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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6902-0.txt b/6902-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1fe79bb --- /dev/null +++ b/6902-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7247 @@ +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: November, 2004 [EBook #6902] +Posting Date: April 22, 2009 +[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 + + + + + + + + + +ON THE EVE + +A Novel + + +By Ivan Turgenev + +Translated from the Russian By Constance Garnett + +[With an introduction by Edward Garnett] + + +London: William Heinemann 1895 + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +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 _On +the Eve_ 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. + +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 _On the Eve_ 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’. + +Turning to the figure of the Bulgarian hero, it is interesting to find +from the _Souvenirs sur Tourguénev_ (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. + +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 _On the Eve_, 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 _On the Eve_. 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? + +‘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?”’ + +‘Uvar Ivanovitch flourished his fingers, and fixed his enigmatical stare +into the far distance.’ + +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 _Emma_, 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 _On the Eve_, 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 _On the Eve_, 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 _On the Eve_, 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, _On the Eve_ +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. + +EDWARD GARNETT + +January 1895. + + + + + +THE NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS IN THE BOOK + +NIKOLÁI [Nicolas] ARTÉMYEVITCH STÁHOV. + +ÁNNA VASSÍLYEVNA. + +ELÉNA [LÉNOTCHKA, Hélène] NIKOLÁEVNA. + +ZÓYA [Zoë] NIKÍTISHNA MÜLLER. + +ANDRÉI PETRÓVITCH BERSÉNYEV. + +PÁVEL [Paul] YÁKOVLITCH (or YÁKOVITCH) SHÚBIN. + +DMÍTRI NIKANÓROVITCH (or NIKANÓRITCH) INSÁROV. + +YEGÓR ANDRÉITCH KURNATÓVSKY. + +UVÁR IVÁNOVITCH STÁHOV. + +AUGUSTÍNA CHRISTIÁNOVNA. + +ÁNNUSHKA. + + +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. + + + + + +I + + +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. + +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. + +‘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!’ + +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: + +‘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?’ + +‘What?’ said Bersenyev, starting. + +‘What!’ repeated Shubin. ‘Your friend lays his deepest thoughts before +you, and you don’t listen to him.’ + +‘I was admiring the view. Look how hot and bright those fields are in +the sun.’ Bersenyev spoke with a slight lisp. + +‘There’s some fine colour laid on there,’ observed Shubin. ‘Nature’s a +good hand at it, that’s the fact!’ + +Bersenyev shook his head. + +‘You ought to be even more ecstatic over it than I. It’s in your line: +you’re an artist.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘But there is beauty here, too,’ remarked Bersenyev.--‘By the way, have +you finished your bas-relief?’ + +‘Which one?’ + +‘The boy with the goat.’ + +‘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----’ + +Shubin put out his tongue. + +‘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----’ + +‘Ah, you are a confirmed sympathetic!’ broke in Shubin, laughing at the +new title he had coined, while Bersenyev sank into thought. + +‘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.’ + +He turned over on to his back and clasped his hands behind his head. + +A few instants passed by in silence. The hush of the noonday heat lay +upon the drowsy, blazing fields. + +‘Speaking of women,’ Shubin began again, ‘how is it no one looks after +Stahov? Did you see him in Moscow?’ + +‘No.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘And Elena Nikolaevna’s bust?’ inquired Bersenyev, ‘is it getting on?’ + +‘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. + +‘Yes; she is a wonderful girl,’ Bersenyev repeated after him. + +‘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!’ + +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. + +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. + +‘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?’ + +‘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! _Voo me compreny_.’ + +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?’ + +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----’ + +‘With your whole heart,’ put in Bersenyev. + +‘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!’ + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘In love, too, there is both life and death,’ interposed Shubin. + +‘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----’ + +‘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!’ + +He shook his curls, and turned a confident almost challenging glance +upwards to the sky. Bersenyev raised his eyes and looked at him. + +‘Is there nothing higher than happiness?’ he commented softly. + +‘And what, for instance?’ asked Shubin, stopping short. + +‘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?’ + +‘Do you know words, then, that unite men?’ + +‘Yes; and they are not few in number; and you know them, too.’ + +‘Eh? What words?’ + +‘Well, even Art--since you are an artist--Country, Science, Freedom, +Justice.’ + +‘And what of love?’ asked Shubin. + +‘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.’ + +Shubin frowned. + +‘That’s all very well for Germans; I want to love for myself; I want to +be first.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +Both friends were silent a little. + +‘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.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘Perhaps.’ + +‘Is he an exceptional individual?’ + +‘Yes.’ + +‘Clever? Talented?’ + +‘Clever--talented--I don’t know, I don’t think so.’ + +‘Not? Then, what is there remarkable in him?’ + +‘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?’ + +‘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?’ + +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. + + + + + +II + + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘We have _roussalkas_,’ observed Bersenyev. + +‘Get along with your _roussalkas!_ 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----’ + +‘To Little Russia, I suppose you mean?’ + +‘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----’ + +‘Don’t let me have the rest, please,’ interposed Bersenyev. + +‘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!’ + +‘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!’ + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘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. + +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: + +‘Why is it, gentlemen, you don’t come in to dinner? It is on the table.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +The young girl shrugged her shoulders, and turned to Bersenyev. + +‘There, he’s always like that; he treats me like a child; and I am +eighteen. I am grown-up now.’ + +‘O Lord!’ groaned Shubin, rolling his eyes upwards; and Bersenyev smiled +quietly. + +The girl stamped with her little foot. + +‘Pavel Yakovlitch, I shall be angry! _Hélène_ 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.’ + +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. + +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. + + + + +III + + +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. + +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 _frondeur_; 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 _frondeurism_ 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 _Mein Pinselchen_. + +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. + +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. + + + + +IV + + +‘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, _Zoé_,’ +added Anna Vassilyevna, ‘and you, _Hélène_, take our guest; and you, +_Paul_, please don’t be naughty and tease _Zoé_. My head aches to-day.’ + +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. + +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.’ + +‘_La dernière pensée de Weber_?’ suggested Zoya. + +‘Ah, yes, Weber,’ replied Anna Vassilyevna. She sank into an easy chair, +and the tears started on to her eyelashes. + +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. + +‘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. + +‘My old tricks!’ repeated Shubin. ‘It’s a subject that’s simply +inexhaustible! To-day, particularly, she drove me out of all patience.’ + +‘Why so?’ inquired Elena. ‘One would think you were speaking of some +spiteful, disagreeable old woman. She is a pretty young girl.’ + +‘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.’ + +And breaking up the bust of Zoya, Shubin set hastily to modelling and +kneading the clay again with an air of vexation. + +‘So it is your wish to be a professor?’ said Elena to Bersenyev. + +‘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----’ + +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. + +‘You want to be a professor of history?’ inquired Elena. + +‘Yes, or of philosophy,’ he added, in a lower voice--‘if that is +possible.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘And will you be perfectly contented with such a position?’ asked Elena, +leaning on her elbow and looking him straight in the face. + +‘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.’... + +‘Your father died last winter?’ + +‘Yes, Elena Nikolaevna, in February.’ + +‘They say,’ Elena went on, ‘that he left a remarkable work in +manuscript; is it true?’ + +‘Yes. He was a wonderful man. You would have loved him, Elena +Nikolaevna.’ + +‘I am sure I should. And what was the subject of the work?’ + +‘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----’ + +‘Andrei Petrovitch,’ interrupted Elena, ‘excuse my ignorance, what does +that mean, a Schellingist?’ + +Bersenyev smiled slightly. + +‘A Schellingist means a follower of Schelling, a German philosopher; and +what the philosophy of Schelling consists in----’ + +‘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!’ + +‘Not a lecture at all,’ murmured Bersenyev, turning crimson. ‘I +meant----’ + +‘And why not a lecture?’ put in Elena. ‘You and I are in need of +lectures, Pavel Yakovlitch.’ + +Shubin stared at her, and suddenly burst out laughing. + +‘What are you laughing at?’ she said coldly, and almost sharply. + +Shubin did not answer. + +‘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.’ + +‘Yes; and of French novels, and of feminine frills and fal-lals,’ Elena +went on. + +‘Fal-lals, too, of course,’ rejoined Shubin, ‘if they’re pretty.’ + +‘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?’ + +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.’ + +‘I never thought of sending you away from here.’ + +‘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?’ + +Elena frowned. ‘You did not always speak like that of her, Pavel +Yakovlitch,’ she remarked. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘What a baby,’ said Elena, looking after him. + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +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. + + + + +V + + +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. + +‘Who is there?’ sounded Shubin’s voice. + +‘I,’ answered Bersenyev. + +‘What do you want?’ + +‘Let me in, Pavel; don’t be sulky; aren’t you ashamed of yourself?’ + +‘I am not sulky; I’m asleep and dreaming about Zoya.’ + +‘Do stop that, please; you’re not a baby. Let me in. I want to talk to +you.’ + +‘Haven’t you had talk enough with Elena?’ + +‘Come, come; let me in!’ + +Shubin responded by a pretended snore. + +Bersenyev shrugged his shoulders and turned homewards. + +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. + +‘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?’ + +‘Yes.’ + +‘I will see you home then.’ + +‘But why have you come without a cap on?’ + +‘That doesn’t matter. I took off my neckerchief too. It is quite warm.’ + +The friends walked a few paces. + +‘I was very stupid to-day, wasn’t I?’ Shubin asked suddenly. + +‘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!’ + +‘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.’ + +‘You in love with Elena!’ repeated Bersenyev, standing still. + +‘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.’ + +‘Some one else? Whom?’ + +‘Whom? You!’ cried Shubin, slapping Bersenyev on the shoulder. + +‘Me!’ + +‘You,’ repeated Shubin. + +Bersenyev stepped back a pace, and stood motionless. Shubin looked +intently at him. + +‘And does that astonish you? You are a modest youth. But she loves you. +You can make your mind easy on that score.’ + +‘What nonsense you talk!’ Bersenyev protested at last with an air of +vexation. + +‘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!’ + +‘Zoya’s?’ + +‘Yes, Zoya’s. What would you have? She has such fine shoulders.’ + +‘Shoulders?’ + +‘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----’ + +Shubin suddenly burst into tears, turned away, and dropping upon the +ground clutched at his hair. + +Bersenyev went up to him. + +‘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.’ + +Shubin lifted up his head. The tears shone bright on his cheeks in the +moonlight, but there was a smile on his face. + +‘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.’ + +He got up. + +‘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?’ + +Bersenyev made no answer, and quickened his pace. + +‘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?’ + +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. + +‘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. + +‘Pavel was making a fool of me,’ he thought; ‘... but she will love one +day... whom will she love?’ + +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 _History of +the Hohenstaufen_, and sighing twice, he set to work diligently to read +it. + + + + +VI + + +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. + +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. + +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 ‘_God’s full freedom_’; 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. + +‘Where did you pick up such horrors?’ she asked her daughter. + +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. + +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.... + +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.’ + +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. + + + + +VII + + +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. + +‘Sit down,’ he said, and he seated himself on the edge of the table. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘Why did you leave your old lodging?’ Bersenyev asked him. + +‘This is cheaper, and nearer to the university.’ + +‘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.’ + +Insarov made no reply to this remark, and offered Bersenyev a pipe, +adding: ‘Excuse me, I have no cigarettes or cigars.’ + +Bersenyev began smoking the pipe. + +‘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.’ + +Insarov again made no answer. + +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?’ + +Insarov turned his little eyes on him. ‘You propose my staying in your +country house?’ + +‘Yes; I have a room to spare there upstairs.’ + +‘Thanks very much, Andrei Petrovitch; but I expect my means would not +allow of it.’ + +‘How do you mean?’ + +‘My means would not allow of my living in a country house. It’s +impossible for me to keep two lodgings.’ + +‘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.’ + +Insarov said nothing. Bersenyev began to feel awkward. + +‘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.’ + +Insarov got up and walked about the room. ‘Let me know,’ he said, ‘how +much do you pay for your cottage?’ + +‘A hundred silver roubles.’ + +‘And how many rooms are there?’ + +‘Five.’ + +‘Then one may reckon that one room costs twenty roubles?’ + +‘Yes, one may reckon so.... But really it’s utterly unnecessary for me. +It simply stands empty.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Of course; but really I am ashamed to take it.’ + +‘Otherwise it’s impossible, Andrei Petrovitch.’ + +‘Well, as you like; but what an obstinate fellow you are!’ + +Insarov again made no reply. + +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. + +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. + + + + +VIII + + +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.’ + +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. + +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?’ + +Uvar Ivanovitch could only look at him and work his fingers. + +‘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, _dans mon gros bon sens_, I cannot +pass over. I am not exacting by nature, no, but there is a limit to +everything.’ + +Anna Vassilyevna rang the bell in a tremor. A little page came in. + +‘Why is it Pavel Yakovlitch does not come?’ she said, ‘what does it +mean; I call him, and he doesn’t come?’ + +Nikolai Artemyevitch shrugged his shoulders. + +‘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!’ + +‘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.’ + +‘I tell you again, that I do not ask that. And what can induce you ... +_devant les domestiques_!’ + +Anna Vassilyevna flushed a little. ‘You need not say that, Nikolai +Artemyevitch. I never... _devant les domestiques_... Fedushka, go and +see you bring Pavel Yakovlitch here at once.’ + +The little page went off. + +‘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.’ + +‘Good Heavens, Paul must apologise to you.’ + +‘Good Heavens, what are his apologies to me? And what do you mean by +apologies? That’s all words.’ + +‘Why, he must be corrected.’ + +‘Well, you can correct him yourself. He will listen to you sooner than +to me. For my part I bear him no grudge.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘The treatment is quite indispensable,’ observed Nikolai Artemyevitch, +‘my liver is affected.’ + +At that instant Shubin came in. He looked tired. A slight almost +ironical smile played on his lips. + +‘You asked for me, Anna Vassilyevna?’ he observed. + +‘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?’ + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Oh, that admits of no doubt!’ said Shubin. ‘But allow me to be +inquisitive; is Anna Vassilyevna aware precisely what constituted my +offence?’ + +‘No, I know nothing,’ observed Anna Vassilyevna, craning forward her +head expectantly. + +‘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, _intérieur_, 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----’ + +And without concluding his sentence Nikolai Artemyevitch went quickly +out, slamming the door. + +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?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘How make you angry, auntie? Give me your little hand to kiss. Your +horse-radish I saw on the little table in the boudoir.’ + +‘Darya always leaves it about somewhere,’ said Anna Vassilyevna, and she +walked away with a rustle of silk skirts. + +Shubin was about to follow her, but he stopped on hearing Uvar +Ivanovitch’s drawling voice behind him. + +‘I would... have given it you... young puppy,’ the retired cornet +brought out in gasps. + +Shubin went up to him. ‘And what have I done, then, most venerable Uvar +Ivanovitch?’ + +‘How! you are young, be respectful. Yes indeed.’ + +‘Respectful to whom?’ + +‘To whom? You know whom. Ay, grin away.’ + +Shubin crossed his arms on his breast. + +‘Ah, you type of the choice element in drama,’ he exclaimed, ‘you +primeval force of the black earth, cornerstone of the social fabric!’ + +Uvar Ivanovitch’s fingers began to work. ‘There, there, my boy, don’t +provoke me.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘You, of course,’ replied Uvar Ivanovitch. + +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?’ + +‘Don’t tempt me, I tell you,’ groaned Uvar Ivanovitch. + +Shubin laughed and ran away. ‘Hi,’ shouted Uvar Ivanovitch a quarter of +an hour later, ‘you there... a glass of spirits.’ + +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. + + + + +IX + + +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 _êtres sans coeur_ (among whom I have no reason to reckon you) would +repudiate it! Give this note back to me.--N. S.’ + +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: + +‘Don’t look in my direction, I’m not worth it.’ + +She gave him a cursory glance, smiled cursorily, and walked on further +into the depths of the garden. Shubin went after her. + +‘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?’ + +She stood still and did not answer him at once--not because she was +angry, but because her thoughts were far away. + +‘No,’ she said at last, ‘I am not in the least angry.’ Shubin bit his +lip. + +‘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!”’ + +Shubin paused. + +‘And is that all?’ inquired Elena. + +‘Yes that’s all.’ + +‘I don’t understand you. What are you hinting at? You told me just now +not to look your way.’ + +‘Yes, and now I have told you that it’s too bad to turn your back on +me.’ + +‘But did I?’ began Elena. + +‘Did you not?’ + +Elena flushed slightly and held out her hand to Shubin. He pressed it +warmly. + +‘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.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘Perhaps so.’ + +‘And why is it? why?’ + +‘My ideas are not clear to myself,’ said Elena. + +‘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.’ + +‘I?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +Shubin shuddered. + +‘Well, I see this is, as the doctors say, a hopeless case, _casus +incurabilis_. 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?’ + +Elena looked straight into his eyes. + +‘I don’t think so, Pavel Yakovlitch; no.’ + +‘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!’ + +Elena was on the point of stopping him, but after a moment’s thought she +too said: + +‘Good-bye.’ + +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. + +‘Andrei Petrovitch!’ cried Shubin. + +He stopped. + +‘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. + + + + +X + + +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. + +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.’ + +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. + +‘Tell me,’ Elena asked him, ‘were there any remarkable men among your +comrades?’ + +Bersenyev was again reminded of Shubin’s words. + +‘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. + +‘Not happy,’ murmured Elena. + +‘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.’ + +‘What is his name?’ Elena inquired with interest. + +‘Insarov Dmitri Nikanorovitch. He is a Bulgarian.’ + +‘Not a Russian?’ + +‘No, he is not a Russian,’ + +‘Why is he living in Moscow, then?’ + +‘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.’ + +Elena shuddered. Bersenyev stopped. + +‘Go on, go on,’ she said. + +‘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.’ + +‘Shot, and without a trial?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘He speaks Russian?’ + +‘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----’ + +‘What then?’ broke in Elena. + +‘What God wills. It’s hard to forecast the future.’ + +For a while Elena did not take her eyes off Bersenyev. + +‘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?’ + +‘What shall I say? To my mind, he’s good-looking. But you will see him +for yourself.’ + +‘How so?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Really? But will he care to come to see us?’ + +‘I should think so. He will be delighted.’ + +‘He isn’t proud, then?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Is he poor?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘He must have a great deal of character,’ observed Elena. + +‘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.’ + +‘And isn’t he shy?’ asked Elena again. + +‘No, he’s not shy. It’s only vain people who are shy.’ + +‘Why, are you vain?’ + +He was confused and made a vague gesture with his hands. + +‘You excite my curiosity,’ pursued Elena. ‘But tell me, has he not taken +vengeance on that Turkish aga?’ + +Bersenyev smiled + +‘Revenge is only to be found in novels, Elena Nikolaevna; and, besides, +in twelve years that aga may well be dead.’ + +‘Mr. Insarov has never said anything, though, to you about it?’ + +‘No, never.’ + +‘Why did he go to Sophia?’ + +‘His father used to live there.’ + +Elena grew thoughtful. + +‘To liberate one’s country!’ she said. ‘It is terrible even to utter +those words, they are so grand.’ + +At that instant Anna Vassilyevna came into the room, and the +conversation stopped. + +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 +_History of the Hohenstaufen_, and beginning to read it at the very page +at which he had left off the evening before. + + + + +XI + + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘My means don’t allow me to dine as you do,’ Insarov replied with a +tranquil smile. + +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. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +Insarov had not had time to say all he wanted to say, when the door +opened and Shubin made his appearance. + +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. + +‘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?’ + +‘I am Insarov.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘My head’s at your service,’ said Insarov. + +‘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?’ + +‘I don’t know how Insarov feels,’ observed Bersenyev. ‘He is just +getting to work, I fancy.’ + +Shubin turned round on his chair. + +‘You want to work?’ he inquired, in a somewhat condescending voice. + +‘No,’ answered Insarov; ‘to-day I could give up to walking.’ + +‘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.’ + +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 +_Venelin_, the health of the Bulgarian king Kuma, Huma, or Hroma, who +lived somewhere about the time of Adam. + +‘In the ninth century,’ Insarov corrected him. + +‘In the ninth century?’ cried Shubin. ‘Oh, how delightful!’ + +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. + +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. + + + + +XII + + +‘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. + +‘_Wer_?’ 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. + +‘You heard,’ he repeated, ‘Mr. Insarov is coming here.’ + +‘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.’ + +Shubin was crestfallen at once. + +‘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.’ + +‘I didn’t ask your opinion about that,’ commented Elena, getting up. + +‘Is Mr. Insarov a young man?’ asked Zoya. + +‘He is a hundred and forty-four,’ replied Shubin with an air of +vexation. + +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. + +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. + +‘How did you like your new acquaintances?’ Bersenyev inquired of Insarov +on their way home. + +‘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.’ + +‘You must go and see them a little oftener,’ observed Bersenyev. + +‘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. + +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. + +‘What an irrepressible fellow you are, you night moth----’ Bersenyev was +beginning. + +‘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.’ + +‘Come into the room then.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Why are you so taken up with Insarov?’ asked Bersenyev. ‘Can you have +run here only to describe his character to me?’ + +‘I came here,’ began Shubin, ‘because I was very miserable at home.’ + +‘Oh, that’s it! Don’t you want to have a cry again?’ + +‘You may laugh! I came here because I’m at my wits’ end, because I am +devoured by despair, anger, jealousy.’ + +‘Jealousy? of whom?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Stuff, you won’t strangle yourself,’ observed Bersenyev. + +‘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!’ + +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.’ + + + + +XIII + + +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. + +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. + +‘Fancy,’ he began with a constrained smile, ‘our Insarov has +disappeared.’ + +‘Disappeared?’ said Elena. + +‘He has disappeared. The day before yesterday he went off somewhere and +nothing has been seen of him since.’ + +‘He did not tell you where he was going?’ + +‘No.’ + +Elena sank into a chair. + +‘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. + +‘I don’t think so,’ rejoined Bersenyev. ‘He did not go alone.’ + +‘With whom then?’ + +‘Two people of some sort--his countrymen they must have been--came to +him the day before yesterday, before dinner.’ + +‘Bulgarians! what makes you think so?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘He shouted too?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘And he went away with them?’ + +‘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.’ + +Elena gave a faint smile. + +‘You will see,’ she said, ‘all this will be explained into something +very prosaic.’ + +‘I hope it may! But you need not use that word. There is nothing prosaic +about Insarov, though Shubin does maintain----’ + +‘Shubin!’ Elena broke in, shrugging her shoulders. ‘But you must confess +these two good men gobbling up porridge----’ + +‘Even Themistocles had his supper on the eve of Salamis,’ observed +Bersenyev with a smile. + +‘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. + +Bersenyev went away. + +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?’ + +‘Won’t you find out!’ Elena whispered, ‘as though he talked to me!’ + + + + +XIV + + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +She seated herself. Insarov sat down near her. + +‘You have not been at home these last days, I think?’ she began. + +‘No,’ he answered. ‘I went away. Did Andrei Petrovitch tell you?’ + +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. + +‘Andrei Petrovitch most likely told you too that I went away with +some--unattractive people,’ he said, still smiling. + +Elena was a little confused, but she felt at once that Insarov must +always be told the truth. + +‘Yes,’ she said decisively. + +‘What did you think of me?’ he asked her suddenly. + +Elena raised her eyes to him. + +‘I thought,’ she said, ‘I thought that you always know what you’re +doing, and you are incapable of doing anything wrong.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Was it far from here?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘And had you much difficulty?’ + +‘Yes. One was obstinate through everything. He did not want to give back +the money.’ + +‘What? Was the dispute over money?’ + +‘Yes; and a small sum of money too. What did you suppose?’ + +‘And you travelled over fifty miles for such trifling matters? Wasted +three days?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘To whom does it belong then?’ + +‘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!’ + +‘You value my good opinion,’ said Elena, in an undertone, ‘why?’ + +Insarov smiled again. + +‘Because you are a good young lady, not an aristocrat... that’s all.’ + +A short silence followed. + +‘Dmitri Nikanorovitch,’ said Elena, ‘do you know that this is the first +time you have been so unreserved with me?’ + +‘How’s that? I think I have always said everything I thought to you.’ + +‘No, this is the first time, and I am very glad, and I too want to be +open with you. May I?’ + +Insarov began to laugh and said: ‘You may.’ + +‘I warn you I am very inquisitive.’ + +‘Never mind, tell me.’ + +‘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?’ + +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. + +‘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. + +Elena looked at him from the side. + +‘You love your country very dearly?’ she articulated timidly. + +‘That remains to be shown,’ he answered. ‘When one of us dies for her, +then one can say he loved his country.’ + +‘So that, if you were cut off all chance of returning to Bulgaria,’ +continued Elena, ‘would you be very unhappy in Russia?’ + +Insarov looked down. + +‘I think I could not bear that,’ he said. + +‘Tell me,’ Elena began again, ‘is it difficult to learn Bulgarian?’ + +‘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?’ + +‘No, I know nothing of it,’ answered + +Elena. + +‘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----’ + +‘Dmitri Nikanorovitch!’ cried Elena. + +He stopped. + +‘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!’ + +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: + +‘Then you would not stay in Russia for anything?’ + +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. + +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. + + + + + +XV + + +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 _partie du +plaisir_, and the more troublesome the _partie du plaisir_ 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 _partie du plaisir_ was very near +coming to grief. Nikolai Artemyevitch arrived from Moscow in a sour, +ill-natured, _frondeurish_ 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 _partie du plaisir_ 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: _quelle bourde!_ (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. + +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. + +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: +‘_Ihre Hand, Madame_’ 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. + +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. + +‘Mischievous things, young people,’ Anna Vassilyevna observed gaily to +Uvar Ivanovitch. + +He flourished his fingers in reply. + +‘What a girl Zoya Nikitishna is!’ said Bersenyev to Elena. + +‘And Shubin? What of him?’ she answered. + +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. + +‘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 +_Le lac_ 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.... ‘_Allons_’ said +Anna Vassilyevna genially.... Zoya took off her hat and began to sing: +‘_O lac, l’année à peine a fini sa carrière_!’ + +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 ‘_bis!_’ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘_Bonzhoor, madame_,’ he said thickly, ‘how are you?’ + +Anna Vassilyevna started back. + +‘Why wouldn’t you,’ continued the giant in vile Russian, ‘sing again +when our party shouted _bis_, and bravo?’ + +‘Yes, why?’ came from the ranks of his comrades. + +Insarov was about to step forward, but Shubin stopped him, and himself +screened Anna Vassilyevna. + +‘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.’ + +The ‘honoured stranger’ listened to Shubin’s speech, his head held +contemptuously on one side and his arms akimbo. + +‘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.’ + +‘I don’t doubt that----’ Shubin was beginning. + +‘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 _bis_? And I’ll go away directly, this minute, only I +tell you what I want, this _fräulein_, not that madam, no, not her, but +this one or that one (he pointed to Elena and Zoya) must give me _einen +Kuss_, as we say in German, a kiss, in fact; eh? That’s not much to +ask.’ + +‘_Einen Kuss_, that’s not much,’ came again from the ranks of his +companions, ‘_Ih! der Stakramenter!_’ cried one tipsy German, bursting +with laughter. + +Zoya clutched at Insarov’s arm, but he broke away from her, and stood +directly facing the insolent giant. + +‘You will please to move off,’ he said in a voice not loud but sharp. + +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?’ + +‘Because you have dared to annoy a lady,’ said Insarov, and suddenly he +turned white, ‘because you’re drunk.’ + +‘Eh? me drunk? Hear what he says. _Hören Sie das, Herr Provisor_? I’m an +officer, and he dares... Now I demand _satisfaction_! _Einen Kuss will +ich_.’ + +‘If you come another step nearer----’ began Insarov. + +‘Well? What then’ + +‘I’ll throw you in the water!’ + +‘In the water? _Herr Je_! Is that all? Well, let us see that, that would +be very curious, too.’ + +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. + +‘Oh!’ screamed the ladies with one voice. + +‘_Mein Gott_!’ was heard from the other side. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +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. + +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!’ + +‘And how did Mr. Insarov manage it? why the German was three times his +size?’ said Zoya. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +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 _partie de plaisir_ 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: + +‘There, isn’t he a hero; he can pitch drunken Germans into the river!’ + +‘While you didn’t even do that,’ retorted Bersenyev, and he started +homewards with Insarov. + +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. + + + + +XVI + + +Soon after her acquaintance with Insarov, Elena (for the fifth or sixth +time) began a diary. Here are some extracts from it: + +‘_June_.... 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! + +‘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.... + +‘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. + +‘... 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. + +‘What is my youth for, what am I living for, why have I a soul, what is +it all for? + +‘... 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. + +‘Ah, I feel one needs unhappiness, or poverty or sickness, or else one +gets conceited directly. + +‘... 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. + +‘... 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 _Mr. Insarov_, 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? + +‘... 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. + +‘... 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. + +‘Why isn’t he a Russian? No, he could not be Russian. + +‘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? + +‘... 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_ want, but _it_ +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. + +‘... 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. + +‘... 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! + +‘... I am still light-hearted as before, and only at times, and only a +little, sad. I am happy. Am I happy? + +‘... 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. + +‘... 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. + +‘... The word is found, light has dawned on me! My God, have pity on +me.... I love him!’ + + + + + +XVII + + +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. + +‘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?’ + +‘I have had no news,’ replied Insarov; ‘but on thinking things over, I +find I cannot stop here.’ + +‘How can that be?’ + +‘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.’ + +Bersenyev looked at him intently. + +‘I know,’ he said at last, ‘there’s no persuading you. And so, it’s a +settled matter, is it?’ + +‘Absolutely settled,’ replied Insarov, getting up and going away. + +Bersenyev walked about the room, then took his hat and set off for the +Stahovs. + +‘You have something to tell me,’ Elena said to him, directly they were +left alone. + +‘Yes, how did you guess?’ + +‘Never mind; tell me what it is.’ + +Bersenyev told her of Insarov’s intention. + +Elena turned white. + +‘What does it mean?’ she articulated with effort. + +‘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.’ + +‘What--what cause?’ repeated Elena, and unconsciously she gripped +tightly Bersenyev’s hand in her chill fingers. + +‘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----” + +‘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. + +‘I think,’ he said, and his own voice sank, ‘I think that what I fancied +then has really happened now.’ + +‘That is--you think--don’t torture me!’ broke suddenly from Elena. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘Andrei Petrovitch, you are kind as an angel,’ she said, ‘but will he +come to say goodbye?’ + +‘Yes, I imagine so; he will be sure to come. He wouldn’t like to go +away----’ + +‘Tell him, tell him----’ + +But here the poor girl broke down; tears rushed streaming from her eyes, +and she ran out of the room. + +‘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----’ + +It was bitter for Andrei Petrovitch, and he could not turn his mind to +Raumer. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +Insarov bent his head without speaking. + +‘I will not keep you.... You promise me?’ + +Again Insarov bowed, but said nothing. + +‘Lenotchka, come here,’ said Anna Vassilyevna, ‘look, what a charming +reticule.’ + +‘I worked it myself,’ observed the priest’s wife. + +Elena came away from the window. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + + +XVIII + + +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. + +‘I have no money, grannie,’ said Elena, ‘but here, take this, it will be +of use for something.’ + +She gave her her handkerchief. + +‘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!’ + +A peal of thunder was heard. + +‘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?’ + +Elena looked more attentively at the old woman and recognised her. + +‘Yes, grannie,’ she answered, ‘wasn’t it you asked me why I was so +sorrowful?’ + +‘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!’ + +‘What sorrow, grannie?’ + +‘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!’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Dmitri Nikanorovitch!’ she said at last. + +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. + +She walked back in silence into the chapel. Insarov followed Elena. ‘You +here?’ he repeated. + +She was still silent, and only gazed upon him with a strange, slow, +tender look. He dropped his eyes. + +‘You have come from our house?’ she asked. + +‘No... not from your house.’ + +‘No?’ repeated Elena, and she tried to smile. ‘Is that how you keep your +promises? I have been expecting you ever since the morning.’ + +‘I made no promise yesterday, if you remember, Elena Nikolaevna.’ + +Again Elena faintly smiled, and she passed her hand over her face. Both +face and hands were very white. + +‘You meant, then, to go away without saying good-bye to us?’ + +‘Yes,’ replied Insarov in a surly, thick voice. + +‘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?’ + +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----’ + +‘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?’ + +‘No,’ said Insarov. + +‘What?’ murmured Elena. Her cheeks were overspread with a faint flush. + +‘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.’ + +‘You used to be so open with me,’ said Elena rather reproachfully. ‘Do +you remember?’ + +‘I used to be able to be open, then I had nothing to conceal; but +now----’ + +‘But now?’ queried Elena. + +‘But now... now I must go away. Goodbye.’ + +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. + +‘Well, good-bye, Dmitri Nikanorovitch,’ she began. ‘But at least, since +we have met, give me your hand now.’ + +Insarov was stretching out his hand. ‘No, I can’t even do that,’ he +said, and turned away again. + +‘You can’t?’ + +‘No, I can’t. Good-bye.’ And he moved away to the entrance of the +chapel. + +‘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?’ + +Insarov looked in bewilderment at Elena. + +‘I was going to you.’ + +‘To me?’ + +Elena hid her face. ‘You mean to force me to say that I love you,’ she +whispered. ‘There, I have said it.’ + +‘Elena!’ cried Insarov. + +She took his hands, looked at him, and fell on his breast. + +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. + +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. + +She did not weep; she could only repeat, ‘O my friend, my brother!’ + +‘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. + +‘Everywhere, to the ends of the earth. Where you are, I will be.’ + +‘And you are not deceiving yourself, you know your parents will never +consent to our marriage?’ + +‘I don’t deceive myself; I know that.’ + +‘You know that I’m poor--almost a beggar.’ + +‘I know.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘I know, I know.’ + +‘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----’ + +‘I know, I know all--I love you----’ + +‘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----’ + +She laid her hand on his lips. ‘I love you, my dear one.’ + +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.... + +All at once she blushed and hid her face upon his breast. + +He lifted her head tenderly and looked steadily into her eyes. ‘Welcome, +then, my wife, before God and men!’ + + + + +XIX + + +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. + +‘What is it?’ he inquired, astonished. + +She did not know what to say. She felt inclined to kiss Uvar Ivanovitch. + +‘How he splashed!’ she explained at last. + +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. + +‘Dear Uvar Ivanovitch,’ she said, ‘I am sleepy and tired,’ and again she +laughed and sank into a low chair near him. + +‘H’m,’ grunted Uvar Ivanovitch, flourishing his fingers, ‘then you +ought--yes----’ + +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. + +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. + +‘Are you sleepy, Lenotchka?’ her mother asked her. She did not hear the +question. + +‘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?’ + +‘Ah, Monsieur Paul,’ said Elena, ‘I should like to show myself vexed, +but really I can’t. I am so tired.’ + +‘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.’ + +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.’ + +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. + + + + + +XX + + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘Well I see you have been at work in earnest,’ he observed to Shubin. + +‘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. _Trema, Bisanzia!_’ + +‘I don’t understand you,’ said Bersenyev. + +‘Well, wait a minute. Deign to look this way, gracious friend and +benefactor, my vengeance number one.’ + +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. + +Bersenyev went into raptures over it. + +‘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?’ + +‘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 _en canaille_.’ + +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. + +‘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.’ + +And Shubin gave three little leaps, kicking himself behind with his +heels. + +Bersenyev picked up the cloth off the floor--and threw it over the +statuette. + +‘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!’ + +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. + +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?’ + +‘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. + +‘Disgusting thing, you mean? No, my dear fellow, excuse me, if anything +ought to go to the exhibition, it’s that group.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘Nonsense?’ + +‘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.’ + +Bersenyev was just going to knock the group over but Shubin stopped him. + +‘That’ll do, my dear boy, don’t smash it; it will serve as a lesson, a +scare-crow.’ + +Bersenyev laughed. + +‘If that’s what it is, I will spare your scarecrow then,’ he said. And +now, ‘Long live eternal true art!’ + +‘Long live true art!’ put in Shubin. ‘By art the good is better and the +bad is not all loss!’ + +The friends shook hands warmly and parted. + + + + +XXI + + +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? + +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. + + + + +XXII + + +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, ‘_Sortes, s’il vous plaît_,’ and turning to his wife +he added, ‘_et vous, madame, restez, je vous prie_.’ + +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. + +‘What is it?’ she cried, directly the door was closed. + +Nikolai Artemyevitch flung an indifferent glance at Anna Vassilyevna. + +‘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.’ + +‘Who is it?’ + +‘Kurnatovsky, Yegor Andreyevitch. You don’t know him. The head secretary +in the senate.’ + +‘He is to dine with us to-day?’ + +‘Yes.’ + +‘And was it only to tell me this that you made every one go away?’ + +Nikolai Artemyevitch again flung a glance--this time one of irony--at +Anna Vassilyevna. + +‘Does that surprise you? Defer your surprise a little.’ + +He ceased speaking. Anna Vassilyevna too was silent for a little time. + +‘I could have wished----’ she was beginning. + +‘I know you have always looked on me as an “immoral” man,’ began Nikolai +Artemyevitch suddenly. + +‘I!’ muttered Anna Vassilyevna, astounded. + +‘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----’ + +‘And I make no complaint against you, Nikolai Artemyevitch.’ + +‘_C’est possible_. 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.’ + +‘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.) + +‘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.’ + +‘How am I to understand you?’ asked Anna Vassilyevna. + +‘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 _pères de famille_ +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.’ + +‘Who is his father?’ inquired Anna Vassilyevna. + +‘His father? His father is a man well-known in his own line, of the +highest moral character, _un vrai stoïcien_, a retired major, I think, +overseer of all the estates of the Count B----’ + +‘Ah!’ observed Anna Vassilyevna. + +‘Ah! why ah?’ interposed Nikolai Artemyevitch. ‘Can you be infected with +prejudice?’ + +‘Why, I said nothing----’ Anna Vassilyevna was beginning. + +‘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 _à bras ouverts_. He is no +Montenegrin vagrant.’ + +‘Of course; I need only call Vanka the cook and order a few extra +dishes.’ + +‘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. + +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. + +This was what, among other things, Elena wrote next day to Insarov: + +‘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 +_comme il faut_: 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. + +‘“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.” + +‘I cried, “Punish an innocent man!” + +‘“Yes; for the sake of principle.” + +‘“What principle?” asked Shubin. Kurnatovsky +seemed annoyed or surprised, and said, “That needs no explanation.” + +‘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 _have faith_, and he has not; for +a man cannot _have faith_ in himself only. + +‘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. + +‘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!’ + + + + + +XXIII + + +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,’ _des poses plastiques_, had +come to Moscow, and the description of them in the _Moscow Gazette_ 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. ‘_Das ist ein +Mann_!’ 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. + +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.’ + +Something rustled lightly at the door, it flew quickly open, and into +the room ran Elena. + +Insarov, all in a tremor, rushed to her, fell on his knees before her, +clasped her waist and pressed it close against his head. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘Stay,’ she said, fondly taking her hand away from him, ‘let me take off +my hat.’ + +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. + +‘Sit down,’ she said, not lifting her eyes to him and motioning him to a +place beside her. + +Insarov sat down, not on the sofa, but on the floor at her feet. + +‘Come, take off my gloves,’ she said in an uncertain voice. She felt +afraid. + +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. + +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. + +An instant passed... she broke away, got up, whispered ‘No, no,’ and +went quickly up to the writing-table. + +‘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?’ + +Insarov knitted his brows. ‘Those letters?’ he said, getting up, ‘you +can read them.’ + +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. + +Insarov came close to her and fondly touched her waist. She turned +suddenly to him, smiled brightly at him and leant against his shoulder. + +‘Those letters are from Bulgaria, Elena; my friends write to me, they +want me to come.’ + +‘Now? To them?’ + +‘Yes... now, while there is still time, while it is still possible to +come.’ + +All at once she flung both arms round his neck, ‘You will take me with +you, yes?’ + +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!’ + +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?’ + +‘Wives don’t go into war,’ he said with a half-mournful smile. + +‘Oh yes, when they can’t stay behind, and I cannot stay here?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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?’ + +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!’ + +‘Am I to stay?’ asked Elena. + +‘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----’ + +‘I have money,’ put in Elena. ‘Eighty roubles.’ + +‘Well, that’s not much,’ observed Insarov; ‘but everything’s a help.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Money’s not the chief difficulty, Elena; the passport; your passport, +how about that?’ + +‘Yes, how about it? Is a passport absolutely necessary?’ + +‘Absolutely.’ + +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.’ + +‘Elena, aren’t you ashamed?’ + +‘Why? Of course it’s better to go with a passport. But if we can’t----’ + +‘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.’ + +Elena pushed back the hair that fell over on his forehead. + +‘O Dmitri! how glorious it will be for us two to set off together!’ + +‘Yes,’ said Insarov, ‘but there, when we get there----’ + +‘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?’ + +‘Yes, twenty-six.’ + +‘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!’ + +‘Elena, you know what forced me to go away.’ + +‘I know; you were in love, and you were afraid. But surely you must have +suspected that you were loved?’ + +‘I swear on my honour, Elena, I didn’t.’ + +She gave him a quick unexpected kiss. ‘There, I love you for that too. +And goodbye.’ + +‘You can’t stop longer?’ asked Insarov. + +‘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.’ + +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.’ + +Elena opened the door a little, listened, turned round to Insarov, +nodded her head, and glided out of the room. + +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?’ + +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. + + + + +XXIV + + +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.’ + +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. + +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. + +‘Oh, by the way,’ she said to him suddenly, ‘is your plan getting on at +all?’ + +Insarov was taken aback. + +‘What plan?’ he said. + +‘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?’ + +‘_Quelle bourde_!’ muttered Nikolai Artemyevitch between his teeth. + +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. + +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. + + + + + +XXV + +‘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.’ + +‘Ask him in,’ said Bersenyev. + +The ‘locksmith’ entered. Bersenyev recognised in him the tailor, the +landlord of Insarov’s lodgings. + +‘What do you want?’ he asked him. + +‘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.’ + +‘Insarov?’ + +‘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----’ + +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. + +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. + +‘Is he dangerously ill?’ asked Bersenyev. + +‘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.’ + +The doctor was young himself, and still believed in science. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘And after the crisis?’ asked Bersenyev. + +‘The crisis may end in two ways, _aut Caesar aut nihil_. + +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. + +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. + +‘Here is the lady,’ she whispered, ‘who gave me a silver piece.’ + +The child’s head vanished quickly, and in its place appeared Elena. + +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. + +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!’ + +She was reeling. He led her to the sofa, and made her sit down. + +She looked into his face, then her eyes ran over him from head to foot, +then stared at the floor. + +‘Will he die?’ she asked so coldly and quietly that Bersenyev was +frightened. + +‘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.’ + +‘He is unconscious?’ she asked in the same tone of voice as before. + +‘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.’ + +She raised her eyes to his, and he saw she had not heard his answer. + +‘If he dies,’ she said in the same voice, ‘I will die too.’ + +At that instant Insarov uttered a slight moan; she trembled all over, +clutched at her head, then began untying the strings of her hat. + +‘What are you doing?’ Bersenyev asked her. + +‘I will stay here.’ + +‘You will stay--for long?’ + +‘I don’t know, perhaps all day, the night, always--I don’t know.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘What then?’ + +‘They will look for you--find you----’ + +‘What then?’ + +‘Elena Nikolaevna! You see. He cannot now protect you.’ + +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. + +‘Elena Nikolaevna--for God’s sake,’ Bersenyev was repeating over her. + +‘Ah! What is it?’ suddenly sounded the voice of Insarov. + +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. + +‘Is he delirious?’ whispered Elena. + +‘It seems so,’ answered Bersenyev, ‘but that’s nothing; it’s always so, +especially if----’ + +‘When was he taken ill?’ Elena broke in. + +‘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.’ + +‘He will die without me,’ she cried, wringing her hands. + +‘I give you my word I will let you hear every day how his illness goes +on, and if there should be immediate danger----’ + +‘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?’ + +‘I promise before God’ + +‘Swear it.’ + +‘I swear.’ + +She suddenly snatched his hand, and before he had time to pull it away, +she had bent and pressed her lips to it. + +‘Elena Nikolaevna, what are you----’ he stammered. + +‘No--no--I won’t have it----’ Insarov muttered indistinctly, and sighed +painfully. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +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.... + +‘I cannot go away,’ she whispered at last. + +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.’ + +Elena looked at him, said: ‘Oh, my good, kind friend!’ broke into sobs +and rushed away. + +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. + +‘Who is here?’ he heard Insarov’s voice. + +Bersenyev went up to him. ‘I am here, Dmitri Nikanorovitch. How are you? +How do you feel?’ + +‘Are you alone?’ asked the sick man. + +‘Yes.’ + +‘And she?’ + +‘Whom do you mean?’ Bersenyev asked almost in dismay. + +Insarov was silent. ‘Mignonette,’ he murmured, and his eyes closed +again. + + + + +XXVI + + +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 _Werther_; 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. + +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. + +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 _Moscow Gazette_; 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. + +‘He has regained consciousness, he is saved, he will be quite well again +in a week,’ he whispered to her. + +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. + + + + +XXVII + + +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. + +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. + +‘Guess, what I want to say to you,’ she said. Bersenyev was confused. He +understood her. + +‘I suppose,’ he answered, looking away, ‘you want to say that you wish +to see him.’ + +Elena crimsoned, and scarcely audibly, she breathed, ‘Yes.’ + +‘Well, what then? That, I imagine, you can easily do.’--‘Ugh!’ he +thought, ‘what a loathsome feeling there is in my heart!’ + +‘You mean that I have already before...’ said Elena. ‘But I am +afraid--now he is, you say, seldom alone.’ + +‘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. + +‘I am ashamed,’ whispered Elena. + +‘Give me the note, I will take it.’ + +‘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!’ + +Bersenyev bit his lip. + +‘Ah! yes, I understand; very well, very well,’ and, adding two or three +words more, he quickly took leave. + +‘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!”’ + +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.’ + + + + + +XXVIII + + +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.’ + +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. + +‘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. + +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. + +Her face suddenly clouded over. + +‘How thin you have grown, my poor Dmitri,’ she said, passing her hand +over his neck; ‘what a beard you have.’ + +‘And you have grown thin, my poor Elena,’ he answered, catching her +fingers with his lips. + +She shook her curls gaily. + +‘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.’ + +He answered her with a smile only. + +‘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!’ + +He did not know what to say to her. He was longing to throw himself at +her feet. + +‘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?’ + +‘You are for me in the future,’ answered Insarov, ‘so it is bright for +me.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘I’m much better, I’m nearly well.’ + +‘You are well, you are not dead. Oh, how happy I am!’ + +A short silence followed. + +‘Elena?’ said Insarov. + +‘Well, my dearest?’ + +‘Tell me, did it never occur to you that this illness was sent us as a +punishment?’ + +Elena looked seriously at him. + +‘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.’ + +‘You don’t stop me, Elena; we will go together.’ + +‘Yes, Dmitri, let us go together; I will follow you.... That is my duty. +I love you.... I know no other duty.’ + +‘O Elena!’ said Insarov, ‘what chains every word of yours fastens on +me!’ + +‘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. + +He looked at her with such an expression of adoration, that she softly +dropped her hand from his hair over his eyes. + +‘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.’ + +‘You saw me?’ + +‘Yes.’ + +He was silent for a little. ‘And Bersenyev was here?’ + +She nodded. + +Insarov bowed down before her. ‘O Elena!’ he whispered, ‘I don’t dare to +look at you.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘He saved me!’ cried Insarov. ‘He is the noblest, kindest of men!’ + +‘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.’ + +Insarov looked steadily at Elena. ‘He is in love with you, isn’t he?’ + +Elena dropped her eyes. ‘He did love me,’ she said in an undertone. + +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----’ + +‘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----’ + +‘Why are there tears in your eyes?’ Insarov interrupted her. + +‘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 _he_? And with you there was nothing of that +sort; but afterwards--afterwards--you took my heart by storm!’ + +‘Have pity on me,’ began Insarov. He tried to get up, but dropped down +on to the sofa again at once. + +‘What’s the matter with you?’ inquired Elena anxiously. + +‘Nothing.... I am still rather weak. I am not strong enough yet for such +happiness.’ + +‘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.’ + +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.... + +He listened to her, listened, turning pale and red. Sometimes he tried +to stop her; suddenly he drew himself up. + +‘Elena,’ he said to her in a strange, hard voice ‘leave me, go away.’ + +‘What?’ she replied in bewilderment ‘You feel ill?’ she added quickly. + +‘No... I’m all right... but, please, leave me now.’ + +‘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----’ + +He got up. + +‘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!’ + +‘Dmitri,’ whispered Elena, and she nestled her head on his shoulder. +Only now she understood him. + +‘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----’ + +‘Dmitri,’ she repeated; she flushed all over, and pressed still closer +to him. + +‘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----’ + +She was trembling all over. ‘Take me, then,’ she whispered scarcely +above her breath. + + + + + +XXIX + + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘She must be knitting stockings--for herself; for herself--not for you.’ + +‘You may laugh, you may laugh; but I tell you I know no woman like her. +Such honesty; such disinterestedness.’ + +‘Has she cashed that bill yet?’ inquired Shubin. + +‘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; _ces femmes, +qu’on me les montre_! And she doesn’t write--that’s what’s killing me!’ + +‘You’re eloquent as Pythagoras,’ remarked Shubin; ‘but do you know what +I would advise you?’ + +‘What?’ + +‘When Augustina Christianovna comes back--you take my meaning?’ + +‘Yes, yes; well, what?’ + +‘When you see her again--you follow the line of my thought?’ + +‘Yes, yes, to be sure.’ + +‘Try beating her; see what that would do.’ + +Nikolai Artemyevitch turned away exasperated. + +‘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----’ + +‘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.’ + +‘What of it? We were playing high. Of course, I might expect--but they +understand so little how to appreciate him in this house----’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Father-in-law! How the devil am I his father-in-law? _Vous rêvez, mon +cher_. 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----’ + +‘Led the governor in one of them by the nose,’ remarked Shubin. + +‘Very likely. To be sure, that’s how it should be. Practical, a business +man----’ + +‘And a capital hand at cards,’ Shubin remarked again. + +‘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----’ + +A disagreeable-looking man-servant came in with a cup of coffee, cream +and sugar on a tray. + +‘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. _Nous avons changé tout ça_. 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?’ + +‘Take your coffee, and let the man go,’ said Shubin. ‘You say yourself +that one ought not _devant les domestiques_’ he added in an undertone. + +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. + +‘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----’ + +‘Aren’t you a born statesman?’ asked Shubin in a jeering voice. + +‘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!’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘I suppose you bought it for her, the lady at Revel?’ + +‘Why, certainly.--I had some idea.’ + +‘Well, in that case, it will be sure to do.’ Shubin got up from his +seat. + +‘Are we going out this evening, Pavel Yakovlitch, eh?’ Nikolai +Artemyevitch asked with an amicable leer. + +‘Why yes, you are going to your club.’ + +‘After the club... after the club.’ + +Shubin stretched himself again. + +‘No, Nikolai Artemyevitch, I want to work to-morrow. Another time.’ And +he walked off. + +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. + +‘What do you want?’ he asked him. + +‘Nikolai Artemyevitch,’ said the man with a certain solemnity, ‘you are +our master?’ + +‘I know that; what next!’ + +‘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----’ + +‘Well what is it?’ + +The man shifted uneasily as he stood. + +‘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.’ + +‘What lies are you telling, idiot?’ + +‘That’s as your honour likes, but I saw our young lady three days ago, +as she was pleased to go into a house!’ + +‘Where? what? what house?’ + +‘In a house, near Povarsky. Not far from here. I even asked the +doorkeeper who were the people living there.’ + +Nikolai Artemyevitch stamped with his feet. + +‘Silence, scoundrel! How dare you?... Elena Nikolaevna, in the goodness +of her heart, goes to visit the poor and you... Be off, fool!’ + +The terrified servant was rushing to the door. + +‘Stop!’ cried Nikolai Artemyevitch. ‘What did the doorkeeper say to +you?’ + +‘Oh no--nothing--he said nothing--He told me--a stu--student----’ + +‘Silence, scoundrel! Listen, you dirty beast; if you ever breathe a word +in your dreams even----’ + +‘Mercy on us----’ + +‘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!’ + +The man vanished. + +‘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!... _Un laquais! Quelle +humiliation!_’ + +And repeating aloud: ‘_Un laquais!_’ 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. + + + + +XXX + + +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.’ + +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 _eau de Cologne_; 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. + +Elena sat down. + +Anna Vassilyevna blew her nose tearfully. Nikolai Artemyevitch thrust +his fingers between his coat-buttons. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘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----’ + +‘But, papa,’ Elena was beginning. + +‘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--_que nous avons inculqués_, 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----’ + +‘Papa,’ said Elena, ‘I know what you are going to say------’ + +‘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!’ + +‘For mercy’s sake, _Nicolas_,’ murmured Anna Vassilyevna, ‘_vous me +faites mourir_?’ + +‘Don’t tell me _que je vous fais mourir_, Anna Vassilyevna! You can’t +conceive what you will hear directly! Prepare yourself for the worst, I +warn you!’ + +Anna Vassilyevna seemed stupefied. + +‘No,’ resumed Nikolai Artemyevitch, turning to Elena, ‘you don’t know +what I am going to say!’ + +‘I am to blame towards you----’ she began. + +‘Ah, at last!’ + +‘I am to blame towards you,’ pursued Elena, ‘for not having long ago +confessed----’ + +‘But do you know,’ Nikolai Artemyevitch interrupted, ‘that I can crush +you with one word?’ + +Elena raised her eyes to look at him. + +‘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, _de vils laquais_ have seen you, as you went in there, +to your----’ + +Elena was crimson, her eyes were blazing. + +‘I have no need to hide anything,’ she declared. ‘Yes, I have visited +that house.’ + +‘Exactly! Do you hear, do you hear, Anna Vassilyevna? And you know, I +presume, who lives there?’ + +‘Yes, I know; my husband.’ + +Nikolai Artemyevitch’s eyes were starting out of his head. + +‘Your----’ + +‘My husband,’ repeated Elena; ‘I am married to Dmitri Nikanorovitch +Insarov.’ + +‘You?--married?’--was all Anna Vassilyevna could articulate. + +‘Yes, mamma.... Forgive me. A fortnight ago, we were secretly married.’ + +Anna Vassilyevna fell back in her chair; Nikolai Artemyevitch stepped +two paces back. + +‘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!’ + +‘Nikolai Artemyevitch, for God’s sake,’ moaned Anna Vassilyevna. + +‘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?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Going away? Where to?’ + +‘To his own country, to Bulgaria.’ + +‘To the Turks!’ cried Anna Vassilyevna and fell into a swoon. + +Elena ran to her mother. + +‘Away!’ clamoured Nikolai Artemyevitch, seizing his daughter by the arm, +‘away, unworthy girl!’ + +But at that instant the door of the room opened, and a pale face with +glittering eyes appeared: it was the face of Shubin. + +‘Nikolai Artemyevitch!’ he shouted at the top of his voice, ‘Augustina +Christianovna is here and is asking for you!’ + +Nikolai Artemyevitch turned round infuriated, threatening Shubin with +his fist; he stood still a minute and rapidly went out of the room. + +Elena fell at her mother’s feet and embraced her knees. + +* * * + +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. + +‘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.’ + +Uvar Ivanovitch flourished his fingers. + +‘A mother,’ he commented, ‘to be sure.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘They’d no right,’ observed Uvar Ivanovitch, and he drank out of the +jug. + +‘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?’ + +‘What is there to know? a man to be sure.’ + +‘Precisely so: he was a “man.” Yes he’s a wonderful face, but unhealthy, +very unhealthy.’ + +‘For fighting... it makes no difference,’ observed Uvar Ivanovitch. + +‘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.’ + +‘A youthful affair,’ responded Uvar Ivanovitch. + +‘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!’ + +Shubin’s head sank on to his breast. + +‘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!’ + +Uvar Ivanovitch leaned on his elbow and stared at the enthusiastic +artist. + +‘That’s a long way off,’ he said at last with his usual gesture; ‘we’re +speaking of other people, why bring in yourself?’ + +‘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?’ + +‘Give us time,’ answered Uvar Ivanovitch; ‘they will be----’ + +‘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?’ + +‘I’m going to sleep; good-bye.’ + + + + +XXXI + + +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: ‘_Diesen Insarof +vorziehen--und wem?_’ 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. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘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!’ + +‘Dear mamma,’ answered Elena, ‘be comforted; at least, it might have +been worse; I might have died.’ + +‘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----’ + +‘Don’t say that, mamma dearest, we shall see each other again, please +God. There are towns in Bulgaria just as there are here.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘Soon... if only papa. He means to appeal to the authorities; he +threatens to separate us.’ + +Anna Vassilyevna turned her eyes heavenwards. + +‘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.’ + +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: + +‘Everything is settled, he will not make a scandal, and there is nothing +now to hinder you from going--from abandoning us.’ + +‘You will let Dmitri come to thank you?’ Elena begged her mother, as +soon as the latter had been restored a little. + +‘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.’ + +‘Before we go,’ repeated Elena mournfully. + +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. + + + + +XXXII + + +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!’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘Absolutely, Anna Vassilyevna.’ + +Anna Vassilyevna looked at him. + +‘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!’ + +Tears choked her voice. She opened her arms, and Elena and Insarov flung +themselves into her embrace. + +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. + +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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +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. + +‘Now, after the Russian custom, we must sit down,’ observed Insarov. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + + + + +XXXIII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Will not this wind bring the ship you are expecting?’ said Elena. ‘See, +there is a white sail, is not that it?’ + +Insarov gazed seaward into the distance to where Elena was pointing. + +‘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!’ + +‘_Aufgepasst_!’ 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. + +Insarov looked darkly after him. + +‘He was not to blame,’ said Elena, ‘you know, they have no other place +where they can ride.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +Insarov did not answer, but the same bitter smile passed over his lips. + +‘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?’ + +‘If you would like it, Elena,’ answered Insarov, ‘it follows that I +should like it too.’ + +‘I knew that,’ observed Elena with a smile, ‘come, let us go.’ + +They went back to the gondola, took their seats, told the gondolier to +take them without hurry along the Canal Grande. + +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. + +The gondola in which Insarov and Elena were sitting passed _Riva dei +Schiavoni_, 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 _delle Belle Arti_, 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 _frutti di mare_; 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, _poveretti_! (poor things!) +After dinner they set off for the theatre. + +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, _La Traviata_. +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 _dames aux +camélias_ 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 _delle Belle Arti_ 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 _tremolo_, they almost burst into +laughter. ... But Violetta’s acting impressed them. + +‘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.’ + +Insarov bent over the edge of the box, and looked attentively at +Violetta. + +‘Yes,’ he commented, ‘she is in earnest; she’s on the brink of the grave +herself.’ + +Elena was mute. + +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. + +But he was soon quiet. Violetta’s acting became steadily better, +and freer. She had thrown aside everything subsidiary, everything +superfluous, and _found herself_; 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 _fanatismo_, 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: ‘_Lascia mi vivero--morir si giovane_’ +(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. + +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. + +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 _Riva dei Schiavoni_; 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. + +Their little room looked out on to the lagoon, which stretches from the +_Riva del Schiavoni_ 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 _Redentore_ 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?’ +(_Morir si giovane_ 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.... _Morir si giovane_. Oh, dark +omen, away! It’s not only for me his life is needed! + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘Renditch!’ muttered Insarov in his sleep. + +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. + +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.’ + +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. + + + + + +XXXIV + + +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. + +‘Renditch has not come?’ was his first question. + +‘Not yet,’ answered Elena, and she handed him the latest number of the +_Osservatore Triestino_, 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. + +‘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. + +Insarov got up from his seat. + +‘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.’ + +‘Yes, at the E----’s,’ replied Insarov. + +‘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: _decapitati pro criminibus_. 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 +stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs_; 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 _Les Châtiments de Victor Hugo_--it’s marvellous--_L’avenir, +le gendarme de Dieu_--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.’ + +And for a long time Lupoyarov still babbled on in the same way, and, as +he went away, he promised to come again. + +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.’ + +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. + +‘Dmitri,’ she began. + +He started. ‘Eh? Has Renditch come?’ + +‘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?’ + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘Why don’t you go to sleep?’ she asked at last. + +‘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.’ + +‘Packing won’t take long,’ answered Elena. + +‘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.’ + +He fell asleep, and everything was still in the room. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘Elena!’ he articulated, ‘I am dying.’ + +She fell with a scream on her knees, and clung to his breast. + +‘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. + +Elena rushed out of the room, began calling for help; a waiter ran for a +doctor. Elena clung to Insarov. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘Signora,’ he said, after the lapse of a few minutes, ‘the foreign +gentleman is dead--_il Signore forestiere e morte_--of aneurism in +combination with disease of the lungs.’ + + + + + +XXXV + + +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. + +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. + +‘How long must you remain at Venice?’ Elena asked him in Italian. And +her voice was as lifeless as her face. + +‘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.’ + +‘They rested their hopes on him,’ Elena repeated mechanically. + +‘When will you bury him?’ asked Renditch. + +Elena not at once replied, ‘To-morrow.’ + +‘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.’ + +Elena looked at Renditch. + +‘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?’ + +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?’ + +‘You need not bring me back.’ + +‘What? where will you stop?’ + +‘I shall find some place for myself; only take us, take me.’ + +Renditch scratched the back of his head. + +‘You know best; but it’s all very difficult. I will, I will try; and you +expect me here in two hours’ time.’ + +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. + +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. + +Three weeks after Elena’s departure from Vienna, Anna Vassilyevna +received the following letter in Moscow:-- + +‘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? + +‘Accept my last kisses and blessings, and do not condemn me. + +R.’ + +* * * + +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. + +* * * + +What became of the other characters of our story? + +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 _pur +sang_, 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?”’ + +Uvar Ivanovitch flourished his fingers and fixed his enigmatical stare +into the far distance. + + + + + + + + + +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 6902-0.txt or 6902-0.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 + +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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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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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: November, 2004 [EBook #6902] +Posting Date: April 22, 2009 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON THE EVE *** + + + + +Produced by Eric Eldred + + + + + + + + + +ON THE EVE + +A Novel + + +By Ivan Turgenev + +Translated from the Russian By Constance Garnett + +[With an introduction by Edward Garnett] + + +London: William Heinemann 1895 + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +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 _On +the Eve_ 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. + +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 _On the Eve_ 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 pere 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'. + +Turning to the figure of the Bulgarian hero, it is interesting to find +from the _Souvenirs sur Tourguenev_ (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. + +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 _On the Eve_, 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 _On the Eve_. 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? + +'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?"' + +'Uvar Ivanovitch flourished his fingers, and fixed his enigmatical stare +into the far distance.' + +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 _Emma_, 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 _On the Eve_, 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 _On the Eve_, 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 On the Eve, 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, _On the Eve_ +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. + +EDWARD GARNETT + +January 1895. + + + + + +THE NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS IN THE BOOK + +NIKOLA'I [Nicolas] ARTE'MYEVITCH STA'HOV. + +A'NNA VASSI'LYEVNA. + +ELE'NA [LE'NOTCHKA, Helene] NIKOLA'EVNA. + +ZO'YA [Zoe] NIKI'TISHNA MU'LLER. + +ANDRE'I PETRO'VITCH BERSE'NYEV. + +PA'VEL [Paul] YA'KOVLITCH (or YA'KOVITCH) SHU'BIN. + +DMI'TRI NIKANO'ROVITCH (or NIKANO'RITCH) INSA'ROV. + +YEGO'R ANDRE'ITCH KURNATO'VSKY. + +UVA'R IVA'NOVITCH STA'HOV. + +AUGUSTI'NA CHRISTIA'NOVNA. + +A'NNUSHKA. + + +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. + + + + + +I + + +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. + +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. + +'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!' + +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: + +'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?' + +'What?' said Bersenyev, starting. + +'What!' repeated Shubin. 'Your friend lays his deepest thoughts before +you, and you don't listen to him.' + +'I was admiring the view. Look how hot and bright those fields are in +the sun.' Bersenyev spoke with a slight lisp. + +'There's some fine colour laid on there,' observed Shubin. 'Nature's a +good hand at it, that's the fact!' + +Bersenyev shook his head. + +'You ought to be even more ecstatic over it than I. It's in your line: +you're an artist.' + +'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.' + +'But there is beauty here, too,' remarked Bersenyev.--'By the way, have +you finished your bas-relief?' + +'Which one?' + +'The boy with the goat.' + +'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----' + +Shubin put out his tongue. + +'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----' + +'Ah, you are a confirmed sympathetic!' broke in Shubin, laughing at the +new title he had coined, while Bersenyev sank into thought. + +'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.' + +He turned over on to his back and clasped his hands behind his head. + +A few instants passed by in silence. The hush of the noonday heat lay +upon the drowsy, blazing fields. + +'Speaking of women,' Shubin began again, 'how is it no one looks after +Stahov? Did you see him in Moscow?' + +'No.' + +'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.' + +'And Elena Nikolaevna's bust?' inquired Bersenyev, 'is it getting on?' + +'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. + +'Yes; she is a wonderful girl,' Bersenyev repeated after him. + +'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!' + +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. + +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. + +'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?' + +'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! _Voo me compreny_.' + +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?' + +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----' + +'With your whole heart,' put in Bersenyev. + +'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!' + +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. + +'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.' + +'In love, too, there is both life and death,' interposed Shubin. + +'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----' + +'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!' + +He shook his curls, and turned a confident almost challenging glance +upwards to the sky. Bersenyev raised his eyes and looked at him. + +'Is there nothing higher than happiness?' he commented softly. + +'And what, for instance?' asked Shubin, stopping short. + +'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?' + +'Do you know words, then, that unite men?' + +'Yes; and they are not few in number; and you know them, too.' + +'Eh? What words?' + +'Well, even Art--since you are an artist--Country, Science, Freedom, +Justice.' + +'And what of love?' asked Shubin. + +'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.' + +Shubin frowned. + +'That's all very well for Germans; I want to love for myself; I want to +be first.' + +'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.' + +'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.' + +'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.' + +Both friends were silent a little. + +'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.' + +'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?' + +'Perhaps.' + +'Is he an exceptional individual?' + +'Yes.' + +'Clever? Talented?' + +'Clever--talented--I don't know, I don't think so.' + +'Not? Then, what is there remarkable in him?' + +'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?' + +'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?' + +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. + + + + + +II + + +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. + +'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.' + +'We have _roussalkas_,' observed Bersenyev. + +'Get along with your _roussalkas!_ 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----' + +'To Little Russia, I suppose you mean?' + +'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----' + +'Don't let me have the rest, please,' interposed Bersenyev. + +'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!' + +'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!' + +'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.' + +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. + +'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. + +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: + +'Why is it, gentlemen, you don't come in to dinner? It is on the table.' + +'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' + +'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. + +'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.' + +The young girl shrugged her shoulders, and turned to Bersenyev. + +'There, he's always like that; he treats me like a child; and I am +eighteen. I am grown-up now.' + +'O Lord!' groaned Shubin, rolling his eyes upwards; and Bersenyev smiled +quietly. + +The girl stamped with her little foot. + +'Pavel Yakovlitch, I shall be angry! _Helene_ 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.' + +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. + +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. + + + + +III + + +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. + +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 _frondeur_; 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 _frondeurism_ 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 _Mein Pinselchen_. + +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. + +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. + + + + +IV + + +'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, _Zoe_,' +added Anna Vassilyevna, 'and you, Helene, take our guest; and you, +_Paul_, please don't be naughty and tease _Zoe_. My head aches to-day.' + +Shubin again turned his eyes up to the ceiling; Zoe responded with +a half-smile. This Zoe, 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. + +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.' + +'_La derniere pensee de Weber_?' suggested Zoya. + +'Ah, yes, Weber,' replied Anna Vassilyevna. She sank into an easy chair, +and the tears started on to her eyelashes. + +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. + +'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. + +'My old tricks!' repeated Shubin. 'It's a subject that's simply +inexhaustible! To-day, particularly, she drove me out of all patience.' + +'Why so?' inquired Elena. 'One would think you were speaking of some +spiteful, disagreeable old woman. She is a pretty young girl.' + +'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.' + +And breaking up the bust of Zoya, Shubin set hastily to modelling and +kneading the clay again with an air of vexation. + +'So it is your wish to be a professor?' said Elena to Bersenyev. + +'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----' + +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. + +'You want to be a professor of history?' inquired Elena. + +'Yes, or of philosophy,' he added, in a lower voice--'if that is +possible.' + +'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?' + +'And will you be perfectly contented with such a position?' asked Elena, +leaning on her elbow and looking him straight in the face. + +'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.'... + +'Your father died last winter?' + +'Yes, Elena Nikolaevna, in February.' + +'They say,' Elena went on, 'that he left a remarkable work in +manuscript; is it true?' + +'Yes. He was a wonderful man. You would have loved him, Elena +Nikolaevna.' + +'I am sure I should. And what was the subject of the work?' + +'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----' + +'Andrei Petrovitch,' interrupted Elena, 'excuse my ignorance, what does +that mean, a Schellingist?' + +Bersenyev smiled slightly. + +'A Schellingist means a follower of Schelling, a German philosopher; and +what the philosophy of Schelling consists in----' + +'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!' + +'Not a lecture at all,' murmured Bersenyev, turning crimson. 'I +meant----' + +'And why not a lecture?' put in Elena. 'You and I are in need of +lectures, Pavel Yakovlitch.' + +Shubin stared at her, and suddenly burst out laughing. + +'What are you laughing at?' she said coldly, and almost sharply. + +Shubin did not answer. + +'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.' + +'Yes; and of French novels, and of feminine frills and fal-lals,' Elena +went on. + +'Fal-lals, too, of course,' rejoined Shubin, 'if they're pretty.' + +'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?' + +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.' + +'I never thought of sending you away from here.' + +'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?' + +Elena frowned. 