The Little Demon Fyodor Sologub (large ebook reader .TXT) 📖

On the day of the masked ball Sasha felt that he would not have the courage to go. It was terrible. There was only one thing, the costume was ready at the Routilovs’⁠—should it all be for nothing? And should all the plans and dreams be in vain? And Liudmillotchka would cry. No, he must go.

His recently acquired habit of dissembling aided Sasha from betraying his agitation before Kokovkina. Luckily, the old woman went to bed early. And Sasha also went to bed early⁠—to keep away suspicion he put his upper clothes on a chair near the door and placed his boots just outside the door.

There was nothing for him to do now but to go⁠—which was the most difficult part of the matter. He had only to follow the same path as when he went to have his costume fitted. Sasha put on a light summer blouse⁠—it hung in the wardrobe in his room⁠—and light house shoes and he carefully crept out of the window into the street, choosing a moment when there were no footsteps or voices in hearing. A small drizzle was falling. It was muddy, cold and dark. Every moment Sasha was afraid he would be recognised. He took off his cap and shoes, threw them back into his room, turned up his trousers, and ran, jumping over the pavements, slippery with rain. It was difficult to see a face in the dark, especially of someone running, and whoever met him would think he was an ordinary boy sent on an errand.

Valeria and Liudmilla had made for themselves unoriginal but artistic costumes; Liudmilla dressed herself as a gipsy, Valeria as a Spanish woman. Liudmilla wore bright red rags of silk and velvet, while the thin, frail Valeria wore black silk and lace, and had a black lace fan in her hand. Darya did not make herself a new costume, she kept last year’s, that of a Turkish woman. She said:

“It isn’t worth while making a new one!”

When Sasha arrived all three girls began to dress him. The wig worried Sasha most of all.

“Suppose it should come off?” he kept repeating timorously.

At last they strengthened the wig with ribbons tied under the chin.

The masked ball took place at the Club House in the Market Square⁠—a two-storied building of stone, painted bright red, resembling a barracks. It was arranged by Gromov-Chistopolsky, the actor-manager of the local theatre. The entrance, which was covered in by a calico canopy, was lighted by lamps. The crowd standing in the street criticised the arrivals, for the most part unfavourably, the more so since in the streets the costumes were almost hidden under outside wraps; the crowd judged chiefly by guesswork. The policemen zealously kept order in the street, while in the hall itself the Commissioner of Police and a police-inspector were present as guests.

Every guest received on entering two cards, one pink, for the best woman’s costume; one green, for the man’s, which were to be handed to the chosen persons. Some asked:

“And can we keep them for ourselves?”

At the beginning the attendant at the ticket-office asked in astonishment:

“Why for yourselves?”

“But suppose we think our own costumes the best?” was the reply.

Later the attendant ceased to be astonished at these questions, and being a young man with a sense of humour, said ironically:

“Help yourself! Keep both if you like.”

It was dirtyish in the hall, and from the very beginning a number of the crowd were tipsy. In the close rooms, with their smoke-begrimed walls and ceilings, burned crooked lustres; they seemed huge, heavy and stifling. The faded curtains at the doors looked such that one hesitated to brush against them. Here and there knots of people gathered, exclamations and laughter were heard⁠—this was caused by certain costumes which attracted general attention.

The notary Goudayevsky went as an American Indian. He had cock’s feathers in his hair, a copper-red mask with absurd green designs on it, a leather jacket, a check plaid over his shoulder, and high leather boots with green tassels. He waved his arms, jumped about, and walked like an athlete, jerking up his naked knees exaggeratedly. His wife was dressed as an ear of corn. She had on a costume of brightly coloured green and yellow patches; ears of corn stuck out from her on every side. They caught everyone she passed and pricked them. She was jostled and pinched as she went along. She said angrily:

“I’ll scratch you!”

Everyone near laughed. Some one asked:

“Where did she get so many corn stalks?”

“She laid in a store last summer,” was the answer. “She stole some every day from the fields!”

Several moustacheless officials, who were in love with Goudayevskaya, and who had therefore been told by her how she would be dressed, accompanied her. They collected cards for her⁠—rudely and almost by force. They simply took them away from some who were not very bold. There were other masked women who were zealously collecting cards through their cavaliers. Others looked greedily at the cards which had not yet been given up, and asked for them. These received impertinent answers. One dejected woman, dressed as Night⁠—in a blue costume with a glass star and a paper moon on her forehead⁠—said timidly to Mourin:

“Do give me your card.”

Mourin replied rudely:

“What d’you mean? Give you my card? I don’t like your mug!”

Night muttered something angrily and walked away. She only wanted two or three cards to show at home, to prove that she had received some. Modest desires often go unsatisfied.

The schoolmistress, Skobotchkina, dressed herself as a she-bear, that is, she simply threw a bearskin cross her shoulders and put on a bear’s head as a helmet over the usual half-mask. This was generally speaking shapeless, but it suited her stout figure and stentorian voice. The bear walked with heavy footsteps, and bellowed so loudly that the lights in the lustres trembled. Many people liked the bear, and she received quite a number