‘I feel better now, thank you,’ she answered.
‘And we have been occupying ourselves with a little music. It’s a pity you didn’t hear Varvara Pavlovna. She sings beautifully, en artiste consommée.’
‘Come here, ma chère,’ resounded Marya Dmitrievna’s voice.
Varvara Pavlovna immediately, with the obedience of a child, went up to her and sat down on a little stool at her feet. Marya Dmitrievna had called her over in order to leave her daughter alone with Panshin, if only for a moment, since she still secretly hoped that Liza would think again. Apart from that, an idea had entered her head which she wanted to discuss without delay.
‘You know,’ she whispered to Varvara Pavlovna, ‘I want to try and reconcile you with your husband. I don’t guarantee success, but I will try. He has great respect for me, you know.’
Varvara Pavlovna slowly raised her eyes to Marya Dmitrievna and prettily folded her hands.
‘You would be the saviour of me, ma tante,’ she said in a melancholy voice. ‘I don’t know how to thank you for all your kindness. But I am too much to blame in Fyodor Ivanych’s eyes; he cannot forgive me.’
‘Surely you… is that so…’, Marya Dmitrievna was on the point of saying, out of curiosity.
‘Don’t ask me,’ Varvara Pavlovna interrupted her and bowed her head. ‘I was young and thoughtless… Besides, I don’t want to justify myself.’
‘Well, still, is there any harm in trying? Don’t despair,’ said Marya Dmitrievna and wanted to tap her on the cheek, but glanced in her face and grew shy. ‘Modest, modest,’ she thought, ‘but she’s a veritable lioness.’
‘You’re unwell?’ Panshin meanwhile asked Liza.
‘Yes, I am.’
‘I understand you,’ he said after a rather prolonged silence. ‘Yes, I understand you.’
‘How?’
‘I understand you,’ repeated Panshin significantly, simply not knowing what to say.
Liza was embarrassed, and then thought: ‘Let it be!’ Panshin assumed a mysterious look and fell silent, looking sternly to one side.
‘It’s already gone eleven, it seems,’ remarked Marya Dmitrievna.
The guests took the hint and began to say good-bye. Varvara Pavlovna had to promise that she would come to dinner the next day and bring Ada; Gedeonovsky, who had almost fallen asleep sitting in the corner, was called on to accompany her home. Panshin bowed ceremoniously to everyone and on the front steps, as he helped Varvara Pavlovna into the carriage, squeezed her hand and cried out as she left: ‘Au revoir!’ Gedeonovsky sat beside her; she entertained herself the whole journey by placing the tip of her foot apparently unintentionally against his leg; he was confused and paid her compliments; she giggled and made eyes at him when the light from a street lamp fell into the carriage. The waltz which she had played rang in her head and excited her; no matter where she was, she had only to imagine to herself lights, a ballroom and rapid circling to the sound of music for her soul literally to catch fire, her eyes to become strangely glassy, a smile to hover on her lips and something elegantly Bacchanalian to pervade her whole body. Reaching home, Varvara Pavlovna skipped lightly out of the carriage – only lionesses can skip out like that – swung round to Gedeonovsky and suddenly burst into ringing laughter right under his nose.
‘A charming person,’ the councillor thought, making his way up to his apartment where his servant was waiting for him with a bottle of opodeldoc. ‘It’s a good thing I’m a respectable man…. Only what on earth was she laughing at?’
Marfa Timofeyevna sat the whole night at Liza’s bedside.