'You did not always speak like that of her, Pavel +Yakovlitch,' she remarked. + +'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.' + +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. + +'What a baby,' said Elena, looking after him. + +'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.' + +'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.' + +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. + + + + +V + + +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. + +'Who is there?' sounded Shubin's voice. + +'I,' answered Bersenyev. + +'What do you want?' + +'Let me in, Pavel; don't be sulky; aren't you ashamed of yourself?' + +'I am not sulky; I'm asleep and dreaming about Zoya.' + +'Do stop that, please; you're not a baby. Let me in. I want to talk to +you.' + +'Haven't you had talk enough with Elena?' + +'Come, come; let me in!' Shubin responded by a pretended snore. + +Bersenyev shrugged his shoulders and turned homewards. + +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. + +'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?' + +'Yes.' + +'I will see you home then.' + +'But why have you come without a cap on?' + +'That doesn't matter. I took off my neckerchief too. It is quite warm.' + +The friends walked a few paces. + +'I was very stupid to-day, wasn't I?' Shubin asked suddenly. + +'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!' + +'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.' + +'You in love with Elena!' repeated Bersenyev, standing still. + +'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.' + +'Some one else? Whom?' + +'Whom? You!' cried Shubin, slapping Bersenyev on the shoulder. + +'Me!' + +'You,' repeated Shubin. + +Bersenyev stepped back a pace, and stood motionless. Shubin looked +intently at him. + +'And does that astonish you? You are a modest youth. But she loves you. +You can make your mind easy on that score.' + +'What nonsense you talk!' Bersenyev protested at last with an air of +vexation. + +'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!' + +'Zoya's?' + +'Yes, Zoya's. What would you have? She has such fine shoulders.' + +'Shoulders?' + +'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----' + +Shubin suddenly burst into tears, turned away, and dropping upon the +ground clutched at his hair. + +Bersenyev went up to him. + +'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.' + +Shubin lifted up his head. The tears shone bright on his cheeks in the +moonlight, but there was a smile on his face. + +'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.' + +He got up. + +'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?' + +Bersenyev made no answer, and quickened his pace. + +'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?' + +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. + +'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. + +'Pavel was making a fool of me,' he thought; '... but she will love one +day... whom will she love?' + +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 _History of +the Hohenstaufen_, and sighing twice, he set to work diligently to read +it. + + + + +VI + + +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. + +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. + +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 '_God's full freedom_'; 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. + +'Where did you pick up such horrors?' she asked her daughter. + +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. + +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.... + +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.' + +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. + + + + +VII + + +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. + +'Sit down,' he said, and he seated himself on the edge of the table. + +'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.' + +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. + +'Why did you leave your old lodging?' Bersenyev asked him. + +'This is cheaper, and nearer to the university.' + +'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.' + +Insarov made no reply to this remark, and offered Bersenyev a pipe, +adding: 'Excuse me, I have no cigarettes or cigars.' + +Bersenyev began smoking the pipe. + +'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.' + +Insarov again made no answer. + +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?' + +Insarov turned his little eyes on him. 'You propose my staying in your +country house?' + +'Yes; I have a room to spare there upstairs.' + +'Thanks very much, Andrei Petrovitch; but I expect my means would not +allow of it.' + +'How do you mean?' + +'My means would not allow of my living in a country house. It's +impossible for me to keep two lodgings.' + +'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.' + +Insarov said nothing. Bersenyev began to feel awkward. + +'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.' + +Insarov got up and walked about the room. 'Let me know,' he said, 'how +much do you pay for your cottage?' + +'A hundred silver roubles.' + +'And how many rooms are there?' + +'Five.' + +'Then one may reckon that one room costs twenty roubles?' + +'Yes, one may reckon so.... But really it's utterly unnecessary for me. +It simply stands empty.' + +'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.' + +'Of course; but really I am ashamed to take it.' + +'Otherwise it's impossible, Andrei Petrovitch.' + +'Well, as you like; but what an obstinate fellow you are!' + +Insarov again made no reply. + +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. + +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. + + + + +VIII + + +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.' + +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. + +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?' + +Uvar Ivanovitch could only look at him and work his fingers. + +'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, _dans mon gros bon sens_, I cannot +pass over. I am not exacting by nature, no, but there is a limit to +everything.' + +Anna Vassilyevna rang the bell in a tremor. A little page came in. + +'Why is it Pavel Yakovlitch does not come?' she said, 'what does it +mean; I call him, and he doesn't come?' + +Nikolai Artemyevitch shrugged his shoulders. + +'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!' + +'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.' + +'I tell you again, that I do not ask that. And what can induce you ... +_devant les domestiques_!' + +Anna Vassilyevna flushed a little. 'You need not say that, Nikolai +Artemyevitch. I never... _devant les domestiques_... Fedushka, go and +see you bring Pavel Yakovlitch here at once.' + +The little page went off. + +'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.' + +'Good Heavens, Paul must apologise to you.' + +'Good Heavens, what are his apologies to me? And what do you mean by +apologies? That's all words.' + +'Why, he must be corrected.' + +'Well, you can correct him yourself. He will listen to you sooner than +to me. For my part I bear him no grudge.' + +'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.' + +'The treatment is quite indispensable,' observed Nikolai Artemyevitch, +'my liver is affected.' + +At that instant Shubin came in. He looked tired. A slight almost +ironical smile played on his lips. + +'You asked for me, Anna Vassilyevna?' he observed. + +'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?' + +'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. + +'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.' + +'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.' + +'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.' + +'Oh, that admits of no doubt!' said Shubin. 'But allow me to be +inquisitive; is Anna Vassilyevna aware precisely what constituted my +offence?' + +'No, I know nothing,' observed Anna Vassilyevna, craning forward her +head expectantly. + +'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, _interieur_, 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----' + +And without concluding his sentence Nikolai Artemyevitch went quickly +out, slamming the door. + +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?' + +'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.' + +'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.' + +'How make you angry, auntie? Give me your little hand to kiss. Your +horse-radish I saw on the little table in the boudoir.' + +'Darya always leaves it about somewhere,' said Anna Vassilyevna, and she +walked away with a rustle of silk skirts. + +Shubin was about to follow her, but he stopped on hearing Uvar +Ivanovitch's drawling voice behind him. + +'I would... have given it you... young puppy,' the retired cornet +brought out in gasps. + +Shubin went up to him. 'And what have I done, then, most venerable Uvar +Ivanovitch?' + +'How! you are young, be respectful. Yes indeed.' + +'Respectful to whom?' + +'To whom? You know whom. Ay, grin away.' + +Shubin crossed his arms on his breast. + +'Ah, you type of the choice element in drama,' he exclaimed, 'you +primeval force of the black earth, cornerstone of the social fabric!' + +Uvar Ivanovitch's fingers began to work. 'There, there, my boy, don't +provoke me.' + +'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?' + +'You, of course,' replied Uvar Ivanovitch. + +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?' + +'Don't tempt me, I tell you,' groaned Uvar Ivanovitch. + +Shubin laughed and ran away. 'Hi,' shouted Uvar Ivanovitch a quarter of +an hour later, 'you there... a glass of spirits.' + +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. + + + + +IX + + +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 _etres sans cour_ (among whom I have no reason to reckon you) would +repudiate it! Give this note back to me.--N. S.' + +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: + +'Don't look in my direction, I'm not worth it.' + +She gave him a cursory glance, smiled cursorily, and walked on further +into the depths of the garden. Shubin went after her. + +'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?' + +She stood still and did not answer him at once--not because she was +angry, but because her thoughts were far away. + +'No,' she said at last, 'I am not in the least angry.' Shubin bit his +lip. + +'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!"' + +Shubin paused. + +'And is that all?' inquired Elena. + +'Yes that's all.' + +'I don't understand you. What are you hinting at? You told me just now +not to look your way.' + +'Yes, and now I have told you that it's too bad to turn your back on +me.' + +'But did I?' began Elena. + +'Did you not?' + +Elena flushed slightly and held out her hand to Shubin. He pressed it +warmly. + +'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.' + +'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?' + +'Perhaps so.' + +'And why is it? why?' + +'My ideas are not clear to myself,' said Elena. + +'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.' + +'I?' + +'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.' + +'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.' + +Shubin shuddered. + +'Well, I see this is, as the doctors say, a hopeless case, _casus +incurabilis_. 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?' + +Elena looked straight into his eyes. + +'I don't think so, Pavel Yakovlitch; no.' + +'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!' + +Elena was on the point of stopping him, but after a moment's thought she +too said: + +'Good-bye.' + +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. + +'Andrei Petrovitch!' cried Shubin. + +He stopped. + +'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. + + + + +X + + +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. + +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.' + +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. + +'Tell me,' Elena asked him, 'were there any remarkable men among your +comrades?' + +Bersenyev was again reminded of Shubin's words. + +'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. + +'Not happy,' murmured Elena. + +'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.' + +'What is his name?' Elena inquired with interest. + +'Insarov Dmitri Nikanorovitch. He is a Bulgarian.' + +'Not a Russian?' + +'No, he is not a Russian,' + +'Why is he living in Moscow, then?' + +'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.' + +Elena shuddered. Bersenyev stopped. + +'Go on, go on,' she said. + +'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.' + +'Shot, and without a trial?' + +'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.' + +'He speaks Russian?' + +'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----' + +'What then?' broke in Elena. + +'What God wills. It's hard to forecast the future.' + +For a while Elena did not take her eyes off Bersenyev. + +'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?' + +'What shall I say? To my mind, he's good-looking. But you will see him +for yourself.' + +'How so?' + +'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.' + +'Really? But will he care to come to see us?' + +'I should think so. He will be delighted.' + +'He isn't proud, then?' + +'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.' + +'Is he poor?' + +'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.' + +'He must have a great deal of character,' observed Elena. + +'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.' + +'And isn't he shy?' asked Elena again. + +'No, he's not shy. It's only vain people who are shy.' + +'Why, are you vain?' + +He was confused and made a vague gesture with his hands. + +'You excite my curiosity,' pursued Elena. 'But tell me, has he not taken +vengeance on that Turkish aga?' + +Bersenyev smiled + +'Revenge is only to be found in novels, Elena Nikolaevna; and, besides, +in twelve years that aga may well be dead.' + +'Mr. Insarov has never said anything, though, to you about it?' + +'No, never.' + +'Why did he go to Sophia?' + +'His father used to live there.' + +Elena grew thoughtful. + +'To liberate one's country!' she said. 'It is terrible even to utter +those words, they are so grand.' + +At that instant Anna Vassilyevna came into the room, and the +conversation stopped. + +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 +_History of the Hohenstaufen_, and beginning to read it at the very page +at which he had left off the evening before. + + + + +XI + + +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. + +'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.' + +'My means don't allow me to dine as you do,' Insarov replied with a +tranquil smile. + +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. + +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. + +'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.' + +Insarov had not had time to say all he wanted to say, when the door +opened and Shubin made his appearance. + +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. + +'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?' + +'I am Insarov.' + +'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.' + +'My head's at your service,' said Insarov. + +'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?' + +'I don't know how Insarov feels,' observed Bersenyev. 'He is just +getting to work, I fancy.' + +Shubin turned round on his chair. + +'You want to work?' he inquired, in a somewhat condescending voice. + +'No,' answered Insarov; 'to-day I could give up to walking.' + +'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.' + +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 +_Venelin_, the health of the Bulgarian king Kuma, Huma, or Hroma, who +lived somewhere about the time of Adam. + +'In the ninth century,' Insarov corrected him. + +'In the ninth century?' cried Shubin. 'Oh, how delightful!' + +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. + +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. + + + + +XII + + +'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. + +'_Wer_?' 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. + +'You heard,' he repeated, 'Mr. Insarov is coming here.' + +'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.' + +Shubin was crestfallen at once. + +'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.' + +'I didn't ask your opinion about that,' commented Elena, getting up. + +'Is Mr. Insarov a young man?' asked Zoya. + +'He is a hundred and forty-four,' replied Shubin with an air of +vexation. + +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. + +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. + +'How did you like your new acquaintances?' Bersenyev inquired of Insarov +on their way home. + +'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.' + +'You must go and see them a little oftener,' observed Bersenyev. + +'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. + +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. + +'What an irrepressible fellow you are, you night moth----' Bersenyev was +beginning. + +'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.' + +'Come into the room then.' + +'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.' + +'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.' + +'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.' + +'Why are you so taken up with Insarov?' asked Bersenyev. 'Can you have +run here only to describe his character to me?' + +'I came here,' began Shubin, 'because I was very miserable at home.' + +'Oh, that's it! Don't you want to have a cry again?' + +'You may laugh! I came here because I'm at my wits' end, because I am +devoured by despair, anger, jealousy.' + +'Jealousy? of whom?' + +'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.' + +'Stuff, you won't strangle yourself,' observed Bersenyev. + +'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!' + +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.' + + + + +XIII + + +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. + +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. + +'Fancy,' he began with a constrained smile, 'our Insarov has +disappeared.' + +'Disappeared?' said Elena. + +'He has disappeared. The day before yesterday he went off somewhere and +nothing has been seen of him since.' + +'He did not tell you where he was going?' + +'No.' + +Elena sank into a chair. + +'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. + +'I don't think so,' rejoined Bersenyev. 'He did not go alone.' + +'With whom then?' + +'Two people of some sort--his countrymen they must have been--came to +him the day before yesterday, before dinner.' + +'Bulgarians! what makes you think so?' + +'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.' + +'He shouted too?' + +'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.' + +'And he went away with them?' + +'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.' + +Elena gave a faint smile. + +'You will see,' she said, 'all this will be explained into something +very prosaic.' + +'I hope it may! But you need not use that word. There is nothing prosaic +about Insarov, though Shubin does maintain----' + +'Shubin!' Elena broke in, shrugging her shoulders. 'But you must confess +these two good men gobbling up porridge----' + +'Even Themistocles had his supper on the eve of Salamis,' observed +Bersenyev with a smile. + +'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. + +Bersenyev went away. + +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?' + +'Won't you find out!' Elena whispered, 'as though he talked to me!' + + + + +XIV + + +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. + +'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.' + +'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.' + +She seated herself. Insarov sat down near her. + +'You have not been at home these last days, I think?' she began. + +'No,' he answered. 'I went away. Did Andrei Petrovitch tell you?' + +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. + +'Andrei Petrovitch most likely told you too that I went away with +some--unattractive people,' he said, still smiling. + +Elena was a little confused, but she felt at once that Insarov must +always be told the truth. + +'Yes,' she said decisively. + +'What did you think of me?' he asked her suddenly. + +Elena raised her eyes to him. + +'I thought,' she said, 'I thought that you always know what you're +doing, and you are incapable of doing anything wrong.' + +'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.' + +'Was it far from here?' + +'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.' + +'And had you much difficulty?' + +'Yes. One was obstinate through everything. He did not want to give back +the money.' + +'What? Was the dispute over money?' + +'Yes; and a small sum of money too. What did you suppose?' + +'And you travelled over fifty miles for such trifling matters? Wasted +three days?' + +'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.' + +'To whom does it belong then?' + +'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!' + +'You value my good opinion,' said Elena, in an undertone, 'why?' + +Insarov smiled again. + +'Because you are a good young lady, not an aristocrat... that's all.' + +A short silence followed. + +'Dmitri Nikanorovitch,' said Elena, 'do you know that this is the first +time you have been so unreserved with me?' + +'How's that? I think I have always said everything I thought to you.' + +'No, this is the first time, and I am very glad, and I too want to be +open with you. May I?' + +Insarov began to laugh and said: 'You may.' + +'I warn you I am very inquisitive.' + +'Never mind, tell me.' + +'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?' + +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. + +'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. + +Elena looked at him from the side. + +'You love your country very dearly?' she articulated timidly. + +'That remains to be shown,' he answered. 'When one of us dies for her, +then one can say he loved his country.' + +'So that, if you were cut off all chance of returning to Bulgaria,' +continued Elena, 'would you be very unhappy in Russia?' + +Insarov looked down. + +'I think I could not bear that,' he said. + +'Tell me,' Elena began again, 'is it difficult to learn Bulgarian?' + +'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?' + +'No, I know nothing of it,' answered + +Elena. + +'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----' + +'Dmitri Nikanorovitch!' cried Elena. + +He stopped. + +'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!' + +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: + +'Then you would not stay in Russia for anything?' + +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. + +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. + + + + + +XV + + +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 _partie du +plaisir_, and the more troublesome the _partie du plaisir_ 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 _partie du plaisir_ was very near +coming to grief. Nikolai Artemyevitch arrived from Moscow in a sour, +ill-natured, _frondeurish_ 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 _partie du plaisir_ 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: _quelle bourde!_ (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. + +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. + +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 barege 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: +'_Ihre Hand, Madame_' 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. + +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. + +'Mischievous things, young people,' Anna Vassilyevna observed gaily to +Uvar Ivanovitch. + +He flourished his fingers in reply. + +'What a girl Zoya Nikitishna is!' said Bersenyev to Elena. + +'And Shubin? What of him?' she answered. + +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. + +'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 +_Le lac_ 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.... '_Allons_' said +Anna Vassilyevna genially.... Zoya took off her hat and began to sing: +'_O lac, l'annee a peine a fini sa carriere_!' + +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 '_bis!_' 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'_Bonzhoor, madame_,' he said thickly, 'how are you?' + +Anna Vassilyevna started back. + +'Why wouldn't you,' continued the giant in vile Russian, 'sing again +when our party shouted _bis_, and bravo?' + +'Yes, why?' came from the ranks of his comrades. + +Insarov was about to step forward, but Shubin stopped him, and himself +screened Anna Vassilyevna. + +'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.' + +The 'honoured stranger' listened to Shubin's speech, his head held +contemptuously on one side and his arms akimbo. + +'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.' + +'I don't doubt that----' Shubin was beginning. + +'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 _bis_? And I'll go away directly, this minute, only I +tell you what I want, this fraulein, not that madam, no, not her, but +this one or that one (he pointed to Elena and Zoya) must give me _einen +Kuss_, as we say in German, a kiss, in fact; eh? That's not much to +ask.' + +'_Einen Kuss_, that's not much,' came again from the ranks of his +companions, '_Ih! der Stakramenter!_' cried one tipsy German, bursting +with laughter. + +Zoya clutched at Insarov's arm, but he broke away from her, and stood +directly facing the insolent giant. + +'You will please to move off,' he said in a voice not loud but sharp. + +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?' + +'Because you have dared to annoy a lady,' said Insarov, and suddenly he +turned white, 'because you're drunk.' + +'Eh? me drunk? Hear what he says. _Horen Sie das, Herr Provisor_? I'm an +officer, and he dares... Now I demand _satisfaction_. _Einen Kuss will +ich_.' + +'If you come another step nearer----' began Insarov. + +'Well? What then' + +'I'll throw you in the water!' + +'In the water? _Herr Je_! Is that all? Well, let us see that, that would +be very curious, too.' + +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. + +'Oh!' screamed the ladies with one voice. '_Mein Gott_!' was heard from +the other side. 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. + +'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.' + +'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. + +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. + +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!' + +'And how did Mr. Insarov manage it? why the German was three times his +size?' said Zoya. + +'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.' + +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. + +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 _partie de plaisir_ 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: + +'There, isn't he a hero; he can pitch drunken Germans into the river!' + +'While you didn't even do that,' retorted Bersenyev, and he started +homewards with Insarov. + +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. + + + + +XVI + + +Soon after her acquaintance with Insarov, Elena (for the fifth or sixth +time) began a diary. Here are some extracts from it: + +'_June_.... 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! + +'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.... + +'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. + +'... 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. + +'What is my youth for, what am I living for, why have I a soul, what is +it all for? + +'... 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. + +'Ah, I feel one needs unhappiness, or poverty or sickness, or else one +gets conceited directly. + +'... 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. + +'... 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 _Mr. Insarov_, 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? + +'... 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. + +'... 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. + +'Why isn't he a Russian? No, he could not be Russian. + +'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? + +'... 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_ want, but _it_ +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. + +'... 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. + +'... 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! + +'... I am still light-hearted as before, and only at times, and only a +little, sad. I am happy. Am I happy? + +'... 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. + +'... 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. + +'... The word is found, light has dawned on me! My God, have pity on +me.... I love him!' + + + + + +XVII + + +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. + +'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?' + +'I have had no news,' replied Insarov; 'but on thinking things over, I +find I cannot stop here.' + +'How can that be?' + +'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.' + +Bersenyev looked at him intently. + +'I know,' he said at last, 'there's no persuading you. And so, it's a +settled matter.' + +'Is it?' + +'Absolutely settled,' replied Insarov, getting up and going away. + +Bersenyev walked about the room, then took his hat and set off for the +Stahovs. + +'You have something to tell me,' Elena said to him, directly they were +left alone. + +'Yes, how did you guess?' + +'Never mind; tell me what it is.' + +Bersenyev told her of Insarov's intention. + +Elena turned white. + +'What does it mean?' she articulated with effort + +'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.' + +'What--what cause?' repeated Elena, and unconsciously she gripped +tightly Bersenyev's hand in her chill ringers. + +'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----" + +'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. + +'I think,' he said, and his own voice sank, 'I think that what I fancied +then has really happened now.' + +'That is--you think--don't torture me!' broke suddenly from Elena. + +'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.' + +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. + +'Andrei Petrovitch, you are kind as an angel,' she said, 'but will he +come to say goodbye?' + +'Yes, I imagine so; he will be sure to come. He wouldn't like to go +away----' + +'Tell him, tell him----' + +But here the poor girl broke down; tears rushed streaming from her eyes, +and she ran out of the room. + +'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----' + +It was bitter for Andrei Petrovitch, and he could not turn his mind to +Raumer. + +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. + +'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.' + +Insarov bent his head without speaking. + +'I will not keep you.... You promise me?' + +Again Insarov bowed, but said nothing. + +'Lenotchka, come here,' said Anna Vassilyevna, 'look, what a charming +reticule.' + +'I worked it myself,' observed the priest's wife. + +Elena came away from the window. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + + +XVIII + + +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. + +'I have no money, grannie,' said Elena, 'but here, take this, it will be +of use for something.' + +She gave her her handkerchief. + +'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!' + +A peal of thunder was heard. + +'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?' + +Elena looked more attentively at the old woman and recognised her. + +'Yes, grannie,' she answered, 'wasn't it you asked me why I was so +sorrowful?' + +'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!' + +'What sorrow, grannie?' + +'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!' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'Dmitri Nikanorovitch!' she said at last. + +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. + +She walked back in silence into the chapel. Insarov followed Elena. 'You +here?' he repeated. + +She was still silent, and only gazed upon him with a strange, slow, +tender look. He dropped his eyes. + +'You have come from our house?' she asked. + +'No... not from your house.' + +'No?' repeated Elena, and she tried to smile. 'Is that how you keep your +promises? I have been expecting you ever since the morning.' + +'I made no promise yesterday, if you remember, Elena Nikolaevna.' + +Again Elena faintly smiled, and she passed her hand over her face. Both +face and hands were very white. + +'You meant, then, to go away without saying good-bye to us?' + +'Yes,' replied Insarov in a surly, thick voice. + +'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?' + +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----' + +'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?' + +'No,' said Insarov. + +'What?' murmured Elena. Her cheeks were overspread with a faint flush. + +'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.' + +'You used to be so open with me,' said Elena rather reproachfully. 'Do +you remember?' + +'I used to be able to be open, then I had nothing to conceal; but +now----' + +'But now?' queried Elena. + +'But now... now I must go away. Goodbye.' + +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. + +'Well, good-bye, Dmitri Nikanorovitch,' she began. 'But at least, since +we have met, give me your hand now.' + +Insarov was stretching out his hand. 