“Isn't it enough, Vanya?” she cried, seeing his grimace. “It's all I've got,” she added plaintively.
“Well, there, bless you. I took you without fixing the price,” said the driver with a hopeless gesture, and looking at her he added as though reflecting:
“And it would be a sin to take advantage of you too.”
Then, thrusting his leather purse into his bosom, he touched up his horse and drove off, followed by the jeers of the drivers standing near. Jeers, and wonder too, followed the lady as she made her way to the cathedral gates, between the carriages and the footmen waiting for their masters to come out. And indeed, there certainly was something extraordinary and surprising to every one in such a person's suddenly appearing in the street among people. She was painfully thin and she limped, she was heavily powdered and rouged; her long neck was quite bare, she had neither kerchief nor pelisse; she had nothing on but an old dark dress in spite of the cold and windy, though bright, September day. She was bareheaded, and her hair was twisted up into a tiny knot, and on the right side of it was stuck an artificial rose, such as are used to dedicate cherubs sold in Palm week. I had noticed just such a one with a wreath of paper roses in a corner under the ikons when I was at Mary Timofyevna's the day before. To put a finishing-touch to it, though the lady walked with modestly downcast eyes there was a sly and merry smile on her face. If she had lingered a moment longer, she would perhaps not have been allowed to enter the cathedral. But she succeeded in slipping by, and entering the building, gradually pressed forward.
Though it was half-way through the sermon, and the dense crowd that filled the cathedral was listening to it with absorbed and silent attention, yet several pairs of eyes glanced with curiosity and amazement at the new-comer. She sank on to the floor, bowed her painted face down to it, lay there a long time, unmistakably weeping; but raising her head again and getting up from her knees, she soon recovered, and was diverted. Gaily and with evident and intense enjoyment she let her eyes rove over the faces, and over the walls of the cathedral. She looked with particular curiosity at some of the ladies, even standing on tip-toe to look at them, and even laughed once or twice, giggling strangely. But the sermon was over, and they brought out the cross. The governor's wife was the first to go up to the cross, but she stopped short two steps from it, evidently wishing to make way for Varvara . Petrovna, who, on her side, moved towards it quite directly as though she noticed no one in front of her. There was an obvious and, in its way, clever malice implied in this extraordinary act of deference on the part of the governor's wife; every one felt this; Varvara Petrovna must have felt it too; but she went on as before, apparently noticing no one, and with the same unfaltering air of dignity kissed the cross, and at once turned to leave the cathedral. A footman in livery cleared the way for her, though every one stepped back spontaneously to let her pass. But just as she was going out, in the porch the closely packed mass of people blocked the way for a moment. Varvara Petrovna stood still, and suddenly a strange, extraordinary creature, the woman with the paper rose on her head, squeezed through the people, and fell on her knees before her. Varvara Petrovna, who was not easily disconcerted, especially in public, looked at her sternly and with dignity.
I hasten to observe here, as briefly as possible, that though Varvara Petrovna had become, it was said, excessively careful and even stingy, yet sometimes she was not sparing of money, especially for benevolent objects. She was a member of a charitable society in the capital. In the last famine year she had sent five hundred roubles to the chief committee for the relief of the sufferers, and people talked of it in the town. Moreover, just before the appointment of the new governor, she had been on the very point of founding a local committee of ladies to assist the poorest mothers in the town and in the province. She was severely censured among us for ambition; but Varvara Petrovna's well-known strenuousness and, at the .same time, her persistence nearly triumphed over all obstacles. The society was almost formed, and the original idea embraced a wider and wider scope in the enthusiastic mind of the foundress. She was already dreaming of founding a similar society in Moscow, and the gradual expansion of its influence over all the provinces of Russia. And now, with the sudden change of governor, everything was at a standstill; and the new governor's wife had, it was said, already uttered in society some biting, and, what was worse, apt and sensible remarks about the impracticability of the fundamental idea of such a committee, which was, with additions of course, repeated to Varvara Petrovna. God alone knows the secrets of men's hearts; but I imagine that Varvara Petrovna stood still now at the very cathedral gates positively with a certain pleasure, knowing that the governor's wife and, after her, all the congregation, would have to pass by immediately, and “let her see for herself how little I care what she thinks, and what pointed things she says about the vanity of my benevolence. So much for all of you!”
“What is it my dear? What are you asking?” said Varvara Petrovna, looking more attentively at the kneeling woman before her, who gazed at her with a fearfully panic-stricken, shame-faced, but almost reverent expression, and suddenly broke into the same strange giggle.
“What does she want? Who is she «”
Varvara Petrovna bent an imperious and inquiring gaze on all around her. Every one was silent.
“You are unhappy? You are in need of help?”
“I am in need. ... I have come ...” faltered the “unhappy” creature, in a voice broken with emotion. “I have come only to kiss your hand. ...”
Again she giggled. With the childish look with which little children caress some one, begging for a favour, she stretched forward to seize Varvara Petrovna's hand, but, as though panic-stricken, drew her hands back.
“Is that all you have come for?” said Varvara Petrovna, with a compassionate smile; but at once she drew her mother-of-pearl purse out of her pocket, took out a ten-rouble note and gave it to the unknown. The latter took it. Varvara Petrovna was much interested and evidently did not look upon her as an ordinary low-class beggar.
“I say, she gave her ten roubles!” some one said in the crowd.
“Let me kiss your hand,” faltered the unknown, holding tight in the fingers of her left hand the corner of the ten-rouble note, which fluttered in the draught. Varvara Petrovna frowned slightly, and with a serious, almost severe, face held out her hand. The cripple kissed it with reverence. Her grateful eyes shone with positive ecstasy. At that moment the governor's wife came up, and a whole crowd of ladies and high officials flocked after her. The governor's wife was forced to stand still for a moment in the crush; many people stopped.
“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 significantl
y at Varvara Petrovna.
“I understand. Thank you, Nikon Semyonitch. Your name is Mile. 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 Mile. 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 done, Lise? ” the governor's wife asked with expressive wonder.
“Ah, forgive me, darling, chere cousine, I'm going to auntie's.”
Liza turned in passing to her unpleasantly surprised chere 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, chere . . . 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 Mile. 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.
Last updated on Wed Jan 12 09:26:22 2011 for eBooks@Adelaide.
The Possessed, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Chapter V. The Subtle Serpent
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, chere et excellente amie, dans quelle inquietude . . .” 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.”
“Herd. ”
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 t
hinking 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 holder. “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.”
“Chere 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?”
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