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Updated: June 14, 2025
Entreat me, Shatushka, so that I shall consent of myself. Shatushka, Shatushka!" But Shatushka was silent. There was complete silence lasting a minute. Tears slowly trickled down her painted cheeks. She sat forgetting her two hands on Shatov's shoulders, but no longer looking at him. "Ach, what is it to do with me, and it's a sin." Shatov suddenly got up from the bench. "Get up!"
You know the song: 'A new fine house I do not crave, This tiny cell's enough for me; There will I dwell my soul to save And ever pray to God for thee. Ach, Shatushka, Shatushka, my dear, why do you never ask me about anything?" "Why, you won't tell. That's why I don't ask." "I won't tell, I won't tell," she answered quickly. "You may kill me, I won't tell. You may burn me, I won't tell.
And whatever I had to bear I'd never tell, people won't find out!" "There, you see. Every one has something of their own," Shatov said, still more softly, his head drooping lower and lower. "But if you were to ask perhaps I should tell, perhaps I should!" she repeated ecstatically. "Why don't you ask I Ask, ask me nicely, Shatushka, perhaps I shall tell you.
You imagine she remembers how you came in; perhaps she does remember, but no doubt she has changed everything to please herself, and she takes us now for different people from what we are, though she knows I'm 'Shatushka. It doesn't matter my speaking aloud, she soon leaves off listening to people who talk to her, and plunges into dreams. Yes, plunges.
"Are you tired of walking up and down alone in your garret?" she laughed, displaying two rows of magnificent teeth. "I was tired of it, and I wanted to come and see you." Shatov moved a bench up to the table, sat down on it and made me sit beside him. "I'm always glad to have a talk, though you're a funny person, Shatushka, just like a monk.
To my surprise Shatov spoke aloud, just as though she were not in the room. "Good day, Shatushka!" Mile. Lebyadkin said genially. "I've brought you a visitor, Marya Timofyevna," said Shatov. "The visitor is very welcome. I don't know who it is you've brought, I don't seem to remember him."
Do you know, Shatushka, I've had a dream: he came to me again, he beckoned me, called me. 'My little puss, he cried to me, 'little puss, come to me! And I was more delighted at that 'little puss' than anything; he loves me, I thought." "Perhaps he will come in reality," Shatov muttered in an undertone. "No, Shatushka, that's a dream.... He can't come in reality.
And then I used to be quite miserable, suddenly I used to remember, I'm afraid of the dark, Shatushka. And what I wept for most was my baby...." "Why, had you one?" And Shatov, who had been listening attentively all the time, nudged me with his elbow. "Why, of course. A little rosy baby with tiny little nails, and my only grief is I can't remember whether it was a boy or a girl.
She even parted it on one side; drew back a little, looked to see whether it was right and put the comb back in her pocket. "Do you know what, Shatushka?" She shook her head. "You may be a very sensible man but you're dull. It's strange for me to look at all of you. I don't understand how it is people are dull. Sadness is not dullness. I'm happy." "And are you happy when your brother's here?"
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