-day?"

Vladislav smiled in a constrained way and said:

"I don't drink beer."

He was a boy of about fourteen with a freckled face like Marta's, and with uneasy, clumsy movements like hers. He was dressed in a blouse of coarse linen.

Marta began to talk to her brother in whispers. They both laughed. Peredonov looked suspiciously at them. Whenever people laughed in his presence without his knowing the reason he always supposed that they were laughing at him. Vershina felt disturbed and tried to catch Marta's eye. But Peredonov himself showed his annoyance by asking:

"What are you laughing at?"

Marta started and turned towards him, not knowing what to say. Vladislav smiled, looking at Peredonov, and flushed slightly.

"It's very rude," said Peredonov, "to laugh like that before guests. Were you laughing at me?"

Marta blushed and Vladislav looked frightened.

"Oh! no," said Marta. "We weren't laughing at you. We were talking about our own affairs."

"A secret?" exclaimed Peredonov angrily. "It is rude to discuss secrets before guests."

"It isn't at all a secret," said Marta, "but we laughed because Vladya hasn't all his clothes on and feels bashful about coming in."

Peredonov was mollified and began to think of jokes about Vladya and presently gave him a caramel.

"Marta, bring me my black shawl," said Vershina. "And at the same time look into the oven to see how that pie's getting on."

Marta went out obediently. She understood that Vershina wanted to talk with Peredonov, and felt glad of the respite.

"And you run away and play, Vladya," said Vershina, "there's nothing for you to chatter about here."

Vladya ran off and they could hear the sand crunching under his feet. Vershina gave a quick, cautious side-glance at Peredonov through the clouds of cigarette smoke she was ceaselessly puffing out. Peredonov sat solemnly and gazed straight in front in a befogged sort of way and chewed a caramel. He felt pleased because the others had gone—otherwise they might have laughed again. Though he was quite certain that they had not been laughing at him, the annoyance remained—just as after contact with stinging nettles the pain remains and increases even though the nettles are left behind.

"Why don't you get married?" said Vershina very abruptly, "What are you waiting for, Ardalyon Borisitch. You must forgive me if I speak frankly, but Varvara is not good enough for you."

Peredonov passed his hand over his slightly ruffled chestnut-brown hair and announced with a surly dignity:

"There is no one here good enough for me!"

"Don't say that," replied Vershina, with a wry smile. "There are plenty of girls better than she is here and every one of them would marry you."

She knocked the ash off her cigarette with a decisive movement as if she were emphasising her remark with an exclamation point.

"Everyone wouldn't suit me," retorted Peredonov.

"We're not discussing everyone," said Vershina quickly, "you're not the kind of man who'd run after a dot if the girl were a fine girl. You yourself earn quite enough, thank God."

"No," replied Peredonov, "it would be more of an advantage for me to marry Varvara. The Princess has promised her patronage. She will give me a good billet," he went on with grave animation.

Vershina smiled faintly. Her entire wrinkled face, dark as if saturated with tobacco smoke, expressed a condescending incredulousness. She asked:

"Did the Princess herself tell you this?" She laid an emphasis on the word "you."

"Not me, but Varvara," admitted Peredonov. "But it comes to the same thing."

"You rely too much on your cousin's word," said Vershina spitefully. "But tell me, is she much older than you? Say, by fifteen years? Or more? she must be under fifty."

"Nonsense," said Peredonov angrily, "she's not yet thirty!"

Vershina laughed.

"Please tell me," she said with unconcealed derision. "Surely, she looks much older than you. Of course, it's not my business, it's not my affair. Still, it is a pity that such a good-looking, clever young man should not have the position he deserves."

Peredonov surveyed himself with great self-satisfaction. But there was no smile on his pink face and he seemed hurt because everybody did not appreciate him as Vershina did.

"Even without patronage you'll go far," continued Vershina, "surely the authorities will recognise your value. Why should you hang on to Varvara? And none even of the Routilov girls would suit you; they're too frivolous and you need a more practical wife. You might do much worse than marry Marta!"

Peredonov looked at his watch.

"Time to go home," he observed and rose to say good-bye.

Vershina was convinced that Peredonov was leaving because she had put to him a vital question and that it was only his indecision that prevented him from speaking about Marta immediately.

[1] St. Petersburg.