Demons

"In any case, you have a very amusing turn of mind," Nicolas continued, "and as for Agafya, I realize, of course, that you sent her to abuse me."

"Could I have challenged you to a duel, sir?"

"Ah, yes, right! I did hear something about your dislike of duels..."

"Why translate from the French!" Liputin cringed again.

"You adhere to native things?"

Liputin cringed even more.

"Hah, hah! What's this I see?" Nicolas cried out, suddenly noticing a volume of Considérant[39] in a most conspicuous place on the table. "Do you mean you're a Fourierist? Good for you! But isn't this also a translation from the French?" he laughed, tapping the book with his finger.

"No, it's not a translation from the French!" Liputin jumped up, even with some sort of spite. "It's a translation from the universal human language, sir, and not just from the French! From the language of the universally human social republic and harmony, that's what, sir! Not just from the French! ..."

"Pah, the devil, but there is no such language!" Nicolas went on laughing.

Sometimes even a little thing strikes one's attention exceptionally and for a long time. Though the whole main story about Mr. Stavrogin still lies ahead, I will note here, as a curiosity, that of all his impressions during all the time he spent in our town, the sharpest stamp was left in his memory by the homely and almost mean little figure of the little provincial official, the jealous husband and crude family despot, the miser and moneylender, who locked up candle ends and the leftovers from di

"God knows how these people get made!" Nicolas thought in bewilderment, occasionally recalling the unexpected Fourierist.

IV

Our prince traveled for more than three years, so that he was almost forgotten in town. But we knew through Stepan Trofimovich that he had been all over Europe, had even gone to Egypt and stopped off at Jerusalem; then he had stuck himself onto some scientific expedition to Iceland and actually visited Iceland. It was also reported that during one winter he attended lectures at some German university. He seldom wrote to his mother—once in six months or even less often; but Varvara Petrovna was not angry or offended. She accepted the once-established relationship with her son submissively and without a murmur; but, of course, every day of those three years she worried about her Nicolas, pined for him, and dreamed of him continually. She did not tell anyone about her dreams or complaints. Apparently she even withdrew somewhat from Stepan Trofimovich. She formed some plans within herself and, it seemed, became even stingier than before, and began saving even more and getting all the more angry over Stepan Trofimovich's losses at cards.

Finally, in April of this year, she received a letter from Paris, from Praskovya Ivanovna, General Drozdov's widow and her childhood friend. In the letter Praskovya Ivanovna—whom Varvara Petrovna had not seen or corresponded with for about eight years—informed her that Nikolai Vsevolodovich had become a familiar of her house and was friends with Liza (her only daughter), and intended to accompany them to Switzerland in the summer, to Vernex-Montreux, despite the fact that he was received like a son and was almost living in the family of Count K. (quite an influential person in Petersburg), who was now staying in Paris. It was a brief letter and its object was perfectly clear, though apart from the above-mentioned facts it contained no conclusions. Varvara Petrovna did not think long, made her mind up instantly, got ready, took her ward Dasha (Shatov's sister) with her, and in the middle of April went off to Paris and then to Switzerland. She returned alone in July, having left Dasha with the Drozdovs; the Drozdovs themselves, according to the news she brought, promised to come to us at the end of August.

The Drozdovs were also landowners of our province, but the duties of General Ivan Ivanovich (a former friend of Varvara Petrovna's and a colleague of her husband's) constantly prevented them from ever visiting their magnificent estate. After the general's death, which occurred last year, the inconsolable Praskovya Ivanovna went abroad with her daughter, with the intention among other things of trying the grape cure, which she pla

"Hurrah!" Stepan Trofimovich cried and snapped his fingers.

He was perfectly delighted, the more so as he had spent the whole time of separation from his friend being extremely dejected. She had not even said a proper good-bye to him as she was leaving, and did not mention any of her plans to "that old woman," fearing, perhaps, that he might blurt something out. She was angry with him then for the loss of a considerable sum at cards, which had suddenly been discovered. But while still in Switzerland she had felt in her heart that her abandoned friend should be rewarded on her return, the more so as she had long been treating him severely. The abrupt and mysterious separation struck and tormented the timid heart of Stepan Trofimovich, and, as if by design, other perplexities also came along at the same time.

He suffered over a certain rather considerable and long-standing financial obligation, which could by no means be met without Varvara Petrovna's help. Moreover, in May of this year came the end of our kindly, mild Ivan Osipovich's term as governor; he was replaced, and not without some unpleasantness. Then, in Varvara Petrovna's absence, the entrance of our new superior, Andrei Antonovich von Lembke, also took place; with that there at once began to be a noticeable change in the attitude of almost all our provincial society towards Varvara Petrovna, and, consequently, towards Stepan Trofimovich as well. At least he had already managed to gather a few unpleasant though valuable observations and, it seems, had grown very timid on his own without Varvara Petrovna. He had an alarming suspicion that the new governor had already received reports on him as a dangerous man. He learned positively that some of our ladies intended to stop calling on Varvara Petrovna. It was said repeatedly of the future governor's wife (who was expected here only in the autumn) that though she was, one heard, a haughty woman, at least she was a real aristocrat, not like "our wretched Varvara Petrovna." Everyone knew from somewhere, certainly and with details, that the new governor's wife and Varvara Petrovna had already met once in society and had parted in enmity, so that the mere reminder of Mrs. von Lembke supposedly produced a morbid impression on Varvara Petrovna. Varvara Petrovna's bright and victorious look, the contemptuous indifference with which she heard about the opinions of our ladies and the agitation in society, resurrected the fallen spirits of timid Stepan Trofimovich and cheered him up at once. With a special joyfully fawning humor he began to elaborate upon the new governor's arrival.