第195章

第195章hewasdozingoff;thefeverishshiverhadceased,whensuddenlysomethingseemedtorunoverhisarmandlegunderthebedclothes.hestarted.“ugh!hangit!ibelieveit’samouse,”hethought,“that’sthevealileftonthetable.”hefeltfearfullydisinclinedtopullofftheblanket,getup,getcold,butallatoncesomethingunpleasantranoverhislegagain.hepulledofftheblanketandlightedthecandle.shakingwithfeverishchillhebentdowntoexaminethebed:therewasnothing.heshooktheblanketandsuddenlyamousejumpedoutonthesheet.hetriedtocatchit,butthemouserantoandfroinzigzagswithoutleavingthebed,slippedbetweenhisfingers,ranoverhishandandsuddenlydartedunderthepillow.hethrewdownthepillow,butinoneinstantfeltsomethingleaponhischestanddartoverhisbodyanddownhisbackunderhisshirt.hetremblednervouslyandwokeup.

theroomwasdark.hewaslyingonthebedandwrappedupintheblanketasbefore.thewindwashowlingunderthewindow.“howdisgusting,”hethoughtwithannoyance.

hegotupandsatontheedgeofthebedsteadwithhisbacktothewindow.“it’sbetternottosleepatall,”hedecided.therewasacolddampdraughtfromthewindow,however;withoutgettinguphedrewtheblanketoverhimandwrappedhimselfinit.hewasnotthinkingofanythinganddidnotwanttothink.butoneimageroseafteranother,incoherentscrapsofthoughtwithoutbeginningorendpassedthroughhismind.hesankintodrowsiness.perhapsthecold,orthedampness,orthedark,orthewindthathowledunderthewindowandtossedthetreesrousedasortofpersistentcravingforthefantastic.hekeptdwellingonimagesofflowers,hefanciedacharmingflowergarden,abright,warm,almosthotday,aholiday—trinityday.afine,sumptuouscountrycottageintheenglishtasteovergrownwithfragrantflowers,withflowerbedsgoingroundthehouse;theporch,wreathedinclimbers,wassurroundedwithbedsofroses.alight,coolstaircase,carpetedwithrichrugs,wasdecoratedwithrareplantsinchinapots.henoticedparticularlyinthewindowsnosegaysoftender,white,heavilyfragrantnarcissusbendingovertheirbright,green,thicklongstalks.hewasreluctanttomoveawayfromthem,buthewentupthestairsandcameintoalarge,highdrawing-roomandagaineverywhere—atthewindows,thedoorsontothebalcony,andonthebalconyitself—wereflowers.thefloorswerestrewnwithfreshly-cutfragranthay,thewindowswereopen,afresh,cool,lightaircameintotheroom.thebirdswerechirrupingunderthewindow,andinthemiddleoftheroom,onatablecoveredwithawhitesatinshroud,stoodacoffin.thecoffinwascoveredwithwhitesilkandedgedwithathickwhitefrill;wreathsofflowerssurroundeditonallsides.amongtheflowerslayagirlinawhitemuslindress,withherarmscrossedandpressedonherbosom,asthoughcarvedoutofmarble.butherloosefairhairwaswet;therewasawreathofrosesonherhead.thesternandalreadyrigidprofileofherfacelookedasthoughchiselledofmarbletoo,andthesmileonherpalelipswasfullofanimmenseunchildishmiseryandsorrowfulappeal.svidrigailovknewthatgirl;therewasnoholyimage,noburningcandlebesidethecoffin;nosoundofprayers:thegirlhaddrownedherself.shewasonlyfourteen,butherheartwasbroken.andshehaddestroyedherself,crushedbyaninsultthathadappalledandamazedthatchildishsoul,hadsmirchedthatangelpuritywithunmeriteddisgraceandtornfromheralastscreamofdespair,unheededandbrutallydisregarded,onadarknightinthecoldandwetwhilethewindhowled.…

svidrigailovcametohimself,gotupfromthebedandwenttothewindow.hefeltforthelatchandopenedit.thewindlashedfuriouslyintothelittleroomandstunghisfaceandhischest,onlycoveredwithhisshirt,asthoughwithfrost.underthewindowtheremusthavebeensomethinglikeagarden,andapparentlyapleasuregarden.there,too,probablythereweretea-tablesandsinginginthedaytime.nowdropsofrainflewinatthewindowfromthetreesandbushes;itwasdarkasinacellar,sothathecouldonlyjustmakeoutsomedarkblursofobjects.svidrigailov,bendingdownwithelbowsonthewindow-sill,gazedforfiveminutesintothedarkness;theboomofacannon,followedbyasecondone,resoundedinthedarknessofthenight.“ah,thesignal!theriverisoverflowing,”hethought.“bymorningitwillbeswirlingdownthestreetinthelowerparts,floodingthebasementsandcellars.thecellarratswillswimout,andmenwillcurseintherainandwindastheydragtheirrubbishtotheirupperstoreys.whattimeisitnow?”andhehadhardlythoughtitwhen,somewherenear,aclockonthewall,tickingawayhurriedly,struckthree.

“aha!itwillbelightinanhour!whywait?i’llgooutatoncestraighttothepark.i’llchooseagreatbushtheredrenchedwithrain,sothatassoonasone’sshouldertouchesit,millionsofdropsdriponone’shead.”

hemovedawayfromthewindow,shutit,lightedthecandle,putonhiswaistcoat,hisovercoatandhishatandwentout,carryingthecandle,intothepassagetolookfortheedattendantwhowouldbeasleepsomewhereinthemidstofcandle-endsandallsortsofrubbish,topayhimfortheroomandleavethehotel.“it’sthebestminute;icouldn’tchooseabetter.”