'No, I can't even do that,' he +said, and turned away again. + +'You can't?' + +'No, I can't. Good-bye.' And he moved away to the entrance of the +chapel. + +'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?' + +Insarov looked in bewilderment at Elena, + +'I was going to you.' + +'To me?' + +Elena hid her face. 'You mean to force me to say that I love you,' she +whispered. 'There, I have said it.' + +'Elena!' cried Insarov. + +She took his hands, looked at him, and fell on his breast. + +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. + +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. + +She did not weep; she could only repeat, 'O my friend, my brother!' + +'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. + +'Everywhere, to the ends of the earth. Where you are, I will be.' + +'And you are not deceiving yourself, you know your parents will never +consent to our marriage?' + +'I don't deceive myself; I know that.' + +'You know that I'm poor--almost a beggar.' + +'I know.' + +'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.' + +'I know, I know.' + +'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----' + +'I know, I know all--I love you----' + +'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----' + +She laid her hand on his lips. 'I love you, my dear one.' + +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.... + +All at once she blushed and hid her face upon his breast. + +He lifted her head tenderly and looked steadily into her eyes. 'Welcome, +then, my wife, before God and men!' + + + + +XIX + + +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. + +'What is it?' he inquired, astonished. + +She did not know what to say. She felt inclined to kiss Uvar Ivanovitch. + +'How he splashed!' she explained at last. + +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. + +'Dear Uvar Ivanovitch,' she said, 'I am sleepy and tired,' and again she +laughed and sank into a low chair near him. + +'H'm,' grunted Uvar Ivanovitch, flourishing his fingers, 'then you +ought--yes----' + +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. + +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. + +'Are you sleepy, Lenotchka?' her mother asked her. She did not hear the +question. + +'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?' + +'Ah, Monsieur Paul,' said Elena, 'I should like to show myself vexed, +but really I can't. I am so tired.' + +'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.' + +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.' + +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. + + + + + +XX + + +'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.' + +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. + +'Well I see you have been at work in earnest,' he observed to Shubin. + +'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. _Trema, Bisanzia!_' + +'I don't understand you,' said Bersenyev. + +'Well, wait a minute. Deign to look this way, gracious friend and +benefactor, my vengeance number one.' + +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. + +Bersenyev went into raptures over it. + +'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?' + +'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 en canaille.' + +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. + +'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.' + +And Shubin gave three little leaps, kicking himself behind with his +heels. + +Bersenyev picked up the cloth off the floor--and threw it over the +statuette. + +'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!' + +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. + +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?' + +'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. + +'Disgusting thing, you mean? No, my dear fellow, excuse me, if anything +ought to go to the exhibition, it's that group.' + +'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.' + +'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?' + +'Nonsense?' + +'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.' + +Bersenyev was just going to knock the group over but Shubin stopped him. + +'That'll do, my dear boy, don't smash it; it will serve as a lesson, a +scare-crow.' + +Bersenyev laughed. + +'If that's what it is, I will spare your scarecrow then,' he said. And +now, 'Long live eternal true art!' + +'Long live true art!' put in Shubin. 'By art the good is better and the +bad is not all loss!' + +The friends shook hands warmly and parted. + + + + +XXI + + +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? + +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. + + + + +XXII + + +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, '_Sortes, s'il vous plait_,' and turning to his wife +he added, '_et vous, madame, restez, je vous prie_.' + +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. + +'What is it?' she cried, directly the door was closed. + +Nikolai Artemyevitch flung an indifferent glance at Anna Vassilyevna. + +'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.' + +'Who is it?' + +'Kurnatovsky, Yegor Andreyevitch. You don't know him. The head secretary +in the senate.' + +'He is to dine with us to-day?' + +'Yes.' + +'And was it only to tell me this that you made every one go away?' + +Nikolai Artemyevitch again flung a glance--this time one of irony--at +Anna Vassilyevna. + +'Does that surprise you? Defer your surprise a little.' + +He ceased speaking. Anna Vassilyevna too was silent for a little time. + +'I could have wished----' she was beginning. + +'I know you have always looked on me as an "immoral" man,' began Nikolai +Artemyevitch suddenly. + +'I!' muttered Anna Vassilyevna, astounded. + +'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----' + +'And I make no complaint against you, Nikolai Artemyevitch.' + +'_C'est possible_. 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.' + +'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.) + +'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.' + +'How am I to understand you?' asked Anna Vassilyevna. + +'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 _peres de famille_ +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.' + +'Who is his father?' inquired Anna Vassilyevna. + +'His father? His father is a man well-known in his own line, of the +highest moral character, _un vrai stoicien_, a retired major, I think, +overseer of all the estates of the Count B----' + +'Ah!' observed Anna Vassilyevna. + +'Ah! why ah?' interposed Nikolai Artemyevitch. 'Can you be infected with +prejudice?' + +'Why, I said nothing----' Anna Vassilyevna was beginning. + +'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 _a bras ouverts_. He is no +Montenegrin vagrant.' + +'Of course; I need only call Vanka the cook and order a few extra +dishes.' + +'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. + +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. + +This was what, among other things, Elena wrote next day to Insarov: + +'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 +_comme il faut_: 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. + +'"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."' I cried, "Punish an innocent man!" '"Yes; +for the sake of principle." '"What principle?" asked Shubin. Kurnatovsky +seemed annoyed or surprised, and said, "That needs no explanation." + +'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 have _faith_, and he has not; for +a man cannot _have faith_ in himself only. + +'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. + +'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!' + + + + + +XXIII + + +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,' _des poses plastiques_, had +come to Moscow, and the description of them in the _Moscow Gazette_ 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. '_Das ist ein +Mann_!' 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. + +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.' + +Something rustled lightly at the door, it flew quickly open, and into +the room ran Elena. + +Insarov, all in a tremor, rushed to her, fell on his knees before her, +clasped her waist and pressed it close against his head. + +'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.' + +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. + +'Stay,' she said, fondly taking her hand away from him, 'let me take off +my hat.' + +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. + +'Sit down,' she said, not lifting her eyes to him and motioning him to a +place beside her. + +Insarov sat down, not on the sofa, but on the floor at her feet. + +'Come, take off my gloves,' she said in an uncertain voice. She felt +afraid. + +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. + +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. + +An instant passed... she broke away, got up, whispered 'No, no,' and +went quickly up to the writing-table. + +'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?' + +Insarov knitted his brows. 'Those letters?' he said, getting up, 'you +can read them.' + +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. + +Insarov came close to her and fondly touched her waist. She turned +suddenly to him, smiled brightly at him and leant against his shoulder. + +'Those letters are from Bulgaria, Elena; my friends write to me, they +want me to come.' + +'Now? To them?' + +'Yes... now, while there is still time, while it is still possible to +come.' + +All at once she flung both arms round his neck, 'You will take me with +you, yes?' + +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!' + +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?' + +'Wives don't go into war,' he said with a half-mournful smile. + +'Oh yes, when they can't stay behind, and I cannot stay here?' + +'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.' + +'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?' + +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!' + +'Am I to stay?' asked Elena. + +'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----' + +'I have money,' put in Elena. 'Eighty roubles.' + +'Well, that's not much,' observed Insarov; 'but everything's a help.' + +'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.' + +'Money's not the chief difficulty, Elena; the passport; your passport, +how about that?' + +'Yes, how about it? Is a passport absolutely necessary?' + +'Absolutely.' + +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.' + +'Elena, aren't you ashamed?' + +'Why? Of course it's better to go with a passport. But if we can't----' + +'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.' + +Elena pushed back the hair that fell over on his forehead. + +'O Dmitri! how glorious it will be for us two to set off together!' + +'Yes,' said Insarov, 'but there, when we get there----' + +'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?' + +'Yes, twenty-six.' + +'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!' + +'Elena, you know what forced me to go away.' + +'I know; you were in love, and you were afraid. But surely you must have +suspected that you were loved?' + +'I swear on my honour, Elena, I didn't.' + +She gave him a quick unexpected kiss. 'There, I love you for that too. +And goodbye.' + +'You can't stop longer?' asked Insarov. + +'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.' + +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.' + +Elena opened the door a little, listened, turned round to Insarov, +nodded her head, and glided out of the room. + +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?' + +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. + + + + +XXIV + + +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.' + +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. + +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. + +'Oh, by the way,' she said to him suddenly, 'is your plan getting on at +all?' + +Insarov was taken aback. + +'What plan?' he said. + +'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?' + +'_Quelle bourde_!' muttered Nikolai Artemyevitch between his teeth. + +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. + +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 is a +crimson chaos. + + + + + +XXV + +'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.' + +'Ask him in,' said Bersenyev. + +The 'locksmith' entered. Bersenyev recognised in him the tailor, the +landlord of Insarov's lodgings. + +'What do you want?' he asked him. + +'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.' + +'Insarov?' + +'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----' + +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. + +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. + +'Is he dangerously ill?' asked Bersenyev. + +'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.' + +The doctor was young himself, and still believed in science. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'And after the crisis?' asked Bersenyev. + +'The crisis may end in two ways, _aut Caesar aut nihil_. + +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. + +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. + +'Here is the lady,' she whispered, 'who gave me a silver piece.' + +The child's head vanished quickly, and in its place appeared Elena. + +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. + +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!' + +She was reeling. He led her to the sofa, and made her sit down. + +She looked into his face, then her eyes ran over him from head to foot, +then stared at the floor. + +'Will he die?' she asked so coldly and quietly that Bersenyev was +frightened. + +'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.' + +'He is unconscious?' she asked in the same tone of voice as before. + +'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.' + +She raised her eyes to his, and he saw she had not heard his answer. + +'If he dies,' she said in the same voice,' I will die too.' + +At that instant Insarov uttered a slight moan; she trembled all over, +clutched at her head, then began untying the strings of her hat. + +'What are you doing?' Bersenyev asked her. + +'I will stay here.' + +'You will stay--for long?' + +'I don't know, perhaps all day, the night, always--I don't know.' + +'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.' + +'What then?' + +'They will look for you--find you----' + +'What then?' + +'Elena Nikolaevna! You see. He cannot now protect you.' + +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. + +'Elena Nikolaevna--for God's sake,' Bersenyev was repeating over her. + +'Ah! What is it?' suddenly sounded the voice of Insarov. + +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. + +'Is he delirious?' whispered Elena. + +'It seems so,' answered Bersenyev, 'but that's nothing; it's always so, +especially if----' + +'When was he taken ill?' Elena broke in. + +'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.' + +'He will die without me,' she cried, wringing her hands. + +'I give you my word I will let you hear every day how his illness goes +on, and if there should be immediate danger----' + +'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?' + +'I promise before God' + +'Swear it.' + +'I swear.' + +She suddenly snatched his hand, and before he had time to pull it away, +she had bent and pressed her lips to it. + +'Elena Nikolaevna, what are you----' he stammered. + +'No--no--I won't have it----' Insarov muttered indistinctly, and sighed +painfully. + +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. + +'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.' + +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.... + +'I cannot go away,' she whispered at last. + +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.' + +Elena looked at him, said: 'Oh, my good, kind friend!' broke into sobs +and rushed away. + +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. + +'Who is here?' he heard Insarov's voice. + +Bersenyev went up to him. 'I am here, Dmitri Nikanorovitch. How are you? +How do you feel?' + +'Are you alone?' asked the sick man. + +'Yes.' + +'And she?' + +'Whom do you mean?' Bersenyev asked almost in dismay. + +Insarov was silent. 'Mignonette,' he murmured, and his eyes closed +again. + + + + +XXVI + + +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 _Werther_; 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. + +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. + +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 _Moscow Gazette_; 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. + +'He has regained consciousness, he is saved, he will be quite well again +in a week,' he whispered to her. + +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 eheeks and eyelashes. It was long since she had slept or wept. + + + + +XXVII + + +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. + +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. + +'Guess, what I want to say to you,' she said. Bersenyev was confused. He +understood her. + +'I suppose,' he answered, looking away, 'you want to say that you wish +to see him.' + +Elena crimsoned, and scarcely audibly, she breathed, 'Yes.' + +'Well, what then? That, I imagine, you can easily do.'--'Ugh!' he +thought, 'what a loath-some feeling there is in my heart!' + +'You mean that I have already before...' said Elena. 'But I am +afraid--now he is, you say, seldom alone.' + +'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. + +'I am ashamed,' whispered Elena. + +'Give me the note, I will take it.' + +'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!' + +Bersenyev bit his lip. + +'Ah! yes, I understand; very well, very well,' and, adding two or three +words more, he quickly took leave. + +'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!"' + +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.' + + + + + +XXVIII + + +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.' + +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. + +'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. + +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. + +Her face suddenly clouded over. + +'How thin you have grown, my poor Dmitri,' she said, passing her hand +over his neck; 'what a beard you have.' + +'And you have grown thin, my poor Elena,' he answered, catching her +fingers with his lips. + +She shook her curls gaily. + +'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.' + +He answered her with a smile only. + +'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!' + +He did not know what to say to her. He was longing to throw himself at +her feet. + +'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?' + +'You are for me in the future,' answered Insarov, 'so it is bright for +me.' + +'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?' + +'I'm much better, I'm nearly well.' + +'You are well, you are not dead. Oh, how happy I am!' + +A short silence followed. + +'Elena?' said Insarov. + +'Well, my dearest?' + +'Tell me, did it never occur to you that this illness was sent us as a +punishment?' + +Elena looked seriously at him. + +'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.' + +'You don't stop me, Elena; we will go together.' + +'Yes, Dmitri, let us go together; I will follow you.... That is my duty. +I love you.... I know no other duty.' + +'O Elena!' said Insarov, 'what chains every word of yours fastens on +me!' + +'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. + +He looked at her with such an expression of adoration, that she softly +dropped her hand from his hair over his eyes. + +'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.' + +'You saw me?' + +'Yes.' + +He was silent for a little. 'And Bersenyev was here?' + +She nodded. + +Insarov bowed down before her. 'O Elena!' he whispered, 'I don't dare to +look at you.' + +'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.' + +'He saved me!' cried Insarov. 'He is the noblest, kindest of men!' + +'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.' + +Insarov looked steadily at Elena. 'He is in love with you, isn't he?' + +Elena dropped her eyes. 'He did love me,' she said in an undertone. + +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----' + +'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----' + +'Why are there tears in your eyes?' Insarov interrupted her. + +'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 he? And with you there was nothing of that +sort; but afterwards--afterwards--you took my heart by storm!' + +'Have pity on me,' began Insarov. He tried to get up, but dropped down +on to the sofa again at once. + +'What's the matter with you?' inquired Elena anxiously. + +'Nothing.... I am still rather weak. I am not strong enough yet for such +happiness.' + +'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.' + +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.... + +He listened to her, listened, turning pale and red. Sometimes he tried +to stop her; suddenly he drew himself up. + +'Elena,' he said to her in a strange, hard voice 'leave me, go away.' + +'What?' she replied in bewilderment 'You feel ill?' she added quickly. + +'No... I'm all right... but, please, leave me now.' + +'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----' + +He got up. + +'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!' + +'Dmitri,' whispered Elena, and she nestled her head on his shoulder. +Only now she understood him. + +'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------' + +'Dmitri,' she repeated; she flushed all over, and pressed still closer +to him. + +'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----' + +She was trembling all over. 'Take me, then,' she whispered scarcely +above her breath. + + + + + +XXIX + + +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. + +'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.' + +'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?' + +'She must be knitting stockings--for herself; for herself--not for you.' + +'You may laugh, you may laugh; but I tell you I know no woman like her. +Such honesty; such disinterestedness.' + +'Has she cashed that bill yet?' inquired Shubin. + +'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; _ces femmes, +qu'on me les montre_! And she doesn't write--that's what's killing me!' + +'You're eloquent as Pythagoras,' remarked Shubin; 'but do you know what +I would advise you?' + +'What?' + +'When Augustina Christianovna comes back--you take my meaning?' + +'Yes, yes; well, what?' + +'When you see her again--you follow the line of my thought?' + +'Yes, yes, to be sure.' + +'Try beating her; see what that would do.' + +Nikolai Artemyevitch turned away exasperated. + +'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----' + +'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.' + +'What of it? We were playing high. Of course, I might expect--but they +understand so little how to appreciate him in this house----' + +'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.' + +'Father-in-law! How the devil am I his father-in-law? _Vous revez, mon +cher_. 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----' + +'Led the governor in one of them by the nose,' remarked Shubin. + +'Very likely. To be sure, that's how it should be. Practical, a business +man----' + +'And a capital hand at cards,' Shubin remarked again. + +'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----' + +A disagreeable-looking man-servant came in with a cup of coffee, cream +and sugar on a tray. + +'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. _Nous avons change tout ca_. 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?' + +'Take your coffee, and let the man go,' said Shubin. 'You say yourself +that one ought not _devant les domestiques_' he added in an undertone. + +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. + +'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----' + +'Aren't you a born statesman?' asked Shubin in a jeering voice. + +'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!' + +'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.' + +'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.' + +'I suppose you bought it for her, the lady at Revel?' + +'Why, certainly.--I had some idea.' + +'Well, in that case, it will be sure to do.' Shubin got up from his +seat. + +'Are we going out this evening, Pavel Yakovlitch, eh?' Nikolai +Artemyevitch asked with an amicable leer. + +'Why yes, you are going to your club.' + +'After the club... after the club.' + +Shubin stretched himself again. + +'No, Nikolai Artemyevitch, I want to work to-morrow. Another time.' And +he walked off. + +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. + +'What do you want?' he asked him. + +'Nikolai Artemyevitch,' said the man with a certain solemnity, 'you are +our master?' + +'I know that; what next!' + +'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----' + +'Well what is it?' + +The man shifted uneasily as he stood. + +'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.' + +'What lies are you telling, idiot?' + +'That's as your honour likes, but T saw our young lady three days ago, +as she was pleased to go into a house!' + +'Where? what? what house?' + +'In a house, near Povarsky. Not far from here. I even asked the +doorkeeper who were the people living there.' + +Nikolai Artemyevitch stamped with his feet. + +'Silence, scoundrel! How dare you?... Elena Nikolaevna, in the goodness +of her heart, goes to visit the poor and you... Be off, fool!' + +The terrified servant was rushing to the door. + +'Stop!' cried Nikolai Artemyevitch. 'What did the doorkeeper say to +you?' + +'Oh no--nothing--he said nothing--He told me--a stu--student----' + +'Silence, scoundrel! Listen, you dirty beast; if you ever breathe a word +in your dreams even----' + +'Mercy on us----' + +'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!' + +The man vanished. + +'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!... _Un laquais! Quelle +humiliation!_' + +And repeating aloud: '_Un laquais!_' 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. + + + + +XXX + + +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.' + +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 _eau de Cologne_; 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. + +Elena sat down. + +Anna Vassilyevna blew her nose tearfully. Nikolai Artemyevitch thrust +his fingers between his coat-buttons. + +'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.' + +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. + +'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----' + +'But, papa,' Elena was beginning. + +'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--_que nous avons inculques_, 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----' + +'Papa,' said Elena, 'I know what you are going to say------' + +'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!' + +'For mercy's sake, _Nicolas_,' murmured Anna Vassilyevna, '_vous me +faites mourir_?' + +'Don't tell me _que je vous fais mourir_, Anna Vassilyevna! You can't +conceive what you will hear directly! Prepare yourself for the worst, I +warn you!' + +Anna Vassilyevna seemed stupefied. + +'No,' resumed Nikolai Artemyevitch, turning to Elena, 'you don't know +what I am going to say!' + +'I am to blame towards you----' she began. + +'Ah, at last!' + +'I am to blame towards you,' pursued Elena, 'for not having long ago +confessed----' + +'But do you know,' Nikolai Artemyevitch interrupted, 'that I can crush +you with one word?' + +Elena raised her eyes to look at him. + +'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, de vils laquais_ have seen you, as you went in there, +to your----' + +Elena was crimson, her eyes were blazing. + +'I have no need to hide anything,' she declared. 'Yes, I have visited +that house.' + +'Exactly! Do you hear, do you hear, Anna Vassilyevna? And you know, I +presume, who lives there?' + +'Yes, I know; my husband.' + +Nikolai Artemyevitch's eyes were starting out of his head. + +'Your----' + +'My husband,' repeated Elena; 'I am married to Dmitri Nikanorovitch +Insarov.' + +'You?--married?'--was all Anna Vassilyevna could articulate. + +'Yes, mamma.... Forgive me. A fortnight ago, we were secretly married.' + +Anna Vassilyevna fell back in her chair; Nikolai Artemyevitch stepped +two paces back. + +'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!' + +'Nikolai Artemyevitch, for God's sake,' moaned Anna Vassilyevna. + +'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?' + +'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.' + +'Going away? Where to?' + +'To his own country, to Bulgaria.' + +'To the Turks!' cried Anna Vassilyevna and fell into a swoon. + +Elena ran to her mother. + +'Away!' clamoured Nikolai Artemyevitch, seizing his daughter by the arm, +'away, unworthy girl!' + +But at that instant the door of the room opened, and a pale face with +glittering eyes appeared: it was the face of Shubin. + +'Nikolai Artemyevitch!' he shouted at the top of his voice, 'Augustina +Christianovna is here and is asking for you!' + +Nikolai Artemyevitch turned round infuriated, threatening Shubin with +his fist; he stood still a minute and rapidly went out of the room. + +Elena fell at her mother's feet and embraced her knees. + + + +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. + +'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.' + +Uvar Ivanovitch flourished his fingers. + +'A mother,' he commented, 'to be sure.' + +'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.' + +'They'd no right,' observed Uvar Ivanovitch, and he drank out of the +jug. + +'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?' + +'What is there to know? a man to be sure.' + +'Precisely so: he was a "man." Yes he's a wonderful face, but unhealthy, +very unhealthy.' + +'For fighting... it makes no difference,' observed Uvar Ivanovitch. + +'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.' + +'A youthful affair,' responded Uvar Ivanovitch. + +'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!' + +Shubin's head sank on to his breast. + +'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!' + +Uvar Ivanovitch leaned on his elbow and stared at the enthusiastic +artist. + +'That's a long way off,' he said at last with his usual gesture; 'we're +speaking of other people, why bring in yourself?' + +'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?' + +'Give us time,' answered Uvar Ivanovitch; 'they will be----' + +'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?' + +'I'm going to sleep; good-bye.' + + + + +XXXI + + +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: '_Diesen Insarof +vorziehen--und wem?_' 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. + +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. + +'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.' + +'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!' + +'Dear mamma,' answered Elena, 'be comforted; at least, it might have +been worse; I might have died.' + +'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----' + +'Don't say that, mamma dearest, we shall see each other again, please +God. There are towns in Bulgaria just as there are here.' + +'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?' + +'Soon... if only papa. He means to appeal to the authorities; he +threatens to separate us.' + +Anna Vassilyevna turned her eyes heavenwards. + +'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.' + +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: + +'Everything is settled, he will not make a scandal, and there is nothing +now to hinder you from going--from abandoning us.' + +'You will let Dmitri come to thank you?' Elena begged her mother, as +soon as the latter had been restored a little. + +'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.' + +'Before we go,' repeated Elena mournfully. + +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. + + + + +XXXII + + +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!' + +'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.' + +'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?' + +'Absolutely, Anna Vassilyevna.' + +Anna Vassilyevna looked at him. + +'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!' + +Tears choked her voice. She opened her arms, and Elena and Insarov flung +themselves into her embrace. + +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. + +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. + +'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. + +'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. + +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. + +'Now, after the Russian custom, we must sit down,' observed Insarov. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'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. + +'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 hen '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. + + + + +XXXIII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'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.' + +'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.' + +'Will not this wind bring the ship you are expecting?' said Elena. 'See, +there is a white sail, is not that it?' + +Insarov gazed seaward into the distance to where Elena was pointing. + +'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!' + +'_Aufgepasst_!' 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. + +Insarov looked darkly after him. + +'He was not to blame,' said Elena, 'you know, they have no other place +where they can ride.' + +'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.' + +'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.' + +Insarov did not answer, but the same bitter smile passed over his lips. + +'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?' + +'If you would like it, Elena,' answered Insarov, 'it follows that I +should like it too.' + +'I knew that,' observed Elena with a smile, 'come, let us go.' + +They went back to the gondola, took their seats, told the gondolier to +take them without hurry along the Canal Grande. + +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. + +The gondola in which Insarov and Elena were sitting passed _Riva dei +Schiavoni_, 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 delle Belle Arti, 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 _frutti di mare_; 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, _poveretti_! (poor things!) +After dinner they set off for the theatre. + +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, _La Traviata_. +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 _dames aux +camelias_ 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 _delle Belle Arti_ 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 _tremolo_, they almost burst into +laughter. ... But Violetta's acting impressed them. + +'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.' + +Insarov bent over the edge of the box, and looked attentively at +Violetta. + +'Yes,' he commented, 'she is in earnest; she's on the brink of the grave +herself.' + +Elena was mute. + +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. + +But he was soon quiet. Violetta's acting became steadily better, +and freer. She had thrown aside everything subsidiary, everything +superfluous, and _found herself_; 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 _fanatisme_, 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: '_Lascia mi vivero--morir si giovane_' +(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. + +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. + +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 _Riva dei Schiavoni_; 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. + +Their little room looked out on to the lagoon, which stretches from the +_Riva del Schiavoni_ 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 _Redentore_ 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?' +(_Morir si giovane_ 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.... _Morir si giovane_. Oh, dark +omen, away! It's not only for me his life is needed! + +'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. + +'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. + +'Renditch!' muttered Insarov in his sleep. + +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. + +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.' + +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. + + + + + +XXXIV + + +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. + +'Renditch has not come?' was his first question. + +'Not yet,' answered Elena, and she handed him the latest number of the +_Osservatore Triestino_, 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. + +'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. + +Insarov got up from his seat + +'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.' + +'Yes, at the E----'s,' replied Insarov. + +'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: _decapitati pro criminibus_. 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 +stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs_; 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 _Les Chatiments de Victor Hugo_--it's marvellous--_L'avenir, +le gendarme de Dieu_--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.' + +And for a long time Lupoyarov still babbled on in the same way, and, as +he went away, he promised to come again. + +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.' + +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. + +'Dmitri,' she began. + +He started. 'Eh? Has Renditch come?' + +'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?' + +'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.' + +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. + +'Why don't you go to sleep?' she asked at last. + +'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.' + +'Packing won't take long,' answered Elena. + +'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.' + +He fell asleep, and everything was still in the room. + +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. + +She had a strange dream. She thought sha 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. + +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. + +'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. + +'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. + +'Elena!' he articulated, 'I am dying.' + +She fell with a scream on her knees, and clung to his breast. + +'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. + +Elena rushed out of the room, began calling for help; a waiter ran for a +doctor. Elena clung to Insarov. + +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. + +'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.' + +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. + +'Signora,' he said, after the lapse of a few minutes, 'the foreign +gentleman is dead--_il Signore forestiere e morte_--of aneurism in +combination with disease of the lungs.' + + + + + +XXXV + + +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. + +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. + +'How long must you remain at Venice?' Elena asked him in Italian. And +her voice was as lifeless as her face. + +'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.' + +'They rested their hopes on him,' Elena repeated mechanically. + +'When will you bury him?' asked Renditch. + +Elena not at once replied, 'To-morrow.' + +'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.' + +Elena looked at Renditch. + +'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?' + +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?' + +'You need not bring me back.' + +'What? where will you stop?' + +'I shall find some place for myself; only take us, take me.' + +Renditch scratched the back of his head. + +'You know best; but it's all very difficult. I will, I will try; and you +expect me here in two hours' time.' + +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. + +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. + +Three weeks after Elena's departure from Vienna, Anna Vassilyevna +received the following letter in Moscow:-- + +'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? + +'Accept my last kisses and blessings, and do not condemn me. + +R.' + +* * * + +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. + +* * * + +What became of the other characters of our story? + +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 _pur +sang_, 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?"' + +Uvar Ivanovitch flourished his fingers and fixed his enigmatical stare +into the far distance. + + + + + + + + + +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.txt or 6902.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 + +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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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: On the Eve + +Author: Ivan Turgenev +Translated by Constance Garnett + +Release Date: November, 2004 [EBook #6902] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on February 10, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON THE EVE *** + + + + +Produced by Eric Eldred. + + + + + + +ON THE EVE + +a Novel + +BY + +IVAN TURGENEV + +Translated from the Russian By CONSTANCE GARNETT + +[With an introduction by EDWARD GARNETT] + +LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN 1895 + + + +INTRODUCTION + +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 _On the Eve_ 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. + +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 _On the Eve_ 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 pere 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'. + +Turning to the figure of the Bulgarian hero, it is interesting to find +from the _Souvenirs sur Tourguenev_ (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. + +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 _On the +Eve_, 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 _On the Eve_. 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? + +'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?" + +'Uvar Ivanovitch flourished his fingers, and fixed his enigmatical +stare into the far distance.' + +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 +_Emma_, 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 +_On the Eve_, 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 _On the Eve_, 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 On the Eve, 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, _On the Eve_ 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. + +EDWARD GARNETT + +January 1895. + + + + + +THE NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS IN THE BOOK + +NIKOLA'I [Nicolas] ARTE'MYEVITCH STA'HOV. + +A'NNA VASSI'LYEVNA. + +ELE'NA [LE'NOTCHKA, Helene] NIKOLA'EVNA. + +ZO'YA [Zoe] NIKI'TISHNA MU'LLER. + +ANDRE'I PETRO'VITCH BERSE'NYEV. + +PA'VEL [Paul] YA'KOVLITCH (or YA'KOVITCH) SHU'BIN. + +DMI'TRI NIKANO'ROVITCH (or NIKANO'RITCH) INSA'ROV. + +YEGO'R ANDRE'ITCH KURNATO'VSKY. + +UVA'R IVA'NOVITCH STA'HOV. + +AUGUSTI'NA CHRISTIA'NOVNA. + +A'NNUSHKA. + + +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. + + + + + +I + + +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. + +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. + +'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!' + +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: + +'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?' + +'What?' said Bersenyev, starting. + +'What!' repeated Shubin. 'Your friend lays his deepest thoughts +before you, and you don't listen to him.' + +'I was admiring the view. Look how hot and bright those fields are in +the sun.' Bersenyev spoke with a slight lisp. + +'There's some fine colour laid on there,' observed Shubin. 'Nature's +a good hand at it, that's the fact!' + +Bersenyev shook his head. + +'You ought to be even more ecstatic over it than I. It's in your +line: you're an artist.' + +'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.' + +'But there is beauty here, too,' remarked Bersenyev.--'By the way, +have you finished your bas-relief?' + +'Which one?' + +'The boy with the goat.' + +'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----' + +Shubin put out his tongue. + +'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----' + +'Ah, you are a confirmed sympathetic!' broke in Shubin, laughing at +the new title he had coined, while Bersenyev sank into thought. + +'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.' + +He turned over on to his back and clasped his hands behind his head. + +A few instants passed by in silence. The hush of the noonday heat lay +upon the drowsy, blazing fields. + +'Speaking of women,' Shubin began again, 'how is it no one looks +after Stahov? Did you see him in Moscow?' + +'No.' + +'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.' + +'And Elena Nikolaevna's bust?' inquired Bersenyev, 'is it getting on?' + +'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. + +'Yes; she is a wonderful girl,' Bersenyev repeated after him. + +'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!' + +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. + +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. + +'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?' + +'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! _Voo me compreny_.' + +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?' + +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----' + +'With your whole heart,' put in Bersenyev. + +'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!' + +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. + +'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.' + +'In love, too, there is both life and death,' interposed Shubin. + +'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----' + +'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!' + +He shook his curls, and turned a confident almost challenging glance +upwards to the sky. Bersenyev raised his eyes and looked at him. + +'Is there nothing higher than happiness?' he commented softly. + +'And what, for instance?' asked Shubin, stopping short. + +'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?' + +'Do you know words, then, that unite men?' + +'Yes; and they are not few in number; and you know them, too.' + +'Eh? What words?' + +'Well, even Art--since you are an artist--Country, Science, Freedom, +Justice.' + +'And what of love?' asked Shubin. + +'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.' + +Shubin frowned. + +'That's all very well for Germans; I want to love for myself; I want +to be first.' + +'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.' + +'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.' + +'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.' + +Both friends were silent a little. + +'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.' + +'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?' + +'Perhaps.' + +'Is he an exceptional individual?' + +'Yes.' + +'Clever? Talented?' + +'Clever--talented--I don't know, I don't think so.' + +'Not? Then, what is there remarkable in him?' + +'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?' + +'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?' + +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. + + + + + +II + + +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. + +'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.' + +'We have _roussalkas_,' observed Bersenyev. + +'Get along with your _roussalkas!_ 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----' + +'To Little Russia, I suppose you mean?' + +'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----' + +'Don't let me have the rest, please,' interposed Bersenyev. + +'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!' + +'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!' + +'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.' + +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. + +'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. + +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: + +'Why is it, gentlemen, you don't come in to dinner? It is on the +table.' + +'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' + +'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. + +'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.' + +The young girl shrugged her shoulders, and turned to Bersenyev. + +'There, he's always like that; he treats me like a child; and I am +eighteen. I am grown-up now.' + +'O Lord!' groaned Shubin, rolling his eyes upwards; and Bersenyev +smiled quietly. + +The girl stamped with her little foot. + +'Pavel Yakovlitch, I shall be angry! _Helene_ 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.' + +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. + +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. + + + + +III + + +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. + +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 _frondeur_; 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 _frondeurism_ +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 _Mein Pinselchen_. + +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. + +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. + + + + +IV + + +'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, _Zoe_,' added Anna Vassilyevna, 'and you, Helene, take our guest; +and you, _Paul_, please don't be naughty and tease _Zoe_. My head +aches to-day.' + +Shubin again turned his eyes up to the ceiling; Zoe responded with a +half-smile. This Zoe, 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. + +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.' + +'_La derniere pensee de Weber_?' suggested Zoya. + +'Ah, yes, Weber,' replied Anna Vassilyevna. She sank into an easy +chair, and the tears started on to her eyelashes. + +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. + +'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. + +'My old tricks!' repeated Shubin. 'It's a subject that's simply +inexhaustible! To-day, particularly, she drove me out of all +patience.' + +'Why so?' inquired Elena. 'One would think you were speaking of +some spiteful, disagreeable old woman. She is a pretty young girl.' + +'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.' + +And breaking up the bust of Zoya, Shubin set hastily to modelling and +kneading the clay again with an air of vexation. + +'So it is your wish to be a professor?' said Elena to Bersenyev. + +'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----' + +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. + +'You want to be a professor of history?' inquired Elena. + +'Yes, or of philosophy,' he added, in a lower voice--'if that is +possible.' + +'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?' + +'And will you be perfectly contented with such a position?' asked +Elena, leaning on her elbow and looking him straight in the face. + +'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.' . . . + +'Your father died last winter?' + +'Yes, Elena Nikolaevna, in February.' + +'They say,' Elena went on, 'that he left a remarkable work in +manuscript; is it true?' + +'Yes. He was a wonderful man. You would have loved him, Elena +Nikolaevna.' + +'I am sure I should. And what was the subject of the work?' + +'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----' + +'Andrei Petrovitch,' interrupted Elena, 'excuse my ignorance, what +does that mean, a Schellingist?' + +Bersenyev smiled slightly. + +'A Schellingist means a follower of Schelling, a German philosopher; +and what the philosophy of Schelling consists in----' + +'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!' + +'Not a lecture at all,' murmured Bersenyev, turning crimson. 'I +meant----' + +'And why not a lecture?' put in Elena. 'You and I are in need of +lectures, Pavel Yakovlitch.' + +Shubin stared at her, and suddenly burst out laughing. + +'What are you laughing at?' she said coldly, and almost sharply. + +Shubin did not answer. + +'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.' + +'Yes; and of French novels, and of feminine frills and fal-lals,' +Elena went on. + +'Fal-lals, too, of course,' rejoined Shubin, 'if they're pretty.' + +'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?' + +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.' + +'I never thought of sending you away from here.' + +'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?' + +Elena frowned. 'You did not always speak like that of her, Pavel +Yakovlitch,' she remarked. + +'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.' + +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. + +'What a baby,' said Elena, looking after him. + +'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.' + +'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.' + +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. + + + + +V + + +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. + +'Who is there?' sounded Shubin's voice. + +'I,' answered Bersenyev. + +'What do you want?' + +'Let me in, Pavel; don't be sulky; aren't you ashamed of yourself?' + +'I am not sulky; I'm asleep and dreaming about Zoya.' + +'Do stop that, please; you're not a baby. Let me in. I want to talk to +you.' + +'Haven't you had talk enough with Elena?' + +'Come, come; let me in!' Shubin responded by a pretended snore. + +Bersenyev shrugged his shoulders and turned homewards. + +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. + +'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?' + +'Yes.' + +'I will see you home then.' + +'But why have you come without a cap on?' + +'That doesn't matter. I took off my neckerchief too. It is quite +warm.' + +The friends walked a few paces. + +'I was very stupid to-day, wasn't I?' Shubin asked suddenly. + +'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!' + +'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.' + +'You in love with Elena!' repeated Bersenyev, standing still. + +'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.' + +'Some one else? Whom?' + +'Whom? You!' cried Shubin, slapping Bersenyev on the shoulder. + +'Me!' + +'You,' repeated Shubin. + +Bersenyev stepped back a pace, and stood motionless. Shubin looked +intently at him. + +'And does that astonish you? You are a modest youth. But she loves +you. You can make your mind easy on that score.' + +'What nonsense you talk!' Bersenyev protested at last with an air of +vexation. + +'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!' + +'Zoya's?' + +'Yes, Zoya's. What would you have? She has such fine shoulders.' + +'Shoulders?' + +'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----' + +Shubin suddenly burst into tears, turned away, and dropping upon the +ground clutched at his hair. + +Bersenyev went up to him. + +'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.' + +Shubin lifted up his head. The tears shone bright on his cheeks in the +moonlight, but there was a smile on his face. + +'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.' + +He got up. + +'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?' + +Bersenyev made no answer, and quickened his pace. + +'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?' + +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. + +'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. + +'Pavel was making a fool of me,' he thought; ' . . . but she will +love one day . . . whom will she love?' + +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 _History of the Hohenstaufen_, and sighing twice, he set to +work diligently to read it. + + + + +VI + + +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. + +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. + +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 '_God's full freedom_'; 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. + +'Where did you pick up such horrors?' she asked her daughter. + +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. + +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. . . . + +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.' + +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. + + + + +VII + + +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. + +'Sit down,' he said, and he seated himself on the edge of the table. + +'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.' + +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. + +'Why did you leave your old lodging?' Bersenyev asked him. + +'This is cheaper, and nearer to the university.' + +'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.' + +Insarov made no reply to this remark, and offered Bersenyev a pipe, +adding: 'Excuse me, I have no cigarettes or cigars.' + +Bersenyev began smoking the pipe. + +'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.' + +Insarov again made no answer. + +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?' + +Insarov turned his little eyes on him. 'You propose my staying in +your country house?' + +'Yes; I have a room to spare there upstairs.' + +'Thanks very much, Andrei Petrovitch; but I expect my means would not +allow of it.' + +'How do you mean?' + +'My means would not allow of my living in a country house. It's +impossible for me to keep two lodgings.' + +'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.' + +Insarov said nothing. Bersenyev began to feel awkward. + +'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.' + +Insarov got up and walked about the room. 'Let me know,' he said, +'how much do you pay for your cottage?' + +'A hundred silver roubles.' + +'And how many rooms are there?' + +'Five.' + +'Then one may reckon that one room costs twenty roubles?' + +'Yes, one may reckon so. ... But really it's utterly unnecessary for +me. It simply stands empty.' + +'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.' + +'Of course; but really I am ashamed to take it.' + +'Otherwise it's impossible, Andrei Petrovitch.' + +'Well, as you like; but what an obstinate fellow you are!' + +Insarov again made no reply. + +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. + +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. + + + + +VIII + + +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.' + +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. + +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?' + +Uvar Ivanovitch could only look at him and work his fingers. + +'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, _dans mon gros bon sens_, +I cannot pass over. I am not exacting by nature, no, but there is a +limit to everything.' + +Anna Vassilyevna rang the bell in a tremor. A little page came in. + +'Why is it Pavel Yakovlitch does not come?' she said, 'what does it +mean; I call him, and he doesn't come?' + +Nikolai Artemyevitch shrugged his shoulders. + +'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!' + +'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.' + +'I tell you again, that I do not ask that. And what can induce you +. . . _devant les domestiques_!' + +Anna Vassilyevna flushed a little. 'You need not say that, Nikolai +Artemyevitch. I never . . . _devant les domestiques_ . . . Fedushka, go +and see you bring Pavel Yakovlitch here at once.' + +The little page went off. + +'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.' + +'Good Heavens, Paul must apologise to you.' + +'Good Heavens, what are his apologies to me? And what do you mean by +apologies? That's all words.' + +'Why, he must be corrected.' + +'Well, you can correct him yourself. He will listen to you sooner +than to me. For my part I bear him no grudge.' + +'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.' + +'The treatment is quite indispensable,' observed Nikolai Artemyevitch, +'my liver is affected.' + +At that instant Shubin came in. He looked tired. A slight almost +ironical smile played on his lips. + +'You asked for me, Anna Vassilyevna?' he observed. + +'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?' + +'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. + +'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.' + +'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.' + +'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.' + +'Oh, that admits of no doubt!' said Shubin. 'But allow me to be +inquisitive; is Anna Vassilyevna aware precisely what constituted my +offence?' + +'No, I know nothing,' observed Anna Vassilyevna, craning forward her +head expectantly. + +'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, _interieur_, 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----' + +And without concluding his sentence Nikolai Artemyevitch went quickly +out, slamming the door. + +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?' + +'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.' + +'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.' + +'How make you angry, auntie? Give me your little hand to kiss. Your +horse-radish I saw on the little table in the boudoir.' + +'Darya always leaves it about somewhere,' said Anna Vassilyevna, and +she walked away with a rustle of silk skirts. + +Shubin was about to follow her, but he stopped on hearing Uvar +Ivanovitch's drawling voice behind him. + +'I would . . . have given it you . . . young puppy,' the retired +cornet brought out in gasps. + +Shubin went up to him. 'And what have I done, then, most venerable +Uvar Ivanovitch?' + +'How! you are young, be respectful. Yes indeed.' + +'Respectful to whom?' + +'To whom? You know whom. Ay, grin away.' + +Shubin crossed his arms on his breast. + +'Ah, you type of the choice element in drama,' he exclaimed, 'you +primeval force of the black earth, cornerstone of the social fabric!' + +Uvar Ivanovitch's fingers began to work. 'There, there, my boy, don't +provoke me.' + +'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?' + +'You, of course,' replied Uvar Ivanovitch. + +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?' + +'Don't tempt me, I tell you,' groaned Uvar Ivanovitch. + +Shubin laughed and ran away. 'Hi,' shouted Uvar Ivanovitch a quarter +of an hour later, 'you there ... a glass of spirits.' + +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. + + + + +IX + + +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 _etres sans cour_ (among whom I have no reason to +reckon you) would repudiate it! Give this note back to me.--N. S.' + +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: + +'Don't look in my direction, I'm not worth it.' + +She gave him a cursory glance, smiled cursorily, and walked on further +into the depths of the garden. Shubin went after her. + +'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?' + +She stood still and did not answer him at once--not because she was +angry, but because her thoughts were far away. + +'No,' she said at last, 'I am not in the least angry.' Shubin bit his +lip. + +'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!"' + +Shubin paused. + +'And is that all?' inquired Elena. + +'Yes that's all.' + +'I don't understand you. What are you hinting at? You told me just +now not to look your way.' + +'Yes, and now I have told you that it's too bad to turn your back on +me.' + +'But did I?' began Elena. + +'Did you not?' + +Elena flushed slightly and held out her hand to Shubin. He pressed it +warmly. + +'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.' + +'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?' + +'Perhaps so.' + +'And why is it? why?' + +'My ideas are not clear to myself,' said Elena. + +'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.' + +'I?' + +'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.' + +'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.' + +Shubin shuddered. + +'Well, I see this is, as the doctors say, a hopeless case, _casus +incurabilis_. 