“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!”
Yet it was as if a ray of some bright hope shone on him in the darkness. He tore himself away and rushed inside—to her, to her again, his queen forever! Isn’t one hour, one minute of her love worth the rest of my life, even in the torments of disgrace?” This wild question seized his heart. “To her, to her alone, to see her, to hear her, and not to think of anything, to forget everything, if only for this one night, for one hour, for one moment!” Still on the veranda, just at the door, he ran into the innkeeper, Trifon Borisich. He looked gloomy and worried, and seemed to be coming to find him.
“What is it, Borisich? Are you looking for me?”
“No, sir, not you,” the innkeeper seemed suddenly taken aback. “Why should I be looking for you? And you ... where were you, sir?”
“Why are you so glum? Are you angry? Wait a bit, you’ll get to bed soon ... What time is it?”
“It must be three by now. Maybe even past three.”
“We’ll stop, we’ll stop.”
“Don’t mention it, it’s nothing, sir. As long as you like, sir...”
“What’s with him?” Mitya thought fleetingly, and ran into the room where the girls were dancing. But she was not there. She was not in the blue room, either; only Kalganov was dozing on the sofa. Mitya peeked behind the curtain—she was there. She was sitting in the corner, on a chest, her head and arms leaning on the bed beside her, crying bitterly, trying very hard to hold back and stifle her sobs so that no one would hear her. Seeing Mitya, she beckoned to him, and when he ran over to her, she caught him firmly by the hand.
“Mitya, Mitya, I did love him!” she began in a whisper. “I loved him so, all these five years, all, all this while! Did I love him, or only my spite? No, him! Oh, him! It’s a lie that I loved only my spite and not him! Mitya, I was just seventeen then, he was so tender with me, so merry, he sang me songs ... Or did he only seem that way to me, to a foolish girl ... ? And now, Lord, it’s not the same man, not him at all. And it’s not his face, not his at all. I didn’t even recognize his face. I was driving here with Timofei and kept thinking, all the way I kept thinking: ‘How shall I meet him, what shall I say, how shall we look at each other ... ?’ My soul was frozen, and then it was as if he emptied a bucket of slops on me. He talks like a schoolmaster: it’s all so learned, so pompous, he greeted me so pompously I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t get a word in. At first I thought he was embarrassed in front of the other one, the tall one. I sat looking at them and thought: why is it I don’t know how to speak with him now? You know, it’s his wife that did it to him, the one he married then, after hedroppedme ... She’s the one that changed him. What shame, Mitya! Oh, I’m ashamed, Mitya, ashamed, so ashamed for my whole life! Cursed, cursed be those five years, cursed!” And again she dissolved in tears, yet without letting go of Mitya’s hand, holding on to it firmly.
“Mitya, my dear, wait, don’t go, I want to tell you something,” she whispered, and suddenly looked up at him. “Listen, tell me whom I love? I love one man here. Who is it? You tell me.” A smile lighted on her face swollen with tears, her eyes shone in the semidarkness. “Tonight a falcon walked in, and my heart sank inside me. ‘You fool, this is the one you love,’ my heart whispered to me at once. You walked in and brightened everything. ‘What is he afraid of?’ I thought. And you really were afraid, quite afraid, you couldn’t speak. ‘He’s not afraid of them—how can he be afraid of anyone? It’s me he’s afraid of, just me.’ But Fenya did tell you, you little fool, how I shouted to Alyosha out the window that I loved Mitenka for one hour, and am now going off to love ... another. Mitya, Mitya, how could I be such a fool to think I could love another after you! Do you forgive me, Mitya? Do you forgive me or not? Do you love me? Do you?”
She jumped up and grasped him by the shoulders with both hands. Mute with rapture, Mitya gazed into her eyes, at her face, her smile, and suddenly, embracing her firmly, began kissing her.
“Will you forgive me for tormenting you? I tormented all of you from spite. I drove that old man out of his mind on purpose, just from spite ... Do you remember how you once drank at my place and broke the glass? I remembered it, and today I, too, broke a glass as I drank to ‘my base heart.’ Mitya, my falcon, why aren’t you kissing me? You kissed me once and tore yourself away, to look, to listen ... Why listen to me! Kiss me, kiss me harder, like this! Let’s love, if we’re going to love! I’ll be your slave now, your lifelong slave! It’s sweet to be a slave...! Kiss me! Beat me, torment me, do something to me ... Oh, how I deserve to be tormented ... Stop! Wait, not now, I don’t want it to be like that ... ,” she suddenly pushed him away. “Go, Mitka, I’ll drink wine now, I want to get drunk, I’m going to get drunk and dance, I want to, I want to!”