The Possessed (The Devils) - The Original Classic Edition. Dostoyevsky Fyodor

on side-saddle she gallops by,

       And in the breeze her fair tresses fly!

       Or when with her mother in church she bows low

       And on devout faces a red flush doth flow!

       Then for the joys of lawful wedlock I aspire,

       And follow her and her mother with tears of desire. "Composed by an unlearned man in the midst of a discussion.

       "Gracious Lady!

       "I pity myself above all men that I did not lose my arm at Sevastopol, not having been there at all, but served all the campaign delivering paltry provisions, which I look on as a degradation. You are a goddess of antiquity, and I am nothing, but have had a glimpse of infinity. Look on it as a poem and no more, for, after all, poetry is nonsense and justifies what would be considered impudence

       in prose. Can the sun be angry with the infusoria if the latter composes verses to her from the drop of water, where there is a multitude of them if you look through the microscope? Even the club for promoting humanity to the larger animals in tip-top society in Petersburg, which rightly feels compassion for dogs and horses, despises the brief infusoria making no reference to it whatever,

       because it is not big enough. I'm not big enough either. The idea of marriage might seem droll, but soon I shall have property worth two hundred souls through a misanthropist whom you ought to despise. I can tell a lot and I can undertake to produce documents that would mean Siberia. Don't despise my proposal. A letter from an infusoria is of course in verse.

       "Captain Lebyadkin your most humble friend. "And he has time no end."

       "That was written by a man in a drunken condition, a worthless fellow," I cried indignantly. "I know him."

       "That letter I received yesterday," Liza began to explain, flushing and speaking hurriedly. "I saw myself, at once, that it came from some foolish creature, and I haven't yet shown it to maman, for fear of upsetting her more. But if he is going to keep on like that, I don't know how to act. Mavriky Nikolaevitch wants to go out and forbid him to do it. As I have looked upon you as a colleague," she turned to Shatov, "and as you live there, I wanted to question you so as to judge what more is to be expected of him."

       "He's a drunkard and a worthless fellow," Shatov muttered with apparent reluctance. "Is he always so stupid?"

       "No, he's not stupid at all when he's not drunk."

       "I used to know a general who wrote verses exactly like that," I observed, laughing.

       "One can see from the letter that he is clever enough for his own purposes," Mavriky Nikolaevitch, who had till then been silent, put in unexpectedly.

       "He lives with some sister?" Liza queried.

       "Yes, with his sister."

       "They say he tyrannises over her, is that true?"

       Shatov looked at Liza again, scowled, and muttering, "What business is it of mine?" moved towards the door.

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       "Ah, stay!" cried Liza, in a flutter. "Where are you going? We have so much still to talk over...."

       "What is there to talk over? I'll let you know tomorrow."

       "Why, the most important thing of all--the printing-press! Do believe me that I am not in jest, that I really want to work in good earnest!" Liza assured him in growing agitation. "If we decide to publish it, where is it to be printed? You know it's a most important question, for we shan't go to Moscow for it, and the printing-press here is out of the question for such a publication. I made up my mind long ago to set up a printing-press of my own, in your name perhaps--and I know maman will allow it so long as it is in your name...."

       "How do you know that I could be a printer?" Shatov asked sullenly.

       "Why, Pyotr Stepanovitch told me of you in Switzerland, and referred me to you as one who knows the business and able to set up a printing-press. He even meant to give me a note to you from himself, but I forgot it."

       Shatov's face changed, as I recollect now. He stood for a few seconds longer, then went out of the room. Liza was angry.

       "Does he always go out like that?" she asked, turning to me.

       I was just shrugging my shoulders when Shatov suddenly came back, went straight up to the table and put down the roll of papers he had taken.

       "I'm not going to be your helper, I haven't the time...."

       "Why? Why? I think you are angry!" Liza asked him in a grieved and imploring voice.

       The sound of her voice seemed to strike him; for some moments he looked at her intently, as though trying to penetrate to her very soul.

       "No matter," he muttered, softly, "I don't want to...." And he went away altogether.

       Liza was completely overwhelmed, quite disproportionately in fact, so it seemed to me. "Wonderfully queer man," Mavriky Nikolaevitch observed aloud.

       III

       He certainly was queer, but in all this there was a very great deal not clear to me. There was something underlying it all. I simply did not believe in this publication; then that stupid letter, in which there was an offer, only too barefaced, to give information and produce "documents," though they were all silent about that, and talked of something quite different; finally that printing-press and Shatov's sudden exit, just because they spoke of a printing-press. All this led me to imagine that something had happened before I came in of which I knew nothing; and, consequently, that it was no business of mine and that I was in the way. And, indeed, it was time to take leave, I had stayed long enough for the first call. I went up to say good-bye to Lizaveta Nikolaevna.

       She seemed to have forgotten that I was in the room, and was still standing in the same place by the table with her head bowed,

       plunged in thought, gazing fixedly at one spot on the carpet.

       "Ah, you, too, are going, good-bye," she murmured in an ordinary friendly tone. "Give my greetings to Stepan Trofimovitch, and persuade him to come and see me as soon as he can. Mavriky Nikolaevitch, Anton Lavrentyevitch is going. Excuse maman's not be-ing able to come out and say good-bye to you...."

       I went out and had reached the bottom of the stairs when a footman suddenly overtook me at the street door. "My lady begs you to come back...."

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       "The mistress, or Lizaveta Nikolaevna?" "The young lady."

       I found Liza not in the big room where we had been sitting, but in the reception-room next to it. The door between it and the drawing-room, where Mavriky Nikolaevitch was left alone, was closed.

       Liza smiled to me but was pale. She was standing in the middle of the room in evident indecision, visibly struggling with herself; but

       she suddenly took me by the hand, and led me quickly to the window.

       "I want to see her at once," she whispered, bending upon me a burning, passionate, impatient glance, which would not admit a hint of opposition. "I must see her with my own eyes, and I beg you to help me."

       She was in a perfect frenzy, and--in despair.

       "Who is it you want to see, Lizaveta Nikolaevna?" I inquired in dismay.

       "That Lebyadkin's sister, that lame girl.... Is it true that she's lame?" I was astounded.

       "I have never seen her, but I've heard that she's lame. I heard it yesterday," I said with hurried readiness, and also in a whisper. "I must see her, absolutely. Could you arrange it to-day?"

       I felt dreadfully sorry for her.

       "That's utterly impossible, and, besides, I should not know at all how to set about it," I began persuading her. "I'll go to Shatov...." "If you don't arrange it by tomorrow I'll go to her by myself, alone, for Mavriky Nikolaevitch has refused. I rest all my hopes on

       you and I've no one else; I spoke stupidly to Shatov.... I'm sure that you are perfectly honest and perhaps ready to do anything for me, only arrange it."

       I felt a passionate desire to help her in every way.

       "This is what