Fyodor Dostoyevsky Fullscreen Demons (1871)

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Mavriky Nikolaevitch, Stepan Trofimovitch, and I all stepped forward.

"Don't be alarmed, don't be alarmed; I'm not mad, by God, I'm not mad," the captain kept asseverating excitedly.

"Yes, sir, you're out of your senses."

"Madam, she's not at all as you suppose.

I am an insignificant link. Oh, madam, wealthy are your mansions, but poor is the dwelling of Marya Anonyma, my sister, whose maiden name was Lebyadkin, but whom we'll call Anonyma for the time, only for the time, madam, for God Himself will not suffer it forever.

Madam, you gave her ten roubles and she took it, because it was from you, madam!

Do you hear, madam? From no one else in the world would this Marya Anonyma take it, or her grandfather, the officer killed in the Caucasus before the very eyes of Yermolov, would turn in his grave. But from you, madam, from you she will take anything.

But with one hand she takes it, and with the other she holds out to you twenty roubles by way of subscription to one of the benevolent committees in Petersburg and Moscow, of which you are a member... for you published yourself, madam, in the Moscow News, that you are ready to receive subscriptions in our town, and that any one may subscribe...."

The captain suddenly broke off; he breathed hard as though after some difficult achievement.

All he said about the benevolent society had probably been prepared beforehand, perhaps under Liputin's supervision.

He perspired more than ever; drops literally trickled down his temples.

Varvara Petrovna looked searchingly at him.

"The subscription list," she said severely, "is always downstairs in charge of my porter. There you can enter your subscriptions if you wish to.

And so I beg you to put your notes away and not to wave them in the air.

That's right.

I beg you also to go back to your seat.

That's right.

I am very sorry, sir, that I made a mistake about your sister, and gave her something as though she were poor when she is so rich.

There's only one thing I don't understand, why she can only take from me, and no one else.

You so insisted upon that that I should like a full explanation."

"Madam, that is a secret that may be buried only in the grave!" answered the captain.

"Why?" Varvara Petrovna asked, not quite so firmly.

"Madam, madam..."

He relapsed into gloomy silence, looking on the floor, laying his right hand on his heart.

Varvara Petrovna waited, not taking her eyes off him.

"Madam!" he roared suddenly. "Will you allow me to ask you one question? Only one, but frankly, directly, like a Russian, from the heart?"

"Kindly do so."

"Have you ever suffered madam, in your life?"

"You simply mean to say that you have been or are being ill-treated by someone."

"Madam, madam!" He jumped up again, probably unconscious of doing so, and struck himself on the breast. "Here in this bosom so much has accumulated, so much that God Himself will be amazed when it is revealed at the Day of Judgment."

"H'm! A strong expression!"

"Madam, I speak perhaps irritably...."

"Don't be uneasy. I know myself when to stop you."

"May I ask you another question, madam?"

"Ask another question."

"Can one die simply from the generosity of one's feelings?"

"I don't know, as I've never asked myself such a question."

"You don't know!

You've never asked yourself such a question," he said with pathetic irony.

"Well, if that's it, if that's it...

"Be still, despairing heart!"

And he struck himself furiously on the chest.

He was by now walking about the room again.

It is typical of such people to be utterly incapable of keeping their desires to themselves; they have, on the contrary, an irresistible impulse to display them in all their unseemliness as soon as they arise.

When such a gentleman gets into a circle in which he is not at home he usually begins timidly,—but you have only to give him an inch and he will at once rush into impertinence.

The captain was already excited. He walked about waving his arms and not listening to questions, talked about himself very, very quickly, so that sometimes his tongue would not obey him, and without finishing one phrase he passed to another.

It is true he was probably not quite sober. Moreover, Lizaveta Nikolaevna was sitting there too, and though he did not once glance at her, her presence seemed to over-excite him terribly; that, however, is only my supposition.

There must have been some reason which led Varvara Petrovna to resolve to listen to such a man in spite of her repugnance.

Praskovya Ivanovna was simply shaking with terror, though, I believe she really did not quite understand what it was about.

Stepan Trofimovitch was trembling too, but that was, on the contrary, because he was disposed to understand everything, and exaggerate it.