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diff --git a/6902-h/6902-h.htm b/6902-h/6902-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..adee673 --- /dev/null +++ b/6902-h/6902-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8742 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + On the eve, by Ivan Turgenev + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of On the eve, by Ivan Turgenev + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: On the eve + +Author: Ivan Turgenev + +Commentator: Edward Garnett + +Translator: Constance Garnett + +Release Date: April 22, 2009 [EBook #6902] +[Last Updated: July 03, 2022] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON THE EVE *** + + + + +Produced by Eric Eldred, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + ON THE EVE + </h1> + <h3> + A Novel + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Ivan Turgenev + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + Translated from the Russian By Constance Garnett + </h3> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h4> + [With an introduction by Edward Garnett] + </h4> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + London: William Heinemann 1895 + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS IN THE BOOK </a><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> XX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> XXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> XXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> XXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> XXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> XXV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> XXVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> XXVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> XXVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> XXIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> XXX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> XXXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> XXXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> XXXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> XXXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> XXXV </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION + </h2> + <p> + This exquisite novel, first published in 1859, like so many great works of + art, holds depths of meaning which at first sight lie veiled under the + simplicity and harmony of the technique. To the English reader <i>On the + Eve</i> is a charmingly drawn picture of a quiet Russian household, with a + delicate analysis of a young girl’s soul; but to Russians it is also a + deep and penetrating diagnosis of the destinies of the Russia of the + fifties. + </p> + <p> + Elena, the Russian girl, is the central figure of the novel. In comparing + her with Turgenev’s other women, the reader will remark that he is allowed + to come into closer spiritual contact with her than even with Lisa. The + successful portraits of women drawn by men in fiction are generally + figures for the imagination to play on; however much that is told to one + about them, the secret springs of their character are left a little + obscure, but when Elena stands before us we know all the innermost secrets + of her character. Her strength of will, her serious, courageous, proud + soul, her capacity for passion, all the play of her delicate idealistic + nature troubled by the contradictions, aspirations, and unhappiness that + the dawn of love brings to her, all this is conveyed to us by the simplest + and the most consummate art. The diary (chapter xvi.) that Elena keeps is + in itself a masterly revelation of a young girl’s heart; it has never been + equalled by any other novelist. How exquisitely Turgenev reveals his + characters may be seen by an examination of the parts Shubin the artist, + and Bersenyev the student, play towards Elena. Both young men are in love + with her, and the description of their after relations as friends, and the + feelings of Elena towards them, and her own self-communings are interwoven + with unfaltering skill. All the most complex and baffling shades of the + mental life, which in the hands of many latter-day novelists build up + characters far too thin and too unconvincing, in the hands of Turgenev are + used with deftness and certainty to bring to light that great kingdom + which is always lying hidden beneath the surface, beneath the common-place + of daily life. In the difficult art of literary perspective, in the + effective grouping of contrasts in character and the criss-cross of the + influence of the different individuals, lies the secret of Turgenev’s + supremacy. As an example the reader may note how he is made to judge Elena + through six pairs of eyes. Her father’s contempt for his daughter, her + mother’s affectionate bewilderment, Shubin’s petulant criticism, + Bersenyev’s half hearted enthralment, Insarov’s recognition, and Zoya’s + indifference, being the facets for converging light on Elena’s sincerity + and depth of soul. Again one may note Turgenev’s method for rehabilitating + Shubin in our eyes; Shubin is simply made to criticise Stahov; the thing + is done in a few seemingly careless lines, but these lines lay bare + Shubin’s strength and weakness, the fluidity of his nature. The reader who + does not see the art which underlies almost every line of <i>On the Eve</i> + is merely paying the highest tribute to that art; as often the clear + waters of a pool conceal its surprising depth. Taking Shubin’s character + as an example of creative skill, we cannot call to mind any instance in + the range of European fiction where the typical artist mind, on its + lighter sides, has been analysed with such delicacy and truth as here by + Turgenev. Hawthorne and others have treated it, but the colour seems to + fade from their artist characters when a comparison is made between them + and Shubin. And yet Turgenev’s is but a sketch of an artist, compared + with, let us say, the admirable figure of Roderick Hudson. The + irresponsibility, alertness, the whimsicality and mobility of Shubin + combine to charm and irritate the reader in the exact proportion that such + a character affects him in actual life; there is not the least touch of + exaggeration, and all the values are kept to a marvel. Looking at the + minor characters, perhaps one may say that the husband, Stahov, will be + the most suggestive, and not the least familiar character, to English + households. His essentially masculine meanness, his self-complacency, his + unconscious indifference to the opinion of others, his absurdity as ‘un + père de famille’ is balanced by the foolish affection and jealousy + which his wife, Anna Vassilyevna, cannot help feeling towards him. The + perfect balance and duality of Turgenev’s outlook is here shown by the + equal cleverness with which he seizes on and quietly derides the typical + masculine and typical feminine attitude in such a married life as the two + Stahovs’. + </p> + <p> + Turning to the figure of the Bulgarian hero, it is interesting to find + from the <i>Souvenirs sur Tourguénev</i> (published in 1887) that + Turgenev’s only distinct failure of importance in character drawing, + Insarov, was not taken from life, but was the legacy of a friend + Karateieff, who implored Turgenev to work out an unfinished conception. + Insarov is a figure of wood. He is so cleverly constructed, and the + central idea behind him is so strong, that his wooden joints move + naturally, and the spectator has only the instinct, not the certainty, of + being cheated. The idea he incarnates, that of a man whose soul is aflame + with patriotism, is finely suggested, but an idea, even a great one, does + not make an individuality. And in fact Insarov is not a man, he is an + automaton. To compare Shubin’s utterances with his is to perceive that + there is no spontaneity, no inevitability in Insarov. He is a patriotic + clock wound up to go for the occasion, and in truth he is very useful. + Only on his deathbed, when the unexpected happens, and the machinery runs + down, do we feel moved. Then, he appears more striking dead than alive—a + rather damning testimony to the power Turgenev credits him with. This + artistic failure of Turgenev’s is, as he no doubt recognised, curiously + lessened by the fact that young girls of Elena’s lofty idealistic type are + particularly impressed by certain stiff types of men of action and great + will-power, whose capacity for moving straight towards a certain goal by + no means implies corresponding brain-power. The insight of a Shubin and + the moral worth of a Bersenyev are not so valuable to the Elenas of this + world, whose ardent desire to be made good use of, and to seek some great + end, is best developed by strength of aim in the men they love. + </p> + <p> + And now to see what the novel before us means to the Russian mind, we must + turn to the infinitely suggestive background. Turgenev’s genius was of the + same force in politics as in art; it was that of seeing aright. He saw his + country as it was, with clearer eyes than any man before or since. If + Tolstoi is a purer native expression of Russia’s force, Turgenev is the + personification of Russian aspiration working with the instruments of wide + cosmopolitan culture. As a critic of his countrymen nothing escaped + Turgenev’s eye, as a politician he foretold nearly all that actually came + to pass in his life, and as a consummate artist, led first and foremost by + his love for his art, his novels are undying historical pictures. It is + not that there is anything allegorical in his novels—allegory is at + the furthest pole from his method: it is that whenever he created an + important figure in fiction, that figure is necessarily a revelation of + the secrets of the fatherland, the soil, the race. Turgenev, in short, was + a psychologist not merely of men, but of nations; and so the chief figure + of <i>On the Eve</i>, Elena, foreshadows and stands for the rise of young + Russia in the sixties. Elena is young Russia, and to whom does she turn in + her prayer for strength? Not to Bersenyev, the philosopher, the dreamer; + not to Shubin, the man carried outside himself by every passing + distraction; but to the strong man, Insarov. And here the irony of Insarov + being made a foreigner, a Bulgarian, is significant of Turgenev’s distrust + of his country’s weakness. The hidden meaning of the novel is a cry to the + coming men to unite their strength against the foe without and the foe + within the gates; it is an appeal to them not only to hasten the death of + the old regime of Nicolas I, but an appeal to them to conquer their + sluggishness, their weakness, and their apathy. It is a cry for Men. + Turgenev sought in vain in life for a type of man to satisfy Russia, and + ended by taking no living model for his hero, but the hearsay Insarov, a + foreigner. Russia has not yet produced men of this type. But the artist + does not despair of the future. Here we come upon one of the most striking + figures of Turgenev—that of Uvar Ivanovitch. He symbolises the + ever-predominant type of Russian, the sleepy, slothful Slav of to-day, + yesterday, and to-morrow. He is the Slav whose inherent force Europe is as + ignorant of as he is himself. Though he speaks only twenty sentences in + the book he is a creation of Tolstoian force. His very words are dark and + of practically no significance. There lies the irony of the portrait. The + last words of the novel, the most biting surely that Turgenev ever wrote, + contain the whole essence of <i>On the Eve</i>. On the Eve of What? one + asks. Time has given contradictory answers to the men of all parties. The + Elenas of to-day need not turn their eyes abroad to find their counterpart + in spirit; so far at least the pessimists are refuted: but the note of + death that Turgenev strikes in his marvellous chapter on Venice has still + for young Russia an ominous echo—so many generations have arisen + eager, only to be flung aside helpless, that one asks, what of the + generation that fronts Autocracy to-day? + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you remember I asked you, “Will there ever be men among us?” and you + answered, “there will be. O primaeval force!” And now from here in “my + poetic distance”, I will ask you again, “What do you say, Uvar Ivanovitch, + will there be?”’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Uvar Ivanovitch flourished his fingers, and fixed his enigmatical stare + into the far distance.’ + </p> + <p> + This creation of an universal national type, out of the flesh and blood of + a fat taciturn country gentleman, brings us to see that Turgenev was not + merely an artist, but that he was a poet using fiction as his medium. To + this end it is instructive to compare Jane Austen, perhaps the greatest + English exponent of the domestic novel, with the Russian master, and to + note that, while as a novelist she emerges favourably from the comparison, + she is absolutely wanting in his poetic insight. How petty and parochial + appears her outlook in <i>Emma</i>, compared to the wide and unflinching + gaze of Turgenev. She painted most admirably the English types she knew, + and how well she knew them! but she failed to correlate them with the + national life; and yet, while her men and women were acting and thinking, + Trafalgar and Waterloo were being fought and won. But each of Turgenev’s + novels in some subtle way suggests that the people he introduces are + playing their little part in a great national drama everywhere around us, + invisible, yet audible through the clamour of voices near us. And so <i>On + the Eve</i>, the work of a poet, has certain deep notes, which break + through the harmonious tenor of the whole, and strangely and swiftly + transfigure the quiet story, troubling us with a dawning consciousness of + the march of mighty events. Suddenly a strange sense steals upon the + reader that he is living in a perilous atmosphere, filling his heart with + foreboding, and enveloping at length the characters themselves, all + unconsciously awaiting disaster in the sunny woods and gardens of + Kuntsovo. But not till the last chapters are reached does the English + reader perceive that in recreating for him the mental atmosphere of a + single educated Russian household, Turgenev has been casting before his + eyes the faint shadow of the national drama which was indeed played, + though left unfinished, on the Balkan battlefields of 1876-7. Briefly, + Turgenev, in sketching the dawn of love in a young girl’s soul, has + managed faintly, but unmistakably, to make spring and flourish in our + minds the ineradicable, though hidden, idea at the back of Slav thought—the + unification of the Slav races. How doubly welcome that art should be which + can lead us, the foreigners, thus straight to the heart of the national + secrets of a great people, secrets which our own critics and diplomatists + must necessarily misrepresent. Each of Turgenev’s novels may be said to + contain a light-bringing rejoinder to the old-fashioned criticism of the + Muscovite, current up to the rise of the Russian novel, and still, + unfortunately, lingering among us; but <i>On the Eve</i>, of all the + novels, contains perhaps the most instructive political lesson England can + learn. Europe has always had, and most assuredly England has been + over-rich in those alarm-monger critics, watchdogs for ever baying at Slav + cupidity, treachery, intrigue, and so on and so on. It is useful to have + these well-meaning animals on the political premises, giving noisy tongue + whenever the Slav stretches out his long arm and opens his drowsy eyes, + but how rare it is to find a man who can teach us to interpret a nation’s + aspirations, to gauge its inner force, its aim, its inevitability. + Turgenev gives us such clues. In the respectful, if slightly forced, + silence that has been imposed by certain recent political events on the + tribe of faithful watchdogs, it may be permitted to one to say, that + whatever England’s interest may be in relation to Russia’s development, it + is better for us to understand the force of Russian aims, before we + measure our strength against it. And a novel, such as <i>On the Eve</i>, though + now nearly forty years old, and to the short-sighted out of date, reveals + in a flash the attitude of the Slav towards his political destiny. His + aspirations may have to slumber through policy or necessity; they may be + distorted or misrepresented, or led astray by official action, but we + confess that for us, <i>On the Eve</i> suggests the existence of a mighty + lake, whose waters, dammed back for a while, are rising slowly, but are + still some way from the brim. How long will it take to the overflow? + Nobody knows; but when the long winter of Russia’s dark internal policy + shall be broken up, will the snows, melting on the mountains, stream + south-west, inundating the Valley of the Danube? Or, as the national poet, + Pushkin, has sung, will there be a pouring of many Slavonian rivulets into + the Russian sea, a powerful attraction of the Slav races towards a common + centre to create an era of peace and development within, whereby Russia + may rise free and rejoicing to face her great destinies? Hard and bitter + is the shaping of nations. Uvar Ivanovitch still fixes his enigmatical + stare into the far distance. + </p> + <p> + EDWARD GARNETT + </p> + <p> + January 1895. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + THE NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS IN THE BOOK + </h2> + <p> + NIKOLÁI [Nicolas] ARTÉMYEVITCH STÁHOV. + </p> + <p> + ÁNNA VASSÍLYEVNA. + </p> + <p> + ELÉNA [LÉNOTCHKA, Hélène] NIKOLÁEVNA. + </p> + <p> + ZÓYA [Zoë] NIKÍTISHNA MÜLLER. + </p> + <p> + ANDRÉI PETRÓVITCH BERSÉNYEV. + </p> + <p> + PÁVEL [Paul] YÁKOVLITCH (or YÁKOVITCH) SHÚBIN. + </p> + <p> + DMÍTRI NIKANÓROVITCH (or NIKANÓRITCH) INSÁROV. + </p> + <p> + YEGÓR ANDRÉITCH KURNATÓVSKY. + </p> + <p> + UVÁR IVÁNOVITCH STÁHOV. + </p> + <p> + AUGUSTÍNA CHRISTIÁNOVNA. + </p> + <p> + ÁNNUSHKA. + </p> + <pre> + + In transcribing the Russian names into English— + + a has the sound of a in father. + e a in pane. + i ee. + u oo. + y is always consonantal except when it is the last letter of the word. + g is always hard. + + </pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + On one of the hottest days of the summer of 1853, in the shade of a tall + lime-tree on the bank of the river Moskva, not far from Kuntsovo, two + young men were lying on the grass. One, who looked about twenty-three, + tall and swarthy, with a sharp and rather crooked nose, a high forehead, + and a restrained smile on his wide mouth, was lying on his back and gazing + meditatively into the distance, his small grey eyes half closed. The other + was lying on his chest, his curly, fair head propped on his two hands; he, + too, was looking away into the distance. He was three years older than his + companion, but seemed much younger. His moustache was only just growing, + and his chin was covered with a light curly down. There was something + childishly pretty, something attractively delicate, in the small features + of his fresh round face, in his soft brown eyes, lovely pouting lips, and + little white hands. Everything about him was suggestive of the happy + light-heartedness of perfect health and youth—the carelessness, + conceit, self-indulgence, and charm of youth. He used his eyes, and smiled + and leaned his head as boys do who know that people look at them + admiringly. He wore a loose white coat, made like a blouse, a blue + kerchief wrapped his slender throat, and a battered straw hat had been + flung on the grass beside him. + </p> + <p> + His companion seemed elderly in comparison with him; and no one would have + supposed, from his angular figure, that he too was happy and enjoying + himself. He lay in an awkward attitude; his large head—wide at the + crown and narrower at the base—hung awkwardly on his long neck; + awkwardness was expressed in the very pose of his hands, of his body, + tightly clothed in a short black coat, and of his long legs with their + knees raised, like the hind-legs of a grasshopper. For all that, it was + impossible not to recognise that he was a man of good education; the whole + of his clumsy person bore the stamp of good-breeding; and his face, plain + and even a little ridiculous as it was, showed a kindly nature and a + thoughtful habit. His name was Andrei Petrovitch Bersenyev; his companion, + the fair-haired young man, was called Pavel Yakovlitch Shubin. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why don’t you lie on your face, like me?’ began Shubin. ‘It’s ever so + much nicer so; especially when you kick up your heels and clap them + together—like this. You have the grass under your nose; when you’re + sick of staring at the landscape you can watch a fat beetle crawling on a + blade of grass, or an ant fussing about. It’s really much nicer. But + you’ve taken up a pseudo-classical pose, for all the world like a + ballet-dancer, when she reclines upon a rock of paste-board. You should + remember you have a perfect right to take a rest now. It’s no joking + matter to come out third! Take your ease, sir; give up all exertion, and + rest your weary limbs!’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin delivered this speech through his nose in a half-lazy, half-joking + voice (spoilt children speak so to friends of the house who bring them + sweetmeats), and without waiting for an answer he went on: + </p> + <p> + ‘What strikes me most forcibly in the ants and beetles and other worthy + insects is their astounding seriousness. They run to and fro with such a + solemn air, as though their life were something of such importance! A man + the lord of creation, the highest being, stares at them, if you please, + and they pay no attention to him. Why, a gnat will even settle on the lord + of creation’s nose, and make use of him for food. It’s most offensive. + And, on the other hand, how is their life inferior to ours? And why + shouldn’t they take themselves seriously, if we are to be allowed to take + ourselves seriously? There now, philosopher, solve that problem for me! + Why don’t you speak? Eh?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What?’ said Bersenyev, starting. + </p> + <p> + ‘What!’ repeated Shubin. ‘Your friend lays his deepest thoughts before + you, and you don’t listen to him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I was admiring the view. Look how hot and bright those fields are in the + sun.’ Bersenyev spoke with a slight lisp. + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s some fine colour laid on there,’ observed Shubin. ‘Nature’s a + good hand at it, that’s the fact!’ + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev shook his head. + </p> + <p> + ‘You ought to be even more ecstatic over it than I. It’s in your line: + you’re an artist.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No; it’s not in my line,’ rejoined Shubin, putting his hat on the back of + his head. ‘Flesh is my line; my work’s with flesh—modelling flesh, + shoulders, legs, and arms, and here there’s no form, no finish; it’s all + over the place.... Catch it if you can.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But there is beauty here, too,’ remarked Bersenyev.—‘By the way, + have you finished your bas-relief?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Which one?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The boy with the goat.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Hang it! Hang it! Hang it!’ cried Shubin, drawling—‘I looked at the + genuine old things, the antiques, and I smashed my rubbish to pieces. You + point to nature, and say “there’s beauty here, too.” Of course, there’s + beauty in everything, even in your nose there’s beauty; but you can’t try + after all kinds of beauty. The ancients, they didn’t try after it; beauty + came down of itself upon their creations from somewhere or other—from + heaven, I suppose. The whole world belonged to them; it’s not for us to be + so large in our reach; our arms are short. We drop our hook into one + little pool, and keep watch over it. If we get a bite, so much the better, + if not——’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin put out his tongue. + </p> + <p> + ‘Stop, stop,’ said Bensenyev, ‘that’s a paradox. If you have no sympathy + for beauty, if you do not love beauty wherever you meet it, it will not + come to you even in your art. If a beautiful view, if beautiful music does + not touch your heart; I mean, if you are not sympathetic——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, you are a confirmed sympathetic!’ broke in Shubin, laughing at the + new title he had coined, while Bersenyev sank into thought. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, my dear fellow,’ Shubin went on, ‘you’re a clever person, a + philosopher, third graduate of the Moscow University; it’s dreadful + arguing with you, especially for an ignoramus like me, but I tell you + what; besides my art, the only beauty I love is in women... in girls, and + even that’s recently.’ + </p> + <p> + He turned over on to his back and clasped his hands behind his head. + </p> + <p> + A few instants passed by in silence. The hush of the noonday heat lay upon + the drowsy, blazing fields. + </p> + <p> + ‘Speaking of women,’ Shubin began again, ‘how is it no one looks after + Stahov? Did you see him in Moscow?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The old fellow’s gone clean off his head. He sits for whole days together + at his Augustina Christianovna’s, he’s bored to death, but still he sits + there. They gaze at one another so stupidly.... It’s positively disgusting + to see them. Man’s a strange animal. A man with such a home; but no, he + must have his Augustina Christianovna! I don’t know anything more + repulsive than her face, just like a duck’s! The other day I modelled a + caricature of her in the style of Dantan. It wasn’t half bad. I will show + it you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And Elena Nikolaevna’s bust?’ inquired Bersenyev, ‘is it getting on?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, my dear boy, it’s not getting on. That face is enough to drive one to + despair. The lines are pure, severe, correct; one would think there would + be no difficulty in catching a likeness. It’s not as easy as one would + think though. It’s like a treasure in a fairy-tale—you can’t get + hold of it. Have you ever noticed how she listens? There’s not a single + feature different, but the whole expression of the eyes is constantly + changing, and with that the whole face changes. What is a sculptor—and + a poor one too—to do with such a face? She’s a wonderful creature—a + strange creature,’ he added after a brief pause. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes; she is a wonderful girl,’ Bersenyev repeated after him. + </p> + <p> + ‘And she the daughter of Nikolai Artemyevitch Stahov! And after that + people talk about blood, about stock! The amusing part of it is that she + really is his daughter, like him, as well as like her mother, Anna + Vassilyevna. I respect Anna Vassilyevna from the depths of my heart, she’s + been awfully good to me; but she’s no better than a hen. Where did Elena + get that soul of hers? Who kindled that fire in her? There’s another + problem for you, philosopher!’ + </p> + <p> + But as before, the ‘philosopher’ made no reply. Bersenyev did not in + general err on the side of talkativeness, and when he did speak, he + expressed himself awkwardly, with hesitation, and unnecessary + gesticulation. And at this time a kind of special stillness had fallen on + his soul, a stillness akin to lassitude and melancholy. He had not long + come from town after prolonged hard work, which had absorbed him for many + hours every day. The inactivity, the softness and purity of the air, the + consciousness of having attained his object, the whimsical and careless + talk of his friend, and the image—so suddenly called up—of one + dear to him, all these impressions different—yet at the same time in + a way akin—were mingled in him into a single vague emotion, which at + once soothed and excited him, and robbed him of his power. He was a very + highly strung young man. + </p> + <p> + It was cool and peaceful under the lime-tree; the flies and bees seemed to + hum more softly as they flitted within its circle of shade. The fresh fine + grass, of purest emerald green, without a tinge of gold, did not quiver, + the tall flower stalks stood motionless, as though enchanted. On the lower + twigs of the lime-tree the little bunches of yellow flowers hung still as + death. At every breath a sweet fragrance made its way to the very depths + of the lungs, and eagerly the lungs inhaled it. Beyond the river in the + distance, right up to the horizon, all was bright and glowing. At times a + slight breeze passed over, breaking up the landscape and intensifying the + brightness; a sunlit vapour hung over the fields. No sound came from the + birds; they do not sing in the heat of noonday; but the grasshoppers were + chirping everywhere, and it was pleasant as they sat in the cool and + quietness, to hear that hot, eager sound of life; it disposed to slumber + and inclined the heart to reveries. + </p> + <p> + ‘Have you noticed,’ began Bersenyev, eking out his words with + gesticulations, ‘what a strange feeling nature produces in us? Everything + in nature is so complete, so defined, I mean to say, so content with + itself, and we understand that and admire it, and at the same time, in me + at least, it always excites a kind of restlessness, a kind of uneasiness, + even melancholy. What is the meaning of it? Is it that in the face of + nature we are more vividly conscious of all our incompleteness, our + indefiniteness, or have we little of that content with which nature is + satisfied, but something else—I mean to say, what we need, nature + has not?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘H’m,’ replied Shubin, ‘I’ll tell you, Andrei Petrovitch, what all that + comes from. You describe the sensations of a solitary man, who is not + living but only looking on in ecstasy. Why look on? Live, yourself, and + you will be all right. However much you knock at nature’s door, she will + never answer you in comprehensible words, because she is dumb. She will + utter a musical sound, or a moan, like a harp string, but don’t expect a + song from her. A living heart, now—that will give you your answer—especially + a woman’s heart. So, my dear fellow, I advise you to get yourself some one + to share your heart, and all your distressing sensations will vanish at + once. “That’s what we need,” as you say. This agitation, and melancholy, + all that, you know, is simply a hunger of a kind. Give the stomach some + real food, and everything will be right directly. Take your place in the + landscape, live in the body, my dear boy. And after all, what is nature? + what’s the use of it? Only hear the word, love—what an intense, + glowing sound it has! Nature—what a cold, pedantic expression. And + so’ (Shubin began humming), ‘my greetings to Marya Petrovna! or rather,’ + he added, ‘not Marya Petrovna, but it’s all the same! <i>Voo me compreny</i>.’ + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev got up and stood with his chin leaning on his clasped hands. + ‘What is there to laugh at?’ he said, without looking at his companion, + ‘why should you scoff? Yes, you are right: love is a grand word, a grand + feeling.... But what sort of love do you mean?’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin too, got up. ‘What sort? What you like, so long as it’s there. I + will confess to you that I don’t believe in the existence of different + kinds of love. If you are in love——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘With your whole heart,’ put in Bersenyev. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, of course, that’s an understood thing; the heart’s not an apple; + you can’t divide it. If you’re in love, you’re justified. And I wasn’t + thinking of scoffing. My heart’s as soft at this moment as if it had been + melted.... I only wanted to explain why nature has the effect on us you + spoke of. It’s because she arouses in us a need for love, and is not + capable of satisfying it. Nature is gently driving us to other living + embraces, but we don’t understand, and expect something from nature + herself. Ah, Andrei, Andrei, this sun, this sky is beautiful, everything + around us is beautiful, still you are sad; but if, at this instant, you + were holding the hand of a woman you loved, if that hand and the whole + woman were yours, if you were even seeing with her eyes, feeling not your + own isolated emotion, but her emotion—nature would not make you + melancholy or restless then, and you would not be observing nature’s + beauty; nature herself would be full of joy and praise; she would be + re-echoing your hymn, because then you would have given her—dumb + nature—speech!’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin leaped on to his feet and walked twice up and down, but Bersenyev + bent his head, and his face was overcast by a faint flush. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t altogether agree with you,’ he began: ‘nature does not always + urge us... towards love.’ (He could not at once pronounce the word.) + ‘Nature threatens us, too; she reminds us of dreadful... yes, insoluble + mysteries. Is she not destined to swallow us up, is she not swallowing us + up unceasingly? She holds life and death as well; and death speaks in her + as loudly as life.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘In love, too, there is both life and death,’ interposed Shubin. + </p> + <p> + ‘And then,’ Bersenyev went on: ‘when I, for example, stand in the spring + in the forest, in a green glade, when I can fancy the romantic notes of + Oberon’s fairy horn’ (Bersenyev was a little ashamed when he had spoken + these words)—‘is that, too——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The thirst for love, the thirst for happiness, nothing more!’ broke in + Shubin. ‘I, too, know those notes, I know the languor and the expectation + which come upon the soul in the forest’s shade, in its deep recesses, or + at evening in the open fields when the sun sets and the river mist rises + behind the bushes. But forest, and river, and fields, and sky, every cloud + and every blade of grass sets me expecting, hoping for happiness, I feel + the approach, I hear the voice of happiness calling in everything. “God of + my worship, bright and gay!” That was how I tried to begin my sole poem; + you must own it’s a splendid first line, but I could never produce a + second. Happiness! happiness! as long as life is not over, as long as we + have the use of all our limbs, as long as we are going up, not down, hill! + Damn it all!’ pursued Shubin with sudden vehemence, ‘we are young, and + neither fools nor monsters; we will conquer happiness for ourselves!’ + </p> + <p> + He shook his curls, and turned a confident almost challenging glance + upwards to the sky. Bersenyev raised his eyes and looked at him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Is there nothing higher than happiness?’ he commented softly. + </p> + <p> + ‘And what, for instance?’ asked Shubin, stopping short. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, for instance, you and I are, as you say, young; we are good men, let + us suppose; each of us desires happiness for himself.... But is that word, + happiness, one that could unite us, set us both on fire, and make us clasp + each other’s hands? Isn’t that word an egoistic one; I mean, isn’t it a + source of disunion?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you know words, then, that unite men?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes; and they are not few in number; and you know them, too.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Eh? What words?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, even Art—since you are an artist—Country, Science, + Freedom, Justice.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And what of love?’ asked Shubin. + </p> + <p> + ‘Love, too, is a word that unites; but not the love you are eager for now; + the love which is not enjoyment, the love which is self-sacrifice.’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin frowned. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s all very well for Germans; I want to love for myself; I want to be + first.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘To be first,’ repeated Bersenyev. ‘But it seems to me that to put + one’s-self in the second place is the whole significance of our life.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If all men were to act as you advise,’ commented Shubin with a plaintive + expression, ‘none on earth would eat pine-apples; every one would be + offering them to other people.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s as much as to say, pine-apples are not necessary; but you need not + be alarmed; there will always be plenty of people who like them enough to + take the bread out of other men’s mouths to get them.’ + </p> + <p> + Both friends were silent a little. + </p> + <p> + ‘I met Insarov again the other day,’ began Bersenyev. ‘I invited him to + stay with me; I really must introduce him to you—and to the + Stahovs.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Who is Insarov? Ah, to be sure, isn’t it that Servian or Bulgarian you + were telling me about? The patriot? Now isn’t it he who’s at the bottom of + all these philosophical ideas?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Perhaps.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Is he an exceptional individual?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Clever? Talented?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Clever—talented—I don’t know, I don’t think so.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not? Then, what is there remarkable in him?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You shall see. But now I think it’s time to be going. Anna Vassilyevna + will be waiting for us, very likely. What’s the time?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Three o’clock. Let us go. How baking it is! This conversation has set all + my blood aflame. There was a moment when you, too, ... I am not an artist + for nothing; I observe everything. Confess, you are interested in a + woman?’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin tried to get a look at Bersenyev’s face, but he turned away and + walked out of the lime-tree’s shade. Shubin went after him, moving his + little feet with easy grace. Bersenyev walked clumsily, with his shoulders + high and his neck craned forward. Yet, he looked a man of finer breeding + than Shubin; more of a gentleman, one might say, if that word had not been + so vulgarised among us. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + The young men went down to the river Moskva and walked along its bank. + There was a breath of freshness from the water, and the soft plash of tiny + waves caressed the ear. + </p> + <p> + ‘I would have another bathe,’ said Shubin, ‘only I’m afraid of being late. + Look at the river; it seems to beckon us. The ancient Greeks would have + beheld a nymph in it. But we are not Greeks, O nymph! we are thick-skinned + Scythians.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We have <i>roussalkas</i>,’ observed Bersenyev. + </p> + <p> + ‘Get along with your <i>roussalkas!</i> What’s the use to me—a + sculptor—of those children of a cold, terror-stricken fancy, those + shapes begotten in the stifling hut, in the dark of winter nights? I want + light, space.... Good God, when shall I go to Italy? When——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘To Little Russia, I suppose you mean?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘For shame, Andrei Petrovitch, to reproach me for an act of unpremeditated + folly, which I have repented bitterly enough without that. Oh, of course, + I behaved like a fool; Anna Vassilyevna most kindly gave me the money for + an expedition to Italy, and I went off to the Little Russians to eat + dumplings and——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t let me have the rest, please,’ interposed Bersenyev. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yet still, I will say, the money was not spent in vain. I saw there such + types, especially of women.... Of course, I know; there is no salvation to + be found outside of Italy!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You will go to Italy,’ said Bersenyev, without turning towards him, ‘and + will do nothing. You will always be pluming your wings and never take + flight. We know you!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Stavasser has taken flight.... And he’s not the only one. If I don’t fly, + it will prove that I’m a sea penguin, and have no wings. I am stifled + here, I want to be in Italy,’ pursued Shubin, ‘there is sunshine, there is + beauty.’ + </p> + <p> + A young girl in a large straw hat, with a pink parasol on her shoulder, + came into sight at that instant, in the little path along which the + friends were walking. + </p> + <p> + ‘But what do I see? Even here, there is beauty—coming to meet us! A + humble artist’s compliments to the enchanting Zoya!’ Shubin cried at once, + with a theatrical flourish of his hat. + </p> + <p> + The young girl to whom this exclamation referred, stopped, threatening him + with her finger, and, waiting for the two friends to come up to her, she + said in a ringing voice: + </p> + <p> + ‘Why is it, gentlemen, you don’t come in to dinner? It is on the table.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What do I hear?’ said Shubin, throwing his arms up. ‘Can it be that you, + bewitching Zoya, faced such heat to come and look for us? Dare I think + that is the meaning of your words? Tell me, can it be so? Or no, do not + utter that word; I shall die of regret on the spot.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, do leave off, Pavel Yakovlitch,’ replied the young girl with some + annoyance. ‘Why will you never talk to me seriously? I shall be angry,’ + she added with a little coquettish grimace, and she pouted. + </p> + <p> + ‘You will not be angry with me, ideal Zoya Nikitishna; you would not drive + me to the dark depths of hopeless despair. And I can’t talk to you + seriously, because I’m not a serious person.’ + </p> + <p> + The young girl shrugged her shoulders, and turned to Bersenyev. + </p> + <p> + ‘There, he’s always like that; he treats me like a child; and I am + eighteen. I am grown-up now.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O Lord!’ groaned Shubin, rolling his eyes upwards; and Bersenyev smiled + quietly. + </p> + <p> + The girl stamped with her little foot. + </p> + <p> + ‘Pavel Yakovlitch, I shall be angry! <i>Hélène</i> was coming with me,’ + she went on, ‘but she stopped in the garden. The heat frightened her, but + I am not afraid of the heat. Come along.’ + </p> + <p> + She moved forward along the path, slightly swaying her slender figure at + each step, and with a pretty black-mittened little hand pushing her long + soft curls back from her face. + </p> + <p> + The friends walked after her (Shubin first pressed his hands, without + speaking, to his heart, and then flung them higher than his head), and in + a few instants they came out in front of one of the numerous country + villas with which Kuntsovo is surrounded. A small wooden house with a + gable, painted a pink colour, stood in the middle of the garden, and + seemed to be peeping out innocently from behind the green trees. Zoya was + the first to open the gate; she ran into the garden, crying: ‘I have + brought the wanderers!’ A young girl, with a pale and expressive face, + rose from a garden bench near the little path, and in the doorway of the + house appeared a lady in a lilac silk dress, holding an embroidered + cambric handkerchief over her head to screen it from the sun, and smiling + with a weary and listless air. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + Anna Vassilyevna Stahov—her maiden name was Shubin—had been + left, at seven years old, an orphan and heiress of a pretty considerable + property. She had very rich and also very poor relations; the poor + relations were on her father’s, the rich on her mother’s side; the latter + including the senator Volgin and the Princes Tchikurasov. Prince Ardalion + Tchikurasov, who had been appointed her guardian, placed her in the best + Moscow boarding-school, and when she left school, took her into his own + home. He kept open house, and gave balls in the winter. Anna Vassilyevna’s + future husband, Nikolai Artemyevitch Stahov, captured her heart at one of + these balls when she was arrayed in a charming rose-coloured gown, with a + wreath of tiny roses. She had treasured that wreath all her life. Nikolai + Artemyevitch Stahov was the son of a retired captain, who had been wounded + in 1812, and had received a lucrative post in Petersburg. Nikolai + Artemyevitch entered the School of Cadets at sixteen, and left to go into + the Guards. He was a handsome, well-made fellow, and reckoned almost the + most dashing beau at evening parties of the middling sort, which were + those he frequented for the most part; he had not gained a footing in the + best society. From his youth he had been absorbed by two ideals: to get + into the Imperial adjutants, and to make a good marriage; the first ideal + he soon discarded, but he clung all the more closely to the second, and it + was with that object that he went every winter to Moscow. Nikolai + Artemyevitch spoke French fairly, and passed for being a philosopher, + because he was not a rake. Even while he was no more than an ensign, he + was given to discussing, persistently, such questions as whether it is + possible for a man to visit the whole of the globe in the course of his + whole lifetime, whether it is possible for a man to know what is happening + at the bottom of the sea; and he always maintained the view that these + things were impossible. + </p> + <p> + Nikolai Artemyevitch was twenty-five years old when he ‘hooked’ Anna + Vassilyevna; he retired from the service and went into the country to + manage the property. He was soon tired of country life, and as the + peasants’ labour was all commuted for rent he could easily leave the + estate; he settled in Moscow in his wife’s house. In his youth he had + played no games of any kind, but now he developed a passion for loto, and, + when loto was prohibited, for whist. At home he was bored; he formed a + connection with a widow of German extraction, and spent almost all his + time with her. In the year 1853 he had not moved to Kuntsovo; he stopped + at Moscow, ostensibly to take advantage of the mineral waters; in reality, + he did not want to part from his widow. He did not, however, have much + conversation with her, but argued more than ever as to whether one can + foretell the weather and such questions. Some one had once called him a <i>frondeur</i>; + he was greatly delighted with that name. ‘Yes,’ he thought, letting the + corners of his mouth drop complacently and shaking his head, ‘I am not + easily satisfied; you won’t take me in.’ Nikolai Artemyevitch’s <i>frondeurism</i> + consisted in saying, for instance, when he heard the word nerves: ‘And + what do you mean by nerves?’ or if some one alluded in his presence to the + discoveries of astronomy, asking: ‘And do you believe in astronomy?’ When + he wanted to overwhelm his opponent completely, he said: ‘All that is + nothing but words.’ It must be admitted that to many persons remarks of + that kind seemed (and still seem) irrefutable arguments. But Nikolai + Artemyevitch never suspected that Augustina Christianovna, in letters to + her cousin, Theodolina Peterzelius, called him <i>Mein Pinselchen</i>. + </p> + <p> + Nikolai Artemyevitch’s wife, Anna Vassilyevna, was a thin, little woman + with delicate features, and a tendency to be emotional and melancholy. At + school, she had devoted herself to music and reading novels; afterwards + she abandoned all that. She began to be absorbed in dress, and that, too, + she gave up. She did, for a time, undertake her daughter’s education, but + she got tired of that too, and handed her over to a governess. She ended + by spending her whole time in sentimental brooding and tender melancholy. + The birth of Elena Nikolaevna had ruined her health, and she could never + have another child. Nikolai Artemyevitch used to hint at this fact in + justification of his intimacy with Augustina Christianovna. Her husband’s + infidelity wounded Anna Vassilyevna deeply; she had been specially hurt by + his once giving his German woman, on the sly, a pair of grey horses out of + her (Anna Vassilyevna’s) own stable. She had never reproached him to his + face, but she complained of him secretly to every one in the house in + turn, even to her daughter. Anna Vassilyevna did not care for going out, + she liked visitors to come and sit with her and talk to her; she collapsed + at once when she was left alone. She had a very tender and loving heart; + life had soon crushed her. + </p> + <p> + Pavel Yakovlitch Shubin happened to be a distant cousin of hers. His + father had been a government official in Moscow. His brothers had entered + cadets’ corps; he was the youngest, his mother’s darling, and of delicate + constitution; he stopped at home. They intended him for the university, + and strained every effort to keep him at the gymnasium. From his early + years he began to show an inclination for sculpture. The ponderous + senator, Volgin, saw a statuette of his one day at his aunt’s—he was + then sixteen—and declared that he intended to protect this youthful + genius. The sudden death of Shubin’s father very nearly effected a + complete transformation in the young man’s future. The senator, the patron + of genius, made him a present of a bust of Homer in plaster, and did + nothing more. But Anna Vassilyevna helped him with money, and at nineteen + he scraped through into the university in the faculty of medicine. Pavel + felt no inclination for medical science, but, as the university was then + constituted, it was impossible for him to enter in any other faculty. + Besides, he looked forward to studying anatomy. But he did not complete + his anatomical studies; at the end of the first year, and before the + examination, he left the university to devote himself exclusively to his + vocation. He worked zealously, but by fits and starts; he used to stroll + about the country round Moscow sketching and modelling portraits of + peasant girls, and striking up acquaintance with all sorts of people, + young and old, of high and low degree, Italian models and Russian artists. + He would not hear of the Academy, and recognised no one as a teacher. He + was possessed of unmistakeable talent; it began to be talked about in + Moscow. His mother, who came of a good Parisian family, a kind-hearted and + clever woman, had taught him French thoroughly and had toiled and thought + for him day and night. She was proud of him, and when, while still young + in years, she died of consumption, she entreated Anna Vassilyevna to take + him under her care. He was at that time twenty-one. Anna Vassilyevna + carried out her last wish; a small room in the lodge of the country villa + was given up to him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + ‘Come to dinner, come along,’ said the lady of the house in a plaintive + voice, and they all went into the dining-room. ‘Sit beside me, <i>Zoé</i>,’ + added Anna Vassilyevna, ‘and you, <i>Hélène</i>, take our guest; and you, <i>Paul</i>, + please don’t be naughty and tease <i>Zoé</i>. My head aches to-day.’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin again turned his eyes up to the ceiling; Zoé responded with a + half-smile. This Zoé, or, to speak more precisely, Zoya Nikitishna + Mueller, was a pretty, fair-haired, half-Russian German girl, with a + little nose rather wide at the end, and tiny red lips. She sang Russian + ballads fairly well and could play various pieces, both lively and + sentimental, very correctly on the piano. She dressed with taste, but in a + rather childish style, and even over-precisely. Anna Vassilyevna had taken + her as a companion for her daughter, and she kept her almost constantly at + her side. Elena did not complain of that; she was absolutely at a loss + what to say to Zoya when she happened to be left alone with her. + </p> + <p> + The dinner lasted rather a long time; Bersenyev talked with Elena about + university life, and his own plans and hopes; Shubin listened without + speaking, ate with an exaggerated show of greediness, and now and then + threw comic glances of despair at Zoya, who responded always with the same + phlegmatic smile. After dinner, Elena with Bersenyev and Shubin went into + the garden; Zoya looked after them, and, with a slight shrug of her + shoulders, sat down to the piano. Anna Vassilyevna began: ‘Why don’t you + go for a walk, too?’ but, without waiting for a reply, she added: ‘Play me + something melancholy.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘<i>La dernière pensée de Weber</i>?’ suggested Zoya. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, yes, Weber,’ replied Anna Vassilyevna. She sank into an easy chair, + and the tears started on to her eyelashes. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, Elena led the two friends to an arbour of acacias, with a + little wooden table in the middle, and seats round. Shubin looked round, + and, whispering ‘Wait a minute!’ he ran off, skipping and hopping to his + own room, brought back a piece of clay, and began modelling a bust of + Zoya, shaking his head and muttering and laughing to himself. + </p> + <p> + ‘At his old tricks again,’ observed Elena, glancing at his work. She + turned to Bersenyev, with whom she was continuing the conversation begun + at dinner. + </p> + <p> + ‘My old tricks!’ repeated Shubin. ‘It’s a subject that’s simply + inexhaustible! To-day, particularly, she drove me out of all patience.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why so?’ inquired Elena. ‘One would think you were speaking of some + spiteful, disagreeable old woman. She is a pretty young girl.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course,’ Shubin broke in, ‘she is pretty, very pretty; I am sure that + no one who meets her could fail to think: that’s some one I should like to—dance + a polka with; I’m sure, too, that she knows that, and is pleased.... Else, + what’s the meaning of those modest simpers, that discreet air? There, you + know what I mean,’ he muttered between his teeth. ‘But now you’re absorbed + in something else.’ + </p> + <p> + And breaking up the bust of Zoya, Shubin set hastily to modelling and + kneading the clay again with an air of vexation. + </p> + <p> + ‘So it is your wish to be a professor?’ said Elena to Bersenyev. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ he answered, squeezing his red hands between his knees. ‘That’s my + cherished dream. Of course I know very well how far I fall short of being—to + be worthy of such a high—I mean that I am too little prepared, but I + hope to get permission for a course of travel abroad; I shall pass three + or four years in that way, if necessary, and then——’ + </p> + <p> + He stopped, dropped his eyes, then quickly raising them again, he gave an + embarrassed smile and smoothed his hair. When Bersenyev was talking to a + woman, his words came out more slowly, and he lisped more than ever. + </p> + <p> + ‘You want to be a professor of history?’ inquired Elena. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, or of philosophy,’ he added, in a lower voice—‘if that is + possible.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He’s a perfect devil at philosophy already,’ observed Shubin, making deep + lines in the clay with his nail. ‘What does he want to go abroad for?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And will you be perfectly contented with such a position?’ asked Elena, + leaning on her elbow and looking him straight in the face. + </p> + <p> + ‘Perfectly, Elena Nikolaevna, perfectly. What could be a finer vocation? + To follow, perhaps, in the steps of Timofay Nikolaevitch ... The very + thought of such work fills me with delight and confusion ... yes, + confusion... which comes from a sense of my own deficiency. My dear father + consecrated me to this work... I shall never forget his last words.’... + </p> + <p> + ‘Your father died last winter?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, Elena Nikolaevna, in February.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They say,’ Elena went on, ‘that he left a remarkable work in manuscript; + is it true?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes. He was a wonderful man. You would have loved him, Elena Nikolaevna.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am sure I should. And what was the subject of the work?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘To give you an idea of the subject of the work in few words, Elena + Nikolaevna, would be somewhat difficult. My father was a learned man, a + Schellingist; he used terms which were not always very clear——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Andrei Petrovitch,’ interrupted Elena, ‘excuse my ignorance, what does + that mean, a Schellingist?’ + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev smiled slightly. + </p> + <p> + ‘A Schellingist means a follower of Schelling, a German philosopher; and + what the philosophy of Schelling consists in——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Andrei Petrovitch!’ cried Shubin suddenly, ‘for mercy’s sake! Surely you + don’t mean to give Elena Nikolaevna a lecture on Schelling? Have pity on + her!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not a lecture at all,’ murmured Bersenyev, turning crimson. ‘I meant——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And why not a lecture?’ put in Elena. ‘You and I are in need of lectures, + Pavel Yakovlitch.’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin stared at her, and suddenly burst out laughing. + </p> + <p> + ‘What are you laughing at?’ she said coldly, and almost sharply. + </p> + <p> + Shubin did not answer. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come, don’t be angry,’ he said, after a short pause. ‘I am sorry. But + really it’s a strange taste, upon my word, to discuss philosophy in + weather like this under these trees. Let us rather talk of nightingales + and roses, youthful eyes and smiles.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes; and of French novels, and of feminine frills and fal-lals,’ Elena + went on. + </p> + <p> + ‘Fal-lals, too, of course,’ rejoined Shubin, ‘if they’re pretty.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course. But suppose we don’t want to talk of frills? You are always + boasting of being a free artist; why do you encroach on the freedom of + others? And allow me to inquire, if that’s your bent of mind, why do you + attack Zoya? With her it would be peculiarly suitable to talk of frills + and roses?’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin suddenly fired up, and rose from the garden seat. ‘So that’s it?’ + he began in a nervous voice. ‘I understand your hint; you want to send me + away to her, Elena Nikolaevna. In other words, I’m not wanted here.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I never thought of sending you away from here.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you mean to say,’ Shubin continued passionately, ‘that I am not worthy + of other society, that I am her equal; that I am as vain, and silly and + petty as that mawkish German girl? Is that it?’ + </p> + <p> + Elena frowned. ‘You did not always speak like that of her, Pavel + Yakovlitch,’ she remarked. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah! reproaches! reproaches now!’ cried Shubin. ‘Well, then I don’t deny + there was a moment—one moment precisely, when those fresh, vulgar + cheeks of hers... But if I wanted to repay you with reproaches and remind + you... Good-bye,’ he added suddenly, ‘I feel I shall say something silly.’ + </p> + <p> + And with a blow on the clay moulded into the shape of a head, he ran out + of the arbour and went off to his room. + </p> + <p> + ‘What a baby,’ said Elena, looking after him. + </p> + <p> + ‘He’s an artist,’ observed Bersenyev with a quiet smile. ‘All artists are + like that. One must forgive them their caprices. That is their privilege.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ replied Elena; ‘but Pavel has not so far justified his claim to + that privilege in any way. What has he done so far? Give me your arm, and + let us go along the avenue. He was in our way. We were talking of your + father’s works.’ + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev took Elena’s arm in his, and walked beside her through the + garden; but the conversation prematurely broken off was not renewed. + Bersenyev began again unfolding his views on the vocation of a professor, + and on his own future career. He walked slowly beside Elena, moving + awkwardly, awkwardly holding her arm, sometimes jostling his shoulder + against her, and not once looking at her; but his talk flowed more easily, + even if not perfectly freely; he spoke simply and genuinely, and his eyes, + as they strayed slowly over the trunks of the trees, the sand of the path + and the grass, were bright with the quiet ardour of generous emotions, + while in his soothed voice there was heard the delight of a man who feels + that he is succeeding in expressing himself to one very dear to him. Elena + listened to him very attentively, and turning half towards him, did not + take her eyes off his face, which had grown a little paler—off his + eyes, which were soft and affectionate, though they avoided meeting her + eyes. Her soul expanded; and something tender, holy, and good seemed half + sinking into her heart, half springing up within it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + Shubin did not leave his room before night. It was already quite dark; the + moon—not yet at the full—stood high in the sky, the milky way + shone white, and the stars spotted the heavens, when Bersenyev, after + taking leave of Anna Vassilyevna, Elena, and Zoya, went up to his friend’s + door. He found it locked. He knocked. + </p> + <p> + ‘Who is there?’ sounded Shubin’s voice. + </p> + <p> + ‘I,’ answered Bersenyev. + </p> + <p> + ‘What do you want?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let me in, Pavel; don’t be sulky; aren’t you ashamed of yourself?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am not sulky; I’m asleep and dreaming about Zoya.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do stop that, please; you’re not a baby. Let me in. I want to talk to + you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Haven’t you had talk enough with Elena?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Come, come; let me in!’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin responded by a pretended snore. + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev shrugged his shoulders and turned homewards. + </p> + <p> + The night was warm and seemed strangely still, as though everything were + listening and expectant; and Bersenyev, enfolded in the still darkness, + stopped involuntarily; and he, too, listened expectant. On the tree-tops + near there was a faint stir, like the rustle of a woman’s dress, awaking + in him a feeling half-sweet, half-painful, a feeling almost of fright. He + felt a tingling in his cheeks, his eyes were chill with momentary tears; + he would have liked to move quite noiselessly, to steal along in secret. A + cross gust of wind blew suddenly on him; he almost shuddered, and his + heart stood still; a drowsy beetle fell off a twig and dropped with a thud + on the path; Bersenyev uttered a subdued ‘Ah!’ and again stopped. But he + began to think of Elena, and all these passing sensations vanished at + once; there remained only the reviving sense of the night freshness, of + the walk by night; his whole soul was absorbed by the image of the young + girl. Bersenyev walked with bent head, recalling her words, her questions. + He fancied he heard the tramp of quick steps behind. He listened: some one + was running, some one was overtaking him; he heard panting, and suddenly + from a black circle of shadow cast by a huge tree Shubin sprang out before + him, quite pale in the light of the moon, with no cap on his disordered + curls. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am glad you came along this path,’ he said with an effort. ‘I should + not have slept all night, if I had not overtaken you. Give me your hand. + Are you going home?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I will see you home then.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But why have you come without a cap on?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That doesn’t matter. I took off my neckerchief too. It is quite warm.’ + </p> + <p> + The friends walked a few paces. + </p> + <p> + ‘I was very stupid to-day, wasn’t I?’ Shubin asked suddenly. + </p> + <p> + ‘To speak frankly, you were. I couldn’t make you out. I have never seen + you like that before. And what were you angry about really? Such trifles!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘H’m,’ muttered Shubin. ‘That’s how you put it; but they were not trifles + to me. You see,’ he went on, ‘I ought to point out to you that I—that—you + may think what you please of me—I—well there! I’m in love with + Elena.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You in love with Elena!’ repeated Bersenyev, standing still. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ pursued Shubin with affected carelessness. ‘Does that astonish you? + I will tell you something else. Till this evening I still had hopes that + she might come to love me in time. But to-day I have seen for certain that + there is no hope for me. She is in love with some one else.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Some one else? Whom?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Whom? You!’ cried Shubin, slapping Bersenyev on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + ‘Me!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You,’ repeated Shubin. + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev stepped back a pace, and stood motionless. Shubin looked + intently at him. + </p> + <p> + ‘And does that astonish you? You are a modest youth. But she loves you. + You can make your mind easy on that score.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What nonsense you talk!’ Bersenyev protested at last with an air of + vexation. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, it’s not nonsense. But why are we standing still? Let us go on. It’s + easier to talk as we walk. I have known her a long while, and I know her + well. I cannot be mistaken. You are a man after her own heart. There was a + time when she found me agreeable; but, in the first place, I am too + frivolous a young man for her, while you are a serious person, you are a + morally and physically well-regulated person, you—hush, I have not + finished, you are a conscientiously disposed enthusiast, a genuine type of + those devotees of science, of whom—no not of whom—whereof the + middle class of Russian gentry are so justly proud! And, secondly, Elena + caught me the other day kissing Zoya’s arms!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Zoya’s?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, Zoya’s. What would you have? She has such fine shoulders.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Shoulders?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well there, shoulders and arms, isn’t it all the same? Elena caught me in + this unconstrained proceeding after dinner, and before dinner I had been + abusing Zoya in her hearing. Elena unfortunately doesn’t understand how + natural such contradictions are. Then you came on the scene, you have + faith in—what the deuce is it you have faith in?... You blush and + look confused, you discuss Schiller and Schelling (she’s always on the + look-out for remarkable men), and so you have won the day, and I, poor + wretch, try to joke—and all the while——’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin suddenly burst into tears, turned away, and dropping upon the + ground clutched at his hair. + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev went up to him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Pavel,’ he began, ‘what childishness this is! Really! what’s the matter + with you to-day? God knows what nonsense you have got into your head, and + you are crying. Upon my word, I believe you must be putting it on.’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin lifted up his head. The tears shone bright on his cheeks in the + moonlight, but there was a smile on his face. + </p> + <p> + ‘Andrei Petrovitch,’ he said, ‘you may think what you please about me. I + am even ready to agree with you that I’m hysterical now, but, by God, I’m + in love with Elena, and Elena loves you. I promised, though, to see you + home, and I will keep my promise.’ + </p> + <p> + He got up. + </p> + <p> + ‘What a night! silvery, dark, youthful! How sweet it must be to-night for + men who are loved! How sweet for them not to sleep! Will you sleep, Andrei + Petrovitch?’ + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev made no answer, and quickened his pace. + </p> + <p> + ‘Where are you hurrying to?’ Shubin went on. ‘Trust my words, a night like + this will never come again in your life, and at home, Schelling will keep. + It’s true he did you good service to-day; but you need not hurry for all + that. Sing, if you can sing, sing louder than ever; if you can’t sing, + take off your hat, throw up your head, and smile to the stars. They are + all looking at you, at you alone; the stars never do anything but look + down upon lovers—that’s why they are so charming. You are in love, I + suppose, Andrei Petrovitch?... You don’t answer me... why don’t you + answer?’ Shubin began again: ‘Oh, if you feel happy, be quiet, be quiet! I + chatter because I am a poor devil, unloved, I am a jester, an artist, a + buffoon; but what unutterable ecstasy would I quaff in the night wind + under the stars, if I knew that I were loved!... Bersenyev, are you + happy?’ + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev was silent as before, and walked quickly along the smooth path. + In front, between the trees, glimmered the lights of the little village in + which he was staying; it consisted of about a dozen small villas for + summer visitors. At the very beginning of the village, to the right of the + road, a little shop stood under two spreading birch-trees; its windows + were all closed already, but a wide patch of light fell fan-shaped from + the open door upon the trodden grass, and was cast upwards on the trees, + showing up sharply the whitish undersides of the thick growing leaves. A + girl, who looked like a maid-servant, was standing in the shop with her + back against the doorpost, bargaining with the shopkeeper; from beneath + the red kerchief which she had wrapped round her head, and held with bare + hand under her chin, could just be seen her round cheek and slender + throat. The young men stepped into the patch of light; Shubin looked into + the shop, stopped short, and cried ‘Annushka!’ The girl turned round + quickly. They saw a nice-looking, rather broad but fresh face, with merry + brown eyes and black eyebrows. ‘Annushka!’ repeated Shubin. The girl saw + him, looked scared and shamefaced, and without finishing her purchases, + she hurried down the steps, slipped quickly past, and, hardly looking + round, went along the road to the left. The shopkeeper, a puffy man, + unmoved by anything in the world, like all country shopkeepers gasped and + gaped after her, while Shubin turned to Bersenyev with the words: + ‘That’s... you see... there’s a family here I know... so at their house... + you mustn’t imagine’ ... and, without finishing his speech, he ran after + the retreating girl. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’d better at least wipe your tears away,’ Bersenyev shouted after him, + and he could not refrain from laughing. But when he got home, his face had + not a mirthful expression; he laughed no longer. He had not for a single + instant believed what Shubin had told him, but the words he had uttered + had sunk deep into his soul. + </p> + <p> + ‘Pavel was making a fool of me,’ he thought; ‘... but she will love one + day... whom will she love?’ + </p> + <p> + In Bersenyev’s room there was a piano, small, and by no means new, but of + a soft and sweet tone, though not perfectly in tune. Bersenyev sat down to + it, and began to strike some chords. Like all Russians of good birth, he + had studied music in his childhood, and like almost all Russian gentlemen, + he played very badly; but he loved music passionately. Strictly speaking, + he did not love the art, the forms in which music is expressed (symphonies + and sonatas, even operas wearied him), but he loved the poetry of music: + he loved those vague and sweet, shapeless, and all-embracing emotions + which are stirred in the soul by the combinations and successions of + sounds. For more than an hour, he did not move from the piano, repeating + many times the same chords, awkwardly picking out new ones, pausing and + melting over the minor sevenths. His heart ached, and his eyes more than + once filled with tears. He was not ashamed of them; he let them flow in + the darkness. ‘Pavel was right,’ he thought, ‘I feel it; this evening will + not come again.’ At last he got up, lighted a candle, put on his + dressing-gown, took down from the bookshelf the second volume of Raumer’s + <i>History of the Hohenstaufen</i>, and sighing twice, he set to work + diligently to read it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + Meanwhile, Elena had gone to her room, and sat down at the open window, + her head resting on her hands. To spend about a quarter of an hour every + evening at her bedroom window had become a habit with her. At this time + she held converse with herself, and passed in review the preceding day. + She had not long reached her twentieth year. She was tall, and had a pale + and dark face, large grey eyes under arching brows, covered with tiny + freckles, a perfectly regular forehead and nose, tightly compressed lips, + and a rather sharp chin. Her hair, of a chestnut shade, fell low on her + slender neck. In her whole personality, in the expression of her face, + intent and a little timorous, in her clear but changing glance, in her + smile, which was, as it were, intense, in her soft and uneven voice, there + was something nervous, electric, something impulsive and hurried, + something, in fact, which could never be attractive to every one, which + even repelled some. + </p> + <p> + Her hands were slender and rosy, with long fingers; her feet were slender; + she walked swiftly, almost impetuously, her figure bent a little forward. + She had grown up very strangely; first she idolised her father, then she + became passionately devoted to her mother, and had grown cold to both of + them, especially to her father. Of late years she had behaved to her + mother as to a sick grandmother; while her father, who had been proud of + her while she had been regarded as an exceptional child, had come to be + afraid of her when she was grown up, and said of her that she was a sort + of enthusiastic republican—no one could say where she got it from. + Weakness revolted her, stupidity made her angry, and deceit she could + never, never pardon. She was exacting beyond all bounds, even her prayers + had more than once been mingled with reproaches. When once a person had + lost her respect—and she passed judgment quickly, often too quickly—he + ceased to exist for her. All impressions cut deeply into her heart; life + was bitter earnest for her. + </p> + <p> + The governess to whom Anna Vassilyevna had entrusted the finishing of her + daughter’s education—an education, we may remark in parenthesis, + which had not even been begun by the languid lady—was a Russian, the + daughter of a ruined official, educated at a government boarding school, a + very emotional, soft-hearted, and deceitful creature; she was for ever + falling in love, and ended in her fiftieth year (when Elena was seventeen) + by marrying an officer of some sort, who deserted her without loss of + time. This governess was very fond of literature, and wrote verses + herself; she inspired Elena with a love of reading, but reading alone did + not satisfy the girl; from childhood she thirsted for action, for active + well-doing—the poor, the hungry, and the sick absorbed her thoughts, + tormented her, and made her heart heavy; she used to dream of them, and to + ply all her friends with questions about them; she gave alms carefully, + with unconscious solemnity, almost with a thrill of emotion. All ill-used + creatures, starved dogs, cats condemned to death, sparrows fallen out of + the nest, even insects and reptiles found a champion and protector in + Elena; she fed them herself, and felt no repugnance for them. Her mother + did not interfere with her; but her father used to be very indignant with + his daughter, for her—as he called it—vulgar soft-heartedness, + and declared there was not room to move for the cats and dogs in the + house. ‘Lenotchka,’ he would shout to her, ‘come quickly, here’s a spider + eating a fly; come and save the poor wretch!’ And Lenotchka, all + excitement, would run up, set the fly free, and disentangle its legs. + ‘Well, now let it bite you a little, since you are so kind,’ her father + would say ironically; but she did not hear him. At ten years old Elena + made friends with a little beggar-girl, Katya, and used to go secretly to + meet her in the garden, took her nice things to eat, and presented her + with handkerchiefs and pennies; playthings Katya would not take. She would + sit beside her on the dry earth among the bushes behind a thick growth of + nettles; with a feeling of delicious humility she ate her stale bread and + listened to her stories. Katya had an aunt, an ill-natured old woman, who + often beat her; Katya hated her, and was always talking of how she would + run away from her aunt and live in ‘<i>God’s full freedom</i>’; with + secret respect and awe Elena drank in these new unknown words, stared + intently at Katya and everything about her—her quick black, almost + animal eyes, her sun-burnt hands, her hoarse voice, even her ragged + clothes—seemed to Elena at such times something particular and + distinguished, almost holy. Elena went back home, and for long after + dreamed of beggars and God’s freedom; she would dream over plans of how + she would cut herself a hazel stick, and put on a wallet and run away with + Katya; how she would wander about the roads in a wreath of corn-flowers; + she had seen Katya one day in just such a wreath. If, at such times, any + one of her family came into the room, she would shun them and look shy. + One day she ran out in the rain to meet Katya, and made her frock muddy; + her father saw her, and called her a slut and a peasant-wench. She grew + hot all over, and there was something of terror and rapture in her heart. + Katya often sang some half-brutal soldier’s song. Elena learnt this song + from her.... Anna Vassilyevna overheard her singing it, and was very + indignant. + </p> + <p> + ‘Where did you pick up such horrors?’ she asked her daughter. + </p> + <p> + Elena only looked at her mother, and would not say a word; she felt that + she would let them tear her to pieces sooner than betray her secret, and + again there was a terror and sweetness in her heart. Her friendship with + Katya, however, did not last long; the poor little girl fell sick of + fever, and in a few days she was dead. + </p> + <p> + Elena was greatly distressed, and spent sleepless nights for long after + she heard of Katya’s death. The last words of the little beggar-girl were + constantly ringing in her ears, and she fancied that she was being + called.... + </p> + <p> + The years passed and passed; swiftly and noiselessly, like waters running + under the snow, Elena’s youth glided by, outwardly uneventful, inwardly in + conflict and emotion. She had no friend; she did not get on with any one + of all the girls who visited the Stahovs’ house. Her parents’ authority + had never weighed heavily on Elena, and from her sixteenth year she became + absolutely independent; she began to live a life of her own, but it was a + life of solitude. Her soul glowed, and the fire died away again in + solitude; she struggled like a bird in a cage, and cage there was none; no + one oppressed her, no one restrained her, while she was torn, and fretted + within. Sometimes she did not understand herself, was even frightened of + herself. Everything that surrounded her seemed to her half-senseless, + half-incomprehensible. ‘How live without love? and there’s no one to + love!’ she thought; and she felt terror again at these thoughts, these + sensations. At eighteen, she nearly died of malignant fever; her whole + constitution—naturally healthy and vigorous—was seriously + affected, and it was long before it could perfectly recover; the last + traces of the illness disappeared at last, but Elena Nikolaevna’s father + was never tired of talking with some spitefulness of her ‘nerves.’ + Sometimes she fancied that she wanted something which no one wanted, of + which no one in all Russia dreamed. Then she would grow calmer, and even + laugh at herself, and pass day after day unconcernedly; but suddenly some + over-mastering, nameless force would surge up within her, and seem to + clamour for an outlet. The storm passed over, and the wings of her soul + drooped without flight; but these tempests of feeling cost her much. + However she might strive not to betray what was passing within her, the + suffering of the tormented spirit was expressed in her even external + tranquillity, and her parents were often justified in shrugging their + shoulders in astonishment, and failing to understand her ‘queer ways.’ + </p> + <p> + On the day with which our story began, Elena did not leave the window till + later than usual. She thought much of Bersenyev, and of her conversation + with him. She liked him; she believed in the warmth of his feelings, and + the purity of his aims. He had never before talked to her as on that + evening. She recalled the expression of his timid eyes, his smiles—and + she smiled herself and fell to musing, but not of him. She began to look + out into the night from the open window. For a long time she gazed at the + dark, low-hanging sky; then she got up, flung back her hair from her face + with a shake of her head, and, herself not knowing why, she stretched out + to it—to that sky—her bare chilled arms; then she dropped + them, fell on her knees beside her bed, pressed her face into the pillow, + and, in spite of all her efforts not to yield to the passion overwhelming + her, she burst into strange, uncomprehending, burning tears. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <p> + The next day at twelve o’clock, Bersenyev set off in a return coach to + Moscow. He had to get some money from the post-office, to buy some books, + and he wanted to seize the opportunity to see Insarov and have some + conversation with him. The idea had occurred to Bersenyev, in the course + of his last conversation with Shubin, to invite Insarov to stay with him + at his country lodgings. But it was some time before he found him out; + from his former lodging he had moved to another, which it was not easy to + discover; it was in the court at the back of a squalid stone house, built + in the Petersburg style, between Arbaty Road and Povarsky Street. In vain + Bersenyev wandered from one dirty staircase to another, in vain he called + first to a doorkeeper, then to a passer-by. Porters even in Petersburg try + to avoid the eyes of visitors, and in Moscow much more so; no one answered + Bersenyev’s call; only an inquisitive tailor, in his shirt sleeves, with a + skein of grey thread on his shoulder, thrust out from a high casement + window a dirty, dull, unshorn face, with a blackened eye; and a black and + hornless goat, clambering up on to a dung heap, turned round, bleated + plaintively, and went on chewing the cud faster than before. A woman in an + old cloak, and shoes trodden down at heel, took pity at last on Bersenyev + and pointed out Insarov’s lodging to him. Bersenyev found him at home. He + had taken a room with the very tailor who had stared down so indifferently + at the perplexity of a wandering stranger; a large, almost empty room, + with dark green walls, three square windows, a tiny bedstead in one + corner, a little leather sofa in another, and a huge cage hung up to the + very ceiling; in this cage there had once lived a nightingale. Insarov + came to meet Bersenyev directly he crossed the threshold, but he did not + exclaim, ‘Ah, it’s you!’ or ‘Good Heavens, what happy chance has brought + you?’ He did not even say, ‘How do you do?’ but simply pressed his hand + and led him up to the solitary chair in the room. + </p> + <p> + ‘Sit down,’ he said, and he seated himself on the edge of the table. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am, as you see, still in disorder,’ added Insarov, pointing to a pile + of papers and books on the floor, ‘I haven’t got settled in as I ought. I + have not had time yet.’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov spoke Russian perfectly correctly, pronouncing every word fully + and purely; but his guttural though pleasant voice sounded somehow not + Russian. Insarov’s foreign extraction (he was a Bulgarian by birth) was + still more clearly marked in his appearance; he was a young man of + five-and-twenty, spare and sinewy, with a hollow chest and knotted + fingers; he had sharp features, a hooked nose, blue-black hair, a low + forehead, small, intent-looking, deep-set eyes, and bushy eyebrows; when + he smiled, splendid white teeth gleamed for an instant between his thin, + hard, over-defined lips. He was in a rather old but tidy coat, buttoned up + to the throat. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why did you leave your old lodging?’ Bersenyev asked him. + </p> + <p> + ‘This is cheaper, and nearer to the university.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But now it’s vacation.... And what could induce you to stay in the town + in summer! You should have taken a country cottage if you were determined + to move.’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov made no reply to this remark, and offered Bersenyev a pipe, + adding: ‘Excuse me, I have no cigarettes or cigars.’ + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev began smoking the pipe. + </p> + <p> + ‘Here have I,’ he went on, ‘taken a little house near Kuntsovo, very cheap + and very roomy. In fact there is a room to spare upstairs.’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov again made no answer. + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev drew at the pipe: ‘I have even been thinking,’ he began again, + blowing out the smoke in a thin cloud, ‘that if any one could be found—you, + for instance, I thought of—who would care, who would consent to + establish himself there upstairs, how nice it would be! What do you think, + Dmitri Nikanorovitch?’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov turned his little eyes on him. ‘You propose my staying in your + country house?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes; I have a room to spare there upstairs.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Thanks very much, Andrei Petrovitch; but I expect my means would not + allow of it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How do you mean?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My means would not allow of my living in a country house. It’s impossible + for me to keep two lodgings.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But of course I’—Bersenyev was beginning, but he stopped short. + ‘You would have no extra expense in that way,’ he went on. ‘Your lodging + here would remain for you, let us suppose; but then everything there is + very cheap; we could even arrange so as to dine, for instance, together.’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov said nothing. Bersenyev began to feel awkward. + </p> + <p> + ‘You might at least pay me a visit sometime,’ he began, after a short + pause. ‘A few steps from me there’s a family living with whom I want very + much to make you acquainted. If only you knew, Insarov, what a marvellous + girl there is there! There is an intimate friend of mine staying there + too, a man of great talent; I am sure you would get on with him. [The + Russian loves to be hospitable—of his friends if he can offer + nothing else.] Really, you must come. And what would be better still, come + and stay with me, do. We could work and read together.... I am busy, as + you know, with history and philosophy. All that would interest you. I have + a lot of books.’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov got up and walked about the room. ‘Let me know,’ he said, ‘how + much do you pay for your cottage?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘A hundred silver roubles.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And how many rooms are there?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Five.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then one may reckon that one room costs twenty roubles?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, one may reckon so.... But really it’s utterly unnecessary for me. It + simply stands empty.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Perhaps so; but listen,’ added Insarov, with a decided, but at the same + time good-natured movement of his head: ‘I can only take advantage of your + offer if you agree to take the sum we have reckoned. Twenty roubles I am + able to give, the more easily, since, as you say, I shall be economising + there in other things.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course; but really I am ashamed to take it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Otherwise it’s impossible, Andrei Petrovitch.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, as you like; but what an obstinate fellow you are!’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov again made no reply. + </p> + <p> + The young men made arrangements as to the day on which Insarov was to + move. They called the landlord; at first he sent his daughter, a little + girl of seven, with a large striped kerchief on her head; she listened + attentively, almost with awe, to all Insarov said to her, and went away + without speaking; after her, her mother, a woman far gone with child, made + her appearance, also wearing a kerchief on her head, but a very diminutive + one. Insarov informed her that he was going to stay at a cottage near + Kuntsovo, but should keep on his lodging and leave all his things in their + keeping; the tailor’s wife too seemed scared and went away. At last the + man himself came in: he seemed to understand everything from the first, + and only said gloomily: ‘Near Kuntsovo?’ then all at once he opened the + door and shouted: ‘Are you going to keep the lodgings then?’ Insarov + reassured him. ‘Well, one must know,’ repeated the tailor morosely, as he + disappeared. + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev returned home, well content with the success of his proposal. + Insarov escorted him to the door with cordial good manners, not common in + Russia; and, when he was left alone, carefully took off his coat, and set + to work upon sorting his papers. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII + </h2> + <p> + On the evening of the same day, Anna Vassilyevna was sitting in her + drawing-room and was on the verge of weeping. There were also in the room + her husband and a certain Uvar Ivanovitch Stahov, a distant cousin of + Nikolai Artemyevitch, a retired cornet of sixty years old, a man corpulent + to the point of immobility, with sleepy yellowish eyes, and colourless + thick lips in a puffy yellow face. Ever since he had retired, he had lived + in Moscow on the interest of a small capital left him by a wife who came + of a shopkeeper’s family. He did nothing, and it is doubtful whether he + thought of anything; if he did think, he kept his thoughts to himself. + Once only in his life he had been thrown into a state of excitement and + shown signs of animation, and that was when he read in the newspapers of a + new instrument at the Universal Exhibition in London, the + ‘contro-bombardon,’ and became very anxious to order this instrument for + himself, and even made inquiries as to where to send the money and through + what office. Uvar Ivanovitch wore a loose snuff-coloured coat and a white + neckcloth, used to eat often and much, and in moments of great perplexity, + that is to say when it happened to him to express some opinion, he would + flourish the fingers of his right hand meditatively in the air, with a + convulsive spasm from the first finger to the little finger, and back from + the little finger to the first finger, while he articulated with effort, + ‘to be sure... there ought to... in some sort of a way.’ + </p> + <p> + Uvar Ivanovitch was sitting in an easy chair by the window, breathing + heavily; Nikolai Artemyevitch was pacing with long strides up and down the + room, his hands thrust into his pockets; his face expressed + dissatisfaction. + </p> + <p> + He stood still at last and shook his head. ‘Yes;’ he began, ‘in our day + young men were brought up differently. Young men did not permit themselves + to be lacking in respect to their elders. And nowadays, I can only look on + and wonder. Possibly, I am all wrong, and they are quite right; possibly. + But still I have my own views of things; I was not born a fool. What do + you think about it, Uvar Ivanovitch?’ + </p> + <p> + Uvar Ivanovitch could only look at him and work his fingers. + </p> + <p> + ‘Elena Nikolaevna, for instance,’ pursued Nikolai Artemyevitch, ‘Elena + Nikolaevna I don’t pretend to understand. I am not elevated enough for + her. Her heart is so large that it embraces all nature down to the least + spider or frog, everything in fact except her own father. Well, that’s all + very well; I know it, and I don’t trouble myself about it. For that’s + nerves and education and lofty aspirations, and all that is not in my + line. But Mr. Shubin... admitting he’s a wonderful artist—quite + exceptional—that, I don’t dispute; to show want of respect to his + elder, a man to whom, at any rate, one may say he is under great + obligation; that I confess, <i>dans mon gros bon sens</i>, I cannot pass + over. I am not exacting by nature, no, but there is a limit to + everything.’ + </p> + <p> + Anna Vassilyevna rang the bell in a tremor. A little page came in. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why is it Pavel Yakovlitch does not come?’ she said, ‘what does it mean; + I call him, and he doesn’t come?’ + </p> + <p> + Nikolai Artemyevitch shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + ‘And what is the object, may I ask, of your wanting to send for him? I + don’t expect that at all, I don’t wish it even!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s the object, Nikolai Artemyevitch? He has disturbed you; very + likely he has checked the progress of your cure. I want to have an + explanation with him. I want to know how he has dared to annoy you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I tell you again, that I do not ask that. And what can induce you ... <i>devant + les domestiques</i>!’ + </p> + <p> + Anna Vassilyevna flushed a little. ‘You need not say that, Nikolai + Artemyevitch. I never... <i>devant les domestiques</i>... Fedushka, go and + see you bring Pavel Yakovlitch here at once.’ + </p> + <p> + The little page went off. + </p> + <p> + ‘And that’s absolutely unnecessary,’ muttered Nikolai Artemyevitch between + his teeth, and he began again pacing up and down the room. ‘I did not + bring up the subject with that object.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Good Heavens, Paul must apologise to you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Good Heavens, what are his apologies to me? And what do you mean by + apologies? That’s all words.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, he must be corrected.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, you can correct him yourself. He will listen to you sooner than to + me. For my part I bear him no grudge.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, Nikolai Artemyevitch, you’ve not been yourself ever since you + arrived. You have even to my eyes grown thinner lately. I am afraid your + treatment is doing you no good.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The treatment is quite indispensable,’ observed Nikolai Artemyevitch, ‘my + liver is affected.’ + </p> + <p> + At that instant Shubin came in. He looked tired. A slight almost ironical + smile played on his lips. + </p> + <p> + ‘You asked for me, Anna Vassilyevna?’ he observed. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, certainly I asked for you. Really, Paul, this is dreadful. I am very + much displeased with you. How could you be wanting in respect to Nikolai + Artemyevitch?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nikolai Artemyevitch has complained of me to you?’ inquired Shubin, and + with the same smile on his lips he looked at Stahov. The latter turned + away, dropping his eyes. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, he complains of you. I don’t know what you have done amiss, but you + ought to apologise at once, because his health is very much deranged just + now, and indeed we all ought when we are young to treat our benefactors + with respect.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, what logic!’ thought Shubin, and he turned to Stahov. ‘I am ready to + apologise to you, Nikolai Artemyevitch,’ he said with a polite half-bow, + ‘if I have really offended you in any way.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I did not at all... with that idea,’ rejoined Nikolai Artemyevitch, still + as before avoiding Shubin’s eyes. ‘However, I will readily forgive you, + for, as you know, I am not an exacting person.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, that admits of no doubt!’ said Shubin. ‘But allow me to be + inquisitive; is Anna Vassilyevna aware precisely what constituted my + offence?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, I know nothing,’ observed Anna Vassilyevna, craning forward her head + expectantly. + </p> + <p> + ‘O Good Lord!’ exclaimed Nikolai Artemyevitch hurriedly, ‘how often have I + prayed and besought, how often have I said how I hate these scenes and + explanations! When one’s been away an age, and comes home hoping for rest—talk + of the family circle, <i>intérieur</i>, being a family man—and here + one finds scenes and unpleasantnesses. There’s not a minute of peace. + One’s positively driven to the club... or, or elsewhere. A man is alive, + he has a physical side, and it has its claims, but here——’ + </p> + <p> + And without concluding his sentence Nikolai Artemyevitch went quickly out, + slamming the door. + </p> + <p> + Anna Vassilyevna looked after him. ‘To the club!’ she muttered bitterly: + ‘you are not going to the club, profligate? You’ve no one at the club to + give away my horses to—horses from my own stable—and the grey + ones too! My favourite colour. Yes, yes, fickle-hearted man,’ she went on + raising her voice, ‘you are not going to the club, As for you, Paul,’ she + pursued, getting up, ‘I wonder you’re not ashamed. I should have thought + you would not be so childish. And now my head has begun to ache. Where is + Zoya, do you know?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I think she’s upstairs in her room. The wise little fox always hides in + her hole when there’s a storm in the air.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Come, please, please!’ Anna Vassilyevna began searching about her. + ‘Haven’t you seen my little glass of grated horse-radish? Paul, be so good + as not to make me angry for the future.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How make you angry, auntie? Give me your little hand to kiss. Your + horse-radish I saw on the little table in the boudoir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Darya always leaves it about somewhere,’ said Anna Vassilyevna, and she + walked away with a rustle of silk skirts. + </p> + <p> + Shubin was about to follow her, but he stopped on hearing Uvar + Ivanovitch’s drawling voice behind him. + </p> + <p> + ‘I would... have given it you... young puppy,’ the retired cornet brought + out in gasps. + </p> + <p> + Shubin went up to him. ‘And what have I done, then, most venerable Uvar + Ivanovitch?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How! you are young, be respectful. Yes indeed.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Respectful to whom?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘To whom? You know whom. Ay, grin away.’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin crossed his arms on his breast. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, you type of the choice element in drama,’ he exclaimed, ‘you primeval + force of the black earth, cornerstone of the social fabric!’ + </p> + <p> + Uvar Ivanovitch’s fingers began to work. ‘There, there, my boy, don’t + provoke me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Here,’ pursued Shubin, ‘is a gentleman, not young to judge by + appearances, but what blissful, child-like faith is still hidden in him! + Respect! And do you know, you primitive creature, what Nikolai + Artemyevitch was in a rage with me for? Why I spent the whole of this + morning with him at his German woman’s; we were singing the three of us—“Do + not leave me.” You should have heard us—that would have moved you. + We sang and sang, my dear sir—and well, I got bored; I could see + something was wrong, there was an alarming tenderness in the air. And I + began to tease them both. I was very successful. First she was angry with + me, then with him; and then he got angry with her, and told her that he + was never happy except at home, and he had a paradise there; and she told + him he had no morals; and I murmured “Ach!” to her in German. He walked + off and I stayed behind; he came here, to his paradise that’s to say, and + he was soon sick of paradise, so he set to grumbling. Well now, who do you + consider was to blame?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You, of course,’ replied Uvar Ivanovitch. + </p> + <p> + Shubin stared at him. ‘May I venture to ask you, most reverend + knight-errant,’ he began in an obsequious voice, ‘these enigmatical words + you have deigned to utter as the result of some exercise of your + reflecting faculties, or under the influence of a momentary necessity to + start the vibration in the air known as sound?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t tempt me, I tell you,’ groaned Uvar Ivanovitch. + </p> + <p> + Shubin laughed and ran away. ‘Hi,’ shouted Uvar Ivanovitch a quarter of an + hour later, ‘you there... a glass of spirits.’ + </p> + <p> + A little page brought the glass of spirits and some salt fish on a tray. + Uvar Ivanovitch slowly took the glass from the tray and gazed a long while + with intense attention at it, as though he could not quite understand what + it was he had in his hand. Then he looked at the page and asked him, + ‘Wasn’t his name Vaska?’ Then he assumed an air of resignation, drank off + the spirit, munched the herring and was slowly proceeding to get his + handkerchief out of his pocket. But the page had long ago carried off and + put away the tray and the decanter, eaten up the remains of the herring + and had time to go off to sleep, curled up in a great-coat of his + master’s, while Uvar Ivanovitch still continued to hold the handkerchief + before him in his opened fingers, and with the same intense attention + gazed now at the window, now at the floor and walls. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX + </h2> + <p> + Shubin went back to his room in the lodge and was just opening a book, + when Nikolai Artemyevitch’s valet came cautiously into his room and handed + him a small triangular note, sealed with a thick heraldic crest. ‘I hope,’ + he found in the note, ‘that you as a man of honour will not allow yourself + to hint by so much as a single word at a certain promissory note which was + talked of this morning. You are acquainted with my position and my rules, + the insignificance of the sum in itself and the other circumstances; there + are, in fine, family secrets which must be respected, and family + tranquillity is something so sacred that only <i>êtres sans coeur</i> + (among whom I have no reason to reckon you) would repudiate it! Give this + note back to me.—N. S.’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin scribbled below in pencil: ‘Don’t excite yourself, I’m not quite a + sneak yet,’ and gave the note back to the man, and again began upon the + book. But it soon slipped out of his hands. He looked at the + reddening sky, at the two mighty young pines standing apart from the other + trees, thought ‘by day pines are bluish, but how magnificently green they + are in the evening,’ and went out into the garden, in the secret hope of + meeting Elena there. He was not mistaken. Before him on a path between the + bushes he caught a glimpse of her dress. He went after her, and when he + was abreast with her, remarked: + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t look in my direction, I’m not worth it.’ + </p> + <p> + She gave him a cursory glance, smiled cursorily, and walked on further + into the depths of the garden. Shubin went after her. + </p> + <p> + ‘I beg you not to look at me,’ he began, ‘and then I address you; flagrant + contradiction. But what of that? it’s not the first time I’ve contradicted + myself. I have just recollected that I have never begged your pardon as I + ought for my stupid behaviour yesterday. You are not angry with me, Elena + Nikolaevna, are you?’ + </p> + <p> + She stood still and did not answer him at once—not because she was + angry, but because her thoughts were far away. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ she said at last, ‘I am not in the least angry.’ Shubin bit his lip. + </p> + <p> + ‘What an absorbed... and what an indifferent face!’ he muttered. ‘Elena + Nikolaevna,’ he continued, raising his voice, ‘allow me to tell you a + little anecdote. I had a friend, and this friend also had a friend, who at + first conducted himself as befits a gentleman but afterwards took to + drink. So one day early in the morning, my friend meets him in the street + (and by that time, note, the acquaintance has been completely dropped) + meets him and sees he is drunk. My friend went and turned his back on him. + But he ran up and said, “I would not be angry,” says he, “if you refused + to recognise me, but why should you turn your back on me? Perhaps I have + been brought to this through grief. Peace to my ashes!”’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin paused. + </p> + <p> + ‘And is that all?’ inquired Elena. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes that’s all.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t understand you. What are you hinting at? You told me just now not + to look your way.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, and now I have told you that it’s too bad to turn your back on me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But did I?’ began Elena. + </p> + <p> + ‘Did you not?’ + </p> + <p> + Elena flushed slightly and held out her hand to Shubin. He pressed it + warmly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Here you seem to have convicted me of a bad feeling,’ said Elena, ‘but + your suspicion is unjust. I was not even thinking of avoiding you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Granted, granted. But you must acknowledge that at that minute you had a + thousand ideas in your head of which you would not confide one to me. Eh? + I’ve spoken the truth, I’m quite sure?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Perhaps so.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And why is it? why?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My ideas are not clear to myself,’ said Elena. + </p> + <p> + ‘Then it’s just the time for confiding them to some one else,’ put in + Shubin. ‘But I will tell you what it really is. You have a bad opinion of + me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes you; you imagine that everything in me is half-humbug because I am an + artist, that I am incapable not only of doing anything—in that you + are very likely right—but even of any genuine deep feeling; you + think that I am not capable even of weeping sincerely, that I’m a gossip + and a slanderer,—and all because I’m an artist. What luckless, + God-forsaken wretches we artists are after that! You, for instance, I am + ready to adore, and you don’t believe in my repentance.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, Pavel Yakovlitch, I believe in your repentance and I believe in your + tears. But it seems to me that even your repentance amuses you—yes + and your tears too.’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin shuddered. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, I see this is, as the doctors say, a hopeless case, <i>casus + incurabilis</i>. There is nothing left but to bow the head and submit. And + meanwhile, good Heavens, can it be true, can I possibly be absorbed in my + own egoism when there is a soul like this living at my side? And to know + that one will never penetrate into that soul, never will know why it + grieves and why it rejoices, what is working within it, what it desires—whither + it is going... Tell me,’ he said after a short silence, ‘could you never + under any circumstances love an artist?’ + </p> + <p> + Elena looked straight into his eyes. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t think so, Pavel Yakovlitch; no.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Which was to be proved,’ said Shubin with comical dejection. ‘After which + I suppose it would be more seemly for me not to intrude on your solitary + walk. A professor would ask you on what data you founded your answer no. + I’m not a professor though, but a baby according to your ideas; but one + does not turn one’s back on a baby, remember. Good-bye! Peace to my + ashes!’ + </p> + <p> + Elena was on the point of stopping him, but after a moment’s thought she + too said: + </p> + <p> + ‘Good-bye.’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin went out of the courtyard. At a short distance from the Stahov’s + house he was met by Bersenyev. He was walking with hurried steps, his head + bent and his hat pushed back on his neck. + </p> + <p> + ‘Andrei Petrovitch!’ cried Shubin. + </p> + <p> + He stopped. + </p> + <p> + ‘Go on, go on,’ continued Shubin, ‘I only shouted, I won’t detain you—and + you’d better slip straight into the garden—you’ll find Elena there, + I fancy she’s waiting for you... she’s waiting for some one anyway.... Do + you understand the force of those words: she is waiting! And do you know, + my dear boy, an astonishing circumstance? Imagine, it’s two years now that + I have been living in the same house with her, I’m in love with her, and + it’s only just now, this minute, that I’ve, not understood, but really + seen her. I have seen her and I lifted up my hands in amazement. Don’t + look at me, please, with that sham sarcastic smile, which does not suit + your sober features. Well, now, I suppose you want to remind me of + Annushka. What of it? I don’t deny it. Annushkas are on my poor level. And + long life to all Annushkas and Zoyas and even Augustina Christianovnas! + You go to Elena now, and I will make my way to—Annushka, you fancy? + No, my dear fellow, worse than that; to Prince Tchikurasov. He is a + Maecenas of a Kazan-Tartar stock, after the style of Volgin. Do you see + this note of invitation, these letters, R.S.V.P.? Even in the country + there’s no peace for me. Addio!’ Bersenyev listened to Shubin’s tirade in + silence, looking as though he were just a little ashamed of him. Then he + went into the courtyard of the Stahovs’ house. And Shubin did really go to + Prince Tchikurasov, to whom with the most cordial air he began saying the + most insulting things. The Maecenas of the Tartars of Kazan chuckled; the + Maecenas’s guests laughed, but no one felt merry, and every one was in a + bad temper when the party broke up. So two gentlemen slightly acquainted + may be seen when they meet on the Nevsky Prospect suddenly grinning at one + another and pursing up their eyes and noses and cheeks, and then, directly + they have passed one another, they resume their former indifferent, often + cross, and generally sickly, expression. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X + </h2> + <p> + Elena met Bersenyev cordially, though not in the garden, but the + drawing-room, and at once, almost impatiently, renewed the conversation of + the previous day. She was alone; Nikolai Artemyevitch had quietly slipped + away. Anna Vassilyevna was lying down upstairs with a wet bandage on her + head. Zoya was sitting by her, the folds of her skirt arranged precisely + about her, and her little hands clasped on her knees. Uvar Ivanovitch was + reposing in the attic on a wide and comfortable divan, known as a + ‘samo-son’ or ‘dozer.’ Bersenyev again mentioned his father; he held his + memory sacred. Let us, too, say a few words about him. + </p> + <p> + The owner of eighty-two serfs, whom he set free before his death, an old + Gottingen student, and disciple of the ‘Illuminati,’ the author of a + manuscript work on ‘transformations or typifications of the spirit in the + world’—a work in which Schelling’s philosophy, Swedenborgianism and + republicanism were mingled in the most original fashion—Bersenyev’s + father brought him, while still a boy, to Moscow immediately after his + mother’s death, and at once himself undertook his education. He prepared + himself for each lesson, exerted himself with extraordinary + conscientiousness and absolute lack of success: he was a dreamer, a + bookworm, and a mystic; he spoke in a dull, hesitating voice, used obscure + and roundabout expressions, metaphorical by preference, and was shy even + of his son, whom he loved passionately. It was not surprising that his son + was simply bewildered at his lessons, and did not advance in the least. + The old man (he was almost fifty, he had married late in life) surmised at + last that things were not going quite right, and he placed his Andrei in a + school. Andrei began to learn, but he was not removed from his father’s + supervision; his father visited him unceasingly, wearying the schoolmaster + to death with his instructions and conversation; the teachers, too, were + bored by his uninvited visits; he was for ever bringing them some, as they + said, far-fetched books on education. Even the schoolboys were embarrassed + at the sight of the old man’s swarthy, pockmarked face, his lank figure, + invariably clothed in a sort of scanty grey dresscoat. The boys did not + suspect then that this grim, unsmiling old gentleman, with his crane-like + gait and his long nose, was at heart troubling and yearning over each one + of them almost as over his own son. He once conceived the idea of talking + to them about Washington: ‘My young nurslings,’ he began, but at the first + sounds of his strange voice the young nurslings ran away. The good old + Gottingen student did not lie on a bed of roses; he was for ever weighed + down by the march of history, by questions and ideas of every kind. When + young Bersenyev entered the university, his father used to drive with him + to the lectures, but his health was already beginning to break up. The + events of the year 1848 shook him to the foundation (it necessitated the + re-writing of his whole book), and he died in the winter of 1853, before + his son’s time at the university was over, but he was able beforehand to + congratulate him on his degree, and to consecrate him to the service of + science. ‘I pass on the torch to you,’ he said to him two hours before his + death. ‘I held it while I could; you, too, must not let the light grow dim + before the end.’ + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev talked a long while to Elena of his father. The embarrassment he + had felt in her presence disappeared, and his lisp was less marked. The + conversation passed on to the university. + </p> + <p> + ‘Tell me,’ Elena asked him, ‘were there any remarkable men among your + comrades?’ + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev was again reminded of Shubin’s words. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, Elena Nikolaevna, to tell you the truth, there was not a single + remarkable man among us. And, indeed, where are such to be found! There + was, they say, a good time once in the Moscow university! But not now. Now + it’s a school, not a university. I was not happy with my comrades,’ he + added, dropping his voice. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not happy,’ murmured Elena. + </p> + <p> + ‘But I ought,’ continued Bersenyev, ‘to make an exception. I know one + student—it’s true he is not in the same faculty—he is + certainly a remarkable man.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What is his name?’ Elena inquired with interest. + </p> + <p> + ‘Insarov Dmitri Nikanorovitch. He is a Bulgarian.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not a Russian?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, he is not a Russian,’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why is he living in Moscow, then?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He came here to study. And do you know with what aim he is studying? He + has a single idea: the liberation of his country. And his story is an + exceptional one. His father was a fairly well-to-do merchant; he came from + Tirnova. Tirnova is now a small town, but it was the capital of Bulgaria + in the old days when Bulgaria was still an independent state. He traded + with Sophia, and had relations with Russia; his sister, Insarov’s aunt, is + still living in Kiev, married to a senior history teacher in the gymnasium + there. In 1835, that is to say eighteen years ago, a terrible crime was + committed; Insarov’s mother suddenly disappeared without leaving a trace + behind; a week later she was found murdered.’ + </p> + <p> + Elena shuddered. Bersenyev stopped. + </p> + <p> + ‘Go on, go on,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + ‘There were rumours that she had been outraged and murdered by a Turkish + aga; her husband, Insarov’s father, found out the truth, tried to avenge + her, but only succeeded in wounding the aga with his poniard.... He was + shot.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Shot, and without a trial?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes. Insarov was just eight years old at the time. He remained in the + hands of neighbours. The sister heard of the fate of her brother’s family, + and wanted to take the nephew to live with her. They got him to Odessa, + and from there to Kiev. At Kiev he lived twelve whole years. That’s how it + is he speaks Russian so well.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He speaks Russian?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Just as we do. When he was twenty (that was at the beginning of the year + 1848) he began to want to return to his country. He stayed in Sophia and + Tirnova, and travelled through the length and breadth of Bulgaria, + spending two years there, and learning his mother tongue over again. The + Turkish Government persecuted him, and he was certainly exposed to great + dangers during those two years; I once caught sight of a broad scar on his + neck, from a wound, no doubt; but he does not like to talk about it. He is + reserved, too, in his own way. I have tried to question him about + everything, but I could get nothing out of him. He answers by + generalities. He’s awfully obstinate. He returned to Russia again in 1850, + to Moscow, with the intention of educating himself thoroughly, getting + intimate with Russians, and then when he leaves the university——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What then?’ broke in Elena. + </p> + <p> + ‘What God wills. It’s hard to forecast the future.’ + </p> + <p> + For a while Elena did not take her eyes off Bersenyev. + </p> + <p> + ‘You have greatly interested me by what you have told me,’ she said. ‘What + is he like, this friend of yours; what did you call him, Insarov?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What shall I say? To my mind, he’s good-looking. But you will see him for + yourself.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How so?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I will bring him here to see you. He is coming to our little village the + day after tomorrow, and is going to live with me in the same lodging.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Really? But will he care to come to see us?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I should think so. He will be delighted.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He isn’t proud, then?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not the least. That’s to say, he is proud if you like, only not in the + sense you mean. He will never, for instance, borrow money from any one.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Is he poor?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, he isn’t rich. When he went to Bulgaria he collected some relics + left of his father’s property, and his aunt helps him; but it all comes to + very little.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He must have a great deal of character,’ observed Elena. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes. He is a man of iron. And at the same time you will see there is + something childlike and frank, with all his concentration and even his + reserve. It’s true, his frankness is not our poor sort of frankness—the + frankness of people who have absolutely nothing to conceal.... But there, + I will bring him to see you; wait a little.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And isn’t he shy?’ asked Elena again. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, he’s not shy. It’s only vain people who are shy.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, are you vain?’ + </p> + <p> + He was confused and made a vague gesture with his hands. + </p> + <p> + ‘You excite my curiosity,’ pursued Elena. ‘But tell me, has he not taken + vengeance on that Turkish aga?’ + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev smiled + </p> + <p> + ‘Revenge is only to be found in novels, Elena Nikolaevna; and, besides, in + twelve years that aga may well be dead.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Mr. Insarov has never said anything, though, to you about it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, never.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why did he go to Sophia?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘His father used to live there.’ + </p> + <p> + Elena grew thoughtful. + </p> + <p> + ‘To liberate one’s country!’ she said. ‘It is terrible even to utter those + words, they are so grand.’ + </p> + <p> + At that instant Anna Vassilyevna came into the room, and the conversation + stopped. + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev was stirred by strange emotions when he returned home that + evening. He did not regret his plan of making Elena acquainted with + Insarov, he felt the deep impression made on her by his account of the + young Bulgarian very natural... had he not himself tried to deepen that + impression! But a vague, unfathomable emotion lurked secretly in his + heart; he was sad with a sadness that had nothing noble in it. This + sadness did not prevent him, however, from setting to work on the <i>History + of the Hohenstaufen</i>, and beginning to read it at the very page at + which he had left off the evening before. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI + </h2> + <p> + Two days later, Insarov in accordance with his promise arrived at + Bersenyev’s with his luggage. He had no servant; but without any + assistance he put his room to rights, arranged the furniture, dusted and + swept the floor. He had special trouble with the writing table, which + would not fit into the recess in the wall assigned for it; but Insarov, + with the silent persistence peculiar to him succeeded in getting his own + way with it. When he had settled in, he asked Bersenyev to let him pay him + ten roubles in advance, and arming himself with a thick stick, set off to + inspect the country surrounding his new abode. He returned three hours + later; and in response to Bersenyev’s invitation to share his repast, he + said that he would not refuse to dine with him that day, but that he had + already spoken to the woman of the house, and would get her to send him up + his meals for the future. + </p> + <p> + ‘Upon my word!’ said Bersenyev, ‘you will fare very badly; that old body + can’t cook a bit. Why don’t you dine with me, we would go halves over the + cost.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My means don’t allow me to dine as you do,’ Insarov replied with a + tranquil smile. + </p> + <p> + There was something in that smile which forbade further insistence; + Bersenyev did not add a word. After dinner he proposed to Insarov that he + should take him to the Stahovs; but he replied that he had intended to + devote the evening to correspondence with his Bulgarians, and so he would + ask him to put off the visit to the Stahovs till next day. Bersenyev was + already familiar with Insarov’s unbending will; but it was only now when + he was under the same roof with him, that he fully realised at last that + Insarov would never alter any decision, just in the same way as he would + never fail to carry out a promise he had given; to Bersenyev—a + Russian to his fingertips—this more than German exactitude seemed at + first odd, and even rather ludicrous; but he soon got used to it, and + ended by finding it—if not deserving of respect—at least very + convenient. + </p> + <p> + The second day after his arrival, Insarov got up at four o’clock in the + morning, made a round of almost all Kuntsovo, bathed in the river, drank a + glass of cold milk, and then set to work. And he had plenty of work to do; + he was studying Russian history and law, and political economy, + translating the Bulgarian ballads and chronicles, collecting materials on + the Eastern Question, and compiling a Russian grammar for the use of + Bulgarians, and a Bulgarian grammar for the use of Russians. Bersenyev + went up to him and began to discuss Feuerbach. Insarov listened + attentively, made few remarks, but to the point; it was clear from his + observations that he was trying to arrive at a conclusion as to whether he + need study Feuerbach, or whether he could get on without him. Bersenyev + turned the conversation on to his pursuits, and asked him if he could not + show him anything. Insarov read him his translation of two or three + Bulgarian ballads, and was anxious to hear his opinion of them. Bersenyev + thought the translation a faithful one, but not sufficiently spirited. + Insarov paid close attention to his criticism. From the ballads Bersenyev + passed on to the present position of Bulgaria, and then for the first time + he noticed what a change came over Insarov at the mere mention of his + country: not that his face flushed nor his voice grew louder—no! but + at once a sense of force and intense onward striving was expressed in his + whole personality, the lines of his mouth grew harder and less flexible, + and a dull persistent fire glowed in the depths of his eyes. Insarov did + not care to enlarge on his own travels in his country; but of Bulgaria in + general he talked readily with any one. He talked at length of the Turks, + of their oppression, of the sorrows and disasters of his countrymen, and + of their hopes: concentrated meditation on a single ruling passion could + be heard in every word he uttered. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, well, there’s no mistake about it,’ Bersenyev was reflecting + meanwhile, ‘that Turkish aga, I venture to think, has been punished for + his father’s and mother’s death.’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov had not had time to say all he wanted to say, when the door opened + and Shubin made his appearance. + </p> + <p> + He came into the room with an almost exaggerated air of ease and + good-humour; Bersenyev, who knew him well, could see at once that + something had been jarring on him. + </p> + <p> + ‘I will introduce myself without ceremony,’ he began with a bright and + open expression on his face. ‘My name is Shubin; I’m a friend of this + young man here’ (he indicated Bersenyev). ‘You are Mr. Insarov, of course, + aren’t you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am Insarov.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then give me your hand and let us be friends. I don’t know if Bersenyev + has talked to you about me, but he has told me a great deal about you. You + are staying here? Capital! Don’t be offended at my staring at you so. I’m + a sculptor by trade, and I foresee I shall in a little time be begging + your permission to model your head.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My head’s at your service,’ said Insarov. + </p> + <p> + ‘What shall we do to-day, eh?’ began Shubin, sitting down suddenly on a + low chair, with his knees apart and his elbows propped on them. ‘Andrei + Petrovitch, has your honour any kind of plan for to-day? It’s glorious + weather; there’s a scent of hay and dried strawberries as if one were + drinking strawberry-tea for a cold. We ought to get up some kind of a + spree. Let us show the new inhabitant of Kuntsov all its numerous + beauties.’ (Something has certainly upset him, Bersenyev kept thinking to + himself.) ‘Well, why art thou silent, friend Horatio? Open your prophetic + lips. Shall we go off on a spree, or not?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know how Insarov feels,’ observed Bersenyev. ‘He is just getting + to work, I fancy.’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin turned round on his chair. + </p> + <p> + ‘You want to work?’ he inquired, in a somewhat condescending voice. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ answered Insarov; ‘to-day I could give up to walking.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah!’ commented Shubin. ‘Well, that’s delightful. Run along, my friend, + Andrei Petrovitch, put a hat on your learned head, and let us go where our + eyes lead us. Our eyes are young—they may lead us far. I know a very + repulsive little restaurant, where they will give us a very beastly little + dinner; but we shall be very jolly. Come along.’ + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later they were all three walking along the bank of the + Moskva. Insarov had a rather queer cap with flaps, over which Shubin fell + into not very spontaneous raptures. Insarov walked without haste, and + looked about, breathing, talking, and smiling with the same tranquillity; + he was giving this day up to pleasure, and enjoying it to the utmost. + ‘Just as well-behaved boys walk out on Sundays,’ Shubin whispered in + Bersenyev’s ear. Shubin himself played the fool a great deal, ran in + front, threw himself into the attitudes of famous statues, and turned + somersaults on the grass; Insarov’s tranquillity did not exactly irritate + him, but it spurred him on to playing antics. ‘What a fidget you are, + Frenchman!’ Bersenyev said twice to him. ‘Yes, I am French, half French,’ + Shubin answered, ‘and you hold the happy medium between jest and earnest, + as a waiter once said to me.’ The young men turned away from the river and + went along a deep and narrow ravine between two walls of tall golden rye; + a bluish shadow was cast on them from the rye on one side; the flashing + sunlight seemed to glide over the tops of the ears; the larks were + singing, the quails were calling: on all sides was the brilliant green of + the grass; a warm breeze stirred and lifted the leaves and shook the heads + of the flowers. After prolonged wanderings, with rest and chat between + (Shubin had even tried to play leap-frog with a toothless peasant they + met, who did nothing but laugh, whatever the gentlemen might do to him), + the young men reached the ‘repulsive little’ restaurant: the waiter almost + knocked each of them over, and did really provide them with a very bad + dinner with a sort of Balkan wine, which did not, however, prevent them + from being very jolly, as Shubin had foretold; he himself was the loudest + and the least jolly. He drank to the health of the incomprehensible but + great <i>Venelin</i>, the health of the Bulgarian king Kuma, Huma, or + Hroma, who lived somewhere about the time of Adam. + </p> + <p> + ‘In the ninth century,’ Insarov corrected him. + </p> + <p> + ‘In the ninth century?’ cried Shubin. ‘Oh, how delightful!’ + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev noticed that among all his pranks, and jests and gaiety, Shubin + was constantly, as it were, examining Insarov; he was sounding him and was + in inward excitement, but Insarov remained as before, calm and + straightforward. + </p> + <p> + At last they returned home, changed their dress, and resolved to finish + the day as they had begun it, by going that evening to the Stahovs. Shubin + ran on before them to announce their arrival. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII + </h2> + <p> + ‘The conquering hero Insarov will be here directly!’ he shouted + triumphantly, going into the Stahovs’ drawing-room, where there happened + at the instant to be only Elena and Zoya. + </p> + <p> + ‘<i>Wer</i>?’ inquired Zoya in German. When she was taken unawares she + always used her native language. Elena drew herself up. Shubin looked at + her with a playful smile on his lips. She felt annoyed, but said nothing. + </p> + <p> + ‘You heard,’ he repeated, ‘Mr. Insarov is coming here.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I heard,’ she replied; ‘and I heard how you spoke of him. I am surprised + at you, indeed. Mr. Insarov has not yet set foot in the house, and you + already think fit to turn him into ridicule.’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin was crestfallen at once. + </p> + <p> + ‘You are right, you are always right, Elena Nikolaevna,’ he muttered; ‘but + I meant nothing, on my honour. We have been walking together with him the + whole day, and he’s a capital fellow, I assure you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I didn’t ask your opinion about that,’ commented Elena, getting up. + </p> + <p> + ‘Is Mr. Insarov a young man?’ asked Zoya. + </p> + <p> + ‘He is a hundred and forty-four,’ replied Shubin with an air of vexation. + </p> + <p> + The page announced the arrival of the two friends. They came in. Bersenyev + introduced Insarov. Elena asked them to sit down, and sat down herself, + while Zoya went off upstairs; she had to inform Anna Vassilyevna of their + arrival. A conversation was begun of a rather insignificant kind, like all + first conversations. Shubin was silently watching from a corner, but there + was nothing to watch. In Elena he detected signs of repressed annoyance + against him—Shubin—and that was all. He looked at Bersenyev + and at Insarov, and compared their faces from a sculptor’s point of view. + ‘They are neither of them good-looking,’ he thought, ‘the Bulgarian has a + characteristic face—there now it’s in a good light; the + Great-Russian is better adapted for painting; there are no lines, there’s + expression. But, I dare say, one might fall in love with either of them. + She is not in love yet, but she will fall in love with Bersenyev,’ he + decided to himself. Anna Vassilyevna made her appearance in the + drawing-room, and the conversation took the tone peculiar to summer villas—not + the country-house tone but the peculiar summer visitor tone. It was a + conversation diversified by plenty of subjects; but broken by short rather + wearisome pauses every three minutes. In one of these pauses Anna + Vassilyevna turned to Zoya. Shubin understood her silent hint, and drew a + long face, while Zoya sat down to the piano, and played and sang all her + pieces through. Uvar Ivanovitch showed himself for an instant in the + doorway, but he beat a retreat, convulsively twitching his fingers. Then + tea was served; and then the whole party went out into the garden.... It + began to grow dark outside, and the guests took leave. + </p> + <p> + Insarov had really made less impression on Elena than she had expected, + or, speaking more exactly, he had not made the impression she had + expected. She liked his directness and unconstraint, and she liked his + face; but the whole character of Insarov—with his calm firmness and + everyday simplicity—did not somehow accord with the image formed in + her brain by Bersenyev’s account of him. Elena, though she did not herself + suspect it, had anticipated something more fateful. ‘But,’ she reflected, + ‘he spoke very little to-day, and I am myself to blame for it; I did not + question him, we must have patience till next time... and his eyes are + expressive, honest eyes.’ She felt that she had no disposition to humble + herself before him, but rather to hold out her hand to him in friendly + equality, and she was puzzled; this was not how she had fancied men, like + Insarov, ‘heroes.’ This last word reminded her of Shubin, and she grew hot + and angry, as she lay in her bed. + </p> + <p> + ‘How did you like your new acquaintances?’ Bersenyev inquired of Insarov + on their way home. + </p> + <p> + ‘I liked them very much,’ answered Insarov, ‘especially the daughter. She + must be a nice girl. She is excitable, but in her it’s a fine kind of + excitability.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You must go and see them a little oftener,’ observed Bersenyev. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, I must,’ said Insarov; and he said nothing more all the way home. He + at once shut himself up in his room, but his candle was burning long after + midnight. + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev had had time to read a page of Raumer, when a handful of fine + gravel came rattling on his window-pane. He could not help starting; + opening the window he saw Shubin as white as a sheet. + </p> + <p> + ‘What an irrepressible fellow you are, you night moth——’ + Bersenyev was beginning. + </p> + <p> + ‘Sh—’ Shubin cut him short; ‘I have come to you in secret, as Max + went to Agatha I absolutely must say a few words to you alone.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Come into the room then.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, that’s not necessary,’ replied Shubin, and he leaned his elbows on + the window-sill, ‘it’s better fun like this, more as if we were in Spain. + To begin with, I congratulate you, you’re at a premium now. Your belauded, + exceptional man has quite missed fire. That I’ll guarantee. And to prove + my impartiality, listen—here’s the sum and substance of Mr. Insarov. + No talents, none, no poetry, any amount of capacity for work, an immense + memory, an intellect not deep nor varied, but sound and quick, dry as + dust, and force, and even the gift of the gab when the talk’s about his—between + ourselves let it be said—tedious Bulgaria. What! do you say I am + unjust? One remark more: you’ll never come to Christian names with him, + and none ever has been on such terms with him. I, of course, as an artist, + am hateful to him; and I am proud of it. Dry as dust, dry as dust, but he + can crush all of us to powder. He’s devoted to his country—not like + our empty patriots who fawn on the people; pour into us, they say, thou + living water! But, of course, his problem is easier, more intelligible: he + has only to drive the Turks out, a mighty task. But all these qualities, + thank God, don’t please women. There’s no fascination, no charm about + them, as there is about you and me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why do you bring me in?’ muttered Bersenyev. ‘And you are wrong in all + the rest; you are not in the least hateful to him, and with his own + countrymen he is on Christian name terms—that I know.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s a different matter! For them he’s a hero; but, to make a + confession, I have a very different idea of a hero; a hero ought not to be + able to talk; a hero should roar like a bull, but when he butts with his + horns, the walls shake. He ought not to know himself why he butts at + things, but just to butt at them. But, perhaps, in our days heroes of a + different stamp are needed.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why are you so taken up with Insarov?’ asked Bersenyev. ‘Can you have run + here only to describe his character to me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I came here,’ began Shubin, ‘because I was very miserable at home.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, that’s it! Don’t you want to have a cry again?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You may laugh! I came here because I’m at my wits’ end, because I am + devoured by despair, anger, jealousy.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Jealousy? of whom?