XLI
LAVRETSKY spent a day and a half in Vasilyevskoye and almost all the time wandered about the place. He could never stay long in one place: regret gnawed at him; he experienced all the torments of never-ending, impetuous and impotent passion. He remembered the feeling that overwhelmed him the day after his arrival in the country; he remembered his intentions at that time and felt utterly disgusted with himself. What could have torn him away from what he considered his duty, the one and only task of his future life? The thirst for happiness, that same old thirst for happiness! ‘Evidently Mikhalevich was right,’ he thought. ‘What you wanted’, he said to himself, ‘was to know happiness for the second time in your life, and you forgot that it is a luxury, an undeserved favour, when it visits a man’s life even once. It was not full happiness, it was false happiness, you will say – then show what right you have to full and perfect happiness! Look about you and see who is happy, who enjoys life. Look, there’s a peasant on the way to mowing, perhaps he’s happy with his fate…. Do you want to change places with him, eh? Remember your mother and how triflingly small were her demands, yet what was her share of life’s happiness? You were evidently only boasting to Panshin when you told him that you’d come to Russia to plough the land; you had come in your old age to go chasing after young girls. No sooner had news come that you were free than you cast everything aside, forgot everything and ran off like a boy after a butterfly…’ The image of Liza endlessly rose before him in the midst of his cogitations; he banished it from him with an effort, as he did that other importunate image, those other nonchalantly calculating, beautiful, despicable features. Old Anton noticed that his master was preoccupied; sighing several times behind the door, and several times in the doorway, he made up his mind to approach him and proffered the advice that he should drink something warming. Lavretsky shouted at him, ordered him out and then begged his pardon; but Anton became even more crestfallen as a result. Lavretsky could not sit in the drawing-room, for he gained the quite literal impression that his great-grandfather Andrey looked despisingly from the canvas at this gutless descendant of his. ‘Hey, you, you small fry!’ his sideways twisted lips seemed to be saying. ‘Will I, though,’ Lavretsky thought, ‘be unable to get myself right, will I give in to this… nonsense?’ (Severely wounded soldiers always call their wounds ‘nonsense’. Without deceiving himself a man cannot live.) ‘What am I, in fact – just a little boy? Well, yes: I saw within reach, almost held in my hands, the possibility of lifelong happiness – and then it suddenly vanished; just as in roulette, the wheel has only to turn a fraction more and the beggar perhaps becomes a rich man. But if it’s not to be, it’s not to be – and that’s the end of it. I will do what I have to do with clenched teeth, and tell myself to keep quiet; one blessing is that it’s not the first time I’ve had to take myself in hand. And why did I run away, why am I sitting here with my head in the sand like an ostrich? They say it’s terrible to look catastrophe in the face – nonsense!’ ‘Anton,’ he cried loudly, ‘Order the tarantass to be got ready at once!’ ‘Yes,’ he thought again, ‘I must tell myself to keep quiet, I must rule myself with a rod of iron…’
By such arguments Lavretsky strove to ease his sorrow, but it was great and powerful; and Apraxia herself, who had gone not so much out of her mind as out of all her feelings, shook her head and sadly followed him with her eyes as he sat down in the tarantass to go into town. The horses galloped away; he sat motionless and straight, and motionlessly he gazed ahead of him at the road.
XLII
THE previous day Liza had written to Lavretsky, asking him to come that evening; but he went first to his own apartments. He found neither his wife, nor his daughter, at home; from the servants he learned that she had taken his daughter to the Kalitins. This news both amazed and infuriated him. ‘Obviously Varvara Pavlovna has decided to leave me nothing to live for,’ he thought with an access of malice in his heart. He began to walk backwards and forwards, ceaselessly kicking and casting aside the children’s toys, books and various female belongings that got in his way; he summoned Justine and ordered her to clear away all this ‘trash’. Oui, monsieur,’ she said, making a face, and proceeded to tidy the room, bending elegantly and giving Lavretsky to understand with every movement that she considered him an uneducated bear of a man. He looked with loathing at her raddled but still ‘piquant’, supercilious Parisian face, at her white cuf
fs, silk pinafore and little cap. He dismissed her eventually, and after much hesitation (Varvara Pavlovna had still not returned) made up his mind to go to the Kalitins – not to Marya Dmitrievna (nothing on earth would have made him enter her drawing-room, the drawing-room where his wife was), but to Marfa Timofeyevna; he remembered that a back staircase from the servants’ entrance led directly to her room. This is what Lavretsky did. He was helped by circumstances: Shurochka was in the courtyard and took him to Marfa Timofeyevna. He found her, contrary to custom, alone; she was sitting in a corner, bent, capless and with her arms folded. Seeing Lavretsky, the old lady got in a tizzy, jumped to her feet and began walking to and fro about the room as if looking for her cap.
