“How you walked in tonight, eh? How you walked in . . .! I was so frightened. So you wanted to give me up to him, hm? Did you really?”

“I didn’t want to ruin your happiness!” Mitya prattled blissfully. But she did not even need his answer.

“Now go ... enjoy yourself,” she chased him away again, “and don’t cry, I’ll call you back.”

He would run off, and she would begin listening to the songs and watching the dancing again, following him with her eyes wherever he went, but after a quarter of an hour she would call him again, and he would again come running to her.

“Here, sit beside me now. Tell me, how did you hear about me yesterday, that I had come here? Who told you first?”

And Mitya would start telling her everything, incoherently, disconnectedly, feverishly, yet he spoke strangely, often suddenly frowning and breaking off.

“Why are you frowning?” she asked.

“It’s nothing ... I left a man sick there. I’d give ten years of my life for him to recover, just to know he’d recover!”

“Well, if he’s sick, God help him! Were you really going to shoot yourself tomorrow? What a silly man! But why? I love such men, reckless men, like you,” she prattled to him with a somewhat heavy tongue. “So you’re ready to do anything for me? Eh? But were you really going to shoot yourself tomorrow, you little fool? No, wait now, tomorrow maybe I’ll have something to tell you ... not today, but tomorrow. And you’d like it to be today? No, today I don’t want to ... Go now, go, enjoy yourself.”

Once, however, she called him over with a worried and perplexed look.

“Why are you sad? I can see you’re sad ... Yes, I see it,” she added, peering sharply into his eyes. “Though you’re kissing peasants and shouting in there, still I can see something. No, enjoy yourself. I’m enjoying myself, you enjoy yourself, too ... I love someone here—guess who ... ? Ah, look: my boy fell asleep, he’s had too much, the dear.”

She was referring to Kalganov: he had indeed had too much, and fell asleep for a moment sitting on the sofa. He fell asleep not only from drink; for some reason he suddenly felt sad, or “bored,” as he put it. Towards the end he was also greatly disheartened by the girls’ songs, which, as the drinking party wore on, gradually became rather non-lenten and licentious. And their dancing, too: two girls dressed themselves up as bears, and Stepanida, a pert girl with a stick in her hand, acted as their keeper and began “showing” them. “Faster, Maria,” she cried, “or I’ll use the stick!” The bears finally rolled on the floor somehow quite indecently, amid the loud laughter of the closely packed audience of peasants and their women. “Well, let them, let them,” Grushenka kept saying sententiously, with a blissful look on her face, “how often do they have fun like this, so why shouldn’t people enjoy themselves?” Kalganov looked as if he had soiled himself with something. “It’s all swinishness, all this populism,” he observed, drawing aside, “it’s all spring revels, when they keep watch on the sun through the summer night.” He especially disliked one “new” song with a perky dance tune,^[262] where they sang of how a master rode around searching out the girls:

And all the girls the master sought: Would they love him, or would they not?

But the girls decided they would not love the master:

For he will beat me cruelly, And love like that is not for me.

Then along comes a gypsy:

And all the girls the gypsy sought: Would they love him, or would they not?

But they would not give their love to the gypsy either: For he’ll turn out to be a thief,

And that, I’m sure, will bring me grief.

Many more people come in the same way, searching out the girls, even a

soldier:

And all the girls the soldier sought: Would they love him, or would they not?

‘‘ But the soldier is rejected with contempt:

The soldier-boy will pack his kit And drag me with him through ...

There followed a most unprintable rhyme, sung quite openly, which caused a furore in the audience. The matter finally ended with a merchant:

And all the girls the merchant sought: Would they love him, or would they not?

And it turns out that they will love him very much, because, they say:

The merchant will have gold in store, I’ll be his queen forevermore.

Kalganov even got angry.

“That song is no older than yesterday,” he observed aloud, “and who is it writes such things for them? All they need is for a railroad man or a Jew to come seeking the girls: they’d win out over all of them.”And, almost offended, he declared then and there that he was bored, sat down on the sofa, and suddenly dozed off. His pretty face turned somewhat pale and fell back on the cushion of the sofa.