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of you and him and every one. I’m tortured by the thought that if I had + understood her sooner, if I had set to work cleverly—But what’s the + use of talking! It must end by my always laughing, playing the fool, + turning things into ridicule as she says, and then setting to and + strangling myself.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Stuff, you won’t strangle yourself,’ observed Bersenyev. + </p> + <p> + ‘On such a night, of course not; but only let me live on till the autumn. + On such a night people do die too, but only of happiness. Ah, happiness! + Every shadow that stretches across the road from every tree seems + whispering now: “I know where there is happiness... shall I tell you?” I + would ask you to come for a walk, only now you’re under the influence of + prose. Go to sleep, and may your dreams be visited by mathematical + figures! My heart is breaking. You, worthy gentlemen, see a man laughing, + and that means to your notions he’s all right; you can prove to him that + he’s humbugging himself, that’s to say, he is not suffering.... God bless + you!’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin abruptly left the window. ‘Annu-shka!’ Bersenyev felt an impulse to + shout after him, but he restrained himself; Shubin had really been white + with emotion. Two minutes later, Bersenyev even caught the sound of + sobbing; he got up and opened the window; everything was still, only + somewhere in the distance some one—a passing peasant, probably—was + humming ‘The Plain of Mozdok.’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII + </h2> + <p> + During the first fortnight of Insarov’s stay in the Kuntsovo + neighbourhood, he did not visit the Stahovs more than four or five times; + Bersenyev went to see them every day. Elena was always pleased to see him, + lively and interesting talk always sprang up between them, and yet he + often went home with a gloomy face. Shubin scarcely showed himself; he was + working with feverish energy at his art; he either stayed locked up in his + room, from which he would emerge in a blouse, smeared all over with clay, + or else he spent days in Moscow where he had a studio, to which models and + Italian sculptors, his friends and teachers, used to come to see him. + Elena did not once succeed in talking with Insarov, as she would have + liked to do; in his absence she prepared questions to ask him about many + things, but when he came she felt ashamed of her plans. Insarov’s very + tranquillity embarrassed her; it seemed to her that she had not the right + to force him to speak out; and she resolved to wait; for all that, she + felt that at every visit however trivial might be the words that passed + between them, he attracted her more and more; but she never happened to be + left alone with him—and to grow intimate with any one, one must have + at least one conversation alone with him. She talked a great deal about + him to Bersenyev. Bersenyev realised that Elena’s imagination had been + struck by Insarov, and was glad that his friend had not ‘missed fire’ as + Shubin had asserted. He told her cordially all he knew of him down to the + minutest details (we often, when we want to please some one, bring our + friends into our conversation, hardly ever suspecting that we are praising + ourselves in that way), and only at times, when Elena’s pale cheeks + flushed a little and her eyes grew bright and wide, he felt a pang in his + heart of that evil pain which he had felt before. + </p> + <p> + One day Bersenyev came to the Stahovs, not at the customary time, but at + eleven o’clock in the morning. Elena came down to him in the parlour. + </p> + <p> + ‘Fancy,’ he began with a constrained smile, ‘our Insarov has disappeared.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Disappeared?’ said Elena. + </p> + <p> + ‘He has disappeared. The day before yesterday he went off somewhere and + nothing has been seen of him since.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He did not tell you where he was going?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No.’ + </p> + <p> + Elena sank into a chair. + </p> + <p> + ‘He has most likely gone to Moscow,’ she commented, trying to seem + indifferent and at the same time wondering that she should try to seem + indifferent. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t think so,’ rejoined Bersenyev. ‘He did not go alone.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘With whom then?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Two people of some sort—his countrymen they must have been—came + to him the day before yesterday, before dinner.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Bulgarians! what makes you think so?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why as far as I could hear, they talked to him in some language I did not + know, but Slavonic... You are always saying, Elena Nikolaevna, that + there’s so little mystery about Insarov; what could be more mysterious + than this visit? Imagine, they came to him—and then there was + shouting and quarrelling, and such savage, angry disputing.... And he + shouted too.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He shouted too?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes. He shouted at them. They seemed to be accusing each other. And if + you could have had a peep at these visitors. They had swarthy, heavy faces + with high cheek bones and hook noses, both about forty years old, shabbily + dressed, hot and dusty, looking like workmen—not workmen, and not + gentlemen—goodness knows what sort of people they were.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And he went away with them?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes. He gave them something to eat and went off with them. The woman of + the house told me they ate a whole huge pot of porridge between the two of + them. They outdid one another, she said, and gobbled it up like wolves.’ + </p> + <p> + Elena gave a faint smile. + </p> + <p> + ‘You will see,’ she said, ‘all this will be explained into something very + prosaic.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I hope it may! But you need not use that word. There is nothing prosaic + about Insarov, though Shubin does maintain——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Shubin!’ Elena broke in, shrugging her shoulders. ‘But you must confess + these two good men gobbling up porridge——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Even Themistocles had his supper on the eve of Salamis,’ observed + Bersenyev with a smile. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes; but then there was a battle next day. Any way you will let me know + when he comes back,’ said Elena, and she tried to change the subject, but + the conversation made little progress. Zoya made her appearance and began + walking about the room on tip-toe, giving them thereby to understand that + Anna Vassilyevna was not yet awake. + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev went away. + </p> + <p> + In the evening of the same day a note from him was brought to Elena. ‘He + has come back,’ he wrote to her, ‘sunburnt and dusty to his very eyebrows; + but where and why he went I don’t know; won’t you find out?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Won’t you find out!’ Elena whispered, ‘as though he talked to me!’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV + </h2> + <p> + The next day, at two o’clock, Elena was standing in the garden before a + small kennel, where she was rearing two puppies. (A gardener had found + them deserted under a hedge, and brought them to the young mistress, being + told by the laundry-maids that she took pity on beasts of all sorts. He + was not wrong in his reckoning. Elena had given him a quarter-rouble.) She + looked into the kennel, assured herself that the puppies were alive and + well, and that they had been provided with fresh straw, turned round, and + almost uttered a cry; down an alley straight towards her was walking + Insarov, alone. + </p> + <p> + ‘Good-morning,’ he said, coming up to her and taking off his cap. She + noticed that he certainly had got much sunburnt during the last three + days. ‘I meant to have come here with Andrei Petrovitch, but he was rather + slow in starting; so here I am without him. There is no one in your house; + they are all asleep or out of doors, so I came on here.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You seem to be apologising,’ replied Elena. ‘There’s no need to do that. + We are always very glad to see you. Let us sit here on the bench in the + shade.’ + </p> + <p> + She seated herself. Insarov sat down near her. + </p> + <p> + ‘You have not been at home these last days, I think?’ she began. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ he answered. ‘I went away. Did Andrei Petrovitch tell you?’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov looked at her, smiled, and began playing with his cap. When he + smiled, his eyes blinked, and his lips puckered up, which gave him a very + good-humoured appearance. + </p> + <p> + ‘Andrei Petrovitch most likely told you too that I went away with some—unattractive + people,’ he said, still smiling. + </p> + <p> + Elena was a little confused, but she felt at once that Insarov must always + be told the truth. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ she said decisively. + </p> + <p> + ‘What did you think of me?’ he asked her suddenly. + </p> + <p> + Elena raised her eyes to him. + </p> + <p> + ‘I thought,’ she said, ‘I thought that you always know what you’re doing, + and you are incapable of doing anything wrong.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well—thanks for that. You see, Elena Nikolaevna,’ he began, coming + closer to her in a confidential way, ‘there is a little family of our + people here; among us there are men of little culture; but all are warmly + devoted to the common cause. Unluckily, one can never get on without + dissensions, and they all know me, and trust me; so they sent for me to + settle a dispute. I went.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Was it far from here?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I went about fifty miles, to the Troitsky district. There, near the + monastery, there are some of our people. At any rate, my trouble was not + thrown away; I settled the matter.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And had you much difficulty?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes. One was obstinate through everything. He did not want to give back + the money.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What? Was the dispute over money?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes; and a small sum of money too. What did you suppose?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And you travelled over fifty miles for such trifling matters? Wasted + three days?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They are not trifling matters, Elena Nikolaevna, when my countrymen are + involved. It would be wicked to refuse in such cases. I see here that you + don’t refuse help even to puppies, and I think well of you for it. And as + for the time I have lost, that’s no great harm; I will make it up later. + Our time does not belong to us.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘To whom does it belong then?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, to all who need us. I have told you all this on the spur of the + moment, because I value your good opinion. I can fancy how Andrei + Petrovitch must have made you wonder!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You value my good opinion,’ said Elena, in an undertone, ‘why?’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov smiled again. + </p> + <p> + ‘Because you are a good young lady, not an aristocrat... that’s all.’ + </p> + <p> + A short silence followed. + </p> + <p> + ‘Dmitri Nikanorovitch,’ said Elena, ‘do you know that this is the first + time you have been so unreserved with me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How’s that? I think I have always said everything I thought to you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, this is the first time, and I am very glad, and I too want to be open + with you. May I?’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov began to laugh and said: ‘You may.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I warn you I am very inquisitive.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Never mind, tell me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Andrei Petrovitch has told me a great deal of your life, of your youth. I + know of one event, one awful event.... I know you travelled afterwards in + your own country.... Don’t answer me for goodness sake, if you think my + question indiscreet, but I am fretted by one idea.... Tell me, did you + meet that man?’ + </p> + <p> + Elena caught her breath. She felt both shame and dismay at her own + audacity. Insarov looked at her intently, slightly knitting his brows, and + stroking his chin with his fingers. + </p> + <p> + ‘Elena Nikolaevna,’ he began at last, and his voice was much lower than + usual, which almost frightened Elena, ‘I understand what man you are + referring to. No, I did not meet him, and thank God I did not! I did not + try to find him. I did not try to find him: not because I did not think I + had a right to kill him—I would kill him with a very easy conscience—but + because now is not the time for private revenge, when we are concerned + with the general national vengeance—or no, that is not the right + word—when we are concerned with the liberation of a people. The one + would be a hindrance to the other. In its own time that, too, will come... + that too will come,’ he repeated, and he shook his head. + </p> + <p> + Elena looked at him from the side. + </p> + <p> + ‘You love your country very dearly?’ she articulated timidly. + </p> + <p> + ‘That remains to be shown,’ he answered. ‘When one of us dies for her, + then one can say he loved his country.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘So that, if you were cut off all chance of returning to Bulgaria,’ + continued Elena, ‘would you be very unhappy in Russia?’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov looked down. + </p> + <p> + ‘I think I could not bear that,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Tell me,’ Elena began again, ‘is it difficult to learn Bulgarian?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not at all. It’s a disgrace to a Russian not to know Bulgarian. A Russian + ought to know all the Slavonic dialects. Would you like me to bring you + some Bulgarian books? You will see how easy it is. What ballads we have! + equal to the Servian. But stop a minute, I will translate to you one of + them. It is about... But you know a little of our history at least, don’t + you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, I know nothing of it,’ answered + </p> + <p> + Elena. + </p> + <p> + ‘Wait a little and I will bring you a book. You will learn the principal + facts at least from it. Listen to the ballad then.... But I had better + bring you a written translation, though. I am sure you will love us, you + love all the oppressed. If you knew what a land of plenty ours is! And, + meanwhile, it has been downtrodden, it has been ravaged,’ he went on, with + an involuntary movement of his arm, and his face darkened; ‘we have been + robbed of everything; everything, our churches, our laws, our lands; the + unclean Turks drive us like cattle, butcher us——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Dmitri Nikanorovitch!’ cried Elena. + </p> + <p> + He stopped. + </p> + <p> + ‘I beg your pardon. I can’t speak of this coolly. But you asked me just + now whether I love my country. What else can one love on earth? What is + the one thing unchanging, what is above all doubts, what is it—next + to God—one must believe in? And when that country needs. ... Think; + the poorest peasant, the poorest beggar in Bulgaria, and I have the same + desire. All of us have one aim. You can understand what strength, what + confidence that gives!’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov was silent for an instant; then he began again to talk of + Bulgaria. Elena listened to him with absorbed, profound, and mournful + attention. When he had finished, she asked him once more: + </p> + <p> + ‘Then you would not stay in Russia for anything?’ + </p> + <p> + And when he went away, for a long time she gazed after him. On that day he + had become a different man for her. When she walked back with him through + the garden, he was no longer the man she had met two hours before. + </p> + <p> + From that day he began to come more and more often, and Bersenyev less and + less often. A strange feeling began to grow up between the two friends, of + which they were both conscious, but to which they could not give a name, + and which they feared to analyse. In this way a month passed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV + </h2> + <p> + Anna Vassilyevna, as the reader knows already, liked staying at home; but + at times she manifested, quite unexpectedly, an irresistible longing for + something out of the common, some extraordinary <i>partie du plaisir</i>, + and the more troublesome the <i>partie du plaisir</i> was, the more + preparations and arrangements it required, and the greater Anna + Vassilyevna’s own agitation over it, the more pleasure it gave her. If + this mood came upon her in winter, she would order two or three boxes to + be taken side by side, and, inviting all her acquaintances, would set off + to the theatre or even to a masquerade; in summer she would drive for a + trip out of town to some spot as far off as possible. The next day she + would complain of a headache, groan and keep her bed; but within two + months the same craving for something ‘out of the common’ would break out + in her again. That was just what happened now. Some one chanced to refer + to the beautiful scenery of Tsaritsino before her, and Anna Vassilyevna + suddenly announced an intention of driving to Tsaritsino the day after + tomorrow. The household was thrown into a state of bustle; a messenger + galloped off to Moscow for Nikolai Artemyevitch; with him galloped the + butler to buy wines, pies, and all sorts of provisions; Shubin was + commissioned to hire an open carriage—the coach alone was not enough—and + to order relays of horses to be ready; a page was twice despatched to + Bersenyev and Insarov with two different notes of invitation, written by + Zoya, the first in Russian, the second in French; Anna Vassilyevna herself + was busy over the dresses of the young ladies for the expedition. + Meanwhile the <i>partie du plaisir</i> was very near coming to grief. + Nikolai Artemyevitch arrived from Moscow in a sour, ill-natured, <i>frondeurish</i> + frame of mind. He was still sulky with Augustina Christianovna; and when + he heard what the plan was, he flatly declared that he would not go; that + to go trotting from Kuntsovo to Moscow and from Moscow to Tsaritsino, and + then from Tsaritsino again to Moscow, from Moscow again to Kuntsovo, was a + piece of folly; and, ‘in fact,’ he added, ‘let them first prove to my + satisfaction, that one can be merrier on one spot of the globe than + another spot, and I will go.’ This, of course, no one could prove to his + satisfaction, and Anna Vassilyevna was ready to throw up the <i>partie du + plaisir</i> for lack of a solid escort; but she recollected Uvar + Ivanovitch, and in her distress she sent to his room for him, saying: ‘a + drowning man catches at straws.’ They waked him up; he came down, listened + in silence to Anna Vassilyevna’s proposition, and, to the general + astonishment, with a flourish of his fingers, he consented to go. Anna + Vassilyevna kissed him on the cheek, and called him a darling; Nikolai + Artemyevitch smiled contemptuously and said: <i>quelle bourde!</i> (he + liked on occasions to make use of a ‘smart’ French word); and the + following morning the coach and the open carriage, well-packed, rolled out + of the Stahovs’ court-yard. In the coach were the ladies, a maid, and + Bersenyev; Insarov was seated on the box; and in the open carriage were + Uvar Ivanovitch and Shubin. Uvar Ivanovitch had himself beckoned Shubin to + him; he knew that he would tease him the whole way, but there existed a + queer sort of attachment, marked by abusive candour, between the ‘primeval + force’ and the young artist. On this occasion, however, Shubin left his + fat friend in peace; he was absent-minded, silent, and gentle. + </p> + <p> + The sun stood high in a cloudless blue sky when the carriage drove up to + the ruins of Tsaritsino Castle, which looked gloomy and menacing, even at + mid-day. The whole party stepped out on to the grass, and at once made a + move towards the garden. In front went Elena and Zoya with Insarov; Anna + Vassilyevna, with an expression of perfect happiness on her face, walked + behind them, leaning on the arm of Uvar Ivanovitch. He waddled along + panting, his new straw hat cut his forehead, and his feet twinged in his + boots, but he was content; Shubin and Bersenyev brought up the rear. ‘We + will form the reserve, my dear boy, like veterans,’ whispered Shubin to + Bersenyev. ‘Bulgaria’s in it now!’ he added, indicating Elena with his + eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + The weather was glorious. Everything around was flowering, humming, + singing; in the distance shone the waters of the lakes; a light-hearted + holiday mood took possession of all. ‘Oh, how beautiful; oh, how + beautiful!’ Anna Vassilyevna repeated incessantly; Uvar Ivanovitch kept + nodding his head approvingly in response to her enthusiastic exclamations, + and once even articulated: ‘To be sure! to be sure!’ From time to time + Elena exchanged a few words with Insarov; Zoya held the brim of her large + hat with two fingers while her little feet, shod in light grey shoes with + rounded toes, peeped coquettishly out from under her pink barège dress; + she kept looking to each side and then behind her. ‘Hey!’ cried Shubin + suddenly in a low voice, ‘Zoya Nikitishna is on the lookout, it seems. I + will go to her. Elena Nikolaevna despises me now, while you, Andrei + Petrovitch, she esteems, which comes to the same thing. I am going; I’m + tired of being glum. I should advise you, my dear fellow, to do some + botanising; that’s the best thing you could hit on in your position; it + might be useful, too, from a scientific point of view. Farewell!’ Shubin + ran up to Zoya, offered her his arm, and saying: ‘<i>Ihre Hand, Madame</i>’ + caught hold of her hand, and pushed on ahead with her. Elena stopped, + called to Bersenyev, and also took his arm, but continued talking to + Insarov. She asked him the words for lily-of-the-valley, clover, oak, + lime, and so on in his language... ‘Bulgaria’s in it!’ thought poor Andrei + Petrovitch. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a shriek was heard in front; every one looked up. Shubin’s + cigar-case fell into a bush, flung by Zoya’s hand. ‘Wait a minute, I’ll + pay you out!’ he shouted, as he crept into the bushes; he found his + cigar-case, and was returning to Zoya; but he had hardly reached her side + when again his cigar-case was sent flying across the road. Five times this + trick was repeated, he kept laughing and threatening her, but Zoya only + smiled slyly and drew herself together, like a little cat. At last he + snatched her fingers, and squeezed them so tightly that she shrieked, and + for a long time afterwards breathed on her hand, pretending to be angry, + while he murmured something in her ears. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mischievous things, young people,’ Anna Vassilyevna observed gaily to + Uvar Ivanovitch. + </p> + <p> + He flourished his fingers in reply. + </p> + <p> + ‘What a girl Zoya Nikitishna is!’ said Bersenyev to Elena. + </p> + <p> + ‘And Shubin? What of him?’ she answered. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the whole party went into the arbour, well known as Pleasant + View arbour, and stopped to admire the view of the Tsaritsino lakes. They + stretched one behind the other for several miles, overshadowed by thick + woods. The bright green grass, which covered the hill sloping down to the + largest lake, gave the water itself an extraordinarily vivid emerald + colour. Even at the water’s edge not a ripple stirred the smooth surface. + One might fancy it a solid mass of glass lying heavy and shining in a huge + font; the sky seemed to drop into its depths, while the leafy trees gazed + motionless into its transparent bosom. All were absorbed in long and + silent admiration of the view; even Shubin was still; even Zoya was + impressed. At last, all with one mind, began to wish to go upon the water. + Shubin, Insarov, and Bersenyev raced each other over the grass. They + succeeded in finding a large painted boat and two boatmen, and beckoned to + the ladies. The ladies stepped into the boat; Uvar Ivanovitch cautiously + lowered himself into it after them. Great was the mirth while he got in + and took his seat. ‘Look out, master, don’t drown us,’ observed one of the + boatmen, a snubnosed young fellow in a gay print shirt. ‘Get along, you + swell!’ said Uvar Ivanovitch. The boat pushed off. The young men took up + the oars, but Insarov was the oniy one of them who could row. Shubin + suggested that they should sing some Russian song in chorus, and struck + up: ‘Down the river Volga’... Bersenyev, Zoya, and even Anna Vassilyevna, + joined in—Insarov could not sing—but they did not keep + together; at the third verse the singers were all wrong. Only Bersenyev + tried to go on in the bass, ‘Nothing on the waves is seen,’ but he, too, + was soon in difficulties. The boatmen looked at one another and grinned in + silence. + </p> + <p> + ‘Eh?’ said Shubin, turning to them, ‘the gentlefolks can’t sing, you say?’ + The boy in the print shirt only shook his head. ‘Wait a little snubnose,’ + retorted Shubin, ‘we will show you. Zoya Nikitishna, sing us <i>Le lac</i> + of Niedermeyer. Stop rowing!’ The wet oars stood still, lifted in the air + like wings, and their splash died away with a tuneful drip; the boat + drifted on a little, then stood still, rocking lightly on the water like a + swan. Zoya affected to refuse at first.... ‘<i>Allons</i>’ said Anna + Vassilyevna genially.... Zoya took off her hat and began to sing: ‘<i>O + lac, l’année à peine a fini sa carrière</i>!’ + </p> + <p> + Her small, but pure voice, seemed to dart over the surface of the lake; + every word echoed far off in the woods; it sounded as though some one were + singing there, too, in a distinct, but mysterious and unearthly voice. + When Zoya finished, a loud bravo was heard from an arbour near the bank, + from which emerged several red-faced Germans who were picnicking at + Tsaritsino. Several of them had their coats off, their ties, and even + their waistcoats; and they shouted ‘<i>bis!</i>’ with such unmannerly + insistence that Anna Vassilyevna told the boatmen to row as quickly as + possible to the other end of the lake. But before the boat reached the + bank, Uvar Ivanovitch once more succeeded in surprising his friends; + having noticed that in one part of the wood the echo repeated every sound + with peculiar distinctness, he suddenly began to call like a quail. At + first every one was startled, but they listened directly with real + pleasure, especially as Uvar Ivanovitch imitated the quail’s cry with + great correctness. Spurred on by this, he tried mewing like a cat; but + this did not go off so well; and after one more quail-call, he looked at + them all and stopped. Shubin threw himself on him to kiss him; he pushed + him off. At that instant the boat touched the bank, and all the party got + out and went on shore. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the coachman, with the groom and the maid, had brought the + baskets out of the coach, and made dinner ready on the grass under the old + lime-trees. They sat down round the outspread tablecloth, and fell upon + the pies and other dainties. They all had excellent appetites, while Anna + Vassilyevna, with unflagging hospitality, kept urging the guests to eat + more, assuring them that nothing was more wholesome than eating in the + open air. She even encouraged Uvar Ivanovitch with such assurances. ‘Don’t + trouble about me!’ he grunted with his mouth full. ‘Such a lovely day is a + God-send, indeed!’ she repeated constantly. One would not have known her; + she seemed fully twenty years younger. Bersenyev said as much to her. + ‘Yes, yes.’ she said; ‘I could hold my own with any one in my day.’ Shubin + attached himself to Zoya, and kept pouring her out wine; she refused it, + he pressed her, and finished by drinking the glass himself, and again + pressing her to take another; he also declared that he longed to lay his + head on her knee; she would on no account permit him ‘such a liberty.’ + Elena seemed the most serious of the party, but in her heart there was a + wonderful sense of peace, such as she had not known for long. She felt + filled with boundless goodwill and kindness, and wanted to keep not only + Insarov, but Bersenyev too, always at her side.... Andrei Petrovitch dimly + understood what this meant, and secretly he sighed. + </p> + <p> + The hours flew by; the evening was coming on. Anna Vassilyevna suddenly + took alarm. ‘Ah, my dear friends, how late it is!’ she cried. ‘All good + things must have an end; it’s time to go home.’ She began bustling about, + and they all hastened to get up and walk towards the castle, where the + carriages were. As they walked past the lakes, they stopped to admire + Tsaritsino for the last time. The landscape on all sides was glowing with + the vivid hues of early evening; the sky was red, the leaves were flashing + with changing colours as they stirred in the rising wind; the distant + waters shone in liquid gold; the reddish turrets and arbours scattered + about the garden stood out sharply against the dark green of the trees. + ‘Farewell, Tsaritsino, we shall not forget to-day’s excursion!’ observed + Anna Vassilyevna.... But at that instant, and as though in confirmation of + her words, a strange incident occurred, which certainly was not likely to + be forgotten. + </p> + <p> + This was what happened. Anna Vassilyevna had hardly sent her farewell + greeting to Tsaritsino, when suddenly, a few paces from her, behind a high + bush of lilac, were heard confused exclamations, shouts, and laughter; and + a whole mob of disorderly men, the same devotees of song who had so + energetically applauded Zoya, burst out on the path. These musical + gentlemen seemed excessively elevated. They stopped at the sight of the + ladies; but one of them, a man of immense height, with a bull neck and a + bull’s goggle eyes, separated from his companions, and, bowing clumsily + and staggering unsteadily in his gait, approached Anna Vassilyevna, who + was petrified with alarm. + </p> + <p> + ‘<i>Bonzhoor, madame</i>,’ he said thickly, ‘how are you?’ + </p> + <p> + Anna Vassilyevna started back. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why wouldn’t you,’ continued the giant in vile Russian, ‘sing again when + our party shouted <i>bis</i>, and bravo?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, why?’ came from the ranks of his comrades. + </p> + <p> + Insarov was about to step forward, but Shubin stopped him, and himself + screened Anna Vassilyevna. + </p> + <p> + ‘Allow me,’ he began, ‘honoured stranger, to express to you the heartfelt + amazement, into which you have thrown all of us by your conduct. You + belong, as far as I can judge, to the Saxon branch of the Caucasian race; + consequently we are bound to assume your acquaintance with the customs of + society, yet you address a lady to whom you have not been introduced. I + assure you that I individually should be delighted another time to make + your acquaintance, since I observe in you a phenomenal development of the + muscles, biceps, triceps and deltoid, so that, as a sculptor, I should + esteem it a genuine happiness to have you for a model; but on this + occasion kindly leave us alone.’ + </p> + <p> + The ‘honoured stranger’ listened to Shubin’s speech, his head held + contemptuously on one side and his arms akimbo. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t understand what you say,’ he commented at last. ‘Do you suppose + I’m a cobbler or a watchmaker? Hey! I’m an officer, an official, so + there.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t doubt that——’ Shubin was beginning. + </p> + <p> + ‘What I say is,’ continued the stranger, putting him aside with his + powerful arm, like a twig out of the path—‘why didn’t you sing again + when we shouted <i>bis</i>? And I’ll go away directly, this minute, only I + tell you what I want, this <i>fräulein</i>, not that madam, no, not her, but this + one or that one (he pointed to Elena and Zoya) must give me <i>einen Kuss</i>, + as we say in German, a kiss, in fact; eh? That’s not much to ask.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘<i>Einen Kuss</i>, that’s not much,’ came again from the ranks of his + companions, ‘<i>Ih! der Stakramenter!</i>’ cried one tipsy German, + bursting with laughter. + </p> + <p> + Zoya clutched at Insarov’s arm, but he broke away from her, and stood + directly facing the insolent giant. + </p> + <p> + ‘You will please to move off,’ he said in a voice not loud but sharp. + </p> + <p> + The German gave a heavy laugh, ‘Move off? Well, I like that. Can’t I walk + where I please? Move off? Why should I move off?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Because you have dared to annoy a lady,’ said Insarov, and suddenly he + turned white, ‘because you’re drunk.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Eh? me drunk? Hear what he says. <i>Hören Sie das, Herr Provisor</i>? I’m + an officer, and he dares... Now I demand <i>satisfaction</i>! <i>Einen + Kuss will ich</i>.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If you come another step nearer——’ began Insarov. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well? What then’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll throw you in the water!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘In the water? <i>Herr Je</i>! Is that all? Well, let us see that, that + would be very curious, too.’ + </p> + <p> + The officer lifted his fists and moved forward, but suddenly something + extraordinary happened. He uttered an exclamation, his whole bulky person + staggered, rose from the ground, his legs kicking in the air, and before + the ladies had time to shriek, before any one had time to realise how it + had happened, the officer’s massive figure went plop with a heavy splash, + and at once disappeared under the eddying water. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh!’ screamed the ladies with one voice. + </p> + <p> + ‘<i>Mein Gott</i>!’ was heard + from the other side. + </p> + <p> + An instant passed... and a round head, all plastered + over with wet hair, showed above water, it was blowing bubbles, this head; + and floundering with two hands just at its very lips. ‘He will be drowned, + save him! save him!’ cried Anna Vassilyevna to Insarov, who was standing + with his legs apart on the bank, breathing heavily. + </p> + <p> + ‘He will swim out,’ he answered with contemptuous and unsympathetic + indifference. ‘Let us go on,’ he added, taking Anna Vassilyevna by the + arm. ‘Come, Uvar Ivanovitch, Elena Nikolaevna.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘A—a—o—o’ was heard at that instant, the plaint of the + hapless German who had managed to get hold of the rushes on the bank. + </p> + <p> + They all followed Insarov, and had to pass close by the party. But, + deprived of their leader, the rowdies were subdued and did not utter a + word; but one, the boldest of them, muttered, shaking his head menacingly: + ‘All right... we shall see though... after that’; but one of the others + even took his hat off. Insarov struck them as formidable, and rightly so; + something evil, something dangerous could be seen in his face. The Germans + hastened to pull out their comrade, who, directly he had his feet on dry + ground, broke into tearful abuse and shouted after the ‘Russian + scoundrels,’ that he would make a complaint, that he would go to Count Von + Kizerits himself, and so on. + </p> + <p> + But the ‘Russian scoundrels’ paid no attention to his vociferations, and + hurried on as fast as they could to the castle. They were all silent, as + they walked through the garden, though Anna Vassilyevna sighed a little. + But when they reached the carriages and stood still, they broke into an + irrepressible, irresistible fit of Homeric laughter. First Shubin + exploded, shrieking as if he were mad, Bersenyev followed with his + gurgling guffaw, then Zoya fell into thin tinkling little trills, Anna + Vassilyevna too suddenly broke down, Elena could not help smiling, and + even Insarov at last could not resist it. But the loudest, longest, most + persistent laugh was Uvar Ivanovitch’s; he laughed till his sides ached, + till he choked and panted. He would calm down a little, then would murmur + through his tears: ‘I—thought—what’s that splash—and + there—he—went plop.’ And with the last word, forced out with + convulsive effort, his whole frame was shaking with another burst of + laughter. Zoya made him worse. ‘I saw his legs,’ she said, ‘kicking in the + air.’ ‘Yes, yes,’ gasped Uvar Ivanovitch, ‘his legs, his legs—and + then splash!—there he plopped in!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And how did Mr. Insarov manage it? why the German was three times his + size?’ said Zoya. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll tell you,’ answered Uvar Ivanovitch, rubbing his eyes, ‘I saw; with + one arm about his waist, he tripped him up, and he went plop! I heard—a + splash—there he went.’ + </p> + <p> + Long after the carriages had started, long after the castle of Tsaritsino + was out of sight, Uvar Ivanovitch was still unable to regain his + composure. Shubin, who was again with him in the carriage, began to cry + shame on him at last. + </p> + <p> + Insarov felt ashamed. He sat in the coach facing Elena (Bersenyev had + taken his seat on the box), and he said nothing; she too was silent. He + thought that she was condemning his action; but she did not condemn him. + She had been scared at the first minute; then the expression of his face + had impressed her; afterwards she pondered on it all. It was not quite + clear to her what the nature of her reflections was. The emotion she had + felt during the day had passed away; that she realised; but its place had + been taken by another feeling which she did not yet fully understand. The + <i>partie de plaisir</i> had been prolonged too late; insensibly evening + passed into night. The carriage rolled swiftly along, now beside ripening + cornfields, where the air was heavy and fragrant with the smell of wheat; + now beside wide meadows, from which a sudden wave of freshness blew + lightly in the face. The sky seemed to lie like smoke over the horizon. At + last the moon rose, dark and red. Anna Vassilyevna was dozing; Zoya had + poked her head out of window and was staring at the road. It occurred to + Elena at last that she had not spoken to Insarov for more than an hour. + She turned to him with a trifling question; he at once answered her, + delighted. Dim sounds began stirring indistinctly in the air, as though + thousands of voices were talking in the distance; Moscow was coming to + meet them. Lights twinkled afar off; they grew more and more frequent; at + last there was the grating of the cobbles under their wheels. Anna + Vassilyevna awoke, every one in the carriage began talking, though no one + could hear what was said; everything was drowned in the rattle of the + cobbles under the two carriages, and the hoofs of the eight horses. Long + and wearisome seemed the journey from Moscow to Kuntsovo; all the party + were asleep or silent, leaning with their heads pressed into their + respective corners; Elena did not close her eyes; she kept them fixed on + Insarov’s dimly-outlined figure. A mood of sadness had come upon Shubin; + the breeze was blowing into his eyes and irritating him; he retired into + the collar of his cloak and was on the point of tears. Uvar Ivanovitch was + snoring blissfully, rocking from side to side. The carriages came to a + standstill at last. Two men-servants lifted Anna Vassilyevna out of the + carriage; she was all to pieces, and at parting from her fellow + travellers, announced that she was ‘nearly dead’; they began thanking her, + but she only repeated, ‘nearly dead.’ Elena for the first time pressed + Insarov’s hand at parting, and for a long while she sat at her window + before undressing; Shubin seized an opportunity to whisper to Bersenyev: + </p> + <p> + ‘There, isn’t he a hero; he can pitch drunken Germans into the river!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘While you didn’t even do that,’ retorted Bersenyev, and he started + homewards with Insarov. + </p> + <p> + The dawn was already showing in the sky when the two friends reached their + lodging. The sun had not yet risen, but already the chill of daybreak was + in the air, a grey dew covered the grass, and the first larks were + trilling high, high up in the shadowy infinity of air, whence like a + solitary eye looked out the great, last star. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI + </h2> + <p> + Soon after her acquaintance with Insarov, Elena (for the fifth or sixth + time) began a diary. Here are some extracts from it: + </p> + <p> + ‘<i>June</i>.... Andrei Petrovitch brings me books, but I can’t read them. + I’m ashamed to confess it to him; but I don’t like to give back the books, + tell lies, say I have read them. I feel that would mortify him. He is + always watching me. He seems devoted to me. A very good man, Andrei + Petrovitch.... What is it I want? Why is my heart so heavy, so oppressed? + Why do I watch the birds with envy as they fly past? I feel that I could + fly with them, fly, where I don’t know, but far from here. And isn’t that + desire sinful? I have here mother, father, home. Don’t I love them? No, I + don’t love them, as I should like to love. It’s dreadful to put that in + words, but it’s the truth. Perhaps I am a great sinner; perhaps that is + why I am so sad, why I have no peace. Some hand seems laid on me, weighing + me down, as though I were in prison, and the walls would fall on me + directly. Why is it others don’t feel this? Whom shall I love, if I am + cold to my own people? It’s clear, papa is right; he reproaches me for + loving nothing but cats and dogs. I must think about that. I pray very + little; I must pray.... Ah, I think I should know how to love!... I am + still shy with Mr. Insarov. I don’t know why; I believe I’m not + schoolgirlish generally, and he is so simple and kind. Sometimes he has a + very serious face. He can’t give much thought to us. I feel that, and am + ashamed in a way to take up his time. With Andrei Petrovitch it’s quite a + different thing. I am ready to chat with him the whole day long. But he + too always talks of Insarov. And such terrible facts he tells me about + him! I saw him in a dream last night with a dagger in his hand. And he + seemed to say to me, “I will kill you and I will kill myself!” What + silliness! + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, if some one would say to me: “There, that’s what you must do!” Being + good—isn’t much; doing good... yes, that’s the great thing in life. + But how is one to do good? Oh, if I could learn to control myself! I don’t + know why I am so often thinking of Mr. Insarov. When he comes and sits and + listens intently, but makes no effort, no exertion himself, I look at him, + and feel pleased, and that’s all, and when he goes, I always go over his + words, and feel vexed with myself, and upset even. I can’t tell why. (He + speaks French badly and isn’t ashamed of it—I like that.) I always + think a lot about new people, though. As I talked to him, I suddenly was + reminded of our butler, Vassily, who rescued an old cripple out of a hut + that was on fire, and was almost killed himself. Papa called him a brave + fellow, mamma gave him five roubles, and I felt as though I could fall at + his feet. And he had a simple face—stupid-looking even—and he + took to drink later on.... + </p> + <p> + ‘I gave a penny to-day to a beggar woman, and she said to me, “Why are you + so sorrowful?” I never suspected I looked sorrowful. I think it must come + from being alone, always alone, for better, for worse! There is no one to + stretch out a hand to me. Those who come to me, I don’t want; and those I + would choose—pass me by. + </p> + <p> + ‘... I don’t know what’s the matter with me to-day; my head is confused, I + want to fall on my knees and beg and pray for mercy. I don’t know by whom + or how, but I feel as if I were being tortured, and inwardly I am + shrieking in revolt; I weep and can’t be quiet.... O my God, subdue these + outbreaks in me! Thou alone canst aid me, all else is useless; my + miserable alms-giving, my studies can do nothing, nothing, nothing to help + me. I should like to go out as a servant somewhere, really; that would do + me good. + </p> + <p> + ‘What is my youth for, what am I living for, why have I a soul, what is it + all for? + </p> + <p> + ‘... Insarov, Mr. Insarov—upon my word I don’t know how to write—still + interests me, I should like to know what he has within, in his soul? He + seems so open, so easy to talk to, but I can see nothing. Sometimes he + looks at me with such searching eyes—or is that my fancy? Paul keeps + teasing me. I am angry with Paul. What does he want? He’s in love with + me... but his love’s no good to me. He’s in love with Zoya too. I’m unjust + to him; he told me yesterday I didn’t know how to be unjust by halves... + that’s true. It’s very horrid. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, I feel one needs unhappiness, or poverty or sickness, or else one + gets conceited directly. + </p> + <p> + ‘... What made Andrei Petrovitch tell me to-day about those two + Bulgarians! He told me it as it were with some intention. What have I to + do with Mr. Insarov? I feel cross with Andrei Petrovitch. + </p> + <p> + ‘... I take my pen and don’t know how to begin. How unexpectedly he began + to talk to me in the garden to-day! How friendly and confiding he was! How + quickly it happened! As if we were old, old friends and had only just + recognised each other. How could I have not understood him before? How + near he is to me now! And—what’s so wonderful—I feel ever so + much calmer now. It’s ludicrous; yesterday I was angry with Andrei + Petrovitch, and angry with him, I even called him <i>Mr. Insarov</i>, and + to-day... Here at last is a true man; some one one may depend upon. He + won’t tell lies; he’s the first man I have met who never tells lies; all + the others tell lies, everything’s lying. Andrei Petrovitch, dear good + friend, why do I wrong you? No! Andrei Petrovitch is more learned than he + is, even, perhaps more intellectual. But I don’t know, he seems so small + beside him. When he speaks of his country he seems taller, and his face + grows handsome, and his voice is like steel, and... no... it seems as + though there were no one in the world before whom he would flinch. And he + doesn’t only talk.... he has acted and he will act. I shall ask him.... How + suddenly he turned to me and smiled!... It’s only brothers that smile like + that! Ah, how glad I am! When he came the first time, I never dreamt that + we should so soon get to know each other. And now I am even pleased that I + remained indifferent to him at first. Indifferent? Am I not indifferent + then now?... It’s long since I have felt such inward peace. I feel so + quiet, so quiet. And there’s nothing to write? I see him often and that’s + all. What more is there to write? + </p> + <p> + ‘... Paul shuts himself up, Andrei Petrovitch has taken to coming less + often.... poor fellow! I fancy he... But that can never be, though. I like + talking to Andrei Petrovitch; never a word of self, always of something + sensible, useful. Very different from Shubin. Shubin’s as fine as a + butterfly, and admires his own finery; which butterflies don’t do. But + both Shubin and Andrei Petrovitch.... I know what I mean. + </p> + <p> + ‘... He enjoys coming to us, I see that. But why? what does he find in me? + It’s true our tastes are alike; he and I, both of us don’t care for + poetry; neither of us knows anything of art. But how much better he is + than I! He is calm, I am in perpetual excitement; he has chosen his path, + his aim—while I—where am I going? where is my home? He is + calm, but all his thoughts are far away. The time will come, and he will + leave us for ever, will go home, there over the sea. Well? God grant he + may! Any way I shall be glad that I knew him, while he was here. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why isn’t he a Russian? No, he could not be Russian. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mamma too likes him; she says: an unassuming young man. Dear mamma! She + does not understand him. Paul says nothing; he guessed I didn’t like his + hints, but he’s jealous of him. Spiteful boy! And what right has he? Did I + ever... All that’s nonsense! What makes all that come into my head? + </p> + <p> + ‘... Isn’t it strange though, that up till now, up to twenty, I have never + loved any one! I believe that the reason why D.’s (I shall call him D.—I + like that name Dmitri) soul is so clear, is that he is entirely given up + to his work, his ideal. What has he to trouble about? When any one has + utterly... utterly... given himself up, he has little sorrow, he is not + responsible for anything. It’s not <i>I</i> want, but <i>it</i> wants. By + the way, he and I both love the same flowers. I picked a rose this + morning, one leaf fell, he picked it up.... I gave him the whole rose. + </p> + <p> + ‘... D. often comes to us. Yesterday he spent the whole evening. He wants + to teach me Bulgarian. I feel happy with him, quite at home, more than at + home. + </p> + <p> + ‘... The days fly past.... I am happy, and somehow discontent and I am + thankful to God, and tears are not far off. Oh these hot bright days! + </p> + <p> + ‘... I am still light-hearted as before, and only at times, and only a + little, sad. I am happy. Am I happy? + </p> + <p> + ‘... It will be long before I forget the expedition yesterday. What + strange, new, terrible impressions when he suddenly took that great giant + and flung him like a ball into the water. I was not frightened ... yet he + frightened me. And afterwards—what an angry face, almost cruel! How + he said, “He will swim out!” It gave me a shock. So I did not understand + him. And afterwards when they all laughed, when I was laughing, how I felt + for him! He was ashamed, I felt that he was ashamed before me. He told me + so afterwards in the carriage in the dark, when I tried to get a good view + of him and was afraid of him. Yes, he is not to be trifled with, and he is + a splendid champion. But why that wicked look, those trembling lips, that + angry fire in his eyes? Or is it, perhaps, inevitable? Isn’t it possible + to be a man, a hero, and to remain soft and gentle? “Life is a coarse + business,” he said to me once lately. I repeated that saying to Andrei + Petrovitch; he did not agree with D. Which of them is right? But the + beginning of that day! How happy I was, walking beside him, even without + speaking. ... But I am glad of what happened. I see that it was quite as + it should be. + </p> + <p> + ‘... Restlessness again... I am not quite well.... All these days I have + written nothing in this book, because I have had no wish to write. I felt, + whatever I write, it won’t be what is in my heart. ... And what is in my + heart? I have had a long talk with him, which revealed a great deal. He + told me his plan (by the way, I know now how he got the wound in his + neck.... Good God! when I think he was actually condemned to death, that + he was only just saved, that he was wounded.... ) He prophesies war and + will be glad of it. And for all that, I never saw D. so depressed. What + can he... he!... be depressed by? Papa arrived home from town and came + upon us two. He looked rather queerly at us. Andrei Petrovitch came; I + noticed he had grown very thin and pale. He reproved me, saying I behave + too coldly and inconsiderately to Shubin. I had utterly forgotten Paul’s + existence. I will see him, and try to smooth over my offence. He is + nothing to me now... nor any one else in the world. Andrei Petrovitch + talked to me in a sort of commiserating way. What does it all mean? Why is + everything around me and within me so dark? I feel as if about me and + within me, something mysterious were happening, for which I want to find + the right word.... I did not sleep all night; my head aches. What’s the + good of writing? He went away so quickly to-day and I wanted to talk to + him.... He almost seems to avoid me. Yes, he avoids me. + </p> + <p> + ‘... The word is found, light has dawned on me! My God, have pity on + me.... I love him!’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII + </h2> + <p> + On the very day on which Elena had written this last fatal line in her + diary, Insarov was sitting in Bersenyev’s room, and Bersenyev was standing + before him with a look of perplexity on his face. Insarov had just + announced his intention of returning to Moscow the next day. + </p> + <p> + ‘Upon my word!’ cried Bersenyev. ‘Why, the finest part of the summer is + just beginning. What will you do in Moscow? What a sudden decision! Or + have you had news of some sort?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have had no news,’ replied Insarov; ‘but on thinking things over, I + find I cannot stop here.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How can that be?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Andrei Petrovitch,’ said Insarov, ‘be so kind... don’t insist, please, I + am very sorry myself to be leaving you, but it can’t be helped.’ + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev looked at him intently. + </p> + <p> + ‘I know,’ he said at last, ‘there’s no persuading you. And so, it’s a + settled matter, is it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Absolutely settled,’ replied Insarov, getting up and going away. + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev walked about the room, then took his hat and set off for the + Stahovs. + </p> + <p> + ‘You have something to tell me,’ Elena said to him, directly they were + left alone. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, how did you guess?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Never mind; tell me what it is.’ + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev told her of Insarov’s intention. + </p> + <p> + Elena turned white. + </p> + <p> + ‘What does it mean?’ she articulated with effort. + </p> + <p> + ‘You know,’ observed Bersenyev, ‘Dmitri Nikanorovitch does not care to + give reasons for his actions. But I think... let us sit down, Elena + Nikolaevna, you don’t seem very well.... I fancy I can guess what is the + real cause of this sudden departure.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What—what cause?’ repeated Elena, and unconsciously she gripped + tightly Bersenyev’s hand in her chill fingers. + </p> + <p> + ‘You see,’ began Bersenyev, with a pathetic smile, ‘how can I explain to + you? I must go back to last spring, to the time when I began to be more + intimate with Insarov. I used to meet him then at the house of a relative, + who had a daughter, a very pretty girl I thought that Insarov cared for + her, and I told him so. He laughed, and answered that I was mistaken, that + he was quite heart-whole, but if anything of that sort did happen to him, + he should run away directly, as he did not want, in his own words, for the + sake of personal feeling, to be false to his cause and his duty. “I am a + Bulgarian,” he said, “and I have no need of a Russian love——” + </p> + <p> + ‘Well—so—now you——’ whispered Elena. She + involuntarily turned away her head, like a man expecting a blow, but she + still held the hand she had clutched. + </p> + <p> + ‘I think,’ he said, and his own voice sank, ‘I think that what I fancied + then has really happened now.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That is—you think—don’t torture me!’ broke suddenly from + Elena. + </p> + <p> + ‘I think,’ Bersenyev continued hurriedly, ‘that Insarov is in love now + with a Russian girl, and he is resolved to go, according to his word.’ + </p> + <p> + Elena clasped his hand still tighter, and her head drooped still lower, as + if she would hide from other eyes the flush of shame which suddenly blazed + over her face and neck. + </p> + <p> + ‘Andrei Petrovitch, you are kind as an angel,’ she said, ‘but will he come + to say goodbye?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, I imagine so; he will be sure to come. He wouldn’t like to go away——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Tell him, tell him——’ + </p> + <p> + But here the poor girl broke down; tears rushed streaming from her eyes, + and she ran out of the room. + </p> + <p> + ‘So that’s how she loves him,’ thought Bersenyev, as he walked slowly + home. ‘I didn’t expect that; I didn’t think she felt so strongly. I am + kind, she says:’ he pursued his reflections:... ‘Who can tell what + feelings, what impulse drove me to tell Elena all that? It was not + kindness; no, not kindness. It was all the accursed desire to make sure + whether the dagger is really in the wound. I ought to be content. They + love each other, and I have been of use to them.... The future go-between + between science and the Russian public Shubin calls me; it seems as though + it had been decreed at my birth that I should be a go-between. But if I’m + mistaken? No, I’m not mistaken——’ + </p> + <p> + It was bitter for Andrei Petrovitch, and he could not turn his mind to + Raumer. + </p> + <p> + The next day at two o’clock Insarov arrived at the Stahovs’. As though by + express design, there was a visitor in Anna Vassilyevna’s drawing-room at + the time, the wife of a neighbouring chief-priest, an excellent and worthy + woman, though she had had a little unpleasantness with the police, because + she thought fit, in the hottest part of the day, to bathe in a lake near + the road, along which a certain dignified general’s family used often to + be passing. The presence of an outside person was at first even a relief + to Elena, from whose face every trace of colour vanished, directly she + heard Insarov’s step; but her heart sank at the thought that he might go + without a word with her alone. He, too, seemed confused, and avoided + meeting her eyes. ‘Surely he will not go directly,’ thought Elena. Insarov + was, in fact, turning to take leave of Anna Vassilyevna; Elena hastily + rose and called him aside to the window. The priest’s wife was surprised, + and tried to turn round; but she was so tightly laced that her stays + creaked at every movement, and she stayed where she was. + </p> + <p> + ‘Listen,’ said Elena hurriedly; ‘I know what you have come for; Andrei + Petrovitch told me of your intention, but I beg, I entreat you, do not say + good-bye to us to-day, but come here to-morrow rather earlier, at eleven. + I must have a few words with you.’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov bent his head without speaking. + </p> + <p> + ‘I will not keep you.... You promise me?’ + </p> + <p> + Again Insarov bowed, but said nothing. + </p> + <p> + ‘Lenotchka, come here,’ said Anna Vassilyevna, ‘look, what a charming + reticule.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I worked it myself,’ observed the priest’s wife. + </p> + <p> + Elena came away from the window. + </p> + <p> + Insarov did not stay more than a quarter of an hour at the Stahovs’. Elena + watched him secretly. He was restless and ill at ease. As before, he did + not know where to look, and he went away strangely and suddenly; he seemed + to vanish. + </p> + <p> + Slowly passed that day for Elena; still more slowly dragged on the long, + long night. Elena sat on her bed, her arms clasping her knees, and her + head laid on them; then she walked to the window, pressed her burning + forehead against the cold glass, and thought and thought, going over and + over the same thoughts till she was exhausted. Her heart seemed turned to + stone, she did not feel it, but the veins in her head throbbed painfully, + her hair stifled her, and her lips were dry. ‘He will come... he did not + say good-bye to mamma... he will not deceive me... Can Andrei Petrovitch + have been right? It cannot be... He didn’t promise to come in words... Can + I have parted from him for ever——?’ Those were the thoughts + that never left her, literally never left her; they did not come and come + again; they were for ever turning like a mist moving about in her brain. + ‘He loves me!’ suddenly flashed through her, setting her whole nature on + fire, and she gazed fixedly into the darkness; a secret smile parted her + lips, seen by none, but she quickly shook her head, and clasped her hands + behind her neck, and again her former thought hung like a mist about her. + Before morning she undressed and went to bed, but she could not sleep. The + first fiery ray of sunlight fell upon her room... ‘Oh, if he loves me!’ + she cried suddenly, and unabashed by the light shining on her, she opened + wide her arms... She got up, dressed, and went down. No one in the house + was awake yet. She went into the garden, but in the garden it was + peaceful, green, and fresh; the birds chirped so confidingly, and the + flowers peeped out so gaily that she could not bear it. ‘Oh!’ she thought, + ‘if it is true, no blade of grass is happy as I. But is it true?’ She went + back to her room and, to kill time, she began changing her dress. But + everything slipped out of her hands, and she was still sitting + half-dressed before her looking-glass when she was summoned to morning + tea. She went down; her mother noticed her pallor, but only said: ‘How + interesting you are to-day,’ and taking her in in a glance, she added: + ‘How well that dress suits you; you should always put it on when you want + to make an impression on any one.’ Elena made no reply, and sat down in a + corner. Meanwhile it struck nine o’clock; there were only two haurs now + till eleven. Elena tried to read, then to sew, then to read again, then + she vowed to herself to walk a hundred times up and down one alley, and + paced it a hundred times; then for a long time she watched Anna + Vassilyevna laying out the cards for patience... and looked at the clock; + it was not yet ten. Shubin came into the drawing-room. She tried to talk + to him, and begged his pardon, what for she did not know herself.... Every + word she uttered did not cost her effort exactly, but roused a kind of + amazement in herself. Shubin bent over her. She expected ridicule, raised + her eyes, and saw before her a sorrowful and sympathetic face.... She + smiled at this face. Shubin, too, smiled at her without speaking, and + gently left her. She tried to keep him, but could not at once remember + what to call him. At last it struck eleven. Then she began to wait, to + wait, and to listen. She could do nothing now; she ceased even to think. + Her heart was stirred into life again, and began beating louder and + louder, and strange, to say, the time seemed flying by. A quarter of an + hour passed, then half an hour; a few minutes more, as Elena thought, had + passed, when suddenly she started; the clock had struck not twelve, but + one. ‘He is not coming; he is going away without saying good-bye.’... The + blood rushed to her head with this thought. She felt that she was gasping + for breath, that she was on the point of sobbing.... She ran to her own + room, and fell with her face in her clasped hands on to the bed. + </p> + <p> + For half an hour she lay motionless; the tears flowed through her fingers + on to the pillow. Suddenly she raised herself and sat up, something + strange was passing in her, her face changed, her wet eyes grew dry and + shining, her brows were bent and her lips compressed. Another half-hour + passed. Elena, for the last time, strained her ears to listen: was not + that the familiar voice floating up to her? She got up, put on her hat and + gloves, threw a cape over her shoulders, and, slipping unnoticed out of + the house, she went with swift steps along the road leading to Bersenyev’s + lodging. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII + </h2> + <p> + Elena walked with her head bent and her eyes fixed straight before her. + She feared nothing, she considered nothing; she wanted to see Insarov once + more. She went on, not noticing that the sun had long ago disappeared + behind heavy black clouds, that the wind was roaring by gusts in the trees + and blowing her dress about her, that the dust had suddenly risen and was + flying in a cloud along the road.... Large drops of rain were falling, she + did not even notice it; but it fell faster and heavier, there were flashes + of lightning and peals of thunder. Elena stood still looking round.... + Fortunately for her, there was a little old broken-down chapel that had + been built over a disused well not far from the place where she was + overtaken by the storm. She ran to it and got under the low roof. The rain + fell in torrents; the sky was completely overcast. In dumb despair Elena + stared at the thick network of fast-falling drops. Her last hope of + getting a sight of Insarov was vanishing. A little old beggar-woman came + into the chapel, shook herself, said with a curtsy: ‘Out of the rain, good + lady,’ and with many sighs and groans sat down on a ledge near the well. + Elena put her hand into her pocket; the old woman noticed this action and + a light came into her face, yellow and wrinkled now, though once handsome. + ‘Thank you, dear gracious lady,’ she was beginning. There happened to be + no purse in Elena’s pocket, but the old woman was still holding out her + hand. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have no money, grannie,’ said Elena, ‘but here, take this, it will be + of use for something.’ + </p> + <p> + She gave her her handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + ‘O-oh, my pretty lady,’ said the beggar, ‘what do you give your + handkerchief to me for? For a wedding-present to my grandchild when she’s + married? God reward you for your goodness!’ + </p> + <p> + A peal of thunder was heard. + </p> + <p> + ‘Lord Jesus Christ,’ muttered the beggar-woman, and she crossed herself + three times. ‘Why, haven’t I seen you before,’ she added after a brief + pause. ‘Didn’t you give me alms in Christ’s name?’ + </p> + <p> + Elena looked more attentively at the old woman and recognised her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, grannie,’ she answered, ‘wasn’t it you asked me why I was so + sorrowful?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, darling, yes. I fancied I knew you. And I think you’ve a heart-ache + still. You seem in trouble now. Here’s your handkerchief, too, wet from + tears to be sure. Oh, you young people, you all have the same sorrow, a + terrible woe it is!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What sorrow, grannie?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, my good young lady, you can’t deceive an old woman like me. I know + what your heart is heavy over; your sorrow’s not an uncommon one. Sure, I + have been young too, darling. I have been through that trouble too. Yes. + And I’ll tell you something, for your goodness to me; you’ve won a good + man, not a light of love, you cling to him alone; cling to him stronger + than death. If it comes off, it comes off,—if not, it’s in God’s + hands. Yes. Why are you wondering at me? I’m a fortune-teller. There, I’ll + carry away your sorrow with your handkerchief. I’ll carry it away, and + it’s over. See the rain’s less; you wait a little longer. It’s not the + first time I’ve been wet. Remember, darling; you had a sorrow, the sorrow + has flown, and there’s no memory of it. Good Lord, have mercy on us!’ + </p> + <p> + The beggar-woman got up from the edge of the well, went out of the chapel, + and stole off on her way. Elena stared after her in bewilderment. ‘What + does this mean?’ she murmured involuntarily. + </p> + <p> + The rain grew less and less, the sun peeped out for an instant. Elena was + just preparing to leave her shelter.... Suddenly, ten paces from the + chapel, she saw Insarov. Wrapt in a cloak he was walking along the very + road by which Elena had come; he seemed to be hurrying home. + </p> + <p> + She clasped the old rail of the steps for support, and tried to call to + him, but her voice failed her... Insarov had already passed by without + raising his head. + </p> + <p> + ‘Dmitri Nikanorovitch!’ she said at last. + </p> + <p> + Insarov stopped abruptly, looked round.... For the first minute he did not + know Elena, but he went up to her at once. ‘You! you here!’ he cried. + </p> + <p> + She walked back in silence into the chapel. Insarov followed Elena. ‘You + here?’ he repeated. + </p> + <p> + She was still silent, and only gazed upon him with a strange, slow, tender + look. He dropped his eyes. + </p> + <p> + ‘You have come from our house?’ she asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘No... not from your house.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No?’ repeated Elena, and she tried to smile. ‘Is that how you keep your + promises? I have been expecting you ever since the morning.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I made no promise yesterday, if you remember, Elena Nikolaevna.’ + </p> + <p> + Again Elena faintly smiled, and she passed her hand over her face. Both + face and hands were very white. + </p> + <p> + ‘You meant, then, to go away without saying good-bye to us?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ replied Insarov in a surly, thick voice. + </p> + <p> + ‘What? After our friendship, after the talks, after everything.... Then if + I had not met you here by chance.’ (Elena’s voice began to break, and she + paused an instant)... ‘you would have gone away like that, without even + shaking hands for the last time, and you would not have cared?’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov turned away. ‘Elena Nikolaevnas don’t talk like that, please. I’m + not over happy as it is. Believe me, my decision has cost me great effort. + If you knew——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t want to know,’ Elena interposed with dismay, ‘why you are + going.... It seems it’s necessary. It seems we must part. You would not + wound your friends without good reason. But, can friends part like this? + And we are friends, aren’t we?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Insarov. + </p> + <p> + ‘What?’ murmured Elena. Her cheeks were overspread with a faint flush. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s just why I am going away—because we are not friends. Don’t + force me into saying what I don’t want to say, and what I won’t say.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You used to be so open with me,’ said Elena rather reproachfully. ‘Do you + remember?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I used to be able to be open, then I had nothing to conceal; but now——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But now?’ queried Elena. + </p> + <p> + ‘But now... now I must go away. Goodbye.’ + </p> + <p> + If, at that instant, Insarov had lifted his eyes to Elena, he would have + seen that her face grew brighter and brighter as he frowned and looked + gloomy; but he kept his eyes obstinately fixed on the ground. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, good-bye, Dmitri Nikanorovitch,’ she began. ‘But at least, since we + have met, give me your hand now.’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov was stretching out his hand. ‘No, I can’t even do that,’ he said, + and turned away again. + </p> + <p> + ‘You can’t?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, I can’t. Good-bye.’ And he moved away to the entrance of the chapel. + </p> + <p> + ‘Wait a little longer,’ said Elena. ‘You seem afraid of me. But I am + braver than you,’ she added, a faint tremor passing suddenly over her + whole body. ‘I can tell you... shall I?... how it was you found me here? + Do you know where I was going?’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov looked in bewilderment at Elena. + </p> + <p> + ‘I was going to you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘To me?’ + </p> + <p> + Elena hid her face. ‘You mean to force me to say that I love you,’ she + whispered. ‘There, I have said it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Elena!’ cried Insarov. + </p> + <p> + She took his hands, looked at him, and fell on his breast. + </p> + <p> + He held her close to him, and said nothing. There was no need for him to + tell her he loved her. From that cry alone, from the instant + transformation of the whole man, from the heaving of the breast to which + she clung so confidingly, from the touch of his finger tips in her hair, + Elena could feel that she was loved. He did not speak, and she needed no + words. ‘He is here, he loves me... what need of more?’ The peace of + perfect bliss, the peace of the harbour reached after storm, of the end + attained, that heavenly peace which gives significance and beauty even to + death, filled her with its divine flood. She desired nothing, for she had + gained all. ‘O my brother, my friend, my dear one!’ her lips were + whispering, while she did not know whose was this heart, his or her own, + which beat so blissfully, and melted against her bosom. + </p> + <p> + He stood motionless, folding in his strong embrace the young life + surrendered to him; he felt against his heart this new, infinitely + precious burden; a passion of tenderness, of gratitude unutterable, was + crumbling his hard will to dust, and tears unknown till now stood in his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + She did not weep; she could only repeat, ‘O my friend, my brother!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘So you will follow me everywhere?’ he said to her, a quarter of an hour + later, still enfolding her and keeping her close to him in his arms. + </p> + <p> + ‘Everywhere, to the ends of the earth. Where you are, I will be.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And you are not deceiving yourself, you know your parents will never + consent to our marriage?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t deceive myself; I know that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You know that I’m poor—almost a beggar.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I know.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That I’m not a Russian, that it won’t be my fate to live in Russia, that + you will have to break all your ties with your country, with your people.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I know, I know.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you know, too, that I have given myself up to a difficult, thankless + cause, that I... that we shall have to expose ourselves not to dangers + only, but to privation, humiliation, perhaps——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I know, I know all—I love you——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That you will have to give up all you are accustomed to, that out there + alone among strangers, you will be forced perhaps to work——’ + </p> + <p> + She laid her hand on his lips. ‘I love you, my dear one.’ + </p> + <p> + He began hotly kissing her slender, rosy hand. Elena did not draw it away + from his lips, and with a kind of childish delight, with smiling + curiosity, watched how he covered with kisses, first the palm, then the + fingers.... + </p> + <p> + All at once she blushed and hid her face upon his breast. + </p> + <p> + He lifted her head tenderly and looked steadily into her eyes. ‘Welcome, + then, my wife, before God and men!’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX + </h2> + <p> + An hour later, Elena, with her hat in one hand, her cape in the other, + walked slowly into the drawing-room of the villa. Her hair was in slight + disorder; on each cheek was to be seen a small bright spot of colour, the + smile would not leave her lips, her eyes were nearly shutting and half + hidden under the lids; they, too, were smiling. She could scarcely move + for weariness, and this weariness was pleasant to her; everything, indeed, + was pleasant to her. Everything seemed sweet and friendly to her. Uvar + Ivanovitch was sitting at the window; she went up to him, laid her hand on + his shoulder, stretched a little, and involuntarily, as it seemed, she + laughed. + </p> + <p> + ‘What is it?’ he inquired, astonished. + </p> + <p> + She did not know what to say. She felt inclined to kiss Uvar Ivanovitch. + </p> + <p> + ‘How he splashed!’ she explained at last. + </p> + <p> + But Uvar Ivanovitch did not stir a muscle, and continued to look with + amazement at Elena. She dropped her hat and cape on to him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Dear Uvar Ivanovitch,’ she said, ‘I am sleepy and tired,’ and again she + laughed and sank into a low chair near him. + </p> + <p> + ‘H’m,’ grunted Uvar Ivanovitch, flourishing his fingers, ‘then you ought—yes——’ + </p> + <p> + Elena was looking round her and thinking, ‘From all this I soon must + part... and strange—I have no dread, no doubt, no regret.... No, I + am sorry for mamma.’ Then the little chapel rose again before her mind, + again her voice was echoing in it, and she felt his arms about her. + Joyously, though faintly, her heart fluttered; weighed down by the languor + of happiness. The old beggar-woman recurred to her mind. ‘She did really + bear away my sorrow,’ she thought. ‘Oh, how happy I am! how undeservedly! + how soon!’ If she had let herself go in the least she would have melted + into sweet, endless tears. She could only restrain them by laughing. + Whatever attitude she fell into seemed to her the easiest, most + comfortable possible; she felt as if she were being rocked to sleep. All + her movements were slow and soft; what had become of her awkwardness, her + haste? Zoya came in; Elena decided that she had never seen a more charming + little face; Anna Vassilyevna came in; Elena felt a pang—but with + what tenderness she embraced her mother and kissed her on the forehead + near the hair, already slightly grey! Then she went away to her own room; + how everything smiled upon her there! With what a sense of shamefaced + triumph and tranquillity she sat down on her bed—the very bed on + which, only three hours ago, she had spent such bitter moments! ‘And yet, + even then, I knew he loved me,’ she thought, ‘even before... Ah, no! it’s + a sin. You are my wife,’ she whispered, hiding her face in her hands and + falling on her knees. + </p> + <p> + Towards the evening, she grew more thoughtful. Sadness came upon her at + the thought that she would not soon see Insarov. He could not without + awakening suspicion remain at Bersenyev’s, and so this was what he and + Elena had resolved on. Insarov was to return to Moscow and to come over to + visit them twice before the autumn; on her side she promised to write him + letters, and, if it were possible, to arrange a meeting with him somewhere + near Kuntsov. She went down to the drawing-room to tea, and found there + all the household and Shubin, who looked at her sharply directly she came + in; she tried to talk to him in a friendly way as of old, but she dreaded + his penetration, she was afraid of herself. She felt sure that there was + good reason for his having left her alone for more than a fortnight. Soon + Bersenyev arrived, and gave Insarov’s respects to Anna Vassilyevna with an + apology for having gone back to Moscow without calling to take leave of + her. Insarov’s name was for the first time during the day pronounced + before Elena. She felt that she reddened; she realised at the same time + that she ought to express regret at the sudden departure of such a + pleasant acquaintance; but she could not force herself to hypocrisy, and + continued to sit without stirring or speaking, while Anna Vassilyevna + sighed and lamented. Elena tried to keep near Bersenyev; she was not + afraid of him, though he even knew part of her secret; she was safe under + his wing from Shubin, who still persisted in staring at her—not + mockingly but attentively. Bersenyev, too, was thrown into perplexity + during the evening: he had expected to see Elena more gloomy. Happily for + her, an argument sprang up about art between him and Shubin; she moved + apart and heard their voices as it were through a dream. By degrees, not + only they, but the whole room, everything surrounding her, seemed like a + dream—everything: the samovar on the table, and Uvar Ivanovitch’s + short waistcoat, and Zoya’s polished finger-nails, and the portrait in + oils of the Grand Duke Constantine Pavlovitch on the wall; everything + retreated, everything was wrapped in mist, everything ceased to exist. + Only she felt sorry for them all. ‘What are they living for?’ she thought. + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you sleepy, Lenotchka?’ her mother asked her. She did not hear the + question. + </p> + <p> + ‘A half untrue insinuation, do you say?’ These words, sharply uttered by + Shubin, suddenly awakened Elena’s attention. ‘Why,’ he continued, ‘the + whole sting lies in that. A true insinuation makes one wretched—that’s + unchristian—and to an untrue insinuation a man is indifferent—that’s + stupid, but at a half true one he feels vexed and impatient. For instance, + if I say that Elena Nikolaevna is in love with one of us, what sort of + insinuation would that be, eh?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, Monsieur Paul,’ said Elena, ‘I should like to show myself vexed, but + really I can’t. I am so tired.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why don’t you go to bed?’ observed Anna Vassilyevna, who was always + drowsy in the evening herself, and consequently always eager to send the + others to bed. ‘Say good-night to me, and go in God’s name; Andrei + Petrovitch will excuse you.’ + </p> + <p> + Elena kissed her mother, bowed to all and went away. Shubin accompanied + her to the door. ‘Elena Nikolaevna,’ he whispered to her in the doorway, + ‘you trample on Monsieur Paul, you mercilessly walk over him, but Monsieur + Paul blesses you and your little feet, and the slippers on your little + feet, and the soles of your little slippers.’ + </p> + <p> + Elena shrugged her shoulders, reluctantly held out her hand to him—not + the one Insarov had kissed—and going up to her room, at once + undressed, got into bed, and fell asleep. She slept a deep, unstirring + sleep, as even children rarely sleep—the sleep of a child + convalescent after sickness, when its mother sits near its cradle and + watches it, and listens to its breathing. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XX + </h2> + <p> + ‘Come to my room for a minute,’ Shubin said to Bersenyev, directly the + latter had taken leave of Anna Vassilyevna: ‘I have something to show + you.’ + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev followed him to his attic. He was surprised to see a number of + studies, statuettes, and busts, covered with damp cloths, set about in all + the corners of the room. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well I see you have been at work in earnest,’ he observed to Shubin. + </p> + <p> + ‘One must do something,’ he answered. ‘If one thing doesn’t do, one must + try another. However, like a true Corsican, I am more concerned with + revenge than with pure art. <i>Trema, Bisanzia!</i>’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t understand you,’ said Bersenyev. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, wait a minute. Deign to look this way, gracious friend and + benefactor, my vengeance number one.’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin uncovered one figure, and Bersenyev saw a capital bust of Insarov, + an excellent likeness. The features of the face had been correctly caught + by Shubin to the minutest detail, and he had given him a fine expression, + honest, generous, and bold. + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev went into raptures over it. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s simply exquisite!’ he cried. ‘I congratulate you. You must send it + to the exhibition! Why do you call that magnificent work your vengeance?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Because, sir, I intended to offer this magnificent work as you call it to + Elena Nikolaevna on her name day. Do you see the allegory? We are not + blind, we see what goes on about us, but we are gentlemen, my dear sir, + and we take our revenge like gentlemen.... But here,’ added Shubin, + uncovering another figure, ‘as the artist according to modern aesthetic + principles enjoys the enviable privilege of embodying in himself every + sort of baseness which he can turn into a gem of creative art, we in the + production of this gem, number two, have taken vengeance not as gentlemen, + but simply <i>en canaille</i>.’ + </p> + <p> + He deftly drew off the cloth, and displayed to Bersenyev’s eyes a + statuette in Dantan’s style, also of Insarov. Anything cleverer and more + spiteful could not be imagined. The young Bulgarian was represented as a + ram standing on his hind-legs, butting forward with his horns. Dull + solemnity and aggressiveness, obstinacy, clumsiness and narrowness were + simply printed on the visage of the ‘sire of the woolly flock,’ and yet + the likeness to Insarov was so striking that Bersenyev could not help + laughing. + </p> + <p> + ‘Eh? is it amusing?’ said Shubin. ‘Do you recognise the hero? Do you + advise me to send it too to the exhibition? That, my dear fellow, I intend + as a present for myself on my own name day.... Your honour will permit me + to play the fool.’ + </p> + <p> + And Shubin gave three little leaps, kicking himself behind with his heels. + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev picked up the cloth off the floor—and threw it over the + statuette. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, you, magnanimous’—began Shubin. ‘Who the devil was it in + history was so particularly magnanimous? Well, never mind! And now,’ he + continued, with melancholy triumph, uncovering a third rather large mass + of clay, ‘you shall behold something which will show you the humility and + discernment of your friend. You will realise that he, like a true artist + again, feels the need and the use of self-castigation. Behold!’ + </p> + <p> + The cloth was lifted and Bersenyev saw two heads, modelled side by side + and close as though growing together.... He did not at once know what was + the subject, but looking closer, he recognised in one of them Annushka, in + the other Shubin himself. They were, however, rather caricatures than + portraits. Annushka was represented as a handsome fat girl with a low + forehead, eyes lost in layers of fat, and a saucily turned-up nose. Her + thick lips had an insolent curve; her whole face expressed sensuality, + carelessness, and boldness, not without goodnature. Himself Shubin had + modelled as a lean emaciated rake, with sunken cheeks, his thin hair + hanging in weak wisps about his face, a meaningless expression in his dim + eyes, and his nose sharp and thin as a dead man’s. + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev turned away with disgust. ‘A nice pair, aren’t they, my dear + fellow?’ said Shubin; ‘won’t you graciously compose a suitable title? For + the first two I have already thought of titles. On the bust shall be + inscribed: “A hero resolving to liberate his country.” On the statuette: + “Look out, sausage-eating Germans!” And for this work what do you think of + “The future of the artist Pavel Yakovlitch Shubin?” Will that do?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Leave off,’ replied Bersenyev. ‘Was it worth while to waste your time on + such a ——’ He could not at once fix on a suitable word. + </p> + <p> + ‘Disgusting thing, you mean? No, my dear fellow, excuse me, if anything + ought to go to the exhibition, it’s that group.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s simply disgusting,’ repeated Bersenyev. ‘And besides, it’s nonsense. + You have absolutely no such degrading tendencies to which, unhappily, our + artists have such a frequent bent. You have simply libelled yourself.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you think so?’ said Shubin gloomily. ‘I have none of them, and if they + come upon me, the fault is all one person’s. Do you know,’ he added, + tragically knitting his brows, ‘that I have been trying drinking?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nonsense?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, I have, by God,’ rejoined Shubin; and suddenly grinning and + brightening,—‘but I didn’t like it, my dear boy, the stuff sticks in + my throat, and my head afterwards is a perfect drum. The great Lushtchihin + himself—Harlampy Lushtchihin—the greatest drunkard in Moscow, + and a Great Russian drunkard too, declared there was nothing to be made of + me. In his words, the bottle does not speak to me.’ + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev was just going to knock the group over but Shubin stopped him. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’ll do, my dear boy, don’t smash it; it will serve as a lesson, a + scare-crow.’ + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev laughed. + </p> + <p> + ‘If that’s what it is, I will spare your scarecrow then,’ he said. And + now, ‘Long live eternal true art!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Long live true art!’ put in Shubin. ‘By art the good is better and the + bad is not all loss!’ + </p> + <p> + The friends shook hands warmly and parted. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXI + </h2> + <p> + Elena’s first sensation on awakening was one of happy consternation. ‘Is + it possible? Is it possible?’ she asked herself, and her heart grew faint + with happiness. Recollections came rushing on her... she was overwhelmed + by them. Then again she was enfolded by the blissful peace of triumph. But + in the course of the morning, Elena gradually became possessed by a spirit + of unrest, and for the remainder of the day she felt listless and weary. + It was true she knew now what she wanted, but that made it no easier for + her. That never-to-be forgotten meeting had cast her for ever out of the + old groove; she was no longer at the same standpoint, she was far away, + and yet everything went on about her in its accustomed order, everything + pursued its own course as though nothing were changed; the old life moved + on its old way, reckoning on Elena’s interest and co-operation as of old. + She tried to begin a letter to Insarov, but that too was a failure; the + words came on to paper either lifeless or false. Her diary she had put an + end to by drawing a thick stroke under the last line. That was the past, + and every thought, all her soul, was turned now to the future. Her heart + was heavy. To sit with her mother who suspected nothing, to listen to her, + answer her and talk to her, seemed to Elena something wicked; she felt the + presence of a kind of falseness in her, she suffered though she had + nothing to blush for; more than once an almost irresistible desire sprang + up in her heart to tell everything without reserve, whatever might come of + it afterwards. ‘Why,’ she thought, ‘did not Dmitri take me away then, from + that little chapel, wherever he wanted to go? Didn’t he tell me I was his + wife before God? What am I here for?’ She suddenly began to feel shy of + every one, even of Uvar Ivanovitch, who was flourishing his fingers in + more perplexity than ever. Now everything about her seemed neither sweet + nor friendly, nor even a dream, but, like a nightmare, lay, an immovable + dead load, on her heart; seeming to reproach her and be indignant with + her, and not to care to know about her....‘You are ours in spite of + everything,’ she seemed to hear. Even her poor pets, her ill-used birds + and animals looked at her—so at least she fancied—with + suspicion and hostility. She felt conscience-stricken and ashamed of her + feelings. ‘This is my home after all,’ she thought, ‘my family, my + country.’... ‘No, it’s no longer your country, nor your family,’ another + voice affirmed within her. Terror was overmastering her, and she was vexed + with her own feebleness. The trial was only beginning and she was losing + patience already... Was this what she had promised? + </p> + <p> + She did not soon gain control of herself. But a week passed and then + another.... Elena became a little calmer, and grew used to her new + position. She wrote two little notes to Insarov, and carried them herself + to the post: she could not for anything—through shame and through + pride—have brought herself to confide in a maid. She was already + beginning to expect him in person.... But instead of Insarov, one fine + morning Nikolai Artemyevitch made his appearance. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXII + </h2> + <p> + No one in the house of the retired lieutenant of guards, Stahov, had ever + seen him so sour, and at the same time so self-confident and important as + on that day. He walked into the drawing-room in his overcoat and hat, with + long deliberate stride, stamping with his heels; he approached the + looking-glass and took a long look at himself, shaking his head and biting + his lips with imperturbable severity. Anna Vassilyevna met him with + obvious agitation and secret delight (she never met him otherwise); he did + not even take off his hat, nor greet her, and in silence gave Elena his + doe-skin glove to kiss. Anna Vassilyevna began questioning him about the + progress of his cure; he made her no reply. Uvar Ivanovitch made his + appearance; he glanced at him and said, ‘bah!’ He usually behaved coldly + and haughtily to Uvar Ivanovitch, though he acknowledged in him ‘traces of + the true Stahov blood.’ Almost all Russian families of the nobility are + convinced, as is well known, of the existence of exceptional hereditary + characteristics, peculiar to them alone; we have more than once heard + discussions ‘among ourselves’ of the Podsalaskinsky ‘noses,’ and the + ‘Perepreyevsky’ necks. Zoya came in and sat down facing Nikolai + Artemyevitch. He grunted, sank into an armchair, asked for coffee, and + only then took off his hat. Coffee was brought him; he drank a cup, and + looking at everybody in turn, he growled between his teeth, ‘<i>Sortes, + s’il vous plaît</i>,’ and turning to his wife he added, ‘<i>et vous, + madame, restez, je vous prie</i>.’ + </p> + <p> + They all left the room, except Anna Vassilyevna. Her head was trembling + with agitation. The solemnity of Nikolai Artemyevitch’s preparations + impressed her. She was expecting something extraordinary. + </p> + <p> + ‘What is it?’ she cried, directly the door was closed. + </p> + <p> + Nikolai Artemyevitch flung an indifferent glance at Anna Vassilyevna. + </p> + <p> + ‘Nothing special; what a way you have of assuming the air of a victim at + once!’ he began, quite needlessly dropping the corners of his mouth at + every word. ‘I only want to forewarn you that we shall have a new guest + dining here to-day.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Who is it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Kurnatovsky, Yegor Andreyevitch. You don’t know him. The head secretary + in the senate.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He is to dine with us to-day?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And was it only to tell me this that you made every one go away?’ + </p> + <p> + Nikolai Artemyevitch again flung a glance—this time one of irony—at + Anna Vassilyevna. + </p> + <p> + ‘Does that surprise you? Defer your surprise a little.’ + </p> + <p> + He ceased speaking. Anna Vassilyevna too was silent for a little time. + </p> + <p> + ‘I could have wished——’ she was beginning. + </p> + <p> + ‘I know you have always looked on me as an “immoral” man,’ began Nikolai + Artemyevitch suddenly. + </p> + <p> + ‘I!’ muttered Anna Vassilyevna, astounded. + </p> + <p> + ‘And very likely you are right. I don’t wish to deny that I have in fact + sometimes given you just grounds for dissatisfaction’ (“my greys!” flashed + through Anna Vassilyevna’s head), ‘though you must yourself allow, that in + the condition, as you are aware, of your constitution——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And I make no complaint against you, Nikolai Artemyevitch.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘<i>C’est possible</i>. In any case, I have no intention of justifying + myself. Time will justify me. But I regard it as my duty to prove to you + that I understand my duties, and know how to care for—for the + welfare of the family entrusted—entrusted to me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s the meaning of all this?’ Anna Vassilyevna was thinking. (She + could not guess that the preceding evening at the English club a + discussion had arisen in a corner of the smoking-room as to the incapacity + of Russians to make speeches. ‘Which of us can speak? Mention any one!’ + one of the disputants had exclaimed. ‘Well, Stahov, for instance,’ had + answered the other, pointing to Nikolai Artemyevitch, who stood up on the + spot almost squealing with delight.) + </p> + <p> + ‘For instance,’ pursued Nikolai Artemyevitch, ‘my daughter Elena. Don’t + you consider that the time has come for her to take a decisive step along + the path—to be married, I mean to say. All these intellectual and + philanthropic pursuits are all very well, but only up to a certain point, + up to a certain age. It’s time for her to drop her mistiness, to get out + of the society of all these artists, scholars, and Montenegrins, and do + like everybody else.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How am I to understand you?’ asked Anna Vassilyevna. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, if you will kindly listen,’ answered Nikolai Artemyevitch, still + with the same dropping of the corners of his lips, ‘I will tell you + plainly, without beating about the bush. I have made acquaintance, I have + become intimate with this young man, Mr. Kurnatovsky, in the hope of + having him for a son-in-law. I venture to think that when you see him, you + will not accuse me of partiality or precipitate judgment.’ (Nikolai + Artemyevitch was admiring his own eloquence as he talked.) ‘Of excellent + education—educated in the highest legal college—excellent + manners, thirty-three years old, and upper-secretary, a councillor, and a + Stanislas cross on his neck. You, I hope, will do me the justice to allow + that I do not belong to the number of those <i>pères de famille</i> who + are mad for position; but you yourself told me that Elena Nikolaevna likes + practical business men; Yegor Andreyevitch is in the first place a + business man; now on the other side, my daughter has a weakness for + generous actions; so let me tell you that Yegor Andreyevitch, directly he + had attained the possibility—you understand me—the possibility + of living without privation on his salary, at once gave up the yearly + income assigned him by his father, for the benefit of his brothers.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Who is his father?’ inquired Anna Vassilyevna. + </p> + <p> + ‘His father? His father is a man well-known in his own line, of the + highest moral character, <i>un vrai stoïcien</i>, a retired major, I + think, overseer of all the estates of the Count B——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah!’ observed Anna Vassilyevna. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah! why ah?’ interposed Nikolai Artemyevitch. ‘Can you be infected with + prejudice?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, I said nothing——’ Anna Vassilyevna was beginning. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, you said, ah!—However that may be, I have thought it well to + acquaint you with my way of thinking; and I venture to think—I + venture to hope Mr. Kurnatovsky will be received <i>à bras ouverts</i>. He + is no Montenegrin vagrant.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course; I need only call Vanka the cook and order a few extra dishes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You are aware that I will not enter into that,’ said Nikolai + Artemyevitch; and he got up, put on his hat, and whistling (he had heard + some one say that whistling was only permissible in a country villa and a + riding court) went out for a stroll in the garden. Shubin watched him out + of the little window of his lodge, and in silence put out his tongue at + him. + </p> + <p> + At ten minutes to four, a hackney-carriage drove up to the steps of the + Stahovs’s villa, and a man, still young, of prepossessing appearance, + simply and elegantly dressed, stepped out of it and sent up his name. This + was Yegor Andreyevitch Kurnatovsky. + </p> + <p> + This was what, among other things, Elena wrote next day to Insarov: + </p> + <p> + ‘Congratulate me, dear Dmitri, I have a suitor. He dined with us + yesterday: papa made his acquaintance at the English club, I fancy, and + invited him. Of course he did not come yesterday as a suitor. But good + mamma, to whom papa had made known his hopes, whispered in my ear what + this guest was. His name is Yegor Andreyevitch Kurnatovsky; he is + upper-secretary to the Senate. I will first describe to you his + appearance. He is of medium height, shorter than you, and a good figure; + his features are regular, he is close-cropped, and wears large whiskers. + His eyes are rather small (like yours), brown, and quick; he has a flat + wide mouth; in his eyes and on his lips there is a perpetual sort of + official smile; it seems to be always on duty there. He behaves very + simply and speaks precisely, and everything about him is precise; he + moves, laughs, and eats as though he were doing a duty. “How carefully she + has studied him!” you are thinking, perhaps, at this minute. Yes; so as to + be able to describe him to you. And besides, who wouldn’t study her + suitor! There’s something of iron in him—and dull and empty at the + same time—and honest; they say he is really very honest. You, too, + are made of iron; but not like this man. At dinner he sat next me, and + facing us sat Shubin. At first the conversation turned on commercial + undertakings; they say he is very clever in business matters, and was + almost throwing up his government post to take charge of a large + manufacturing business. Pity he didn’t do it! Then Shubin began to talk + about the theatre; Mr. Kurnatovsky declared and—I must confess—without + false modesty, that he has no ideas about art. That reminded me of you—but + I thought; no, Dmitri and I are ignorant of art in a very different way + though. This man seemed to mean, “I know nothing of it, and it’s quite + superfluous, still it may be admitted in a well-ordered state.” He seems, + however, to think very little about Petersburg and <i>comme il faut</i>: + he once even called himself one of the proletariat. ‘We are working + people,’ he said; I thought if Dmitri had said that, I shouldn’t have + liked it; but he may talk about himself, he may boast if he likes. With me + he is very attentive; but I kept feeling that a very, very condescending + superior was talking with me. When he means to praise any one, he says + So-and-so is a man of principle—that’s his favourite word. He seems + to be self-confident, hardworking, capable of self-sacrifice (you see, I + am impartial), that’s to say, of sacrificing his own interest; but he is a + great despot. It would be woeful to fall into his power! At dinner they + began talking about bribes. + </p> + <p> + ‘“I know,” he said, “that in many cases the man who accepts a bribe is not + to blame; he cannot do otherwise. Still, if he is found out, he must be + punished without mercy.” + </p> + <p> + ‘I cried, “Punish an innocent man!” + </p> + <p> + ‘“Yes; for + the sake of principle.” + </p> + <p> + ‘“What principle?” asked Shubin. Kurnatovsky + seemed annoyed or surprised, and said, “That needs no explanation.” + </p> + <p> + ‘Papa, who seems to worship him, put in “of course not”; and to my + vexation the conversation stopped there. In the evening Bersenyev came and + got into a terrific argument with him. I have never seen our good Andrei + Petrovitch so excited. Mr. Kurnatovsky did not at all deny the utility of + science, universities, and so on, but still I understood Andrei + Petrovitch’s indignation. The man looks at it all as a sort of gymnastics. + Shubin came up to me after dinner, and said, “This fellow here and some + one else (he can never bring himself to utter your name) are both + practical men, but see what a difference; there’s the real living ideal + given to life; and here there’s not even a feeling of duty, simply + official honesty and activity without anything inside it.” Shubin is + clever, and I remembered his words to tell you; but to my mind there is + nothing in common between you. You <i>have faith</i>, and he has not; for + a man cannot <i>have faith</i> in himself only. + </p> + <p> + ‘He did not go away till late; but mamma had time to inform me that he was + pleased with me, and papa is in ecstasies. Did he say, I wonder, that I + was a woman of principle? I was almost telling mamma that I was very + sorry, but I had a husband already. Why is it papa dislikes you so? Mamma, + we could soon manage to bring round. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, my dear one! I have described this gentleman in such detail to deaden + my heartache. I don’t live without you; I am constantly seeing you, + hearing you. I look forward to seeing you—only not at our house, as + you intended—fancy how wretched and ill at ease we should be!—but + you know where I wrote to you—in that wood. Oh, my dear one! How I + love you!’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIII + </h2> + <p> + Three weeks after Kurnatovsky’s first visit, Anna Vassilyevna, to Elena’s + great delight, returned to Moscow, to her large wooden house near + Prechistenka; a house with columns, white lyres and wreaths over every + window, with an attic, offices, a palisade, a huge green court, a well in + the court and a dog’s kennel near the well. Anna Vassilyevna had never + left her country villa so early, but this year with the first autumn + chills her face swelled; Nikolai Artemyevitch for his part, having + finished his cure, began to want his wife; besides, Augustina + Christianovna had gone away on a visit to her cousin in Revel; a family of + foreigners, known as ‘living statues,’ <i>des poses plastiques</i>, had + come to Moscow, and the description of them in the <i>Moscow Gazette</i> + had aroused Anna Vassilyevna’s liveliest curiosity. In short, to stay + longer at the villa seemed inconvenient, and even, in Nikolai + Artemyevitch’s words, incompatible with the fulfilment of his ‘cherished + projects.’ The last fortnight seemed very long to Elena. Kurnatovsky came + over twice on Sundays; on other days he was busy. He came really to see + Elena, but talked more to Zoya, who was much pleased with him. ‘<i>Das ist + ein Mann</i>!’ she thought to herself, as she looked at his full manly + face and listened to his self-confident, condescending talk. To her mind, + no one had such a wonderful voice, no one could pronounce so nicely, ‘I + had the hon-our,’ or, ‘I am most de-lighted.’ Insarov did not come to the + Stahovs, but Elena saw him once in secret in a little copse by the Moskva + river, where she arranged to meet him. They hardly had time to say more + than a few words to each other. Shubin returned to Moscow with Anna + Vassilyevna; Bersenyev, a few days later. + </p> + <p> + Insarov was sitting in his room, and for the third time looking through + the letters brought him from Bulgaria by hand; they were afraid to send + them by post. He was much disturbed by them. Events were developing + rapidly in the East; the occupation of the Principalities by Russian + troops had thrown all men’s minds into a ferment; the storm was growing—already + could be felt the breath of approaching inevitable war. The fire was + kindling all round, and no one could foresee how far it would go—where + it would stop. Old wrongs, long cherished hopes—all were astir + again. Insarov’s heart throbbed eagerly; his hopes too were being + realised. ‘But is it not too soon, will it not be in vain?’ he thought, + tightly clasping his hands. ‘We are not ready, but so be it! I must go.’ + </p> + <p> + Something rustled lightly at the door, it flew quickly open, and into the + room ran Elena. + </p> + <p> + Insarov, all in a tremor, rushed to her, fell on his knees before her, + clasped her waist and pressed it close against his head. + </p> + <p> + ‘You didn’t expect me?’ she said, hardly able to draw her breath, she had + run quickly up the stairs. ‘Dear one! dear one!—so this is where you + live? I’ve quickly found you. The daughter of your landlord conducted me. + We arrived the day before yesterday. I meant to write to you, but I + thought I had better come myself. I have come for a quarter of an hour. + Get up, shut the door.’ + </p> + <p> + He got up, quickly shut the door, returned to her and took her by the + hands. He could not speak; he was choking with delight. She looked with a + smile into his eyes... there was such rapture in them... she felt shy. + </p> + <p> + ‘Stay,’ she said, fondly taking her hand away from him, ‘let me take off + my hat.’ + </p> + <p> + She untied the strings of her hat, flung it down, slipped the cape off her + shoulders, tidied her hair, and sat down on the little old sofa. Insarov + gazed at her, without stirring, like one enchanted. + </p> + <p> + ‘Sit down,’ she said, not lifting her eyes to him and motioning him to a + place beside her. + </p> + <p> + Insarov sat down, not on the sofa, but on the floor at her feet. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come, take off my gloves,’ she said in an uncertain voice. She felt + afraid. + </p> + <p> + He began first to unbutton and then to draw off one glove; he drew it half + off and greedily pressed his lips to the slender, soft wrist, which was + white under it. + </p> + <p> + Elena shuddered, and would have pushed him back with the other hand; he + began kissing the other hand too. Elena drew it away, he threw back his + head, she looked into his face, bent above him, and their lips touched. + </p> + <p> + An instant passed... she broke away, got up, whispered ‘No, no,’ and went + quickly up to the writing-table. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am mistress here, you know, so you ought not to have any secrets from + me,’ she said, trying to seem at ease, and standing with her back to him. + ‘What a lot of papers! what are these letters?’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov knitted his brows. ‘Those letters?’ he said, getting up, ‘you can + read them.’ + </p> + <p> + Elena turned them over in her hand. ‘There are so many of them, and the + writing is so fine, and I have to go directly... let them be. They’re not + from a rival, eh?... and they’re not in Russian,’ she added, turning over + the thin sheets. + </p> + <p> + Insarov came close to her and fondly touched her waist. She turned + suddenly to him, smiled brightly at him and leant against his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + ‘Those letters are from Bulgaria, Elena; my friends write to me, they want + me to come.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Now? To them?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes... now, while there is still time, while it is still possible to + come.’ + </p> + <p> + All at once she flung both arms round his neck, ‘You will take me with + you, yes?’ + </p> + <p> + He pressed her to his heart. ‘O my sweet girl, O my heroine, how you said + that! But isn’t it wicked, isn’t it mad for me, a homeless, solitary man, + to drag you with me... and out there too!’ + </p> + <p> + She shut his mouth.... ‘Sh—or I shall be angry, and never come to + see you again. Why isn’t it all decided, all settled between us? Am I not + your wife? Can a wife be parted from her husband?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Wives don’t go into war,’ he said with a half-mournful smile. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh yes, when they can’t stay behind, and I cannot stay here?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Elena, my angel!.. but think, I have, perhaps, to leave Moscow in a + fortnight. I can’t think of university lectures, or finishing my work.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What!’ interrupted Elena, ‘you have to go soon? If you like, I will stop + at once this minute with you for ever, and not go home, shall I? Shall we + go at once?’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov clasped her in his arms with redoubled warmth. ‘May God so reward + me then,’ he cried, ‘if I am doing wrong! From to-day, we are one for + ever!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Am I to stay?’ asked Elena. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, my pure girl; no, my treasure. You shall go back home to-day, only + keep yourself in readiness. This is a matter we can’t manage straight off; + we must plan it out well. We want money, a passport——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have money,’ put in Elena. ‘Eighty roubles.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, that’s not much,’ observed Insarov; ‘but everything’s a help.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But I can get more. I will borrow. I will ask mamma.... No, I won’t ask + mamma for any.... But I can sell my watch.... I have earrings, too, and + two bracelets... and lace.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Money’s not the chief difficulty, Elena; the passport; your passport, how + about that?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, how about it? Is a passport absolutely necessary?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Absolutely.’ + </p> + <p> + Elena laughed. ‘What a queer idea! I remember when I was little... a maid + of ours ran away. She was caught, and forgiven, and lived with us a long + while... but still every one used to call her Tatyana, the runaway. I + never thought then that I too might perhaps be a runaway like her.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Elena, aren’t you ashamed?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why? Of course it’s better to go with a passport. But if we can’t——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We will settle all that later, later, wait a little,’ said Insarov. ‘Let + me look about; let me think a little. We will talk over everything + together thoroughly. I too have money.’ + </p> + <p> + Elena pushed back the hair that fell over on his forehead. + </p> + <p> + ‘O Dmitri! how glorious it will be for us two to set off together!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Insarov, ‘but there, when we get there——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well?’ put in Elena, ‘and won’t it be glorious to die together too? but + no, why should we die? We will live, we are young. How old are you? + Twenty-six?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, twenty-six.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And I am twenty. There is plenty of time before us. Ah, you tried to run + away from me? You did not want a Russian’s love, you Bulgarian! Let me see + you trying to escape from me now! What would have become of us, if I + hadn’t come to you then!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Elena, you know what forced me to go away.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I know; you were in love, and you were afraid. But surely you must have + suspected that you were loved?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I swear on my honour, Elena, I didn’t.’ + </p> + <p> + She gave him a quick unexpected kiss. ‘There, I love you for that too. And + goodbye.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You can’t stop longer?’ asked Insarov. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, dearest. Do you think it’s easy for me to get out alone? The quarter + of an hour was over long ago.’ She put on her cape and hat. ‘And you come + to us to-morrow evening. No, the day after to-morrow. We shall be + constrained and dreary, but we can’t help that; at least we shall see each + other. Good-bye. Let me go.’ + </p> + <p> + He embraced her for the last time. ‘Ah, take care, you have broken my + watch-chain. Oh, what a clumsy boy! There, never mind. It’s all the + better. I will go to Kuznetsky bridge, and leave it to be mended. If I am + asked, I can say I have been to Kuznetsky bridge.’ She held the + door-handle. ‘By-the-way, I forgot to tell you, Monsieur Kurnatovsky will + certainly make me an offer in a day or two. But the answer I shall make + him—will be this——’ She put the thumb of her left hand + to the tip of her nose and flourished the other fingers in the air. + ‘Good-bye till we see each other again. Now, I know the way... And don’t + lose any time.’ + </p> + <p> + Elena opened the door a little, listened, turned round to Insarov, nodded + her head, and glided out of the room. + </p> + <p> + For a minute Insarov stood before the closed door, and he too listened. + The door downstairs into the court slammed. He went up to the sofa, sat + down, and covered his eyes with his hands. Never before had anything like + this happened to him. ‘What have I done to deserve such love?’ he thought. + ‘Is it a dream?’ + </p> + <p> + But the delicate scent of mignonette left by Elena in his poor dark little + room told of her visit. And with it, it seemed that the air was still full + of the notes of a young voice, and the sound of a light young tread, and + the warmth and freshness of a young girlish body. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIV + </h2> + <p> + Insarov decided to await more positive news, and began to make + preparations for departure. The difficulty was a serious one. For him + personally there were no obstacles. He had only to ask for a passport—but + how would it be with Elena? To get her a passport in the legal way was + impossible. Should he marry her secretly, and should they then go and + present themselves to the parents?... ‘They would let us go then,’ he + thought ‘But if they did not? We would go all the same. But suppose they + were to make a complaint... if... No, better try to get a passport + somehow.’ + </p> + <p> + He decided to consult (of course mentioning no names) one of his + acquaintances, an attorney, retired from practice, or perhaps struck off + the rolls, an old and experienced hand at all sorts of clandestine + business. This worthy person did not live near; Insarov was a whole hour + in getting to him in a very sorry droshky, and, to make matters worse, he + did not find him at home; and on his way back got soaked to the skin by a + sudden downpour of rain. The next morning, in spite of a rather severe + headache, Insarov set off a second time to call on the retired attorney. + The retired attorney listened to him attentively, taking snuff from a + snuff-box decorated with a picture of a full-bosomed nymph, and glancing + stealthily at his visitor with his sly, and also snuff-coloured little + eyes; he heard him to the end, and then demanded ‘greater definiteness in + the statement of the facts of the case’; and observing that Insarov was + unwilling to launch into particulars (it was against the grain that he had + come to him at all) he confined himself to the advice to provide himself + above all things with ‘the needful,’ and asked him to come to him again, + ‘when you have,’ he added, sniffing at the snuff in the open snuff-box, + ‘augmented your confidence and decreased your diffidence’ (he talked with + a broad accent). ‘A passport,’ he added, as though to himself, ‘is a thing + that can be arranged; you go a journey, for instance; who’s to tell + whether you’re Marya Bredihin or Karolina Vogel-meier?’ A feeling of + nausea came over Insarov, but he thanked the attorney, and promised to + come to him again in a day or two. + </p> + <p> + The same evening he went to the Stahovs. Anna Vassilyevna met him + cordially, reproached him a little for having quite forgotten them, and, + finding him pale, inquired especially after his health. Nikolai + Artemyevitch did not say a single word to him; he only stared at him with + elaborately careless curiosity; Shubin treated him coldly; but Elena + astounded him. She was expecting him; she had put on for him the very + dress she wore on the day of their first interview in the chapel; but she + welcomed him so calmly, and was so polite and carelessly gay, that no one + looking at her could have believed that this girl’s fate was already + decided, and that it was only the secret consciousness of happy love that + gave fire to her features, lightness and charm to all her gestures. She + poured out tea in Zoya’s place, jested, chattered; she knew Shubin would + be watching her, that Insarov was incapable of wearing a mask, and + incapable of appearing indifferent, and she had prepared herself + beforehand. She was not mistaken; Shubin never took his eyes off her, and + Insarov was very silent and gloomy the whole evening. Elena was so happy + that she even felt an inclination to tease him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, by the way,’ she said to him suddenly, ‘is your plan getting on at + all?’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov was taken aback. + </p> + <p> + ‘What plan?’ he said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, have you forgotten?’ she rejoined, laughing in his face; he alone + could tell the meaning of that happy laugh: ‘Your Bulgarian selections for + Russian readers?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘<i>Quelle bourde</i>!’ muttered Nikolai Artemyevitch between his teeth. + </p> + <p> + Zoya sat down to the piano. Elena gave a just perceptible shrug of the + shoulders, and with her eyes motioned Insarov to the door. Then she twice + slowly touched the table with her finger, and looked at him. He understood + that she was promising to see him in two days, and she gave him a quick + smile when she saw he understood her. Insarov got up and began to take + leave; he felt unwell. Kurnatovsky arrived. Nikolai Artemyevitch jumped + up, raised his right hand higher than his head, and softly dropped it into + the palm of the chief secretary. Insarov would have remained a few minutes + longer, to have a look at his rival. Elena shook her head unseen; the host + did not think it necessary to introduce them to one another, and Insarov + departed, exchanging one last look with Elena. Shubin pondered and + pondered, and threw himself into a fierce argument with Kurnatovsky on a + legislative question, about which he had not a single idea. + </p> + <p> + Insarov did not sleep all night, and in the morning he felt very ill; he + set to work, however, putting his papers into order and writing letters, + but his head was heavy and confused. At dinner time he began to be in a + fever; he could eat nothing. The fever grew rapidly worse towards evening; + he had aching pains in all his limbs, and a terrible headache. Insarov lay + down on the very little sofa on which Elena had lately sat; he thought: + ‘It serves me right for going to that old rascal,’ and he tried to + sleep.... But the illness had by now complete mastery of him. His veins + were throbbing violently, his blood was on fire, his thoughts were flying + round like birds. He sank into forgetfulness. He lay like a man felled by + a blow on his face, and suddenly, it seemed to him, some one was softly + laughing and whispering over him: he opened his eyes with an effort, the + light of the flaring candle smote him like a knife.... What was it? the + old attorney was before him in an Oriental silk gown belted with a silk + handkerchief, as he had seen him the evening before.... ‘Karolina + Vogelmeier,’ muttered his toothless mouth. Insarov stared, and the old man + grew wide and thick and tall, he was no longer a man, he was a tree.... + Insarov had to climb along its gnarled branches. He clung, and fell with + his breast on a sharp stone, and Karolina Vogelmeier was sitting on her + heels, looking like a pedlar-woman, and lisping: ‘Pies, pies, pies for + sale’; and there were streams of blood and swords flashing incessantly.... + Elena! And everything vanished in a crimson chaos. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXV + </h2> + <p> + ‘There’s some one here looks like a locksmith or something of the sort,’ + Bersenyev was informed the following evening by his servant, who was + distinguished by a severe deportment and sceptical turn of mind towards + his master; ‘he wants to see you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ask him in,’ said Bersenyev. + </p> + <p> + The ‘locksmith’ entered. Bersenyev recognised in him the tailor, the + landlord of Insarov’s lodgings. + </p> + <p> + ‘What do you want?’ he asked him. + </p> + <p> + ‘I came to your honour,’ began the tailor, shifting from one foot to the + other, and at times waving his right hand with his cuff clutched in his + three last fingers. ‘Our lodger, seemingly, is very ill.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Insarov?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, our lodger, to be sure; yesterday morning he was still on his legs, + in the evening he asked for nothing but drink; the missis took him some + water, and at night he began talking away; we could hear him through the + partition-wall; and this morning he lies without a word like a log, and + the fever he’s in, Lord have mercy on us! I thought, upon my word, he’ll + die for sure; I ought to send word to the police station, I thought. For + he’s so alone; but the missis said: “Go to that gentleman,” she says, “at + whose country place our lodger stayed; maybe he’ll tell you what to do, or + come himself.” So I’ve come to your honour, for we can’t, so to say——’ + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev snatched up his cap, thrust a rouble into the tailor’s hand, and + at once set off with him post haste to Insarov’s lodgings. + </p> + <p> + He found him lying on the sofa, unconscious and not undressed. His face + was terribly changed. Bersenyev at once ordered the people of the house to + undress him and put him to bed, while he rushed off himself and returned + with a doctor. The doctor prescribed leeches, mustard-poultices, and + calomel, and ordered him to be bled. + </p> + <p> + ‘Is he dangerously ill?’ asked Bersenyev. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, very dangerously,’ answered the doctor. ‘Severe inflammation of the + lungs; peripneumonia fully developed, and the brain perhaps affected, but + the patient is young. His very strength is something against him now. I + was sent for too late; still we will do all that science dictates.’ + </p> + <p> + The doctor was young himself, and still believed in science. + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev stayed the night. The people of the house seemed kind, and even + prompt directly there was some one to tell them what was to be done. An + assistant arrived, and began to carry out the medical measures. + </p> + <p> + Towards morning Insarov revived for a few minutes, recognised Bersenyev, + asked: ‘Am I ill, then?’ looked about him with the vague, listless + bewilderment of a man dangerously ill, and again relapsed into + unconsciousness. Bersenyev went home, changed his clothes, and, taking a + few books along with him, he returned to Insarov’s lodgings. He made up + his mind to stay there, at least for a time. He shut in Insarov’s bed with + screens, and arranged a little place for himself by the sofa. The day + passed slowly and drearily. Bersenyev did not leave the room except to get + his dinner. The evening came. He lighted a candle with a shade, and + settled down to a book. Everything was still around. Through the partition + wall could be heard suppressed whispering in the landlord’s room, then a + yawn, and a sigh. Some one sneezed, and was scolded in a whisper; behind + the screen was heard the patient’s heavy, uneven breathing, sometimes + broken by a short groan, and the uneasy tossing of his head on the + pillow.... Strange fancies came over Bersenyev. He found himself in the + room of a man whose life was hanging on a thread, the man whom, as he + knew, Elena loved.... He remembered that night when Shubin had overtaken + him and declared that she loved him, him, Bersenyev! And now.... ‘What am + I to do now?’ he asked himself. ‘Let Elena know of his illness? Wait a + little? This would be worse news for her than what I told her once before; + strange how fate makes me the go-between between them!’ He made up his + mind that it was better to wait a little. His eyes fell on the table + covered with heaps of papers... ‘Will he carry out his dreams?’ thought + Bersenyev. ‘Can it be that all will come to nothing?’ And he was filled + with pity for the young life struck down, and he vowed to himself to save + it. + </p> + <p> + The night was an uneasy one. The sick man was very delirious. Several + times Bersenyev got up from his little sofa, approached the bed on + tip-toe, and listened with a heavy heart to his disconnected muttering. + Only once Insarov spoke with sudden distinctness: ‘I won’t, I won’t, she + mustn’t....’ Bersenyev started and looked at Insarov; his face, suffering + and death-like at the same time, was immovable, and his hands lay + powerless. ‘I won’t,’ he repeated, scarcely audibly. + </p> + <p> + The doctor came in the morning, shook his head and wrote fresh + prescriptions. ‘The crisis is a long way off still,’ he said, putting on + his hat. + </p> + <p> + ‘And after the crisis?’ asked Bersenyev. + </p> + <p> + ‘The crisis may end in two ways, <i>aut Caesar aut nihil</i>. + </p> + <p> + The doctor went away. Bersenyev walked a few times up and down the street; + he felt in need of fresh air. He went back and took up a book again. + Raumer he had finished long ago; he was now making a study of Grote. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the door softly creaked, and the head of the landlord’s daughter, + covered as usual with a heavy kerchief, was cautiously thrust into the + room. + </p> + <p> + ‘Here is the lady,’ she whispered, ‘who gave me a silver piece.’ + </p> + <p> + The child’s head vanished quickly, and in its place appeared Elena. + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev jumped up as if he had been stung; but Elena did not stir, nor + cry out. It seemed as if she understood everything in a single instant. A + terrible pallor overspread her face, she went up to the screen, looked + behind it, threw up her arms, and seemed turned to stone. + </p> + <p> + A moment more and she would have flung herself on Insarov, but Bersenyev + stopped her. ‘What are you doing?’ he said in a trembling whisper, ‘you + might be the death of him!’ + </p> + <p> + She was reeling. He led her to the sofa, and made her sit down. + </p> + <p> + She looked into his face, then her eyes ran over him from head to foot, + then stared at the floor. + </p> + <p> + ‘Will he die?’ she asked so coldly and quietly that Bersenyev was + frightened. + </p> + <p> + ‘For God’s sake, Elena Nikolaevna,’ he began, ‘what are you saying? He is + ill certainly—and rather seriously—but we will save him; I + promise you that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He is unconscious?’ she asked in the same tone of voice as before. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, he is unconscious at present. That’s always the case at the early + stage of these illnesses, but it means nothing, nothing—I assure + you. Drink some water.’ + </p> + <p> + She raised her eyes to his, and he saw she had not heard his answer. + </p> + <p> + ‘If he dies,’ she said in the same voice, ‘I will die too.’ + </p> + <p> + At that instant Insarov uttered a slight moan; she trembled all over, + clutched at her head, then began untying the strings of her hat. + </p> + <p> + ‘What are you doing?’ Bersenyev asked her. + </p> + <p> + ‘I will stay here.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You will stay—for long?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know, perhaps all day, the night, always—I don’t know.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘For God’s sake, Elena Nikolaevna, control yourself. I could not of course + have any expectation of seeing you here; but still I—assume you have + come for a short time. Remember they may miss you at home.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What then?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They will look for you—find you——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What then?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Elena Nikolaevna! You see. He cannot now protect you.’ + </p> + <p> + She dropped her head, seemed lost in thought, raised a handkerchief to her + lips, and convulsive sobs, tearing her by their violence, were suddenly + wrung from her breast. She threw herself, face downwards, on the sofa, + trying to stifle them, but still her body heaved and throbbed like a + captured bird. + </p> + <p> + ‘Elena Nikolaevna—for God’s sake,’ Bersenyev was repeating over her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah! What is it?’ suddenly sounded the voice of Insarov. + </p> + <p> + Elena started up, and Bersenyev felt rooted to the spot. After waiting a + little, he went up to the bed. Insarov’s head lay on the pillow helpless + as before; his eyes were closed. + </p> + <p> + ‘Is he delirious?’ whispered Elena. + </p> + <p> + ‘It seems so,’ answered Bersenyev, ‘but that’s nothing; it’s always so, + especially if——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘When was he taken ill?’ Elena broke in. + </p> + <p> + ‘The day before yesterday; I have been here since yesterday. Rely on me, + Elena Nikolaevna. I will not leave him; everything shall be done. If + necessary, we will have a consultation.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He will die without me,’ she cried, wringing her hands. + </p> + <p> + ‘I give you my word I will let you hear every day how his illness goes on, + and if there should be immediate danger——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Swear you will send for me at once whenever it may be, day or night, + write a note straight to me—I care for nothing now. Do you hear? you + promise you will do that?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I promise before God’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Swear it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I swear.’ + </p> + <p> + She suddenly snatched his hand, and before he had time to pull it away, + she had bent and pressed her lips to it. + </p> + <p> + ‘Elena Nikolaevna, what are you——’ he stammered. + </p> + <p> + ‘No—no—I won’t have it——’ Insarov muttered + indistinctly, and sighed painfully. + </p> + <p> + Elena went up to the screen, her handkerchief pressed between her teeth, + and bent a long, long look on the sick man. Silent tears rolled down her + cheeks. + </p> + <p> + ‘Elena Nikolaevna,’ Bersenyev said to her, ‘he might come to himself and + recognise you; there’s no knowing if that wouldn’t do harm. Besides, from + hour to hour I expect the doctor.’ + </p> + <p> + Elena took her hat from the sofa, put it on and stood still. Her eyes + strayed mournfully over the room. She seemed to be remembering.... + </p> + <p> + ‘I cannot go away,’ she whispered at last. + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev pressed her hand: ‘Try to pull yourself together,’ he said, + ‘calm yourself; you are leaving him in my care. I will come to you this + very evening.’ + </p> + <p> + Elena looked at him, said: ‘Oh, my good, kind friend!’ broke into sobs and + rushed away. + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev leaned against the door. A feeling of sorrow and bitterness, not + without a kind of strange consolation, overcame him. ‘My good, kind + friend!’ he thought and shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + ‘Who is here?’ he heard Insarov’s voice. + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev went up to him. ‘I am here, Dmitri Nikanorovitch. How are you? + How do you feel?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you alone?’ asked the sick man. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And she?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Whom do you mean?’ Bersenyev asked almost in dismay. + </p> + <p> + Insarov was silent. ‘Mignonette,’ he murmured, and his eyes closed again. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVI + </h2> + <p> + For eight whole days Insarov lay between life and death. The doctor was + incessantly visiting him, interested as a young man in a difficult case. + Shubin heard of Insarov’s critical position, and made inquiries after him. + His compatriots—Bulgarians—came; among them Bersenyev + recognised the two strange figures, who had puzzled him by their + unexpected visit to the cottage; they all showed genuine sympathy, some + offered to take Bersenyev’s place by the patient’s bed-side; but he would + not consent to that, remembering his promise to Elena. He saw her every + day and secretly reported to her—sometimes by word of mouth, + sometimes in a brief note—every detail of the illness. With what + sinkings of the heart she awaited him, how she listened and questioned + him! She was always on the point of hastening to Insarov herself; but + Bersenyev begged her not to do this: Insarov was seldom alone. On the + first day she knew of his illness she herself had almost fallen ill; + directly she got home, she shut herself up in her room; but she was + summoned to dinner, and appeared in the dining-room with such a face that + Anna Vassilyevna was alarmed, and was anxious to put her to bed. Elena + succeeded, however, in controlling herself. ‘If he dies,’ she repeated, + ‘it will be the end of me too.’ This thought tranquillised her, and + enabled her to seem indifferent. Besides no one troubled her much; Anna + Vassilyevna was taken up with her swollen face; Shubin was working + furiously; Zoya was given up to pensiveness, and disposed to read <i>Werther</i>; + Nikolai Artemyevitch was much displeased at the frequent visits of ‘the + scholar,’ especially as his ‘cherished projects’ in regard to Kurnatovsky + were making no way; the practical chief secretary was puzzled and biding + his time. Elena did not even thank Bersenyev; there are services for which + thanks are cruel and shameful. Only once at her fourth interview with him—Insarov + had passed a very bad night, the doctor had hinted at a consultation—only + then she reminded him of his promise. ‘Very well, then let us go,’ he said + to her. She got up and was going to get ready. ‘No,’ he decided, ‘let us + wait till to-morrow.’ Towards evening Insarov was rather better. + </p> + <p> + For eight days this torture was prolonged. Elena appeared calm; but she + could eat nothing, and did not sleep at night. There was a dull ache in + all her limbs; her head seemed full of a sort of dry burning smoke. ‘Our + young lady’s wasting like a candle,’ her maid said of her. + </p> + <p> + At last by the ninth day the crisis was passing over. Elena was sitting in + the drawing-room near Anna Vassilyevna, and, without knowing herself what + she was doing, was reading her the <i>Moscow Gazette</i>; Bersenyev came + in. Elena glanced at him—how rapid, and fearful, and penetrating, + and tremulous, was the first glance she turned on him every time—and + at once she guessed that he brought good news. He was smiling; he nodded + slightly to her, she got up to go and meet him. + </p> + <p> + ‘He has regained consciousness, he is saved, he will be quite well again + in a week,’ he whispered to her. + </p> + <p> + Elena had stretched out her arm as though to ward off a blow, and she said + nothing, only her lips trembled and a flush of crimson overspread her + whole face. Bersenyev began to talk to Anna Vassilyevna, and Elena went + off to her own room, dropped on her knees and fell to praying, to thanking + God. Light, shining tears trickled down her cheeks. Suddenly she was + conscious of intense weariness, laid her head down on the pillow, + whispered ‘poor Andrei Petrovitch!’ and at once fell asleep with wet + cheeks and eyelashes. It was long since she had slept or wept. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVII + </h2> + <p> + Bersenyev’s words turned out only partly true; the danger was over, but + Insarov gained strength slowly, and the doctor talked of a complete + undermining of the whole system. The patient left his bed for all that, + and began to walk about the room; Bersenyev went home to his own lodging, + but he came every day to his still feeble friend; and every day as before + he informed Elena of the state of his health. Insarov did not dare to + write to her, and only indirectly in his conversations with Bersenyev + referred to her; but Bersenyev, with assumed carelessness, told him about + his visits to the Stahovs, trying, however, to give him to understand that + Elena had been deeply distressed, and that now she was calmer. Elena too + did not write to Insarov; she had a plan in her head. + </p> + <p> + One day Bersenyev had just informed her with a cheerful face that the + doctor had already allowed Insarov to eat a cutlet, and that he would + probably soon go out; she seemed absorbed, dropped her eyes. + </p> + <p> + ‘Guess, what I want to say to you,’ she said. Bersenyev was confused. He + understood her. + </p> + <p> + ‘I suppose,’ he answered, looking away, ‘you want to say that you wish to + see him.’ + </p> + <p> + Elena crimsoned, and scarcely audibly, she breathed, ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, what then? That, I imagine, you can easily do.’—‘Ugh!’ he + thought, ‘what a loathsome feeling there is in my heart!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You mean that I have already before...’ said Elena. ‘But I am afraid—now + he is, you say, seldom alone.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s not difficult to get over,’ replied Bersenyev, still not looking + at her. ‘I, of course, cannot prepare him; but give me a note. Who can + hinder your writing to him as a good friend, in whom you take an interest? + There’s no harm in that. Appoint—I mean, write to him when you will + come. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am ashamed,’ whispered Elena. + </p> + <p> + ‘Give me the note, I will take it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s no need of that, but I wanted to ask you—don’t be angry + with me, Andrei Petrovitch—don’t go to him to-morrow!’ + </p> + <p> + Bersenyev bit his lip. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah! yes, I understand; very well, very well,’ and, adding two or three + words more, he quickly took leave. + </p> + <p> + ‘So much the better, so much the better,’ he thought, as he hurried home. + ‘I have learnt nothing new, but so much the better. What possessed me to + go hanging on to the edge of another man’s happiness? I regret nothing; I + have done what my conscience told me; but now it is over. Let them be! My + father was right when he used to say to me: “You and I, my dear boy, are + not Sybarites, we are not aristocrats, we’re not the spoilt darlings of + fortune and nature, we are not even martyrs—we are workmen and + nothing more. Put on your leather apron, workman, and take your place at + your workman’s bench, in your dark workshop, and let the sun shine on + other men! Even our dull life has its own pride, its own happiness!”’ + </p> + <p> + The next morning Insarov got a brief note by the post. ‘Expect me,’ Elena + wrote to him, ‘and give orders for no one to see you. A. P. will not + come.’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVIII + </h2> + <p> + Insarov read Elena’s note, and at once began to set his room to rights; + asked his landlady to take away the medicine-glasses, took off his + dressing-gown and put on his coat. His head was swimming and his heart + throbbing from weakness and delight. His knees were shaking; he dropped on + to the sofa, and began to look at his watch. ‘It’s now a quarter to + twelve,’ he said to himself. ‘She can never come before twelve: I will + think of something else for a quarter of an hour, or I shall break down + altogether. Before twelve she cannot possibly come.’ + </p> + <p> + The door was opened, and in a light silk gown, all pale, all fresh, young + and joyful, Elena came in, and with a faint cry of delight she fell on his + breast. + </p> + <p> + ‘You are alive, you are mine,’ she repeated, embracing and stroking his + head. He was almost swooning, breathless at such closeness, such caresses, + such bliss. + </p> + <p> + She sat down near him, holding him fast, and began to gaze at him with + that smiling, and caressing, and tender look, only to be seen shining in + the eyes of a loving woman. + </p> + <p> + Her face suddenly clouded over. + </p> + <p> + ‘How thin you have grown, my poor Dmitri,’ she said, passing her hand over + his neck; ‘what a beard you have.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And you have grown thin, my poor Elena,’ he answered, catching her + fingers with his lips. + </p> + <p> + She shook her curls gaily. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s nothing. You shall see how soon we’ll be strong again! The storm + has blown over, just as it blew over and passed away that day when we met + in the chapel. Now we are going to live.’ + </p> + <p> + He answered her with a smile only. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, what a time we have had, Dmitri, what a cruel time! How can people + outlive those they love? I knew beforehand what Andrei Petrovitch would + say to me every day, I did really; my life seemed to ebb and flow with + yours. Welcome back, my Dmitri!’ + </p> + <p> + He did not know what to say to her. He was longing to throw himself at her + feet. + </p> + <p> + ‘Another thing I observed,’ she went on, pushing back his hair—‘I + made so many observations all this time in my leisure—when any one + is very, very miserable, with what stupid attention he follows everything + that’s going on about him! I really sometimes lost myself in gazing at a + fly, and all the while such chill and terror in my heart! But that’s all + past, all past, isn’t it? Everything’s bright in the future, isn’t it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You are for me in the future,’ answered Insarov, ‘so it is bright for + me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And for me too! But do you remember, when I was here, not the last time—no, + not the last time,’ she repeated with an involuntary shudder, ‘when we + were talking, I spoke of death, I don’t know why; I never suspected then + that it was keeping watch on us. But you are well now, aren’t you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m much better, I’m nearly well.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You are well, you are not dead. Oh, how happy I am!’ + </p> + <p> + A short silence followed. + </p> + <p> + ‘Elena?’ said Insarov. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, my dearest?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Tell me, did it never occur to you that this illness was sent us as a + punishment?’ + </p> + <p> + Elena looked seriously at him. + </p> + <p> + ‘That idea did come into my head, Dmitri. But I thought: what am I to be + punished for? What duty have I transgressed, against whom have I sinned? + Perhaps my conscience is not like other people’s, but it was silent; or + perhaps I am guilty towards you? I hinder you, I stop you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You don’t stop me, Elena; we will go together.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, Dmitri, let us go together; I will follow you.... That is my duty. I + love you.... I know no other duty.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O Elena!’ said Insarov, ‘what chains every word of yours fastens on me!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why talk of chains?’ she interposed. ‘We are free people, you and I. + Yes,’ she went on, looking musingly on the floor, while with one hand she + still stroked his hair, ‘I experienced much lately of which I had never + had any idea! If any one had told me beforehand that I, a young lady, well + brought up, should go out from home alone on all sorts of made-up excuses, + and to go where? to a young man’s lodgings—how indignant I should + have been! And that has all come about, and I feel no indignation + whatever. Really!’ she added, and turned to Insarov. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her with such an expression of adoration, that she softly + dropped her hand from his hair over his eyes. + </p> + <p> + ‘Dmitri!’ she began again, ‘you don’t know of course, I saw you there in + that dreadful bed, I saw you in the clutches of death, unconscious.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You saw me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + He was silent for a little. ‘And Bersenyev was here?’ + </p> + <p> + She nodded. + </p> + <p> + Insarov bowed down before her. ‘O Elena!’ he whispered, ‘I don’t dare to + look at you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why? Andrei Petrovitch is so good. I was not ashamed before him. And what + have I to be ashamed of? I am ready to tell all the world that I am + yours.... And Andrei Petrovitch I trust like a brother.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He saved me!’ cried Insarov. ‘He is the noblest, kindest of men!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes... And do you know I owe everything to him? Do you know that it was + he who first told me that you loved me? And if I could tell you + everything.... Yes, he is a noble man.’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov looked steadily at Elena. ‘He is in love with you, isn’t he?’ + </p> + <p> + Elena dropped her eyes. ‘He did love me,’ she said in an undertone. + </p> + <p> + Insarov pressed her hand warmly. ‘Oh you Russians,’ he said, ‘you have + hearts of pure gold! And he, he has been waiting on me, he has not slept + at night. And you, you, my angel.... No reproaches, no hesitations... and + all this for me, for me——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, yes, all for you, because they love you. Ah, Dmitri! How strange it + is! I think I have talked to you of it before, but it doesn’t matter, I + like to repeat it, and you will like to hear it. When I saw you the first + time——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why are there tears in your eyes?’ Insarov interrupted her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Tears? Are there?’ She wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘Oh, what a + silly boy! He doesn’t know yet that people weep from happiness. I wanted + to tell you: when I saw you the first time, I saw nothing special in you, + really. I remember, Shubin struck me much more at first, though I never + loved him, and as for Andrei Petrovitch—oh, there was a moment when + I thought: isn’t this <i>he</i>? And with you there was nothing of that sort; but + afterwards—afterwards—you took my heart by storm!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Have pity on me,’ began Insarov. He tried to get up, but dropped down on + to the sofa again at once. + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s the matter with you?’ inquired Elena anxiously. + </p> + <p> + ‘Nothing.... I am still rather weak. I am not strong enough yet for such + happiness.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then sit quietly. Don’t dare to move, don’t get excited,’ she added, + threatening him with her finger. ‘And why have you left off your + dressing-gown? It’s too soon to begin to be a dandy! Sit down and I will + tell you stories. Listen and be quiet. To talk much is bad for you after + your illness.’ + </p> + <p> + She began to talk to him about Shubin, about Kurnatovsky, and what she had + been doing for the last fortnight, of how war seemed, judging from the + newspapers, inevitable, and so directly he was perfectly well again, he + must, without losing a minute, make arrangements for them to start. All + this she told him sitting beside him, leaning on his shoulder.... + </p> + <p> + He listened to her, listened, turning pale and red. Sometimes he tried to + stop her; suddenly he drew himself up. + </p> + <p> + ‘Elena,’ he said to her in a strange, hard voice ‘leave me, go away.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What?’ she replied in bewilderment ‘You feel ill?’ she added quickly. + </p> + <p> + ‘No... I’m all right... but, please, leave me now.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t understand you. You drive me away?.. What are you doing?’ she + said suddenly; he had bent over from the sofa almost to the ground, and + was pressing her feet to his lips. ‘Don’t do that, Dmitri.... Dmitri——’ + </p> + <p> + He got up. + </p> + <p> + ‘Then leave me! You see, Elena, when I was taken ill, I did not lose + consciousness at first; I knew I was on the edge of the abyss; even in the + fever, in delirium I knew, I felt vaguely that it was death coming to me, + I took leave of life, of you, of everything; I gave up hope.... And this + return to life so suddenly; this light after the darkness, you—you—near + me, with me—your voice, your breath.... It’s more than I can stand! + I feel I love you passionately, I hear you call yourself mine, I cannot + answer for myself... You must go!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Dmitri,’ whispered Elena, and she nestled her head on his shoulder. Only + now she understood him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Elena,’ he went on, ‘I love you, you know that; I am ready to give my + life for you.... Why have you come to me now, when I am weak, when I can’t + control myself, when all my blood’s on fire... you are mine, you say... + you love me——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Dmitri,’ she repeated; she flushed all over, and pressed still closer to + him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Elena, have pity on me; go away, I feel as if I should die.... I can’t + stand these violent emotions... my whole soul yearns for you ... think, + death was almost parting us.. and now you are here, you are in my arms... + Elena——’ + </p> + <p> + She was trembling all over. ‘Take me, then,’ she whispered scarcely above + her breath. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIX + </h2> + <p> + Nikolai Artemyevitch was walking up and down in his study with a scowl on + his face. Shubin was sitting at the window with his legs crossed, + tranquilly smoking a cigar. + </p> + <p> + ‘Leave off tramping from corner to corner, please,’ he observed, knocking + the ash off his cigar. ‘I keep expecting you to speak; there’s a rick in + my neck from watching you. Besides, there’s something artificial, + melodramatic in your striding.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You can never do anything but joke,’ responded Nikolai Artemyevitch. ‘You + won’t enter into my position, you refuse to realise that I am used to that + woman, that I am attached to her in fact, that her absence is bound to + distress me. Here it’s October, winter is upon us. ... What can she be + doing in Revel?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She must be knitting stockings—for herself; for herself—not + for you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You may laugh, you may laugh; but I tell you I know no woman like her. + Such honesty; such disinterestedness.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Has she cashed that bill yet?’ inquired Shubin. + </p> + <p> + ‘Such disinterestedness,’ repeated Nikolai Artemyevitch; ‘it’s + astonishing. They tell me there are a million other women in the world, + but I say, show me the million; show me the million, I say; <i>ces femmes, + qu’on me les montre</i>! And she doesn’t write—that’s what’s killing + me!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You’re eloquent as Pythagoras,’ remarked Shubin; ‘but do you know what I + would advise you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘When Augustina Christianovna comes back—you take my meaning?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, yes; well, what?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘When you see her again—you follow the line of my thought?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, yes, to be sure.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Try beating her; see what that would do.’ + </p> + <p> + Nikolai Artemyevitch turned away exasperated. + </p> + <p> + ‘I thought he was really going to give me some practical advice. But what + can one expect from him! An artist, a man of no principles——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No principles! By the way, I’m told your favourite Mr. Kurnatovsky, the + man of principle, cleaned you out of a hundred roubles last night. That + was hardly delicate, you must own now.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What of it? We were playing high. Of course, I might expect—but + they understand so little how to appreciate him in this house——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That he thought: get what I can!’ put in Shubin: ‘whether he’s to be my + father-in-law or not, is still on the knees of the gods, but a hundred + roubles is worth something to a man who doesn’t take bribes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Father-in-law! How the devil am I his father-in-law? <i>Vous rêvez, mon + cher</i>. Of course, any other girl would be delighted with such a suitor. + Only consider: a man of spirit and intellect, who has gained a position in + the world, served in two provinces——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Led the governor in one of them by the nose,’ remarked Shubin. + </p> + <p> + ‘Very likely. To be sure, that’s how it should be. Practical, a business + man——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And a capital hand at cards,’ Shubin remarked again. + </p> + <p> + ‘To be sure, and a capital hand at cards. But Elena Nikolaevna.... Is + there any understanding her? I should be glad to know if there is any one + who would undertake to make out what it is she wants. One day she’s + cheerful, another she’s dull; all of a sudden she’s so thin there’s no + looking at her, and then suddenly she’s well again, and all without any + apparent reason——’ + </p> + <p> + A disagreeable-looking man-servant came in with a cup of coffee, cream and + sugar on a tray. + </p> + <p> + ‘The father is pleased with a suitor,’ pursued Nikolai Artemyevitch, + breaking off a lump of sugar; ‘but what is that to the daughter! That was + all very well in the old patriarchal days, but now we have changed all + that. <i>Nous avons changé tout ça</i>. Nowadays a young girl talks to any + one she thinks fit, reads what she thinks fit; she goes about Moscow alone + without a groom or a maid, just as in Paris; and all that is permitted. + The other day I asked, “Where is Elena Nikolaevna?” I’m told she has gone + out. Where? No one knows. Is that—the proper thing?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Take your coffee, and let the man go,’ said Shubin. ‘You say yourself + that one ought not <i>devant les domestiques</i>’ he added in an + undertone. + </p> + <p> + The servant gave Shubin a dubious look, while Nikolai Artemyevitch took + the cup of coffee, added some cream, and seized some ten lumps of sugar. + </p> + <p> + ‘I was just going to say when the servant came in,’ he began, ‘that I + count for nothing in this house. That’s the long and short of the matter. + For nowadays every one judges from appearances; one man’s an empty-headed + fool, but gives himself airs of importance, and he’s respected; while + another, very likely, has talents which might—which might gain him + great distinction, but through modesty——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Aren’t you a born statesman?’ asked Shubin in a jeering voice. + </p> + <p> + ‘Give over playing the fool!’ Nikolai Artemyevitch cried with heat. ‘You + forget yourself! Here you have another proof that I count for nothing in + this house, nothing!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Anna Vassilyevna ill-uses you... poor fellow!’ said Shubin, stretching. + ‘Ah, Nikolai Artemyevitch, we’re a pair of sinners! You had much better be + getting a little present ready for Anna Vassilyevna. It’s her birthday in + a day or two, and you know how she appreciates the least attention on your + part.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, yes,’ answered Nikolai Artemyevitch hastily. ‘I’m much obliged to + you for reminding me. Of course, of course; to be sure. I have a little + thing, a dressing-case, I bought it the other day at Rosenstrauch’s; but I + don’t know really if it will do.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I suppose you bought it for her, the lady at Revel?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, certainly.—I had some idea.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, in that case, it will be sure to do.’ Shubin got up from his seat. + </p> + <p> + ‘Are we going out this evening, Pavel Yakovlitch, eh?’ Nikolai + Artemyevitch asked with an amicable leer. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why yes, you are going to your club.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘After the club... after the club.’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin stretched himself again. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, Nikolai Artemyevitch, I want to work to-morrow. Another time.’ And he + walked off. + </p> + <p> + Nikolai Artemyevitch scowled, walked twice up and down the room, took a + velvet box with the dressing-case out of the bureau and looked at it a + long while, rubbing it with a silk handkerchief. Then he sat down before a + looking-glass and began carefully arranging his thick black hair, turning + his head to right and to left with a dignified countenance, his tongue + pressed into his cheek, never taking his eyes off his parting. Some one + coughed behind his back; he looked round and saw the manservant who had + brought him in his coffee. + </p> + <p> + ‘What do you want?’ he asked him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Nikolai Artemyevitch,’ said the man with a certain solemnity, ‘you are + our master?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I know that; what next!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nikolai Artemyevitch, graciously do not be angry with me; but I, having + been in your honour’s service from a boy, am bound in dutiful devotion to + bring you——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well what is it?’ + </p> + <p> + The man shifted uneasily as he stood. + </p> + <p> + ‘You condescended to say, your honour,’ he began, ‘that your honour did + not know where Elena Nikolaevna was pleased to go. I have information + about that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What lies are you telling, idiot?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s as your honour likes, but I saw our young lady three days ago, as + she was pleased to go into a house!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Where? what? what house?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘In a house, near Povarsky. Not far from here. I even asked the doorkeeper + who were the people living there.’ + </p> + <p> + Nikolai Artemyevitch stamped with his feet. + </p> + <p> + ‘Silence, scoundrel! How dare you?... Elena Nikolaevna, in the goodness of + her heart, goes to visit the poor and you... Be off, fool!’ + </p> + <p> + The terrified servant was rushing to the door. + </p> + <p> + ‘Stop!’ cried Nikolai Artemyevitch. ‘What did the doorkeeper say to you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh no—nothing—he said nothing—He told me—a stu—student——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Silence, scoundrel! Listen, you dirty beast; if you ever breathe a word + in your dreams even——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Mercy on us——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Silence! if you blab—if any one—if I find out—you shall + find no hiding-place even underground! Do you hear? You can go!’ + </p> + <p> + The man vanished. + </p> + <p> + ‘Good Heavens, merciful powers! what does it mean?’ thought Nikolai + Artemyevitch when he was left alone. ‘What did that idiot tell me? Eh? I + shall have to find out, though, what house it is, and who lives there. I + must go myself. Has it come to this!... <i>Un laquais! Quelle humiliation!</i>’ + </p> + <p> + And repeating aloud: ‘<i>Un laquais!</i>’ Nikolai Artemyevitch shut the + dressing-case up in the bureau, and went up to Anna Vassilyevna. He found + her in bed with her face tied up. But the sight of her sufferings only + irritated him, and he very soon reduced her to tears. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXX + </h2> + <p> + Meanwhile the storm gathering in the East was breaking. Turkey had + declared war on Russia; the time fixed for the evacuation of the + Principalities had already expired, the day of the disaster of Sinope was + not far off. The last letters received by Insarov summoned him urgently to + his country. His health was not yet restored; he coughed, suffered from + weakness and slight attacks of fever, but he was scarcely ever at home. + His heart was fired, he no longer thought of his illness. He was for ever + rushing about Moscow, having secret interviews with various persons, + writing for whole nights, disappearing for whole days; he had informed his + landlord that he was going away shortly, and had presented him already + with his scanty furniture. Elena too on her side was getting ready for + departure. One wet evening she was sitting in her room, and listening with + involuntary depression to the sighing of the wind, while she hemmed + handkerchiefs. Her maid came in and told her that her father was in her + mother’s room and sent for her there. ‘Your mamma is crying,’ she + whispered after the retreating Elena, ‘and your papa is angry.’ + </p> + <p> + Elena gave a slight shrug and went into Anna Vassflyevna’s room. Nikolai + Artemyevitch’s kind-hearted spouse was half lying on a reclining chair, + sniffing a handkerchief steeped in <i>eau de Cologne</i>; he himself was + standing at the hearth, every button buttoned up, in a high, hard cravat, + with a stiffly starched collar; his deportment had a vague suggestion of + some parliamentary orator. With an orator’s wave of the arm he motioned + his daughter to a chair, and when she, not understanding his gesture, + looked inquiringly at him, he brought out with dignity, without turning + his head: ‘I beg you to be seated.’ Nikolai Artemyevitch always used the + formal plural in addressing his wife, but only on extraordinary occasions + in addressing his daughter. + </p> + <p> + Elena sat down. + </p> + <p> + Anna Vassilyevna blew her nose tearfully. Nikolai Artemyevitch thrust his + fingers between his coat-buttons. + </p> + <p> + ‘I sent for you, Elena Nikolaevna,’ he began after a protracted silence, + ‘in order to have an explanation with you, or rather in order to ask you + for an explanation. I am displeased with you—or no—that is too + little to say: your behaviour is a pain and an outrage to me—to me + and to your mother—your mother whom you see here.’ + </p> + <p> + Nikolai Artemyevitch was giving vent only to the few bass notes in his + voice. Elena gazed in silence at him, then at Anna Vassilyevna and turned + pale. + </p> + <p> + ‘There was a time,’ Nikolai Artemyevitch resumed, ‘when daughters did not + allow themselves to look down on their parents—when the parental + authority forced the disobedient to tremble. That time has passed, + unhappily: so at least many persons imagine; but let me tell you, there + are still laws which do not permit—do not permit—in fact there + are still laws. I beg you to mark that: there are still laws——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But, papa,’ Elena was beginning. + </p> + <p> + ‘I beg you not to interrupt me. Let us turn in thought to the past. I and + Anna Vassilyevna have performed our duty. I and Anna Vassilyevna have + spared nothing in your education: neither care nor expense. What you have + gained from our care—is a different question; but I had the right to + expect—I and Anna Vassilyevna had the right to expect that you would + at least hold sacred the principles of morality which we have—<i>que + nous avons inculqués</i>, which we have instilled into you, our only + daughter. We had the right to expect that no new “ideas” could touch that, + so to speak, holy shrine. And what do we find? I am not now speaking of + frivolities characteristic of your sex, and age, but who could have + anticipated that you could so far forget yourself——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Papa,’ said Elena, ‘I know what you are going to say———’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, you don’t know what I am going to say!’ cried Nikolai Artemyevitch in + a falsetto shriek, suddenly losing the majesty of his oratorical pose, the + smooth dignity of his speech, and his bass notes. ‘You don’t know, vile + hussy!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘For mercy’s sake, <i>Nicolas</i>,’ murmured Anna Vassilyevna, ‘<i>vous me + faites mourir</i>?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t tell me <i>que je vous fais mourir</i>, Anna Vassilyevna! You can’t + conceive what you will hear directly! Prepare yourself for the worst, I + warn you!’ + </p> + <p> + Anna Vassilyevna seemed stupefied. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ resumed Nikolai Artemyevitch, turning to Elena, ‘you don’t know what + I am going to say!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am to blame towards you——’ she began. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, at last!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am to blame towards you,’ pursued Elena, ‘for not having long ago + confessed——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But do you know,’ Nikolai Artemyevitch interrupted, ‘that I can crush you + with one word?’ + </p> + <p> + Elena raised her eyes to look at him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, madam, with one word! It’s useless to look at me!’ (He crossed his + arms on his breast.) ‘Allow me to ask you, do you know a certain house + near Povarsky? Have you visited that house?’ (He stamped.) ‘Answer me, + worthless girl, and don’t try to hide the truth. People, people, servants, + madam, <i>de vils laquais</i> have seen you, as you went in there, to your——’ + </p> + <p> + Elena was crimson, her eyes were blazing. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have no need to hide anything,’ she declared. ‘Yes, I have visited that + house.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Exactly! Do you hear, do you hear, Anna Vassilyevna? And you know, I + presume, who lives there?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, I know; my husband.’ + </p> + <p> + Nikolai Artemyevitch’s eyes were starting out of his head. + </p> + <p> + ‘Your——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My husband,’ repeated Elena; ‘I am married to Dmitri Nikanorovitch + Insarov.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You?—married?’—was all Anna Vassilyevna could articulate. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, mamma.... Forgive me. A fortnight ago, we were secretly married.’ + </p> + <p> + Anna Vassilyevna fell back in her chair; Nikolai Artemyevitch stepped two + paces back. + </p> + <p> + ‘Married! To that vagrant, that Montenegrin! the daughter of Nikolai + Stahov of the higher nobility married to a vagrant, a nobody, without her + parents’ sanction! And you imagine I shall let the matter rest, that I + shall not make a complaint, that I will allow you—that you—that——To + the nunnery with you, and he shall go to prison, to hard labour! Anna + Vassilyevna, inform her at once that you will cut off her inheritance!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nikolai Artemyevitch, for God’s sake,’ moaned Anna Vassilyevna. + </p> + <p> + ‘And when and how was this done? Who married you? where? how? Good God! + what will all our friends think, what will the world say! And you, + shameless hypocrite, could go on living under your parents’ roof after + such an act! Had you no fear of—the wrath of heaven?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Papa’ said Elena (she was trembling from head to foot but her voice was + steady), ‘you are at liberty to do with me as you please, but you need not + accuse me of shamelessness, and hypocrisy. I did not want—to give + you pain before, but I should have had to tell you all myself in a few + days, because we are going away—my husband and I—from here + next week.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Going away? Where to?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘To his own country, to Bulgaria.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘To the Turks!’ cried Anna Vassilyevna and fell into a swoon. + </p> + <p> + Elena ran to her mother. + </p> + <p> + ‘Away!’ clamoured Nikolai Artemyevitch, seizing his daughter by the arm, + ‘away, unworthy girl!’ + </p> + <p> + But at that instant the door of the room opened, and a pale face with + glittering eyes appeared: it was the face of Shubin. + </p> + <p> + ‘Nikolai Artemyevitch!’ he shouted at the top of his voice, ‘Augustina + Christianovna is here and is asking for you!’ + </p> + <p> + Nikolai Artemyevitch turned round infuriated, threatening Shubin with his + fist; he stood still a minute and rapidly went out of the room. + </p> + <p> + Elena fell at her mother’s feet and embraced her knees. + </p> + <p> + * * * + </p> + <p> + Uvar Ivanovitch was lying on his bed. A shirt without a collar, fastened + with a heavy stud enfolded his thick neck and fell in full flowing folds + over the almost feminine contours of his chest, leaving visible a large + cypress-wood cross and an amulet. His ample limbs were covered with the + lightest bedclothes. On the little table by the bedside a candle was + burning dimly beside a jug of kvas, and on the bed at Uvar Ivanovitch’s + feet was sitting Shubin in a dejected pose. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ he was saying meditatively, ‘she is married and getting ready to go + away. Your nephew was bawling and shouting for the benefit of the whole + house; he had shut himself up for greater privacy in his wife’s bedroom, + but not merely the maids and the footmen, the coachman even could hear it + all! Now he’s just tearing and raving round; he all but gave me a + thrashing, he’s bringing a father’s curse on the scene now, as cross as a + bear with a sore head; but that’s of no importance. Anna Vassilyevna’s + crushed, but she’s much more brokenhearted at her daughter leaving her + than at her marriage.’ + </p> + <p> + Uvar Ivanovitch flourished his fingers. + </p> + <p> + ‘A mother,’ he commented, ‘to be sure.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Your nephew,’ resumed Shubin, ‘threatens to lodge a complaint with the + Metropolitan and the General-Governor and the Minister, but it will end by + her going. A happy thought to ruin his own daughter! He’ll crow a little + and then lower his colours.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They’d no right,’ observed Uvar Ivanovitch, and he drank out of the jug. + </p> + <p> + ‘To be sure. But what a storm of criticism, gossip, and comments will be + raised in Moscow! She’s not afraid of them.... Besides she’s above them. + She’s going away... and it’s awful to think where she’s going—to + such a distance, such a wilderness! What future awaits her there? I seem + to see her setting off from a posting station in a snow-storm with thirty + degrees of frost. She’s leaving her country, and her people; but I + understand her doing it. Whom is she leaving here behind her? What people + has she seen? Kurnatovsky and Bersenyev and our humble selves; and these + are the best she’s seen. What is there to regret about it? One thing’s + bad; I’m told her husband—the devil, how that word sticks in my + throat!—Insarov, I’m told, is spitting blood; that’s a bad lookout. + I saw him the other day: his face—you could model Brutus from it + straight off. Do you know who Brutus was, Uvar Ivanovitch?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What is there to know? a man to be sure.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Precisely so: he was a “man.” Yes he’s a wonderful face, but unhealthy, + very unhealthy.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘For fighting... it makes no difference,’ observed Uvar Ivanovitch. + </p> + <p> + ‘For fighting it makes no difference, certainly; you are pleased to + express yourself with great justice to-day; but for living it makes all + the difference. And you see she wants to live with him a little while.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘A youthful affair,’ responded Uvar Ivanovitch. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, a youthful, glorious, bold affair. Death, life, conflict, defeat, + triumph, love, freedom, country.... Good God, grant as much to all of us! + That’s a very different thing from sitting up to one’s neck in a bog, and + pretending it’s all the same to you, when in fact it really is all the + same. While there—the strings are tuned to the highest pitch, to + play to all the world or to break!’ + </p> + <p> + Shubin’s head sank on to his breast. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ he resumed, after a prolonged silence, ‘Insarov deserves her. What + nonsense, though! No one deserves her... Insarov... Insarov ... What’s the + use of pretended modesty? We’ll own he’s a fine fellow, he stands on his + own feet, though up to the present he has done no more than we poor + sinners; and are we such absolutely worthless dirt? Am I such dirt, Uvar + Ivanovitch? Has God been hard on me in every way? Has He given me no + talents, no abilities? Who knows, perhaps, the name of Pavel Shubin will + in time be a great name? You see that bronze farthing there lying on your + table. Who knows; some day, perhaps in a century, that bronze will go to a + statue of Pavel Shubin, raised in his honour by a grateful posterity!’ + </p> + <p> + Uvar Ivanovitch leaned on his elbow and stared at the enthusiastic artist. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s a long way off,’ he said at last with his usual gesture; ‘we’re + speaking of other people, why bring in yourself?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘O great philosopher of the Russian world!’ cried Shubin, ‘every word of + yours is worth its weight in gold, and it’s not to me but to you a statue + ought to be raised, and I would undertake it. There, as you are lying now, + in that pose; one doesn’t know which is uppermost in it, sloth or + strength! That’s how I would cast you in bronze. You aimed a just reproach + at my egoism and vanity! Yes! yes! it’s useless talking of one’s-self; + it’s useless bragging. We have no one yet, no men, look where you will. + Everywhere—either small fry, nibblers, Hamlets on a small scale, + self-absorbed, or darkness and subterranean chaos, or idle babblers and + wooden sticks. Or else they are like this: they study themselves to the + most shameful detail, and are for ever feeling the pulse of every + sensation and reporting to themselves: “That’s what I feel, that’s what I + think.” A useful, rational occupation! No, if we only had some sensible + men among us, that girl, that delicate soul, would not have run away from + us, would not have slipped off like a fish to the water! What’s the + meaning of it, Uvar Ivanovitch? When will our time come? When will men be + born among us?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Give us time,’ answered Uvar Ivanovitch; ‘they will be——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They will be? soil of our country! force of the black earth! thou hast + said: they will be. Look, I will write down your words. But why are you + putting out the candle?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m going to sleep; good-bye.’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXI + </h2> + <p> + Shubin had spoken truly. The unexpected news of Elena’s marriage nearly + killed Anna Vassilyevna. She took to her bed. Nikolai Artemyevitch + insisted on her not admitting her daughter to her presence; he seemed to + be enjoying the opportunity of showing himself in the fullest sense the + master of the house, with all the authority of the head of the family; he + made an incessant uproar in the household, storming at the servants, and + constantly saying: ‘I will show you who I am, I will let you know—you + wait a little!’ While he was in the house, Anna Vassilyevna did not see + Elena, and had to be content with Zoya, who waited on her very devotedly, + but kept thinking to herself: ‘<i>Diesen Insarof vorziehen—und wem?</i>’ + But directly Nikolai Artemyevitch went out—and that happened pretty + often, Augustina Christianovna had come back in sober earnest—Elena + went to her mother, and a long time her mother gazed at her in silence and + in tears. + </p> + <p> + This dumb reproach, more deeply than any other, cut Elena to the heart; at + such moments she felt, not remorse, but a deep, boundless pity akin to + remorse. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mamma, dear mamma!’ she would repeat, kissing her hands; ‘what was I to + do? I’m not to blame, I loved him, I could not have acted differently. + Throw the blame on fate for throwing me with a man whom papa doesn’t like, + and who is taking me away from you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah!’ Anna Vassilyevna cut her short, ‘don’t remind me of that. When I + think where you mean to go, my heart is ready to burst!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Dear mamma,’ answered Elena, ‘be comforted; at least, it might have been + worse; I might have died.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But, as it is, I don’t expect to see you again. Either you will end your + days there in a tent somewhere’—Anna Vassilyevna pictured Bulgaria + as something after the nature of the Siberian swamps,—‘or I shall + not survive the separation——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t say that, mamma dearest, we shall see each other again, please God. + There are towns in Bulgaria just as there are here.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Fine towns there, indeed! There is war going on there now; wherever you + go, I suppose they are firing cannons off all the while... Are you meaning + to set off soon?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Soon... if only papa. He means to appeal to the authorities; he threatens + to separate us.’ + </p> + <p> + Anna Vassilyevna turned her eyes heavenwards. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, Lenotchka, he will not do that. I would not myself have consented to + this marriage. I would have died first; but what’s done can’t be undone, + and I will not let my daughter be disgraced.’ + </p> + <p> + So passed a few days. At last Anna Vassilyevna plucked up her courage, and + one evening she shut herself up alone with her husband in her room. The + whole house was hushed to catch every sound. At first nothing was to be + heard; then Nikolai Artemyevitch’s voice began to tune up, then a quarrel + broke out, shouts were raised, even groans were discerned.... Already + Shubin was plotting with the maids and Zoya to rush in to the rescue; but + the uproar in the bedroom began by degrees to grow less, passed into quiet + talk, and ceased. Only from time to time a faint sob was to be heard, and + then those, too, were still. There was the jingling of keys, the creak of + a bureau being unfastened.... The door was opened, and Nikolai + Artemyevitch appeared. He looked surlily at every one who met him, and + went out to the club; while Anna Vassilyevna sent for Elena, embraced her + warmly, and, with bitter tears flowing down her cheeks, she said: + </p> + <p> + ‘Everything is settled, he will not make a scandal, and there is nothing + now to hinder you from going—from abandoning us.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You will let Dmitri come to thank you?’ Elena begged her mother, as soon + as the latter had been restored a little. + </p> + <p> + ‘Wait a little, my darling, I cannot bear yet to see the man who has come + between us. We shall have time before you go.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Before we go,’ repeated Elena mournfully. + </p> + <p> + Nikolai Artemyevitch had consented ‘not to make a scandal,’ but Anna + Vassilyevna did not tell her daughter what a price he had put on his + consent. She did not tell her that she had promised to pay all his debts, + and had given him a thousand roubles down on the spot. Moreover, he had + declared decisively to Anna Vassilyevna that he had no wish to meet + Insarov, whom he persisted in calling ‘the Montenegrin vagrant,’ and when + he got to the club, he began, quite without occasion, talking of Elena’s + marriage, to his partner at cards, a retired general of engineers. ‘You + have heard,’ he observed with a show of carelessness, ‘my daughter, + through the higher education, has gone and married a student.’ The general + looked at him through his spectacles, muttered, ‘H’m!’ and asked him what + stakes would he play for. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXII + </h2> + <p> + The day of departure drew near. November was already over; the latest date + for starting had come. Insarov had long ago made his preparations, and was + burning with anxiety to get out of Moscow as soon as possible. And the + doctor was urging him on. ‘You need a warm climate,’ he told him; ‘you + will not get well here.’ Elena, too, was fretting with impatience; she was + worried by Insarov’s pallor, and his emaciation. She often looked with + involuntary terror at his changed face. Her position in her parents’ house + had become insupportable. Her mother mourned over her, as over the dead, + while her father treated her with contemptuous coldness; the approaching + separation secretly pained him too, but he regarded it as his duty—the + duty of an offended father—to disguise his feelings, his weakness. + Anna Vassilyevna at last expressed a wish to see Insarov. He was taken up + to her secretly by the back stairs. After he had entered her room, for a + long time she could not speak to him, she could not even bring herself to + look at him; he sat down near her chair, and waited, with quiet + respectfulness, for her first word. Elena sat down close, and held her + mother’s hand in hers. At last Anna Vassilyevna raised her eyes, saying: + ‘God is your judge, Dmitri Nikanorovitch’—she stopped short: the + reproaches died away on her lips. ‘Why, you are ill,’ she cried: ‘Elena, + your husband’s ill!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have been unwell, Anna Vassilyevna,’ answered Insarov; ‘and even now I + am not quite strong yet: but I hope my native air will make me perfectly + well again.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah—Bulgaria!’ murmured Anna Vassilyevna, and she thought: ‘Good + God, a Bulgarian, and dying; a voice as hollow as a drum; and eyes like + saucers, a perfect skeleton; his coat hanging loose on his shoulders, his + face as yellow as a guinea, and she’s his wife—she loves him—it + must be a bad dream. But——’ she checked herself at once: + ‘Dmitri Nikanorovitch,’ she said, ‘are you absolutely, absolutely bound to + go away?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Absolutely, Anna Vassilyevna.’ + </p> + <p> + Anna Vassilyevna looked at him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, Dmitri Nikanorovitch, God grant you never have to go through what I + am going through now. But you will promise me to take care of her—to + love her. You will not have to face poverty while I am living!’ + </p> + <p> + Tears choked her voice. She opened her arms, and Elena and Insarov flung + themselves into her embrace. + </p> + <p> + The fatal day had come at last. It had been arranged that Elena should say + good-bye to her parents at home, and should start on the journey from + Insarov’s lodgings. The departure was fixed for twelve o’clock. About a + quarter of an hour before the appointed time Bersenyev arrived. He had + expected to find Insarov’s compatriots at his lodgings, anxious to see him + off; but they had already gone before; and with them the two mysterious + persons known to the reader (they had been witnesses at Insarov’s + wedding). The tailor met the ‘kind gentlemen’ with a bow; he, presumably, + to drown his grief, but possibly to celebrate his delight at getting the + furniture, had been drinking heavily; his wife soon led him away. In the + room everything was by this time ready; a trunk, tied up with cord, stood + on the floor. Bersenyev sank into thought: many memories came rushing upon + him. + </p> + <p> + Twelve o’clock had long ago struck; and the driver had already brought + round the horses, but the ‘young people’ still did not appear. At last + hurrying steps were heard on the stairs, and Elena came out escorted by + Insarov and Shubin. Elena’s eyes were red; she had left her mother lying + unconscious; the parting had been terrible. Elena had not seen Bersenyev + for more than a week: he had been seldom of late at the Stahovs’. She had + not expected to meet him; and crying, ‘You! thank you!’ she threw herself + on his neck; Insarov, too, embraced him. A painful silence followed. What + could these three say to one another? what were they feeling in their + hearts? Shubin realised the necessity of cutting short everything painful + with light words. + </p> + <p> + ‘Our trio has come together again,’ he began, ‘for the last time. Let us + submit to the decrees of fate; speak of the past with kindness; and in + God’s name go forward to the new life! In God’s name, on our distant way,’ + he began to hum, and stopped short. He felt suddenly ashamed and awkward. + It is a sin to sing where the dead are lying: and at that instant, in that + room, the past of which he had spoken was dying, the past of the people + met together in it. It was dying to be born again in a new life—doubtless—still + it was death. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come, Elena,’ began Insarov, turning to his wife, ‘I think everything is + done? Everything paid, and everything packed. There’s nothing more except + to take the box down.’ He called his landlord. + </p> + <p> + The tailor came into the room, together with his wife and daughter. He + listened, slightly reeling, to Insarov’s instructions, dragged the box up + on to his shoulders, and ran quickly down the staircases, tramping heavily + with his boots. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, after the Russian custom, we must sit down,’ observed Insarov. + </p> + <p> + They all sat down; Bersenyev seated himself on the old sofa, Elena sat + next him; the landlady and her daughter squatted in the doorway. All were + silent; all smiled constrainedly, though no one knew why he was smiling; + each of them wanted to say something at parting, and each (except, of + course, the landlady and her daughter, they were simply rolling their + eyes) felt that at such moments it is only permissible to utter + common-places, that any word of importance, of sense, or even of deep + feeling, would be somehow out of place, almost insincere. Insarov was the + first to get up, and he began crossing himself. ‘Farewell, our little + room!’ he cried. + </p> + <p> + Then came kisses, the sounding but cold kisses of leave-taking, good + wishes—half expressed—for the journey, promises to write, the + last, half-smothered words of farewell. + </p> + <p> + Elena, all in tears, had already taken her seat in the sledge; Insarov had + carefully wrapped her feet up in a rug; Shubin, Bersenyev, the landlord, + his wife, the little daughter, with the inevitable kerchief on her head, + the doorkeeper, a workman in a striped bedgown, were all standing on the + steps, when suddenly a splendid sledge, harnessed with spirited horses, + flew into the courtyard, and from the sledge, shaking the snow off the + collar of his cloak, leapt Nikolai Artemyevitch. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am not too late, thank God,’ he cried, running up to their sledge. + ‘Here, Elena, is our last parental benediction,’ he said, bending down + under the hood, and taking from his pocket a little holy image, sewn in a + velvet bag, he put it round her neck. She began to sob, and kiss his + hands; and the coachman meantime pulled out of the forepart of the sledge + a half bottle of champagne, and three glasses. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come!’ said Nikolai Artemyevitch—and his own tears were trickling + on to the beaver collar of his cloak—‘we must drink to—good + journey—good wishes——’ He began pouring out the + champagne: his hands were shaking, the foam rose over the edge and fell on + to the snow. He took one glass, and gave the other two to Elena and + Insarov, who by now was seated beside her. ‘God give you——’ + began Nikolai Artemyevitch, and he could not go on: he drank off the wine; + they, too, drank off their glasses. ‘Now you should drink, gentlemen,’ he + added, turning to Shubin and Bersenyev, but at that instant the driver + started the horses. Nikolai Artemyevitch ran beside the sledge. ‘Mind and + write to us,’ he said in a broken voice. Elena put out her head, saying: + ‘Good-bye, papa, Andrei Petrovitch, Pavel Yakovlitch, good-bye all, + good-bye, Russia!’ and dropped back in her place. The driver flourished + his whip, and gave a whistle; the sledge, its runners crunching on the + snow, turned out of the gates to the right and disappeared. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIII + </h2> + <p> + It was a bright April day. On the broad lagoon which separates Venice from + the narrow strip of accumulated sea sand, called the Lido, a gondola was + gliding—swaying rhythmically at every push made by the gondolier as + he leaned on the big pole. Under its low awning, on soft leather cushions, + were sitting Elena and Insarov. + </p> + <p> + Elena’s features had not changed much since the day of her departure from + Moscow, but their expression was different; it was more thoughtful and + more severe, and her eyes had a bolder look. Her whole figure had grown + finer and more mature, and the hair seemed to lie in greater thickness and + luxuriance along her white brow and her fresh cheeks. Only about her lips, + when she was not smiling, a scarcely perceptible line showed the presence + of a hidden constant anxiety. In Insarov’s face, on the contrary, the + expression had remained the same, but his features had undergone a cruel + change. He had grown thin, old, pale and bent; he was constantly coughing + a short dry cough, and his sunken eyes shone with a strange brilliance. On + the way from Russia, Insarov had lain ill for almost two months at Vienna, + and only at the end of March had he been able to come with his wife to + Venice; from there he was hoping to make his way through Zara to Servia, + to Bulgaria; the other roads were closed. The war was now at its height + about the Danube; England and France had declared war on Russia, all the + Slavonic countries were roused and were preparing for an uprising. + </p> + <p> + The gondola put in to the inner shore of the Lido. Elena and Insarov + walked along the narrow sandy road planted with sickly trees (every year + they plant them and every year they die) to the outer shore of the Lido, + to the sea. + </p> + <p> + They walked along the beach. The Adriatic rolled its muddy-blue waves + before them; they raced into the shore, foaming and hissing, and drew back + again, leaving fine shells and fragments of seaweed on the beach. + </p> + <p> + ‘What a desolate place!’ observed Elena ‘I’m afraid it’s too cold for you + here, but I guess why you wanted to come here.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Cold!’ rejoined Insarov with a rapid and bitter smile, ‘I shall be a fine + soldier, if I’m to be afraid of the cold. I came here... I will tell you + why. I look across that sea, and I feel as though here, I am nearer my + country. It is there, you know,’ he added, stretching out his hand to the + East, ‘the wind blows from there.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Will not this wind bring the ship you are expecting?’ said Elena. ‘See, + there is a white sail, is not that it?’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov gazed seaward into the distance to where Elena was pointing. + </p> + <p> + ‘Renditch promised to arrange everything for us within a week,’ he said, + ‘we can rely on him, I think.... Did you hear, Elena,’ he added with + sudden animation, ‘they say the poor Dalmatian fishermen have sacrificed + their dredging weights—you know the leads they weigh their nets with + for letting them down to the bottom—to make bullets! They have no + money, they only just live by fishing; but they have joyfully given up + their last property, and now are starving. What a nation!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘<i>Aufgepasst</i>!’ shouted a haughty voice behind them. The heavy thud + of horse’s hoofs was heard, and an Austrian officer in a short grey tunic + and a green cap galloped past them—they had scarcely time to get out + of the way. + </p> + <p> + Insarov looked darkly after him. + </p> + <p> + ‘He was not to blame,’ said Elena, ‘you know, they have no other place + where they can ride.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He was not to blame,’ answered Insarov ‘but he made my blood boil with + his shout, his moustaches, his cap, his whole appearance. Let us go back.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, let us go back, Dmitri. It’s really cold here. You did not take care + of yourself after your Moscow illness, and you had to pay for that at + Vienna. Now you must be more cautious.’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov did not answer, but the same bitter smile passed over his lips. + </p> + <p> + ‘If you like,’ Elena went on, ‘we will go along to the Canal Grande. We + have not seen Venice properly, you know, all the while we have been here. + And in the evening we are going to the theatre; I have two tickets for the + stalls. They say there’s a new opera being given. If you like, we will + give up to-day to one another; we will forget politics and war and + everything, we will forget everything but that we are alive, breathing, + thinking together; that we are one for ever—would you like that?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If you would like it, Elena,’ answered Insarov, ‘it follows that I should + like it too.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I knew that,’ observed Elena with a smile, ‘come, let us go.’ + </p> + <p> + They went back to the gondola, took their seats, told the gondolier to + take them without hurry along the Canal Grande. + </p> + <p> + No one who has not seen Venice in April knows all the unutterable + fascinations of that magic town. The softness and mildness of spring + harmonise with Venice, just as the glaring sun of summer suits the + magnificence of Genoa, and as the gold and purple of autumn suits the + grand antiquity of Rome. The beauty of Venice, like the spring, touches + the soul and moves it to desire; it frets and tortures the inexperienced + heart like the promise of a coming bliss, mysterious but not elusive. + Everything in it is bright, and everything is wrapt in a drowsy, tangible + mist, as it were, of the hush of love; everything in it is so silent, and + everything in it is kindly; everything in it is feminine, from its name + upwards. It has well been given the name of ‘the fair city.’ Its masses of + palaces and churches stand out light and wonderful like the graceful dream + of a young god; there is something magical, something strange and + bewitching in the greenish-grey light and silken shimmer of the silent + water of the canals, in the noiseless gliding of the gondolas, in the + absence of the coarse din of a town, the coarse rattling, and crashing, + and uproar. ‘Venice is dead, Venice is deserted,’ her citizens will tell + you, but perhaps this last charm—the charm of decay—was not + vouchsafed her in the very heyday of the flower and majesty of her beauty. + He who has not seen her, knows her not; neither Canaletto nor Guardi (to + say nothing of later painters) has been able to convey the silvery + tenderness of the atmosphere, the horizon so close, yet so elusive, the + divine harmony of exquisite lines and melting colours. One who has + outlived his life, who has been crushed by it, should not visit Venice; + she will be cruel to him as the memory of unfulfilled dreams of early + days; but sweet to one whose strength is at its full, who is conscious of + happiness; let him bring his bliss under her enchanted skies; and however + bright it may be, Venice will make it more golden with her unfading + splendour. + </p> + <p> + The gondola in which Insarov and Elena were sitting passed <i>Riva dei + Schiavoni</i>, the palace of the Doges, and Piazzetta, and entered the + Grand Canal. On both sides stretched marble palaces; they seemed to float + softly by, scarcely letting the eye seize or absorb their beauty. Elena + felt herself deeply happy; in the perfect blue of her heavens there was + only one dark cloud—and it was in the far distance; Insarov was much + better that day. They glided as far as the acute angle of the Rialto and + turned back. Elena was afraid of the chill of the churches for Insarov; + but she remembered the academy <i>delle Belle Arti</i>, and told the gondolier to + go towards it. They quickly walked through all the rooms of that little + museum. Being neither connoisseurs nor dilettantes, they did not stop + before every picture; they put no constraint on themselves; a spirit of + light-hearted gaiety came over them. Everything seemed suddenly very + entertaining. (Children know this feeling very well.) To the great scandal + of three English visitors, Elena laughed till she cried over the St Mark + of Tintoretto, skipping down from the sky like a frog into the water, to + deliver the tortured slave; Insarov in his turn fell into raptures over + the back and legs of the sturdy man in the green cloak, who stands in the + foreground of Titian’s Ascension and holds his arms outstretched after the + Madonna; but the Madonna—a splendid, powerful woman, calmly and + majestically making her way towards the bosom of God the Father—impressed + both Insarov and Elena; they liked, too, the austere and reverent painting + of the elder Cima da Conegliano. As they were leaving the academy, they + took another look at the Englishmen behind them—with their long + rabbit-like teeth and drooping whiskers—and laughed; they glanced at + their gondolier with his abbreviated jacket and short breeches—and + laughed; they caught sight of a woman selling old clothes with a knob of + grey hair on the very top of her head—and laughed more than ever; + they looked into one another’s face—and went off into peals of + laughter, and directly they had sat down in the gondola, they clasped each + other’s hand in a close, close grip. They reached their hotel, ran into + their room, and ordered dinner to be brought in. Their gaiety did not + desert them at dinner. They pressed each other to eat, drank to the health + of their friends in Moscow, clapped their hands at the waiter for a + delicious dish of fish, and kept asking him for live <i>frutti di mare</i>; + the waiter shrugged his shoulders and scraped with his feet, but when he + had left them, he shook his head and once even muttered with a sigh, <i>poveretti</i>! + (poor things!) After dinner they set off for the theatre. + </p> + <p> + They were giving an opera of Verdi’s, which though, honestly speaking, + rather vulgar, has already succeeded in making the round of all the + European theatres, an opera, well-known among Russians, <i>La Traviata</i>. + The season in Venice was over, and none of the singers rose above the + level of mediocrity; every one shouted to the best of their abilities. The + part of Violetta was performed by an artist, of no renown, and judging by + the cool reception given her by the public, not a favourite, but she was + not destitute of talent. She was a young, and not very pretty, black-eyed + girl with an unequal and already overstrained voice. Her dress was + ill-chosen and naively gaudy; her hair was hidden in a red net, her dress + of faded blue satin was too tight for her, and thick Swedish gloves + reached up to her sharp elbows. Indeed, how could she, the daughter of + some Bergamese shepherd, know how Parisian <i>dames aux camélias</i> + dress! And she did not understand how to move on the stage; but there was + much truth and artless simplicity in her acting, and she sang with that + passion of expression and rhythm which is only vouchsafed to Italians. + Elena and Insarov were sitting alone together in a dark box close to the + stage; the mirthful mood which had come upon them in the academy <i>delle + Belle Arti</i> had not yet passed off. When the father of the unhappy + young man who had fallen into the snares of the enchantress came on to the + stage in a yellow frock-coat and a dishevelled white wig, opened his mouth + awry, and losing his presence of mind before he had begun, only brought + out a faint bass <i>tremolo</i>, they almost burst into laughter. ... But + Violetta’s acting impressed them. + </p> + <p> + ‘They hardly clap that poor girl at all,’ said Elena, ‘but I like her a + thousand times better than some conceited second-rate celebrity who would + grimace and attitudinise all the while for effect. This girl seems as + though it were all in earnest; look, she pays no attention to the public.’ + </p> + <p> + Insarov bent over the edge of the box, and looked attentively at Violetta. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ he commented, ‘she is in earnest; she’s on the brink of the grave + herself.’ + </p> + <p> + Elena was mute. + </p> + <p> + The third act began. The curtain rose—Elena shuddered at the sight + of the bed, the drawn curtains, the glass of medicine, the shaded lamps. + She recalled the near past. ‘What of the future? What of the present?’ + flashed across her mind. As though in response to her thought, the + artist’s mimic cough on the stage was answered in the box by the hoarse, + terribly real cough of Insarov. Elena stole a glance at him, and at once + gave her features a calm and untroubled expression; Insarov understood + her, and he began himself to smile, and softly to hum the tune of the + song. + </p> + <p> + But he was soon quiet. Violetta’s acting became steadily better, and + freer. She had thrown aside everything subsidiary, everything superfluous, + and <i>found herself</i>; a rare, a lofty delight for an artist! She had + suddenly crossed the limit, which it is impossible to define, beyond which + is the abiding place of beauty. The audience was thrilled and astonished. + The plain girl with the broken voice began to get a hold on it, to master + it. And the singer’s voice even did not sound broken now; it had gained + mellowness and strength. Alfredo made his entrance; Violetta’s cry of + happiness almost raised that storm in the audience known as <i>fanatismo</i>, + beside which all the applause of our northern audiences is nothing. A + brief interval passed—and again the audience were in transports. The + duet began, the best thing in the opera, in which the composer has + succeeded in expressing all the pathos of the senseless waste of youth, + the final struggle of despairing, helpless love. Caught up and carried + along by the general sympathy, with tears of artistic delight and real + suffering in her eyes, the singer let herself be borne along on the wave + of passion within her; her face was transfigured, and in the presence of + the threatening signs of fast approaching death, the words: ‘<i>Lascia mi + vivero—morir si giovane</i>’ (let me live—to die so young!) + burst from her in such a tempest of prayer rising to heaven, that the + whole theatre shook with frenzied applause and shouts of delight. + </p> + <p> + Elena felt cold all over. Softly her hand sought Insarov’s, found it, and + clasped it tightly. He responded to its pressure; but she did not look at + him, nor he at her. Very different was the clasp of hands with which they + had greeted each other in the gondola a few hours before. + </p> + <p> + Again they glided along the Canal Grande towards their hotel. Night had + set in now, a clear, soft night. The same palaces met them, but they + seemed different. Those that were lighted up by the moon shone with pale + gold, and in this pale light all details of ornaments and lines of windows + and balconies seemed lost; they stood out more clearly in the buildings + that were wrapped in a light veil of unbroken shadow. The gondolas, with + their little red lamps, seemed to flit past more noiselessly and swiftly + than ever; their steel beaks flashed mysteriously, mysteriously their oars + rose and fell over the ripples stirred by little silvery fish; here and + there was heard the brief, subdued call of a gondolier (they never sing + now); scarcely another sound was to be heard. The hotel where Insarov and + Elena were staying was on the <i>Riva dei Schiavoni</i>; before they + reached it they left the gondola, and walked several times round the + Square of St. Mark, under the arches, where numbers of holiday makers were + gathered before the tiny cafes. There is a special sweetness in wandering + alone with one you love, in a strange city among strangers; everything + seems beautiful and full of meaning, you feel peace and goodwill to all + men, you wish all the same happiness that fills your heart. But Elena + could not now give herself up without a care to the sense of her + happiness; her heart could not regain its calm after the emotions that had + so lately shaken it; and Insarov, as he walked by the palace of the Doges, + pointed without speaking to the mouths of the Austrian cannons, peeping + out from the lower arches, and pulled his hat down over his eyes. By now + he felt tired, and, with a last glance at the church of St. Mark, at its + cupola, where on the bluish lead bright patches of phosphorescent light + shone in the rays of the moon, they turned slowly homewards. + </p> + <p> + Their little room looked out on to the lagoon, which stretches from the <i>Riva + del Schiavoni</i> to the Giudecca. Almost facing their hotel rose the + slender tower of S. George; high against the sky on the right shone the + golden ball of the Customs House; and, decked like a bride, stood the + loveliest of the churches, the <i>Redentore</i> of Palladio; on the left + were the black masts and rigging of ships, the funnels of steamers; a + half-furled sail hung in one place like a great wing, and the flags + scarcely stirred. Insarov sat down at the window, but Elena did not let + him admire the view for long; he seemed suddenly feverish, he was overcome + by consuming weakness. She put him to bed, and, waiting till he had fallen + asleep, she returned to the window. Oh, how still and kindly was the + night, what dovelike softness breathed in the deep-blue air! Every + suffering, every sorrow surely must be soothed to slumber under that clear + sky, under that pure, holy light! ‘O God,’ thought Elena, ‘why must there + be death, why is there separation, and disease and tears? or else, why + this beauty, this sweet feeling of hope, this soothing sense of an abiding + refuge, an unchanging support, an everlasting protection? What is the + meaning of this smiling, blessing sky; this happy, sleeping earth? Can it + be that all that is only in us, and that outside us is eternal cold and + silence? Can it be that we are alone... alone... and there, on all sides, + in all those unattainable depths and abysses—nothing is akin to us; + all, all is strange and apart from us? Why, then, have we this desire for, + this delight in prayer?’ (<i>Morir si giovane</i> was echoing in her + heart.)... ‘Is it impossible, then, to propitiate, to avert, to save... O + God! is it impossible to believe in miracle?’ She dropped her head on to + her clasped hands. ‘Enough,’ she whispered. ‘Indeed enough! I have been + happy not for moments only, not for hours, not for whole days even, but + for whole weeks together. And what right had I to happiness?’ She felt + terror at the thought of her happiness. ‘What, if that cannot be?’ she + thought. ‘What, if it is not granted for nothing? Why, it has been + heaven... and we are mortals, poor sinful mortals.... <i>Morir si giovane</i>. + Oh, dark omen, away! It’s not only for me his life is needed! + </p> + <p> + ‘But what, if it is a punishment,’ she thought again; ‘what, if we must + now pay the penalty of our guilt in full? My conscience was silent, it is + silent now, but is that a proof of innocence? O God, can we be so guilty! + Canst Thou who hast created this night, this sky, wish to punish us for + having loved each other? If it be so, if he has sinned, if I have sinned,’ + she added with involuntary force, ‘grant that he, O God, grant that we + both, may die at least a noble, glorious death—there, on the plains + of his country, not here in this dark room. + </p> + <p> + ‘And the grief of my poor, lonely mother?’ she asked herself, and was + bewildered, and could find no answer to her question. Elena did not know + that every man’s happiness is built on the unhappiness of another, that + even his advantage, his comfort, like a statue needs a pedestal, the + disadvantage, the discomfort of others. + </p> + <p> + ‘Renditch!’ muttered Insarov in his sleep. + </p> + <p> + Elena went up to him on tiptoe, bent over him, and wiped the perspiration + from his face. He tossed a little on his pillow, and was still again. + </p> + <p> + She went back again to the window, and again her thoughts took possession + of her. She began to argue with herself, to assure herself that there was + no reason to be afraid. She even began to feel ashamed of her weakness. + ‘Is there any danger? isn’t he better?’ she murmured. ‘Why, if we had not + been at the theatre to-day, all this would never have entered my head.’ + </p> + <p> + At that instant she saw high above the water a white sea-gull; some + fisherman had scared it, it seemed, for it flew noiselessly with uncertain + course, as though seeking a spot where it could alight. ‘Come, if it flies + here,’ thought Elena, ‘it will be a good omen.’ ... The sea-gull flew + round in a circle, folded its wings, and, as though it had been shot, + dropped with a plaintive cry in the distance behind a dark ship. Elena + shuddered; then she was ashamed of having shuddered, and, without + undressing, she lay down on the bed beside Insarov, who was breathing + quickly and heavily. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIV + </h2> + <p> + Insarov waked late with a dull pain in his head, and a feeling, as he + expressed it, of disgusting weakness all over. He got up however. + </p> + <p> + ‘Renditch has not come?’ was his first question. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not yet,’ answered Elena, and she handed him the latest number of the <i>Osservatore + Triestino</i>, in which there was much upon the war, the Slav Provinces, + and the Principalities. Insarov began reading it; she busied herself in + getting some coffee ready for him. Some one knocked at the door. + </p> + <p> + ‘Renditch,’ both thought at once, but a voice said in Russian, ‘May I come + in?’ Elena and Insarov looked at each other in astonishment; and without + waiting for an answer, an elegantly dressed young man entered the room, + with a small sharp-featured face, and bright little eyes. He was beaming + all over, as though he had just won a fortune or heard a most delightful + piece of news. + </p> + <p> + Insarov got up from his seat. + </p> + <p> + ‘You don’t recognise me,’ began the stranger, going up to him with an easy + air, and bowing politely to Elena, ‘Lupoyarov, do you remember, we met at + Moscow at the E——’s.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, at the E——’s,’ replied Insarov. + </p> + <p> + ‘To be sure, to be sure! I beg you to present me to your wife. Madam, I + have always had the profoundest respect for Dmitri Vassilyevitch’ (he + corrected himself)—‘for Nikanor Vassilyevitch, and am very happy to + have the pleasure at last of making your acquaintance. Fancy,’ he + continued, turning to Insarov, ‘I only heard yesterday evening that you + were here. I am staying at this hotel too. What a city! Venice is poetry—that’s + the only word for it! But one thing’s really awful: the cursed Austrians + meeting one at every turn! ah, these Austrians! By the way, have you + heard, there’s been a decisive battle on the Danube: three hundred Turkish + officers killed, Silistria taken; Servia has declared its independence. + You, as a patriot, ought to be in transports, oughtn’t you? Even my + Slavonic blood’s positively on fire! I advise you to be more careful, + though; I’m convinced there’s a watch kept on you. The spies here are + something awful! A suspicious-looking man came up to me yesterday and + asked: “Are you a Russian?” I told him I was a Dane. But you seem unwell, + dear Nikanor Vassilyevitch. You ought to see a doctor; madam, you ought to + make your husband see a doctor. Yesterday I ran through the palaces and + churches, as though I were crazy. I suppose you’ve been in the palace of + the Doges? What magnificence everywhere! Especially that great hall and + Marino Faliero’s place: there’s an inscription: <i>decapitati pro + criminibus</i>. I’ve been in the famous prisons too; that threw me into + indignation, you may fancy. I’ve always, you remember perhaps, taken an + interest in social questions, and taken sides against aristocracy—well, + that’s where I should like to send the champions of aristocracy—to + those dungeons. How well Byron said: <i>I stood in Venice on the Bridge of + Sighs</i>; though he was an aristocrat too. I was always for progress—the + younger generation are all for progress. And what do you say to the + Anglo-French business? We shall see whether they can do much, Boustrapa + and Palmerston. You know Palmerston has been made Prime Minister. No, say + what you like, the Russian fist is not to be despised. He’s awfully deep + that Boustrapa! If you like I will lend you <i>Les Châtiments de Victor + Hugo</i>—it’s marvellous—<i>L’avenir, le gendarme de Dieu</i>—rather + boldly written, but what force in it, what force! That was a fine saying, + too, of Prince Vyazemsky’s: “Europe repeats: Bash-Kadik-Lar keeping an eye + on Sinope.” I adore poetry. I have Proudhon’s last work, too—I have + everything. I don’t know how you feel, but I’m glad of the war; only as + I’m not required at home, I’m going from here to Florence, and to Rome. + France I can’t go to—so I’m thinking of Spain—the women there, + I’m told, are marvellous! only such poverty, and so many insects. I would + be off to California—we Russians are ready to do anything—but + I promised an editor to study the question of the commerce of the + Mediterranean in detail. You will say that’s an uninteresting, special + subject, but that’s just what we need, specialists; we have philosophised + enough, now we need the practical, the practical. But you are very unwell, + Nikanor Vassilyevitch, I am tiring you, perhaps, but still I must stay a + little longer.’ + </p> + <p> + And for a long time Lupoyarov still babbled on in the same way, and, as he + went away, he promised to come again. + </p> + <p> + Worn out by the unexpected visit, Insarov lay down on the sofa. ‘So this,’ + he said, mournfully looking at Elena, ‘is your younger generation! There + are plenty who show off, and give themselves airs, while at heart they are + as empty chatterboxes as that worthy.’ + </p> + <p> + Elena made no reply to her husband; at that instant she was far more + concerned at Insarov’s weakness than at the character of the whole younger + generation in Russia. She sat down near him, and took up some work. He + closed his eyes, and lay without moving, white and thin. Elena glanced at + his sharp profile, at his emaciated hands, and felt a sudden pang of + terror. + </p> + <p> + ‘Dmitri,’ she began. + </p> + <p> + He started. ‘Eh? Has Renditch come?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not yet—but what do you think—you are in a fever, you are + really not quite well, shouldn’t we send for a doctor?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That wretched gossip has frightened you. There’s no necessity. I will + rest a little, and it will pass off. After dinner we will go out again—somewhere.’ + </p> + <p> + Two hours passed. Insarov still lay on the sofa, but he could not sleep, + though he did not open his eyes. Elena did not leave his side; she had + dropped her work upon her knee, and did not stir. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why don’t you go to sleep?’ she asked at last. + </p> + <p> + ‘Wait a little.’ He took her hand, and placed it under his head. ‘There—that + is nice. Wake me at once directly Renditch comes. If he says the ship is + ready, we will start at once. We ought to pack everything.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Packing won’t take long,’ answered Elena. + </p> + <p> + ‘That fellow babbled something about a battle, about Servia,’ said + Insarov, after a short interval. ‘I suppose he made it all up. But we + must, we must start. We can’t lose time. Be ready.’ + </p> + <p> + He fell asleep, and everything was still in the room. + </p> + <p> + Elena let her head rest against the back of her chair, and gazed a long + while out of the window. The weather had changed for the worse; the wind + had risen. Great white clouds were scudding over the sky, a slender mast + was swaying in the distance, a long streamer, with a red cross on it, kept + fluttering, falling, and fluttering again. The pendulum of the + old-fashioned clock ticked drearily, with a kind of melancholy whirr. + Elena shut her eyes. She had slept badly all night; gradually she, too, + fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + She had a strange dream. She thought she was floating in a boat on the + Tsaritsino lake with some unknown people. They did not speak, but sat + motionless, no one was rowing; the boat was moving by itself. Elena was + not afraid, but she felt dreary; she wanted to know who were these people, + and why she was with them? She looked and the lake grew broader, the banks + vanished—now it was not a lake but a stormy sea: immense blue silent + waves rocked the boat majestically; something menacing, roaring was rising + from the depths; her unknown companions jumped up, shrieking, wringing + their hands... Elena recognised their faces; her father was among them. + But a kind of white whirlwind came flying over the waves—everything + was turning round, everything was confounded together. + </p> + <p> + Elena looked about her; as before, all around was white; but it was snow, + snow, boundless plains of snow. And she was not now in a boat, but + travelling, as she had come from Moscow, in a sledge; she was not alone; + by her side was sitting a little creature muffled in an old cloak; Elena + looked closely; it was Katya, her poor little friend. Elena was seized + with terror. ‘Why, isn’t she dead?’ she thought. + </p> + <p> + ‘Katya, where are we going together?’ Katya did not answer, and nestled + herself closer in her little cloak; she was freezing. Elena too was cold; + she looked along the road into the distance; far away a town could be seen + through the fine drifting snow. High white towers with silvery cupolas... + ‘Katya, Katya, is it Moscow? No,’ thought Elena, ‘it is Solovetsky + Monastery; it’s full of little narrow cells like a beehive; it’s stifling, + cramping there—and Dmitri’s shut up there. I must rescue him.’... + Suddenly a grey, yawning abyss opened before her. The sledge was falling, + Katya was laughing. ‘Elena, Elena!’ came a voice from the abyss. + </p> + <p> + ‘Elena!’ sounded distinctly in her ears. She raised her head quickly, + turned round, and was stupefied: Insarov, white as snow, the snow of her + dream, had half risen from the sofa, and was staring at her with large, + bright, dreadful eyes. His hair hung in disorder on his forehead and his + lips parted strangely. Horror, mingled with an anguish of tenderness, was + expressed on his suddenly transfigured face. + </p> + <p> + ‘Elena!’ he articulated, ‘I am dying.’ + </p> + <p> + She fell with a scream on her knees, and clung to his breast. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s all over,’ repeated Insarov: ‘I’m dying... Good-bye, my poor girl! + good-bye, my country!’ and he fell backwards on to the sofa. + </p> + <p> + Elena rushed out of the room, began calling for help; a waiter ran for a + doctor. Elena clung to Insarov. + </p> + <p> + At that instant in the doorway appeared a broad-shouldered, sunburnt man, + in a stout frieze coat and a low oil-skin hat. He stood still in + bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + ‘Renditch!’ cried Elena, ‘it’s you! Look, for God’s sake, he’s ill! What’s + wrong? Good God! He went out yesterday, he was talking to me just now.’ + </p> + <p> + Renditch said nothing and only moved on one side. There slipped quickly + past him a little figure in a wig and spectacles; it was a doctor living + in the same hotel. He went up to Insarov. + </p> + <p> + ‘Signora,’ he said, after the lapse of a few minutes, ‘the foreign + gentleman is dead—<i>il Signore forestiere e morte</i>—of + aneurism in combination with disease of the lungs.’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXV + </h2> + <p> + The next day, in the same room, Renditch was standing at the window; + before him, wrapped in a shawl, sat Elena. In the next room, Insarov lay + in his coffin. Elena’s face was both scared and lifeless; two lines could + be seen on her forehead between her eyebrows; they gave a strained + expression to her fixed eyes. In the window lay an open letter from Anna + Vassilyevna. She begged her daughter to come to Moscow if only for a + month, complained of her loneliness, and of Nikolai Artemyevitch, sent + greetings to Insarov, inquired after his health, and begged him to spare + his wife. + </p> + <p> + Renditch was a Dalmatian, a sailor, with whom Insarov had become + acquainted during his wanderings in his own country, and whom he had + sought out in Venice. He was a dry, gruff man, full of daring and devoted + to the Slavonic cause. He despised the Turks and hated the Austrians. + </p> + <p> + ‘How long must you remain at Venice?’ Elena asked him in Italian. And her + voice was as lifeless as her face. + </p> + <p> + ‘One day for freighting and not to rouse suspicions, and then straight to + Zara. I shall have sad news for our countrymen. They have long been + expecting him; they rested their hopes on him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They rested their hopes on him,’ Elena repeated mechanically. + </p> + <p> + ‘When will you bury him?’ asked Renditch. + </p> + <p> + Elena not at once replied, ‘To-morrow.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘To-morrow? I will stop; I should like to throw a handful of earth into + his grave. And you will want help. But it would have been better for him + to lie in Slavonic earth.’ + </p> + <p> + Elena looked at Renditch. + </p> + <p> + ‘Captain,’ she said, ‘take me and him and carry us across to the other + side of the sea, away from here. Isn’t that possible?’ + </p> + <p> + Renditch considered: ‘Possible certainly, but difficult. We shall have to + come into collision with the damned authorities here. But supposing we + arrange all that and bury him there, how am I to bring you back?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You need not bring me back.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What? where will you stop?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall find some place for myself; only take us, take me.’ + </p> + <p> + Renditch scratched the back of his head. + </p> + <p> + ‘You know best; but it’s all very difficult. I will, I will try; and you + expect me here in two hours’ time.’ + </p> + <p> + He went away. Elena passed into the next room, leaned against the wall, + and for a long time stood there as though turned to stone. Then she + dropped on her knees, but she could not pray. There was no reproach in her + heart; she did not dare to question God’s will, to ask why He had not + spared, pitied, saved, why He had punished her beyond her guilt, if she + were guilty. Each of us is guilty by the fact that he lives; and there is + no one so great a thinker, so great a benefactor of mankind that he might + hope to have a right to live for the service he has done.... Still Elena + could not pray; she was a stone. + </p> + <p> + The same night a broad-bottomed boat put off from the hotel where the + Insarovs lived. In the boat sat Elena with Renditch and beside them stood + a long box covered with a black cloth. They rowed for about an hour, and + at last reached a small two-masted ship, which was riding at anchor at the + very entrance of the harbour. Elena and Renditch got into the ship; the + sailors carried in the box. At midnight a storm had arisen, but early in + the morning the ship had passed out of the Lido. During the day the storm + raged with fearful violence, and experienced seamen in Lloyd’s offices + shook their heads and prophesied no good. The Adriatic Sea between Venice, + Trieste, and the Dalmatian coast is particularly dangerous. + </p> + <p> + Three weeks after Elena’s departure from Vienna, Anna Vassilyevna received + the following letter in Moscow:— + </p> + <p> + ‘My DEAR PARENTS.—I am saying goodbye to you for ever. You will + never see me again. Dmitri died yesterday. Everything is over for me. + To-day I am setting off with his body to Zara. I will bury him, and what + will become of me, I don’t know. But now I have no country but Dmitri’s + country. There, they are preparing for revolution, they are getting ready + for war. I will join the Sisters of Mercy; I will tend the sick and the + wounded. I don’t know what will become of me, but even after Dmitri’s + death, I will be faithful to his memory, to the work of his whole life. I + have learnt Bulgarian and Servian. Very likely, I shall not have strength + to live through it all for long—so much the better. I have been + brought to the edge of the precipice and I must fall over. Fate did not + bring us together for nothing; who knows?—perhaps I killed him; now + it is his turn to draw me after him. I sought happiness, and I shall find—perhaps + death. It seems it was to be thus: it seems it was a sin.... But death + covers all and reconciles all; does it not? Forgive me all the suffering I + have caused you; it was not under my control. But how could I return to + Russia; What have I to do in Russia? + </p> + <p> + ‘Accept my last kisses and blessings, and do not condemn me. + </p> + <p> + R.’ + </p> + <p> + * * * + </p> + <p> + Nearly five years have passed since then, and no further news of Elena has + come. All letters and inquiries were fruitless; in vain did Nikolai + Artemyevitch himself make a journey to Venice and to Zara after peace was + concluded. In Venice he learnt what is already known to the reader, but in + Zara no one could give him any positive information about Renditch and the + ship he had taken. There were dark rumours that some years back, after a + great storm, the sea had thrown up on shore a coffin in which had been + found a man’s body... But according to other more trustworthy accounts + this coffin had not been thrown up by the sea at all, but had been carried + over and buried near the shore by a foreign lady, coming from Venice; some + added that they had seen this lady afterwards in Herzegovina, with the + forces which were there assembled; they even described her dress, black + from head to foot. However it was, all trace of Elena had disappeared + beyond recovery for ever; and no one knows whether she is still living, + whether she is hidden away somewhere, or whether the petty drama of life + is over—the little ferment of her existence is at an end; and she + has found death in her turn. It happens at times that a man wakes up and + asks himself with involuntary horror, ‘Can I be already thirty ... + forty... fifty? How is it life has passed so soon? How is it death has + moved up so close?’ Death is like a fisher who catches fish in his net and + leaves them for a while in the water; the fish is still swimming but the + net is round him, and the fisher will draw him up—when he thinks + fit. + </p> + <p> + * * * + </p> + <p> + What became of the other characters of our story? + </p> + <p> + Anna Vassilyevna is still living; she has aged very much since the blow + that has fallen on her; is less complaining, but far more wretched. + Nikolai Artemyevitch, too, has grown older and greyer, and has parted from + Augustina Christianovna.... He has taken now to abusing everything + foreign. His housekeeper, a handsome woman of thirty, a Russian, wears + silk dresses and gold rings and bracelets. Kurnatovsky, like every man of + ardent temperament and dark complexion, a devoted admirer of pretty + blondes, married Zoya; she is in complete subjection to him and has even + given up thinking in German. Bersenyev is in Heidelberg; he has been sent + abroad at the expense of government; he has visited Berlin and Paris and + is not wasting his time; he has become a thoroughly efficient professor. + The attention of the learned public has been caught by his two articles: + ‘On some peculiarities of ancient law as regards judicial sentences,’ and + ‘On the significance of cities in civilisation.’ It is only a pity that + both articles are written in rather a heavy style, disfigured by foreign + words. Shubin is in Rome; he is completely given up to his art and is + reckoned one of the most remarkable and promising of young sculptors. + Severe tourists consider that he has not sufficiently studied the antique, + that he has ‘no style,’ and reckon him one of the French school; he has + had a great many orders from the English and Americans. Of late, there has + been much talk about a Bacchante of his; the Russian Count Boboshkin, the + well-known millionaire, thought of buying it for one thousand scudi, but + decided in preference to give three thousand to another sculptor, French + <i>pur sang</i>, for a group entitled, ‘A youthful shepherdess dying for + love in the bosom of the Genius of Spring.’ Shubin writes from time to + time to Uvar Ivanovitch, who alone has remained quite unaltered in all + respects. ‘Do you remember,’ he wrote to him lately, ‘what you said to me + that night, when poor Elena’s marriage was made known, when I was sitting + on your bed talking to you? Do you remember I asked you, “Will there ever + be men among us?” and you answered “There will be.” O primeval force! And + now from here in “my poetic distance,” I will ask you again: “What do you + say, Uvar Ivanovitch, will there be?”’ + </p> + <p> + Uvar Ivanovitch flourished his fingers and fixed his enigmatical stare + into the far distance. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of On the Eve, by Ivan Turgenev + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON THE EVE *** + +***** This file should be named 6902-h.htm or 6902-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/9/0/6902/ + +Produced by Eric Eldred, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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