‘Ah, so there you are, there you are,’ she began, avoiding his eyes and pretending to busy herself, ‘well, how are you? What is it, then? What’s to be done? Where were you yesterday? Yes, she’s come, she’s come. Well, it must be… somehow or other it must be…’
Lavretsky sank into a chair.
‘Yes, do sit down, do sit down,’ the old lady continued. ‘Did you come straight upstairs? Well, of course you did. What for? Did you come to have a look at me? Thank you very much.’
The old lady fell silent; Lavretsky did not know what to say to her; but she understood him.
‘Liza…. Yes, Liza was here a moment ago,’ Marfa Timofeyevna went on, tying and untying the cords of her pocket-bag. ‘She is not very well. Shurochka, where are you? Come here, my dear. Why can’t you sit still? And my head’s aching, too. Probably it’s all because of that – that singing and that music.’
‘From what singing, auntie?’
‘How can you ask? They’ve been having – how do you call them? – those… those duets here. And all in Italian: chi-chi and cha-cha, carrying on like magpies. Then they start drawing the notes out as if they’re sobbing out their souls. That Panshin and your wife. And how quickly everything’s been ironed out: it’s all in the family now, no formalities. Still, it has to be admitted: even a dog looks for a home and won’t get lost, so long as people don’t drive it away.’
‘Nevertheless, I admit I hadn’t expected this,’ Lavretsky said. ‘This needed great boldness.’
‘No, my dear fellow, this isn’t boldness, this is calculation. And God be with her! They say you’re packing her off to Lavriki, is that true?’
‘Yes, I am assigning that estate to her.’
‘Has she asked for money?’
‘Not so far.’
‘Well, that won’t be long now. I’ve only now had a chance to look at you. Are you well?’
‘I am well.’
‘Shurochka,’ cried Marfa Timofeyevna suddenly, ‘go and tell Lizaveta Mikhaylovna – that’s to say, no, ask her…. She’s downstairs, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, she is.’
‘Well, then, go and ask her where she’s put my book. She knows where.’
‘At once.’
The old lady again began fussing about, opening and closing drawers. Lavretsky sat motionless in his chair.
Suddenly there were light footsteps on the stairs – and Liza entered.
Lavretsky stood up and bowed; Liza stopped by the door.
‘Liza, my little Liza,’ Marfa Timofeyevna started saying fussily, ‘where did you put it, where did you put my book?’
‘What book, auntie?’
‘Well I never, there it is! But I didn’t call you…. Still, it doesn’t matter. What were you doing downstairs? You see, Fyodor Ivanych’s come. How is your head?’
‘It’s nothing.’
‘You always say it’s nothing. What’s happening downstairs – is it music again?’
‘No, they’re playing cards.’
‘So she’s not letting the grass grow under her feet. Shurochka, I see you want to run about the garden. Off with you!’
‘But I don’t, Marfa Timofeyevna…’
‘Don’t argue, please – off with you! Nastasya Karpovna went into the garden by herself: you go and find her. Be respectful now to an old woman.’ Shurochka went out. ‘Now where’s my cap? Where on earth’s it got to?’
‘Let me go and look for it,’ said Liza.
‘Sit down, sit down. My own legs haven’t fallen off yet. It’s probably there in my bedroom.’
And, casting a distrustful look at Lavretsky, Marfa Timofeyevna went out. She was on the point of leaving the door open, but suddenly turned back and closed it tight.
Liza leaned back in her chair and quietly raised her hands to her face; Lavretsky remained where he was.
‘So this is how we had to see each other,’ he said at last.
Liza took her hands from her face.
‘Yes,’ she said tonelessly, ‘we’ve been quickly punished.’
‘Punished,’ said Lavretsky. ‘What’ve you been punished for?’
Liza raised her eyes to his. They expressed neither grief nor anxiety; they looked smaller and dimmer. Her face was pale; the slightly open lips had also lost their colour.
Lavretsky’s heart was shaken by feelings of pity and love.
‘You wrote to me that it was all over,’ he whispered. ‘Yes, it was all over before it began.’
‘It must all be forgotten,’ said Liza. ‘I’m glad you’ve come. I wanted to write to you, but it’s better this way. Only we’ve got to make the most of these minutes. It remains for both of us now to do our duty. You, Fyodor Ivanych, must be reconciled with your wife.’
