The Little Demon, Fyodor Sologub [reading the story of the TXT] 📗

from among whom she hoped to find another husband. To conceal her purpose she also invited married people.

The guests came early to one of these parties.

Pictures covered in thick muslin hung on the walls of Grushina’s drawing-room. There was really nothing indecent in them. When Grushina, with an arch, wanton smile, raised these curtains, the guests gazed at badly-drawn figures of naked women.

“Why is this woman so crooked?” asked Peredonov morosely.

“She’s not crooked at all,” Grushina defended the picture warmly. “She’s only bending over.”

“She is crooked,” repeated Peredonov, “and her eyes are not the same⁠—like yours.”

“Much you understand about it,” said Grushina offendedly. “These pictures are very good and very expensive. Artists always prefer such models.”

Peredonov suddenly burst out laughing: he recalled the advice he had given Vladya a few days ago.

“What are you neighing at?” asked Grushina.

“Nartanovitch, the schoolboy, is going to singe Marta’s dress. I advised him to,” he explained.

“Let him just do it! He’s not such a fool,” said Grushina.

“Of course he’ll do it,” said Peredonov confidently. “Brothers always quarrel with their sisters. When I was a kid I always played tricks on my sisters⁠—I pummelled the little ones and I used to spoil the older ones’ clothes.”

“Everyone doesn’t,” said Routilov. “I don’t quarrel with my sisters.”

“Well, what do you do? Kiss them?” asked Peredonov.

“You are a swine and a scoundrel, Ardalyon Borisitch, I’ll give you a black eye,” said Routilov calmly.

“I don’t like such jokes,” said Peredonov, and moved away from Routilov.

“Yes,” thought Peredonov, “he might really do it. He’s got such a mean face.”

“She has only one dress, a black one,” he went on, referring to Marta.

“Vershina will make her a new one,” said Varvara with spiteful envy, “she’ll make all her dowry for her. She’s such a beauty that even the horses are frightened,” she grumbled on quietly, looking maliciously at Mourin.

“It’s time for you to marry too,” said Prepolovenskaya. “What are you waiting for, Ardalyon Borisitch?”

The Prepolovenskys already saw that after the second letter Peredonov was determined to marry Varvara. They also believed in the letter. They began to say that they had always been on Varvara’s side. There was no good in their quarrelling with Peredonov⁠—it was profitable to play cards with him. As for Genya, there was nothing to do but to wait⁠—they would have to look for another husband.

“Of course you ought to marry,” said Prepolovensky. “It will be a good thing in itself, and you’ll please the Princess; the Princess will be pleased that you’re married, and so you will please her and you’ll do a good thing, yes, a good thing, and yes, really, you’ll be doing a good thing and you’ll please the Princess.”

“Yes, and I say the same thing,” said Prepolovenskaya.

But Prepolovensky was unable to stop, and seeing that everyone was walking away from him he sat down beside a young official and began to explain the same thing to him.

“I’ve decided to get married,” said Peredonov, “only Varvara and I don’t know how to do it. I really don’t know how to go about it.”

“It’s not such a difficult business,” said Prepolovenskaya. “Now, if you like, my husband and I will arrange everything. You just sit still and don’t think about anything.”

“Very well,” said Peredonov, “I’m agreeable. Only everything must be done well and in proper style. I don’t mind what it costs.”

“Everything will be quite all right, don’t worry about that,” Prepolovenskaya assured him.

Peredonov continued to state his conditions:

“Other people through stinginess buy thin wedding rings or silver ones gilt over, but I don’t want to do that. I want pure gold ones. And I even prefer wedding bracelets to wedding rings⁠—they are more expensive and more dignified.”

Everyone laughed.

“Bracelets are impossible,” said Prepolovenskaya smiling slightly. “You must have rings.”

“Why impossible?” asked Peredonov in vexation.

“Simply because it’s not done.”

“But perhaps it is done,” said Peredonov increduously. “I will ask the priest. He knows best.”

Routilov advised him with a snigger:

“You’d better order wedding belts, Ardalyon Borisitch.”

“I haven’t got money enough for that,” said Peredonov, not noticing the smiles. “I’m not a banker. Only the other day I dreamed that I was being married, and that I wore a velvet frock-coat and that Varvara and I had gold bracelets. And behind us were two headmasters holding the crowns over us, singing ‘Hallelujah.’ ”

“I also had an interesting dream last night,” announced Volodin. “But I don’t know what it can mean. I was sitting, as it were, on a gold throne with a gold crown on, and there was grass in front of me and on the grass were little sheep, all little sheep, all little sheep, ba-a!⁠—ba-a! And the little sheep walked about and moved their heads like this and kept on their ba-a! ba-a! ba-a!”

Volodin walked up and down the room, shaking his head, protruded his lips and bleated. The guests laughed. Volodin sat down on a chair with an expression of bliss on his face, looked at them with his bulging eyes and laughed with the same sheep-like bleating laughter.

“What happened then?” asked Grushina, winking at the others.

“Well, it was all little sheep and little sheep, and then I woke up,” concluded Volodin.

“A sheep has sheepish dreams,” growled Peredonov. “It isn’t such great shakes being Tsar of the sheep.”

“I also had a dream,” said Varvara with an impudent smile, “only I can’t tell it before men. I’ll tell it to you alone.”

“Ah, my dear Varvara Dmitrievna, it’s strange I had one too,” sniggered Grushina, winking at the others.

“Please tell us, we’re modest men, like the ladies,” said Routilov.

The other men also besought Varvara and Grushina to tell them their dreams. But the pair only exchanged glances, laughed meaningly and would not tell.

They sat down to play cards. Routilov assured everyone that Peredonov played cards well. Peredonov believed him. But that evening he lost as usual. Routilov was winning. This elated him and he talked more animatedly than usual.

The nedotikomka mocked at Peredonov. It was hiding somewhere near by⁠—it would show itself sometimes, peering out from behind