THE COMPLETE WORKS OF FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY. Федор Достоевский
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to insult me?”
“Not at all. You know a little sleep is a good thing after a journey …”
“Never!” Korovkin answered with indignation. “Do you think I am drunk? — not a bit. But where do they sleep here?”
“Come along, I’ll take you at once.”
“Where? In the coach-house? No, my lad, you won’t take me in I I have spent a night there already… . Lead the way, though. Why not go along with a good fellow. … I don’t want a pillow. A military man does not want a pillow… . But you produce a sofa for me, old man … a sofa. And, I say,” he added, stopping, “I see you are a jolly fellow; produce something else for me … you know? A bit of the rummy, enough to drown a lly in, only enough for that, only one little glass, I mean.”
“Very well, very well!” answered Mizintchikov.
“Very well. But you wait a bit, I must say goodbye. Adieu, mcsdames and mcsdemoiselles. You have, so to speak, smitten… . But there, never mind! We will talk about that afterwards … only do wake me when it begins … or even five minutes before it begins … don’t begin without me! Do you hear? Don’t begin! …”
And the merry gentleman vanished behind Mizintchikov.
Everyone was silent. The company had not got over their astonishment. At last Foma without a word began noiselessly chuckling, his laughter grew into a guffaw. Seeing that, Madame la Generale, too, was amused, though the expression of insulted dignity still remained on her face. Irrepressible laughter arose on all sides. My uncle stood as though paralysed, flushing almost to tears, and was for some time incapable of uttering a word.
“Merciful heavens!” he brought out at last. “Who could have known this? But you know … you know it might happen to anyone. Foma, I assure you that he is a most straightforward, honourable man, and an extremely well-read man too, Foma … you will see! …”
“I do see, I do see,” cried Foma, shaking with laughter, “extraordinarily well-read. Well-read is just the word.”
“How he can talk about railways!” Yezhevikin observed in an undertone.
“Foma,” my uncle was beginning, but the laughter of all the company drowned his words. Foma Fomitch was simply in fits, and looking at him, my uncle began laughing too.
“Well, what does it matter?” he said enthusiastically. “You are magnanimous, Foma, you have a great heart; you have made me happy … you forgive Korovkin too.”
Nastenka was the only one who did not laugh. She looked with eyes full of love at her future husband, and looked as though she would say —
“How splendid, how kind you are, the most generous of men, and how I love you!”
CHAPTER VI
CONCLUSION
FOMA’S triumph was complete and beyond attack.
Certainly without him nothing would have been settled, and the accomplished fact stifled all doubts and objections. The gratitude of those he had made happy was beyond all bounds. My uncle and .Nastya waved me off when I attempted to drop a faint hint at the process by which Foma’s consent to their marriage had been obained. Sashenka cried: “Good, kind Foma Fomitch; I will embroider him a cushion in woolwork!” and even reproached me for my hardheartedness. I believe that Bahtecheyev in the fervour of his conversion would have strangled me if I had ventured to say anything disrespectful about Foma Fomitch. He followed Foma about like a little dog, gazed at him with devout reverence, and at every word the latter uttered he would exclaim: “You are a noble man, Foma. You are a learned man, Foma.” As for Yezhevikin, he was highly delighted. The old man had for a long time past seen that Nastenka had turned Yegor Ilyitch’s head, and from that time forward his one dream, waking and sleeping, was to bring about this marriage. He had clung to the idea to the last, and had only given it up when it had been impossible not to do so. Foma had changed the aspect of the affair. I need hardly say that in spite of his delight the old man saw through Foma; in short, it was clear that Foma Fomitch would be supreme in that household for ever, and that there would be no limit to his despotism. We all know that even the most unpleasant and ill-humoured people are softened, if only for a time, when their desires are gratified. Foma Fomitch, on the contrary, seemed to grow stupider when he was successful, and held his nose higher in the air than ever. Just before dinner, having changed all his clothes, he settled down in an armchair, summoned my uncle, and in the presence of the whole family began giving him another lecture.
“Colonel,” he began, “you are about to enter upon holy matrimony. Do you realise the obligation …”
And so on and so on. Imagine ten pages of the size of the Journal des Debats, of the smallest print, filled with the wildest nonsense, in which there was absolutely nothing dealing with the duties of marriage, but only the most shameful eulogies of the intellect, mildness, magnanimity, manliness and disinterestedness of himself, Foma Fomitch. Everyone was hungry, they all wanted their dinners; but in spite of that no one dared to protest, and everyone heard the twaddle reverently to the end. Even Bahtcheyev, in spite of his ravenous appetite, sat without stirring, absolutely respectful. Gratified by his own eloquence, Foma Fomitch grew livelier, and even drank rather heavily at dinner, proposing the most extraordinary toasts. He proceeded to display his wit by being jocose, at the expense of the happy pair, of course. Everybody laughed and applauded. But some of the jokes were so gross and suggestive that even Bahtcheyev was embarrassed by them. At last Nastenka jumped up from the table and ran away, to the indescribable delight of Foma Fomitch, but he immediately pulled himself up. Briefly but in strong terms he dwelt upon Nastenka’s virtues, and proposed a toast to the health of the absent one. My uncle, who a minute before had been embarrassed and unhappy, was ready to hug Foma Fomitch again. Altogether the betrothed pair seemed somewhat ashamed of each other and their happiness — and I noticed that they had not said a word to each other from the time of the blessing, they even seemed to avoid looking at one another. When they got up from dinner, my uncle vanished, I don’t know where. I strolled out on to the terrace to look for him. There I found Foma sitting in an easy-chair, drinking coffee and holding forth, extremely exnilarated. Only Yezhevikin, Bahtcheyev and Mizmtchikov were by him. I stopped to listen.
“Why,” asked Foma, “am I ready at this moment to go through fire for my convictions? And why it it that none of you are capable of going through fire? Why is it? Why is it?”
“Well, but it’s unnecessary, Foma Fomitch, to go through fire,” Yezhevikin said bantenngly. “Why, what’s the sense of it? In the first place it would hurt, and in the second it would burn — what would be left?”
“What would be left? Noble ashes would be left. But how ahould you understand, how should you appreciate me? To you, no great men exist but perhaps some Caesar or Alexander of Macedon. And what did your Caesars do? Whom did they make happy? What did your vaunted Alexander of Macedon do? He conquered the whole earth? But give me such a phalanx and I could be a conqueror too, and so could you, and so could he… . On the other hand, he killed the virtuous Clitus, but I have not killed the virtuous Clitus. … A puppy, a scoundrel! He ought to have had a thrashing, and not to have been glorified in universal history … and Caesar with him!’’
“You might spare Caesar, anyway, Foma Fomitch!”
“I won’t spare the fool!” cried Foma.
“No, don’t spare him!” Bahtcheyev, who had also been drinking, backed him up. “There is no need to spare them, they are all flighty fellows, they care for nothing but pirouetting on one leg! Sausage-eaters! Here, one of them was wanting to found a scholarship just now — and what is a scholarship? The devil only knows what it means! I bet it’s some new villainy! And here is another who in honourable society is staggering about and asking for rum. I have no objection to drinking. But one should drink and drink and then take a rest,