THE COMPLETE WORKS OF FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY. Федор Достоевский
mad, is she now? She is not mad at all; it’s only, you know, that she has had trouble… . There is no help for it, my boy. Of course I should have been glad of one with sense… . Though, after all, some who have sense are no better! If only you knew what a kindhearted creature she is, noble-hearted!”
“But, my God! he is resigning himself to the thought of it already,” I said in despair.
“And what else is there to do? You know they are doing their utmost for my benefit, and, indeed, I felt beforehand that sooner or later they would force me to marry, that there is no getting out of it. So better now than make more quarrelling about it. I am telling you everything quite openly, Seryozha. In a way I am actually glad. I have made up my mind, somehow. Why, I came here with my mind almost at ease. It seems, it’s my fate. And the great thing to make up for it wras that Nastenka would stay on. You know I agreed on that condition. And now she wants to run away of herself! But that shall not be!” my uncle cried, stamping. “Listen, Sergey,” he added with a determined air; “wait for me here, don’t go away. I will come back to you in an instant.”
“Where are you off to, uncle?”
“Perhaps I shall see her, Sergey; it will all be cleared up, believe me that it will all be cleared up, and … and … you shall marry her, I give you my word of honour!” . My uncle went quickly out of the room, and turned not towards the house, but into the garden. I watched him from the window.
CHAPTER XII
THE CATASTROPHE
I WAS left alone. My position was insufferable; I had been rejected, and my uncle meant to marry me almost by force. I was perplexed and lost in a tangle of ideas. Mizintchikov and his proposition was not absent from my mind for an instant. At all costs uncle must be saved! I even thought of going to look for Mizintchikov and telling him all about it. But where had my uncle gone, though? He had said himself that he was going to look for Nastenka, but had turned in the direction of the garden. The thought of secret meetings flashed through my mind, and a very unpleasant feeling clutched at my heart. I remembered what Mizintchikov had said of a secret liaison. After a moment’s thought I rejected my suspicions with indignation. My uncle was incapable of deceit: that was obvious. My uneasiness grew greater every moment. Unconsciously I went out on to the steps, and walked into the garden down the very avenue into which my uncle had disappeared. The moon was beginning to rise. I knew that garden through and through, and was not afraid of losing myself. As I drew near the old arbour which stood in solitude on the bank of the neglected scum-covered pond, I suddenly stood rooted to the spot; I heard voices in the arbour. I cannot describe the strange feeling of annoyance that took possession of me. I felt convinced that my uncle and Nastenka were there, and went on going nearer, appeasing my conscience by thinking that I was walking at the same pace as before and not trying to approach stealthily. Suddenly there was the distinct sound of a kiss, then stifled exclamations, and immediately afterwards a shrill feminine shriek. At that instant a woman in a white dress ran out of the arbour and flashed by me like a swallow. It even seemed to me that she hid her face in her hands that she might not be recognised: probably I had been noticed from the arbour. But what was my amazement when in the swain who emerged after the flying lady I recognised — Obnoskin, Obnoskin, who, according to Mizintchikov’s words, had gone away some hours before. Obnoskin on his side was greatly confused when he saw me; all his impudence vanished instantly.
“Excuse me, but … I did not in the least expect to meet you,” he brought out, smiling and hesitating.
“Nor I you,” I answered ironically, “especially as I heard you had already gone away.”
“No. … It was just … I went a little on the way with my mother. But may I appeal to you as an absolutely honourable man?”
“What about?”
“There are cases — and you will agree yourself that it is so — when a truly honourable man is forced to appeal to the highest sense of honour of another truly honourable man. … I hope you understand me… .”
“Do not hope, I understand absolutely nothing. …”
“You saw the lady who was here with me in the arbour?”
“I saw her, but I did not recognise her.”
“Ah, you did not recognise her… . That lady I shall shortly call my wife.”
“I congratulate you. But in what way can I be of use to you?”
“Only in one way, by keeping it a dead secret that you have seen me with that lady.”
“Who can she be?” I wondered. “Surely not …”
“I really don’t know,” I answered Obnoskin. “I hope that you will excuse me for not being able to promise.”
“Yes, please, for God’s sake,” Obnoskin besought me. “Understand my position, it’s a secret. You may be betrothed too: then I …”
“Shi someone is coming!”
“Where?”
We did indeed catch a glimpse thirty paces away of the shadow of someone passing.
“It … it must be Foma Fomitch!” Obnoskin whispered, trembling all over. “I know him from his walk. My God! And steps again from the other direction! Do you hear? … Goodbye! I thank you … and I entreat you …”
Obnoskin vanished. A minute later, as though he had sprung out of the earth, my uncle was before me.
“Is it you?” he greeted me. “It is all over, Seryozha, it is all over!”
I noticed, too, that he was trembling from head to foot.
“What is all over, uncle?”
“Come along!” he said, gasping for breath, and clutching my hand tightly he drew me alter him. He did not utter a word all the way to the lodge, nor did he let me speak. I was expecting something monstrous, and my expectations were almost realised.
When we went indoors he was overcome with giddiness, he was deathly pale. I promptly sprinkled him with water. “Something very awful must have happened,” I thought, “for a man like this to faint.”
“Uncle, what is the matter with you?” I asked him at last.
“All is over, Seryozha! Foma found me in the garden with Nastenka, at the very moment when I was kissing her.”
“Kissing her! In the garden!” I cried, looking at my uncle in amazement.
“In the garden, my boy. The Lord confounded me I I went there to be sure of seeing her. I wanted to speak openly to her, to make her see reason — about you, I mean. And she had been waiting for me a whole hour, on the broken seat, beyond the pond… . She often goes there when she wants to speak to me.”
“Often, uncle?”
“Yes, often, my boy! Of late we have been meeting almost every night. Only they must have watched us — in fact, I know that they watched us and that it was Anna Nilovna’s doing. We gave it up for a time. The last four days we have not met; but to-day it was necessary again. You saw yourself how necessary it was; how else could I have said anything to her? I went in the hope of finding her, and she had been sitting there a whole hour, waiting for me: she, too, wanted to tell me something. …”
“Good heavens, how incautious! Why, you knew that you were being watched!”
“But, you see, it was a critical matter, Seryozha; there was a great deal we had to discuss together. I don’t dare to look at her in the daytime. She looks in one corner and I look in another, as though she did not exist. But towards night we meet and have a talk. …”
“Well, what happened, uncle?”
“Before