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?' + +Elena looked straight into his eyes. + +'I don't think so, Pavel Yakovlitch; no.' + +'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!' + +Elena was on the point of stopping him, but after a moment's thought +she too said: + +'Good-bye.' + +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. + +'Andrei Petrovitch!' cried Shubin. + +He stopped. + +'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. + + + + +X + + +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. + +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.' + +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. + +'Tell me,' Elena asked him, 'were there any remarkable men among your +comrades?' + +Bersenyev was again reminded of Shubin's words. + +'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. + +'Not happy,' murmured Elena. + +'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.' + +'What is his name?' Elena inquired with interest. + +'Insarov Dmitri Nikanorovitch. He is a Bulgarian.' + +'Not a Russian?' + +'No, he is not a Russian,' + +'Why is he living in Moscow, then?' + +'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.' + +Elena shuddered. Bersenyev stopped. + +'Go on, go on,' she said. + +'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.' + +'Shot, and without a trial?' + +'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.' + +'He speaks Russian?' + +'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----' + +'What then?' broke in Elena. + +'What God wills. It's hard to forecast the future.' + +For a while Elena did not take her eyes off Bersenyev. + +'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?' + +'What shall I say? To my mind, he's good-looking. But you will see +him for yourself.' + +'How so?' + +'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.' + +'Really? But will he care to come to see us?' + +'I should think so. He will be delighted.' + +'He isn't proud, then?' + +'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.' + +'Is he poor?' + +'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.' + +'He must have a great deal of character,' observed Elena. + +'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.' + +'And isn't he shy?' asked Elena again. + +'No, he's not shy. It's only vain people who are shy.' + +'Why, are you vain?' + +He was confused and made a vague gesture with his hands. + +'You excite my curiosity,' pursued Elena. 'But tell me, has he not +taken vengeance on that Turkish aga?' + +Bersenyev smiled + +'Revenge is only to be found in novels, Elena Nikolaevna; and, +besides, in twelve years that aga may well be dead.' + +'Mr. Insarov has never said anything, though, to you about it?' + +'No, never.' + +'Why did he go to Sophia?' + +'His father used to live there.' + +Elena grew thoughtful. + +'To liberate one's country!' she said. 'It is terrible even to +utter those words, they are so grand.' + +At that instant Anna Vassilyevna came into the room, and the +conversation stopped. + +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 +_History of the Hohenstaufen_, and beginning to read it at the very page +at which he had left off the evening before. + + + + +XI + + +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. + +'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.' + +'My means don't allow me to dine as you do,' Insarov replied with a +tranquil smile. + +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. + +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. + +'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.' + +Insarov had not had time to say all he wanted to say, when the door +opened and Shubin made his appearance. + +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. + +'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?' + +'I am Insarov.' + +'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.' + +'My head's at your service,' said Insarov. + +'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?' + +'I don't know how Insarov feels,' observed Bersenyev. 'He is just +getting to work, I fancy.' + +Shubin turned round on his chair. + +'You want to work?' he inquired, in a somewhat condescending voice. + +'No,' answered Insarov; 'to-day I could give up to walking.' + +'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.' + +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 _Venelin_, the health of the +Bulgarian king Kuma, Huma, or Hroma, who lived somewhere about the +time of Adam. + +'In the ninth century,' Insarov corrected him. + +'In the ninth century?' cried Shubin. 'Oh, how delightful!' + +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. + +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. + + + + +XII + + +'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. + +'_Wer_?' 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. + +'You heard,' he repeated, 'Mr. Insarov is coming here.' + +'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.' + +Shubin was crestfallen at once. + +'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.' + +'I didn't ask your opinion about that,' commented Elena, getting up. + +'Is Mr. Insarov a young man?' asked Zoya. + +'He is a hundred and forty-four,' replied Shubin with an air of +vexation. + +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. + +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. + +'How did you like your new acquaintances?' Bersenyev inquired of +Insarov on their way home. + +'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.' + +'You must go and see them a little oftener,' observed Bersenyev. + +'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. + +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. + +'What an irrepressible fellow you are, you night moth----' Bersenyev +was beginning. + +'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.' + +'Come into the room then.' + +'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.' + +'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.' + +'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.' + +'Why are you so taken up with Insarov?' asked Bersenyev. 'Can you +have run here only to describe his character to me?' + +'I came here,' began Shubin, 'because I was very miserable at home.' + +'Oh, that's it! Don't you want to have a cry again?' + +'You may laugh! I came here because I'm at my wits' end, because I +am devoured by despair, anger, jealousy.' + +'Jealousy? of whom?' + +'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.' + +'Stuff, you won't strangle yourself,' observed Bersenyev. + +'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!' + +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.' + + + + +XIII + + +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. + +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. + +'Fancy,' he began with a constrained smile, 'our Insarov has +disappeared.' + +'Disappeared?' said Elena. + +'He has disappeared. The day before yesterday he went off somewhere +and nothing has been seen of him since.' + +'He did not tell you where he was going?' + +'No.' + +Elena sank into a chair. + +'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. + +'I don't think so,' rejoined Bersenyev. 'He did not go alone.' + +'With whom then?' + +'Two people of some sort--his countrymen they must have been--came to +him the day before yesterday, before dinner.' + +'Bulgarians! what makes you think so?' + +'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.' + +'He shouted too?' + +'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.' + +'And he went away with them?' + +'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.' + +Elena gave a faint smile. + +'You will see,' she said, 'all this will be explained into something +very prosaic.' + +'I hope it may! But you need not use that word. There is nothing +prosaic about Insarov, though Shubin does maintain----' + +'Shubin!' Elena broke in, shrugging her shoulders. 'But you must +confess these two good men gobbling up porridge----' + +'Even Themistocles had his supper on the eve of Salamis,' observed +Bersenyev with a smile. + +'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. + +Bersenyev went away. + +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?' + +'Won't you find out!' Elena whispered, 'as though he talked to me!' + + + + +XIV + + +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. + +'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.' + +'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.' + +She seated herself. Insarov sat down near her. + +'You have not been at home these last days, I think?' she began. + +'No,' he answered. 'I went away. Did Andrei Petrovitch tell you?' + +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. + +'Andrei Petrovitch most likely told you too that I went away with +some--unattractive people,' he said, still smiling. + +Elena was a little confused, but she felt at once that Insarov must +always be told the truth. + +'Yes,' she said decisively. + +'What did you think of me?' he asked her suddenly. + +Elena raised her eyes to him. + +'I thought,' she said, 'I thought that you always know what you're +doing, and you are incapable of doing anything wrong.' + +'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.' + +'Was it far from here?' + +'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.' + +'And had you much difficulty?' + +'Yes. One was obstinate through everything. He did not want to give +back the money.' + +'What? Was the dispute over money?' + +'Yes; and a small sum of money too. What did you suppose?' + +'And you travelled over fifty miles for such trifling matters? Wasted +three days?' + +'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.' + +'To whom does it belong then?' + +'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!' + +'You value my good opinion,' said Elena, in an undertone, 'why?' + +Insarov smiled again. + +'Because you are a good young lady, not an aristocrat . . . that's +all.' + +A short silence followed. + +'Dmitri Nikanorovitch,' said Elena, 'do you know that this is the first +time you have been so unreserved with me?' + +'How's that? I think I have always said everything I thought to you.' + +'No, this is the first time, and I am very glad, and I too want to be +open with you. May I?' + +Insarov began to laugh and said: 'You may.' + +'I warn you I am very inquisitive.' + +'Never mind, tell me.' + +'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?' + +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. + +'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. + +Elena looked at him from the side. + +'You love your country very dearly?' she articulated timidly. + +'That remains to be shown,' he answered. 'When one of us dies for +her, then one can say he loved his country.' + +'So that, if you were cut off all chance of returning to Bulgaria,' +continued Elena, 'would you be very unhappy in Russia?' + +Insarov looked down. + +'I think I could not bear that,' he said. + +'Tell me,' Elena began again, 'is it difficult to learn Bulgarian?' + +'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?' + +'No, I know nothing of it,' answered + +Elena. + +'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----' + +'Dmitri Nikanorovitch!' cried Elena. + +He stopped. + +'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!' + +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: + +'Then you would not stay in Russia for anything?' + +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. + +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. + + + + + +XV + + +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 _partie du +plaisir_, and the more troublesome the _partie du plaisir_ 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 _partie du plaisir_ was +very near coming to grief. Nikolai Artemyevitch arrived from Moscow in +a sour, ill-natured, _frondeurish_ 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 +_partie du plaisir_ 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: _quelle +bourde!_ (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. + +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. + +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 barege 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: '_Ihre Hand, Madame_' 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. + +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. + +'Mischievous things, young people,' Anna Vassilyevna observed gaily to +Uvar Ivanovitch. + +He flourished his fingers in reply. + +'What a girl Zoya Nikitishna is!' said Bersenyev to Elena. + +'And Shubin? What of him?' she answered. + +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. + +'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 _Le lac_ 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. . . . '_Allons_' said Anna Vassilyevna genially. . . . +Zoya took off her hat and began to sing: '_O lac, l'annee a peine a +fini sa carriere_!' + +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 '_bis!_' 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. + +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. + +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, + +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. + +'_Bonzhoor, madame_,' he said thickly, 'how are you?' + +Anna Vassilyevna started back. + +'Why wouldn't you,' continued the giant in vile Russian, 'sing +again when our party shouted _bis_, and bravo?' + +'Yes, why?' came from the ranks of his comrades. + +Insarov was about to step forward, but Shubin stopped him, and himself +screened Anna Vassilyevna. + +'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.' + +The 'honoured stranger' listened to Shubin's speech, his head held +contemptuously on one side and his arms akimbo. + +'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.' + +'I don't doubt that----' Shubin was beginning. + +'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 _bis_? And I'll go away directly, this minute, only I +tell you what I want, this fraulein, not that madam, no, not her, but +this one or that one (he pointed to Elena and Zoya) must give me _einen +Kuss_, as we say in German, a kiss, in fact; eh? That's not much to +ask.' + +'_Einen Kuss_, that's not much,' came again from the ranks of his +companions, '_Ih! der Stakramenter!_' cried one tipsy German, bursting +with laughter. + +Zoya clutched at Insarov's arm, but he broke away from her, and stood +directly facing the insolent giant. + +'You will please to move off,' he said in a voice not loud but sharp. + +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?' + +'Because you have dared to annoy a lady,' said Insarov, and suddenly +he turned white, 'because you're drunk.' + +'Eh? me drunk? Hear what he says. _Horen Sie das, Herr Provisor_? +I'm an officer, and he dares . . . Now I demand _satisfaction_. _Einen +Kuss will ich_.' + +'If you come another step nearer----' began Insarov. + +'Well? What then' + +'I'll throw you in the water!' + +'In the water? _Herr Je_! Is that all? Well, let us see that, that +would be very curious, too.' + +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. + +'Oh!' screamed the ladies with one voice. '_Mein Gott_!' was heard +from the other side. 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. + +'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.' + +'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. + +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. + +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!' + +'And how did Mr. Insarov manage it? why the German was three times +his size?' said Zoya. + +'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.' + +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. + +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 _partie de plaisir_ 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: + +'There, isn't he a hero; he can pitch drunken Germans into the river!' + +'While you didn't even do that,' retorted Bersenyev, and he started +homewards with Insarov. + +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. + + + + +XVI + + +Soon after her acquaintance with Insarov, Elena (for the fifth or +sixth time) began a diary. Here are some extracts from it: + +'_June_. . . . 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! + +'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. . . . + +'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. + +'. . . 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. + +'What is my youth for, what am I living for, why have I a soul, what +is it all for? + +'. . . 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. + +'Ah, I feel one needs unhappiness, or poverty or sickness, or else one +gets conceited directly. + +'. . . 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. + +'. . . 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 _Mr. Insarov_, +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? + +'. . . 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. + +'. . . 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. + +'Why isn't he a Russian? No, he could not be Russian. + +'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? + +'. . . 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_ +want, but _it_ 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. + +'. . . 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. + +'. . . 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! + +'. . . I am still light-hearted as before, and only at times, and only +a little, sad. I am happy. Am I happy? + +'. . . 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. + +'. . . 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. + +'. . . The word is found, light has dawned on me! My God, have pity +on me. . . . I love him!' + + + + + +XVII + + +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. + +'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?' + +'I have had no news,' replied Insarov; 'but on thinking things over, I +find I cannot stop here.' + +'How can that be?' + +'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.' + +Bersenyev looked at him intently. + +'I know,' he said at last, 'there's no persuading you. And so, it's a +settled matter, + +'Is it? + +'Absolutely settled,' replied Insarov, getting up and going away. + +Bersenyev walked about the room, then took his hat and set off for the +Stahovs. + +'You have something to tell me,' Elena said to him, directly they were +left alone. + +'Yes, how did you guess?' + +'Never mind; tell me what it is.' + +Bersenyev told her of Insarov's intention. + +Elena turned white. + +'What does it mean?' she articulated with effort + +'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.' + +'What--what cause?' repeated Elena, and unconsciously she gripped +tightly Bersenyev's hand in her chill ringers. + +'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----" + +'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. + +'I think,' he said, and his own voice sank, 'I think that what I +fancied then has really happened now.' + +'That is--you think--don't torture me!' broke suddenly from +Elena. + +'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.' + +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. + +'Andrei Petrovitch, you are kind as an angel,' she said, 'but will he +come to say goodbye?' + +'Yes, I imagine so; he will be sure to come. He wouldn't like to go +away----' + +'Tell him, tell him----' + +But here the poor girl broke down; tears rushed streaming from her +eyes, and she ran out of the room. + +'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----' + +It was bitter for Andrei Petrovitch, and he could not turn his mind to +Raumer. + +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. + +'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.' + +Insarov bent his head without speaking. + +'I will not keep you. . . . You promise me?' + +Again Insarov bowed, but said nothing. + +'Lenotchka, come here,' said Anna Vassilyevna, 'look, what a +charming reticule.' + +'I worked it myself,' observed the priest's wife. + +Elena came away from the window. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + + +XVIII + + +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. + +'I have no money, grannie,' said Elena, 'but here, take this, it will +be of use for something.' + +She gave her her handkerchief. + +'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!' + +A peal of thunder was heard. + +'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?' + +Elena looked more attentively at the old woman and recognised her. + +'Yes, grannie,' she answered, 'wasn't it you asked me why I was so +sorrowful?' + +'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!' + +'What sorrow, grannie?' + +'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!' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'Dmitri Nikanorovitch!' she said at last. + +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. + +She walked back in silence into the chapel. Insarov followed Elena. +'You here?' he repeated. + +She was still silent, and only gazed upon him with a strange, slow, +tender look. He dropped his eyes. + +'You have come from our house?' she asked. + +'No ... not from your house.' + +'No?' repeated Elena, and she tried to smile. 'Is that how you keep +your promises? I have been expecting you ever since the morning.' + +'I made no promise yesterday, if you remember, Elena Nikolaevna.' + +Again Elena faintly smiled, and she passed her hand over her face. +Both face and hands were very white. + +'You meant, then, to go away without saying good-bye to us?' + +'Yes,' replied Insarov in a surly, thick voice. + +'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?' + +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----' + +'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?' + +'No,' said Insarov. + +'What?' murmured Elena. Her cheeks were overspread with a faint +flush. + +'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.' + +'You used to be so open with me,' said Elena rather reproachfully. +'Do you remember?' + +'I used to be able to be open, then I had nothing to conceal; but +now----' + +'But now?' queried Elena. + +'But now . . . now I must go away. Goodbye.' + +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. + +'Well, good-bye, Dmitri Nikanorovitch,' she began. 'But at least, +since we have met, give me your hand now.' + +Insarov was stretching out his hand. 'No, I can't even do that,' he +said, and turned away again. + +'You can't?' + +'No, I can't. Good-bye.' And he moved away to the entrance of the +chapel. + +'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?' + +Insarov looked in bewilderment at Elena, + +'I was going to you.' + +'To me?' + +Elena hid her face. 'You mean to force me to say that I love you,' +she whispered. 'There, I have said it.' + +'Elena!' cried Insarov. + +She took his hands, looked at him, and fell on his breast. + +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. + +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. + +She did not weep; she could only repeat, 'O my friend, my brother!' + +'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. + +'Everywhere, to the ends of the earth. Where you are, I will be.' + +'And you are not deceiving yourself, you know your parents will never +consent to our marriage?' + +'I don't deceive myself; I know that.' + +'You know that I'm poor--almost a beggar.' + +'I know.' + +'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.' + +'I know, I know.' + +'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----' + +'I know, I know all--I love you----' + +'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----' + +She laid her hand on his lips. 'I love you, my dear one.' + +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. . . . + +All at once she blushed and hid her face upon his breast. + +He lifted her head tenderly and looked steadily into her eyes. +'Welcome, then, my wife, before God and men!' + + + + +XIX + + +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. + +'What is it?' he inquired, astonished. + +She did not know what to say. She felt inclined to kiss Uvar +Ivanovitch. + +'How he splashed!' she explained at last. + +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. + +'Dear Uvar Ivanovitch,' she said, 'I am sleepy and tired,' and again +she laughed and sank into a low chair near him. + +'H'm,' grunted Uvar Ivanovitch, flourishing his fingers, 'then you +ought--yes----' + +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. + +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. + +'Are you sleepy, Lenotchka?' her mother asked her. She did not hear +the question. + +'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?' + +'Ah, Monsieur Paul,' said Elena, 'I should like to show myself vexed, +but really I can't. I am so tired.' + +'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.' + +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.' + +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. + + + + + +XX + + +'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.' + +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. + +'Well I see you have been at work in earnest,' he observed to Shubin. + +'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. _Trema, Bisanzia!_' + +'I don't understand you,' said Bersenyev. + +'Well, wait a minute. Deign to look this way, gracious friend and +benefactor, my vengeance number one.' + +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. + +Bersenyev went into raptures over it. + +'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?' + +'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 en canaille' + +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. + +'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.' + +And Shubin gave three little leaps, kicking himself behind with his +heels. + +Bersenyev picked up the cloth off the floor--and threw it over the +statuette. + +'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!' + +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. + +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?' + +'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. + +'Disgusting thing, you mean? No, my dear fellow, excuse me, if +anything ought to go to the exhibition, it's that group.' + +'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.' + +'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?' + +'Nonsense?' + +'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.' + +Bersenyev was just going to knock the group over but Shubin stopped +him. + +'That'll do, my dear boy, don't smash it; it will serve as a lesson, +a scare-crow.' + +Bersenyev laughed. + +'If that's what it is, I will spare your scarecrow then,' he said. And +now, 'Long live eternal true art!' + +'Long live true art!' put in Shubin. 'By art the good is better and +the bad is not all loss!' + +The friends shook hands warmly and parted. + + + + +XXI + + +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? + +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. + + + + +XXII + + +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, '_Sortes, s'il vous plait_,' and turning to his wife he added, +'_et vous, madame, restez, je vous prie_.' + +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. + +'What is it?' she cried, directly the door was closed. + +Nikolai Artemyevitch flung an indifferent glance at Anna Vassilyevna. + +'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.' + +'Who is it?' + +'Kurnatovsky, Yegor Andreyevitch. You don't know him. The head +secretary in the senate.' + +'He is to dine with us to-day?' + +'Yes.' + +'And was it only to tell me this that you made every one go away?' + +Nikolai Artemyevitch again flung a glance--this time one of irony--at +Anna Vassilyevna. + +'Does that surprise you? Defer your surprise a little.' + +He ceased speaking. Anna Vassilyevna too was silent for a little time. + +'I could have wished----' she was beginning. + +'I know you have always looked on me as an "immoral" man,' began +Nikolai Artemyevitch suddenly. + +'I!' muttered Anna Vassilyevna, astounded. + +'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----' + +'And I make no complaint against you, Nikolai Artemyevitch.' + +'_C'est possible_. 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.' + +'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.) + +'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.' + +'How am I to understand you?' asked Anna Vassilyevna. + +'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 _peres de famille_ 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.' + +'Who is his father?' inquired Anna Vassilyevna. + +'His father? His father is a man well-known in his own line, of the +highest moral character, _un vrai stoicien_, a retired major, I think, +overseer of all the estates of the Count B----' + +'Ah!' observed Anna Vassilyevna. + +'Ah! why ah?' interposed Nikolai Artemyevitch. 'Can you be infected +with prejudice?' + +'Why, I said nothing----' Anna Vassilyevna was beginning. + +'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 _a bras ouverts_. He +is no Montenegrin vagrant.' + +'Of course; I need only call Vanka the cook and order a few extra +dishes.' + +'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. + +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. + +This was what, among other things, Elena wrote next day to Insarov: + +'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 _comme il +faut_: 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. + +'"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."' I cried, "Punish an innocent +man!" '"Yes; for the sake of principle." '"What principle?" asked +Shubin. Kurnatovsky seemed annoyed or surprised, and said, "That +needs no explanation." + +'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 have _faith_, and +he has not; for a man cannot _have faith_ in himself only. + +'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. + +'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!' + + + + + +XXIII + + +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,' +_des poses plastiques_, had come to Moscow, and the description of them +in the _Moscow Gazette_ 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. '_Das ist ein Mann_!' 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. + +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.' + +Something rustled lightly at the door, it flew quickly open, and into +the room ran Elena. + +Insarov, all in a tremor, rushed to her, fell on his knees before her, +clasped her waist and pressed it close against his head. + +'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.' + +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. + +'Stay,' she said, fondly taking her hand away from him, 'let me take +off my hat.' + +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. + +'Sit down,' she said, not lifting her eyes to him and motioning him to +a place beside her. + +Insarov sat down, not on the sofa, but on the floor at her feet. + +'Come, take off my gloves,' she said in an uncertain voice. She felt +afraid. + +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. + +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. + +An instant passed . . . she broke away, got up, whispered 'No, no,' +and went quickly up to the writing-table. + +'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?' + +Insarov knitted his brows. 