“Look how pretty he is,” Grushenka said, drawing Mitya over to him. “I was combing his hair earlier; it’s like flax, and so thick ...”

And, leaning over him tenderly, she kissed him on the forehead. Kalganov opened his eyes at once, looked at her, rose a little, and, with a most worried look, asked: “Where is Maximov?”

“That’s who he wants,” laughed Grushenka. “Do sit with me for a minute. Mitya, run and fetch his Maximov.”

Maximov, it turned out, now never left the girls, and only ran off from time to time to pour himself some liqueur, or some chocolate, of which he had had two cups. His little face had turned red, his nose was purple, his eyes were moist and sweet. He ran up to them and announced that he was about to dance the sabotière “to a certain little tune.”

“You see, I learned all these well-bred society dances when I was a young boy . . .”^[263]

“Well, go, go with him, Mitya; I’ll watch how he dances from here.”

“And me, too, I’ll go and watch, too,” exclaimed Kalganov, rejecting in the most naive way Grushenka’s offer to sit with him. And they all went to watch. Maximov indeed danced his dance, but produced no special admiration in anyone, except for Mitya. The whole dance consisted in a sort of hopping and twisting aside of the feet, soles up, and with every hop Maximov slapped the sole of his foot with his hand. Kalganov did not like it at all, but Mitya even kissed the dancer.

“Well, thank you, you’re probably tired out, what do you have your eye on: would you like some candy, eh? How about a cigar?”

“A cigarette, sir.”

“Would you like a drink?”

“Some of that liqueur, sir ... Are there any chocolates, sir?”

“There, on the table, a whole pile of them, take whatever you want, you dear fellow!”

“No, sir, I’d like one with vanilla ... they’re for old folks, sir ... ]], hee!”

“No, brother, that’s one kind we haven’t got.”

“Listen!” the old man suddenly leaned close to Mitya’s ear. “This girl Marfushka—hee, hee—could I possibly make her acquaintance, would you be so kind ... ?”

“So that’s what you’re after! No, brother, it won’t do!”

“I don’t mean any harm, sir,” Maximov whispered dejectedly.

“All right, all right. They only come here to sing and dance, brother, but still ... ah, the devil! wait a while ... Eat for now, eat, drink, enjoy yourself. Do you need money?”

“Maybe later, sir,” Maximov smiled.

“All right, all right ...”

Mitya’s head was burning. He walked out to the hallway and on to the upper wooden veranda, which ran part way around the inner side of the building, overlooking the courtyard. The fresh air revived him. He stood alone in the darkness, in a corner, and suddenly clutched his head with both hands. His scattered thoughts suddenly came together, his sensations merged, and the result of it all was light. A terrible, awful light!”If I’m going to shoot myself, what better time than now?” swept through his mind. “Go and get the pistol, bring it out here, and end everything in this dark and dingy corner.” For almost a minute he stood undecided. Shame lay behind him that evening as he was flying there, the theft he had already committed, carried out, and the blood, that blood . . .! But it had been easier for him then, oh, much easier! Everything had been finished then: he had lost her, given her up, she had died for him, disappeared—oh, his sentence seemed lighter then, at least it appeared inevitable, necessary, for why should he remain in the world? And now? Was it the same now as then? Now at least one ghost, one bogey was out of the way: the “former one,” this indisputable and fatal man of hers, had vanished without a trace. The terrible ghost had suddenly turned into something so small, so comical; it was carried to the bedroom and locked up. It would never return. She was ashamed, and by her eyes he could now see clearly whom she loved. So now all he had to do was live, but ... but he could not live, he could not, oh, damnation!” “God, restore him who was struck down at the fence! Let this terrible cup pass from me!^[264] You worked miracles, O Lord, for sinners just like me! And what, what if the old man is alive? Oh, then I will remove the shame of the remaining disgrace, I will return the stolen money, I’ll give it back, I’ll dig it up somewhere ... There will be no trace of shame left, except forever in my heart! But no, no, oh, fainthearted, impossible dreams! Oh, damnation!”