‘Liza!’
‘I beg you to do this. This alone can wipe out… everything that’s happened. You think about it – and don’t refuse me.’
‘Liza, for God’s sake, you’re asking the impossible. I’m ready to do everything you command; but to be reconciled with her now!… I agree to everything, I’ve forgotten everything; but I cannot force my heart…. No, that’s cruel!’
‘I don’t ask of you… what you say. Don’t live with her if you can’t. But be reconciled,’ Liza said and again raised her hands to her eyes. ‘Remember your daughter; do this for my sake.’
‘Very well,’ uttered Lavretsky through his teeth, ‘suppose I do this and in this way I do my duty – well, what about you – what’s your duty to be?’
‘That is my business.’
Lavretsky suddenly shuddered all over.
‘You’re not thinking of marrying Panshin?’ he asked.
Liza gave a barely discernible smile.
‘Oh, no!’ she said.
‘Ah, Liza, Liza,’ Lavretsky cried out, ‘how happy we could have been!’
Again Liza looked at him.
‘Now you see for yourself, Fyodor Ivanych, that happiness depends not on us, but on God.’
‘Yes, because you…’
The door from the next room was flung open and Marfa Timofeyevna entered with a cap in her hand.
‘Got it,’ she said, stopping between Lavretsky and Liza. ‘I’d put it down myself. That’s old age for you, more’s the pity! Still, it’s no better being young. So, are you going with your wife to Lavriki?’ she added, turning to Fyodor Ivanych.
‘With her to Lavriki? I? I don’t know,’ he said after a pause.
‘Aren’t you going downstairs?’
‘Today – no.’
‘Well, you know best; but I think you, Liza, ought to go down. Oh, saints above, I’ve forgotten to feed the bullfinch! Just wait a moment, I’ll…’
And Marfa Timofeyevna rushed out without even putting on her cap.
Lavretsky quickly went up to Liza.
‘Liza,’ he began in a pleading voice, ‘we’re parting for ever and my heart is breaking – give me your-hand in farewell.’
Liza raised her head. Her tired, almost exhausted eyes rested on him…
‘No,’ she said and drew back her already proffered hand, ‘no, Lavretsky’ (it was the first time she had called him that), ‘I won’t give you my hand. What’s the point in it? Go away, I beg you. You know I love you…. Yes, I do love you,’ she added with an effort, ?
??but no… no.’
And she raised a handkerchief to her lips.
‘At least give me that handkerchief.’
The door creaked…. The handkerchief slipped on to Liza’s knees. Lavretsky seized it before it could fall to the floor, quickly stuffed it into a side pocket and, turning about, encountered Marfa Timofeyevna’s eyes.
‘Liza, my dear, I think your mother’s calling you,’ the old lady said.
Liza at once rose and went out.
Marfa Timofeyevna again sat down in her corner. Lavretsky began to say good-bye.
‘Fedya,’ she said suddenly.
‘What, auntie?’
‘Are you an honest man?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m asking you: are you an honest man?’
‘I hope so, yes.’
‘Hmm. Give me your word that you’re an honest man.’
‘As you wish. But what’s this for?’
‘I know what it’s for. And you, my boy, if you take a little thought, for you’re not stupid, will understand what I’m asking this for. But now, my dear, good-bye. Thank you for coming to see me; but remember what you’ve promised, Fedya, and give me a kiss. Oh, I know, my dear one, how hard it is for you; but, then, it’s not easy for anyone. There was a time when I used to envy flies: that’s a good way to live, I used to think; but then one night I heard a fly whining in a spider’s clutches, and I thought: No, they’ve got to watch out, too. You can’t do anything about it, Fedya; just keep your promise. Go now.’
Lavretsky went out by the back entrance and was already approaching the gates, when a footman caught up with him.
‘Marya Dmitrievna asks you to come and see her,’ he informed Lavretsky.
‘Tell her, my good fellow, that I can’t now…’ Fyodor Ivanych began.
‘She said especial-like to ask,’ the footman went on. ‘She said to say she was alone.’
‘The guests have gone, have they?’ asked Lavretsky.
‘Yes-sir,’ the footman replied and grinned.
Lavretsky shrugged his shoulders and followed him.