'Those letters?' he said, getting up, 'you +can read them.' + +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. + +Insarov came close to her and fondly touched her waist. She turned +suddenly to him, smiled brightly at him and leant against his +shoulder. + +'Those letters are from Bulgaria, Elena; my friends write to me, they +want me to come.' + +'Now? To them?' + +'Yes . . . now, while there is still time, while it is still possible +to come.' + +All at once she flung both arms round his neck, 'You will take me +with you, yes?' + +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!' + +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?' + +'Wives don't go into war,' he said with a half-mournful smile. + +'Oh yes, when they can't stay behind, and I cannot stay here?' + +'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.' + +'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?' + +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!' + +'Am I to stay?' asked Elena. + +'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----' + +'I have money,' put in Elena. 'Eighty roubles.' + +'Well, that's not much,' observed Insarov; 'but everything's a +help.' + +'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.' + +'Money's not the chief difficulty, Elena; the passport; your +passport, how about that?' + +'Yes, how about it? Is a passport absolutely necessary?' + +'Absolutely.' + +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.' + +'Elena, aren't you ashamed?' + +'Why? Of course it's better to go with a passport. But if we can't----' + +'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.' + +Elena pushed back the hair that fell over on his forehead. + +'O Dmitri! how glorious it will be for us two to set off together!' + +'Yes,' said Insarov, 'but there, when we get there----' + +'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?' + +'Yes, twenty-six.' + +'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!' + +'Elena, you know what forced me to go away.' + +'I know; you were in love, and you were afraid. But surely you must +have suspected that you were loved?' + +'I swear on my honour, Elena, I didn't.' + +She gave him a quick unexpected kiss. 'There, I love you for that too. +And goodbye.' + +'You can't stop longer?' asked Insarov. + +'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.' + +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.' + +Elena opened the door a little, listened, turned round to Insarov, +nodded her head, and glided out of the room. + +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?' + +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. + + + + +XXIV + + +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.' + +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. + +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. + +'Oh, by the way,' she said to him suddenly, 'is your plan getting on +at all?' + +Insarov was taken aback. + +'What plan?' he said. + +'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?' + +'_Quelle bourde_!' muttered Nikolai Artemyevitch between his teeth. + +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. + +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 +is a crimson chaos, + + + + + +XXV + +'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.' + +'Ask him in,' said Bersenyev. + +The 'locksmith' entered. Bersenyev recognised in him the tailor, the +landlord of Insarov's lodgings. + +'What do you want?' he asked him. + +'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.' + +'Insarov?' + +'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----' + +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. + +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. + +'Is he dangerously ill?' asked Bersenyev. + +'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.' + +The doctor was young himself, and still believed in science. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'And after the crisis?' asked Bersenyev. + +'The crisis may end in two ways, _aut Caesar aut nihil_. + +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. + +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. + +'Here is the lady,' she whispered, 'who gave me a silver piece.' + +The child's head vanished quickly, and in its place appeared Elena. + +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. + +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!' + +She was reeling. He led her to the sofa, and made her sit down. + +She looked into his face, then her eyes ran over him from head to +foot, then stared at the floor. + +'Will he die?' she asked so coldly and quietly that Bersenyev was +frightened. + +'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' + +'He is unconscious?' she asked in the same tone of voice as before. + +'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.' + +She raised her eyes to his, and he saw she had not heard his answer. + +'If he dies,' she said in the same voice,' I will die too.' + +At that instant Insarov uttered a slight moan; she trembled all over, +clutched at her head, then began untying the strings of her hat. + +'What are you doing?' Bersenyev asked her. + +'I will stay here.' + +'You will stay--for long?' + +'I don't know, perhaps all day, the night, always--I don't know.' + +'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.' + +'What then?' + +'They will look for you--find you----' + +'What then?' + +'Elena Nikolaevna! You see. He cannot now protect you.' + +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. + +'Elena Nikolaevna--for God's sake,' Bersenyev was repeating over her. + +'Ah! What is it?' suddenly sounded the voice of Insarov. + +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. + +'Is he delirious?' whispered Elena. + +'It seems so,' answered Bersenyev, 'but that's nothing; it's always +so, especially if----' + +'When was he taken ill?' Elena broke in. + +'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.' + +'He will die without me,' she cried, wringing her hands. + +'I give you my word I will let you hear every day how his illness goes +on, and if there should be immediate danger----' + +'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?' + +'I promise before God' + +'Swear it.' + +'I swear.' + +She suddenly snatched his hand, and before he had time to pull it +away, she had bent and pressed her lips to it. + +'Elena Nikolaevna, what are you----' he stammered. + +'No--no--I won't have it----' Insarov muttered indistinctly, and +sighed painfully. + +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. + +'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.' + +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. ... + +'I cannot go away,' she whispered at last. + +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.' + +Elena looked at him, said: 'Oh, my good, kind friend!' broke into +sobs and rushed away. + +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. + +'Who is here?' he heard Insarov's voice. + +Bersenyev went up to him. 'I am here, Dmitri +Nikanorovitch. How are you? How do you feel?' + +'Are you alone?' asked the sick man. + +'Yes.' + +'And she?' + +'Whom do you mean?' Bersenyev asked almost in dismay. + +Insarov was silent. 'Mignonette,' he murmured, and his eyes closed +again. + + + + +XXVI + + +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 _Werther_; +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. + +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. + +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 _Moscow +Gazette_; 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. + +'He has regained consciousness, he is saved, he will be quite well +again in a week,' he whispered to her. + +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 eheeks and eyelashes. It was long since she had slept or +wept. + + + + +XXVII + + +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. + +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. + +'Guess, what I want to say to you,' she said. Bersenyev was confused. +He understood her. + +'I suppose,' he answered, looking away, 'you want to say that you wish +to see him.' + +Elena crimsoned, and scarcely audibly, she breathed, 'Yes.' + +'Well, what then? That, I imagine, you can easily do.'--'Ugh!' he +thought, 'what a loath-some feeling there is in my heart!' + +'You mean that I have already before . . .' said Elena. 'But I am +afraid--now he is, you say, seldom alone.' + +'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. + +'I am ashamed,' whispered Elena. + +'Give me the note, I will take it.' + +'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!' + +Bersenyev bit his lip. + +'Ah! yes, I understand; very well, very well,' and, adding two or +three words more, he quickly took leave. + +'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!"' + +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.' + + + + + +XXVIII + + +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.' + +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. + +'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. + +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. + +Her face suddenly clouded over. + +'How thin you have grown, my poor Dmitri,' she said, passing her hand +over his neck; 'what a beard you have.' + +'And you have grown thin, my poor Elena,' he answered, catching her +fingers with his lips. + +She shook her curls gaily. + +'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.' + +He answered her with a smile only. + +'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!' + +He did not know what to say to her. He was longing to throw himself at +her feet. + +'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?' + +'You are for me in the future,' answered Insarov, 'so it is bright +for me.' + +'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?' + +'I'm much better, I'm nearly well.' + +'You are well, you are not dead. Oh, how happy I am!' + +A short silence followed. + +'Elena?' said Insarov. + +'Well, my dearest?' + +'Tell me, did it never occur to you that this illness was sent us as a +punishment?' + +Elena looked seriously at him. + +'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.' + +'You don't stop me, Elena; we will go together.' + +'Yes, Dmitri, let us go together; I will follow you. . . . That is my +duty. I love you. ... I know no other duty.' + +'O Elena!' said Insarov, 'what chains every word of yours fastens +on me!' + +'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. + +He looked at her with such an expression of adoration, that she softly +dropped her hand from his hair over his eyes. + +'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.' + +'You saw me?' + +'Yes.' + +He was silent for a little. 'And Bersenyev was here?' + +She nodded. + +Insarov bowed down before her. 'O Elena!' he whispered, 'I don't +dare to look at you.' + +'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.' + +'He saved me!' cried Insarov. 'He is the noblest, kindest of men!' + +'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.' + +Insarov looked steadily at Elena. 'He is in love with you, isn't he?' + +Elena dropped her eyes. 'He did love me,' she said in an undertone. + +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----' + +'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----' + +'Why are there tears in your eyes?' Insarov interrupted her. + +'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 he? And with you there +was nothing of that sort; but afterwards--afterwards--you took my +heart by storm!' + +'Have pity on me,' began Insarov. He tried to get up, but dropped down +on to the sofa again at once. + +'What's the matter with you?' inquired Elena anxiously. + +'Nothing. ... I am still rather weak. I am not strong enough yet for +such happiness.' + +'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.' + +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. . . . + +He listened to her, listened, turning pale and red. Sometimes he tried +to stop her; suddenly he drew himself up. + +'Elena,' he said to her in a strange, hard voice 'leave me, go away.' + +'What?' she replied in bewilderment 'You feel ill?' she added +quickly. + +'No . . . I'm all right . . . but, please, leave me now.' + +'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----' + +He got up. + +'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!' + +'Dmitri,' whispered Elena, and she nestled her head on his shoulder. +Only now she understood him. + +'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------' + +'Dmitri,' she repeated; she flushed all over, and pressed still +closer to him. + +'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----' + +She was trembling all over. 'Take me, then,' she whispered scarcely +above her breath. + + + + + +XXIX + + +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. + +'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.' + +'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?' + +'She must be knitting stockings--for herself; for herself--not for +you.' + +'You may laugh, you may laugh; but I tell you I know no woman like +her. Such honesty; such disinterestedness.' + +'Has she cashed that bill yet?' inquired Shubin. + +'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; +_ces femmes, qu'on me les montre_! And she doesn't write--that's +what's killing me!' + +'You're eloquent as Pythagoras,' remarked Shubin; 'but do you know +what I would advise you?' + +'What?' + +'When Augustina Christianovna comes back--you take my meaning?' + +'Yes, yes; well, what?' + +'When you see her again--you follow the line of my thought?' + +'Yes, yes, to be sure.' + +'Try beating her; see what that would do.' + +Nikolai Artemyevitch turned away exasperated. + +'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----' + +'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.' + +'What of it? We were playing high. Of course, I might expect--but +they understand so little how to appreciate him in this house----' + +'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.' + +'Father-in-law! How the devil am I his father-in-law? _Vous revez, mon +cher_. 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----' + +'Led the governor in one of them by the nose,' remarked Shubin. + +'Very likely. To be sure, that's how it should be. Practical, a +business man----' + +'And a capital hand at cards,' Shubin remarked again. + +'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----' + +A disagreeable-looking man-servant came in with a cup of coffee, cream +and sugar on a tray. + +'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. _Nous avons change tout ca_. 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?' + +'Take your coffee, and let the man go,' said Shubin. 'You say +yourself that one ought not _devant les domestiques_' he added in an +undertone. + +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. + +'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----' + +'Aren't you a born statesman?' asked Shubin in a jeering voice. + +'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!' + +'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.' + +'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.' + +'I suppose you bought it for her, the lady at Revel?' + +'Why, certainly.--I had some idea.' + +'Well, in that case, it will be sure to do.' Shubin got up from his +seat. + +'Are we going out this evening, Pavel Yakovlitch, eh?' Nikolai +Artemyevitch asked with an amicable leer. + +'Why yes, you are going to your club.' + +'After the club ... after the club.' + +Shubin stretched himself again. + +'No, Nikolai Artemyevitch, I want to work to-morrow. Another time.' +And he walked off. + +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. + +'What do you want?' he asked him. + +'Nikolai Artemyevitch,' said the man with a certain solemnity, 'you +are our master?' + +'I know that; what next!' + +'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----' + +'Well what is it?' + +The man shifted uneasily as he stood. + +'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.' + +'What lies are you telling, idiot?' + +'That's as your honour likes, but T saw our young lady three days ago, +as she was pleased to go into a house!' + +'Where? what? what house?' + +'In a house, near Povarsky. Not far from here. I even asked the +doorkeeper who were the people living there.' + +Nikolai Artemyevitch stamped with his feet. + +'Silence, scoundrel! How dare you? ... Elena Nikolaevna, in the +goodness of her heart, goes to visit the poor and you ... Be off, fool!' + +The terrified servant was rushing to the door. + +'Stop!' cried Nikolai Artemyevitch. 'What did the doorkeeper say to +you?' + +'Oh no--nothing--he said nothing--He told me--a stu--student----' + +'Silence, scoundrel! Listen, you dirty beast; if you ever breathe a +word in your dreams even----' + +'Mercy on us----' + +'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!' + +The man vanished. + +'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! . . . _Un laquais! +Quelle humiliation!_' + +And repeating aloud: '_Un laquais!_' 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. + + + + +XXX + + +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.' + +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 _eau de Cologne_; +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. + +Elena sat down. + +Anna Vassilyevna blew her nose tearfully. Nikolai Artemyevitch thrust +his fingers between his coat-buttons. + +'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.' + +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. + +'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----' + +'But, papa,' Elena was beginning. + +'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--_que nous avons inculques_, 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----' + +'Papa,' said Elena, 'I know what you are going to say------' + +'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!' + +'For mercy's sake, _Nicolas_,' murmured Anna Vassilyevna, '_vous me +faites mourir_?' + +'Don't tell me _que je vous fais mourir_, Anna Vassilyevna! You can't +conceive what you will hear directly! Prepare yourself for the worst, +I warn you!' + +Anna Vassilyevna seemed stupefied. + +'No,' resumed Nikolai Artemyevitch, turning to Elena, 'you don't know +what I am going to say!' + +'I am to blame towards you----' she began. + +'Ah, at last!' + +'I am to blame towards you,' pursued Elena, 'for not having long ago +confessed----' + +'But do you know,' Nikolai Artemyevitch interrupted, 'that I can crush +you with one word?' + +Elena raised her eyes to look at him. + +'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, de vils laquais_ have seen you, as +you went in there, to your----' + +Elena was crimson, her eyes were blazing. + +'I have no need to hide anything,' she declared. 'Yes, I have visited +that house.' + +'Exactly! Do you hear, do you hear, Anna Vassilyevna? And you know, +I presume, who lives there?' + +'Yes, I know; my husband.' + +Nikolai Artemyevitch's eyes were starting out of his head. + +'Your----' + +'My husband,' repeated Elena; 'I am married to Dmitri Nikanorovitch +Insarov.' + +'You?--married?'--was all Anna Vassilyevna could articulate. + +'Yes, mamma. . . . Forgive me. A fortnight ago, we were secretly +married.' + +Anna Vassilyevna fell back in her chair; Nikolai Artemyevitch stepped +two paces back. + +'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!' + +'Nikolai Artemyevitch, for God's sake,' moaned Anna Vassilyevna. + +'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?' + +'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.' + +'Going away? Where to?' + +'To his own country, to Bulgaria.' + +'To the Turks!' cried Anna Vassilyevna and fell into a swoon. + +Elena ran to her mother. + +'Away!' clamoured Nikolai Artemyevitch, seizing his daughter by the +arm, 'away, unworthy girl!' + +But at that instant the door of the room opened, and a pale face with +glittering eyes appeared: it was the face of Shubin. + +'Nikolai Artemyevitch!' he shouted at the top of his voice, 'Augustina +Christianovna is here and is asking for you!' + +Nikolai Artemyevitch turned round infuriated, threatening Shubin with +his fist; he stood still a minute and rapidly went out of the room. + +Elena fell at her mother's feet and embraced her knees. + + + +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. + +'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.' + +Uvar Ivanovitch flourished his fingers. + +'A mother,' he commented, 'to be sure.' + +'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.' + +'They'd no right,' observed Uvar Ivanovitch, and he drank out of the +jug. + +'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?' + +'What is there to know? a man to be sure.' + +'Precisely so: he was a "man." Yes he's a wonderful face, but +unhealthy, very unhealthy.' + +'For fighting ... it makes no difference,' observed Uvar Ivanovitch. + +'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.' + +'A youthful affair,' responded Uvar Ivanovitch. + +'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!' + +Shubin's head sank on to his breast. + +'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!' + +Uvar Ivanovitch leaned on his elbow and stared at the enthusiastic +artist. + +'That's a long way off,' he said at last with his usual gesture; +'we're speaking of other people, why bring in yourself?' + +'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?' + +'Give us time,' answered Uvar Ivanovitch; 'they will be----' + +'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?' + +'I'm going to sleep; good-bye.' + + + + +XXXI + + +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: '_Diesen Insarof vorziehen--und wem?_' 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. + +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. + +'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.' + +'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!' + +'Dear mamma,' answered Elena, 'be comforted; at least, it might have +been worse; I might have died.' + +'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----' + +'Don't say that, mamma dearest, we shall see each other again, please +God. There are towns in Bulgaria just as there are here.' + +'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?' + +'Soon ... if only papa. He means to appeal to the authorities; he +threatens to separate us.' + +Anna Vassilyevna turned her eyes heavenwards. + +'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.' + +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: + +'Everything is settled, he will not make a scandal, and there is +nothing now to hinder you from going--from abandoning us.' + +'You will let Dmitri come to thank you?' Elena begged her mother, as +soon as the latter had been restored a little. + +'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.' + +'Before we go,' repeated Elena mournfully. + +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. + + + + +XXXII + + +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!' + +'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.' + +'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?' + +'Absolutely, Anna Vassilyevna.' + +Anna Vassilyevna looked at him. + +'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 an, +living!' + +Tears choked her voice. She opened her arms, and Elena and Insarov +flung themselves into her embrace. + +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. + +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. + +'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. + +'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. + +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. + +'Now, after the Russian custom, we must sit down,' observed Insarov. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'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. + +'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 hen '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. + + + + +XXXIII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'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.' + +'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.' + +'Will not this wind bring the ship you are expecting?' said Elena. +'See, there is a white sail, is not that it?' + +Insarov gazed seaward into the distance to where Elena was pointing. + +'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!' + +'_Aufgepasst_!' 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. + +Insarov looked darkly after him. + +'He was not to blame,' said Elena, 'you know, they have no other place +where they can ride.' + +'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.' + +'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.' + +Insarov did not answer, but the same bitter smile passed over his +lips. + +'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?' + +'If you would like it, Elena,' answered Insarov, 'it follows that I +should like it too.' + +'I knew that,' observed Elena with a smile, 'come, let us go.' + +They went back to the gondola, took their seats, told the gondolier to +take them without hurry along the Canal Grande. + +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. + +The gondola in which Insarov and Elena were sitting passed _Riva dei +Schiavoni_, 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 delle Belle +Arti, 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 _frutti di mare_; 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, +_poveretti_! (poor things!) After dinner they set off for the theatre. + +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, _La Traviata_. +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 _dames aux camelias_ 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 _delle Belle +Arti_ 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 _tremolo_, they almost burst into laughter. +. . . But Violetta's acting impressed them. + +'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.' + +Insarov bent over the edge of the box, and looked attentively at +Violetta. + +'Yes,' he commented, 'she is in earnest; she's on the brink of the +grave herself.' + +Elena was mute. + +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. + +But he was soon quiet. Violetta's acting became steadily better, and +freer. She had thrown aside everything subsidiary, everything +superfluous, and _found herself_; 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 _fanatisme_, 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: '_Lascia mi +vivero--morir si giovane_' (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. + +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. + +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 _Riva dei Schiavoni_; 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. + +Their little room looked out on to the lagoon, which stretches from +the _Riva del Schiavoni_ 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 _Redentore_ 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?' (_Morir si giovane_ 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. . . . _Morir si giovane_. Oh, dark +omen, away! It's not only for me his life is needed! + +'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. + +'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. + +'Renditch!' muttered Insarov in his sleep. + +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. + +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.' + +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. + + + + + +XXXIV + + +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. + +'Renditch has not come?' was his first question. + +'Not yet,' answered Elena, and she handed him the latest number of the +_Osservatore Triestino_, 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. + +'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. + +Insarov got up from his seat + +'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.' + +'Yes, at the E----'s,' replied Insarov. + +'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: _decapitati pro +criminibus_. 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 stood in Venice +on the Bridge of Sighs_; 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 _Les Chatiments de Victor Hugo_--it's marvellous--_L'avenir, le +gendarme de Dieu_--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.' + +And for a long time Lupoyarov still babbled on in the same way, and, +as he went away, he promised to come again. + +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.' + +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. + +'Dmitri,' she began. + +He started. 'Eh? Has Renditch come?' + +'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?' + +'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.' + +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. + +'Why don't you go to sleep?' she asked at last. + +'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.' + +'Packing won't take long,' answered Elena. + +'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.' + +He fell asleep, and everything was still in the room. + +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. + +She had a strange dream. She thought sha 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. + +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. + +'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. + +'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. + +'Elena!' he articulated, 'I am dying.' + +She fell with a scream on her knees, and clung to his breast. + +'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. + +Elena rushed out of the room, began calling for help; a waiter ran +for a doctor. Elena clung to Insarov. + +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. + +'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.' + +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. + +'Signora,' he said, after the lapse of a few minutes, 'the foreign +gentleman is dead--_il Signore forestiere e morte_--of aneurism in +combination with disease of the lungs.' + + + + + +XXXV + + +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. + +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. + +'How long must you remain at Venice?' Elena asked him in Italian. And +her voice was as lifeless as her face. + +'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.' + +'They rested their hopes on him,' Elena repeated mechanically. + +'When will you bury him?' asked Renditch. + +Elena not at once replied, 'To-morrow.' + +'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.' + +Elena looked at Renditch. + +'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?' + +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?' + +'You need not bring me back.' + +'What? where will you stop?' + +'I shall find some place for myself; only take us, take me.' + +Renditch scratched the back of his head. + +'You know best; but it's all very difficult. I will, I will try; and +you expect me here in two hours' time.' + +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. + +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. + +Three weeks after Elena's departure from Vienna, Anna Vassilyevna +received the following letter in Moscow:-- + +'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? + +'Accept my last kisses and blessings, and do not condemn me. + +R.' + +* * * + +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. + +* * * + +What became of the other characters of our story? + +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 _pur sang_, 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?"' + +Uvar Ivanovitch flourished his fingers and fixed his enigmatical stare +into the far distance. + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of On the Eve +by Ivan Turgenev +Translated by Constance Garnett + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON THE EVE *** + +This file should be named nthve10.txt or nthve10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, nthve11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, nthve10a.txt + +Produced by Eric Eldred. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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