I should be in a great difficulty, if I were forced to describeexactly what passed within me in the course of the week after myunsuccessful midnight expedition. It was a strange feverish time, asort of chaos, in which the most violently opposed feelings, thoughts,suspicions, hopes, joys, and sufferings, whirled together in a kindof hurricane. I was afraid to look into myself, if a boy of sixteenever can look into himself; I was afraid to take stock of anything; Isimply hastened to live through every day till evening; and at night Islept ... the light-heartedness of childhood came to my aid. I did notwant to know whether I was loved, and I did not want to acknowledge tomyself that I was not loved; my father I avoided--but Zinaida I couldnot avoid.... I burnt as in a fire in her presence ... but what did Icare to know what the fire was in which I burned and melted--it wasenough that it was sweet to burn and melt. I gave myself up to all mypassing sensations, and cheated myself, turning away from memories,and shutting my eyes to what I foreboded before me.... This weaknesswould not most likely have lasted long in any case ... a thunderboltcut it all short in a moment, and flung me into a new trackaltogether.
Coming in one day to dinner from a rather long walk, I learnt withamazement that I was to dine alone, that my father had gone away andmy mother was unwell, did not want any dinner, and had shut herselfup in her bedroom. From the faces of the footmen, I surmised thatsomething extraordinary had taken place.... I did not dare tocross-examine them, but I had a friend in the young waiter Philip,who was passionately fond of poetry, and a performer on the guitar. Iaddressed myself to him. From him I learned that a terrible scene hadtaken place between my father and mother (and every word had beenoverheard in the maids' room; much of it had been in French, but Mashathe lady's-maid had lived five years' with a dressmaker from Paris,and she understood it all); that my mother had reproached my fatherwith infidelity, with an intimacy with the young lady next door, thatmy father at first had defended himself, but afterwards had lost histemper, and he too had said something cruel, 'reflecting on her age,'which had made my mother cry; that my mother too had alluded to someloan which it seemed had been made to the old princess, and had spokenvery ill of her and of the young lady too, and that then my father hadthreatened her. 'And all the mischief,' continued Philip, 'came froman anonymous letter; and who wrote it, no one knows, or else there'dhave been no reason whatever for the matter to have come out at all.'
'But was there really any ground,' I brought out with difficulty,while my hands and feet went cold, and a sort of shudder ran throughmy inmost being.
Philip winked meaningly. 'There was. There's no hiding those things;for all that your father was careful this time--but there, you see,he'd, for instance, to hire a carriage or something ... no getting onwithout servants, either.'
I dismissed Philip, and fell on to my bed. I did not sob, I did notgive myself up to despair; I did not ask myself when and how this hadhappened; I did not wonder how it was I had not guessed it before,long ago; I did not even upbraid my father.... What I had learnt wasmore than I could take in; this sudden revelation stunned me....All was at an end. All the fair blossoms of my heart were roughlyplucked at once, and lay about me, flung on the ground, and trampledunderfoot.
XX
My mother next day announced her intention of returning to the town.In the morning my father had gone into her bedroom, and stayed there along while alone with her. No one had overheard what he said to her;but my mother wept no more; she regained her composure, and asked forfood, but did not make her appearance nor change her plans. I rememberI wandered about the whole day, but did not go into the garden,and never once glanced at the lodge, and in the evening I was thespectator of an amazing occurrence: my father conducted Count Malevskyby the arm through the dining-room into the hall, and, in the presenceof a footman, said icily to him: 'A few days ago your excellency wasshown the door in our house; and now I am not going to enter into anykind of explanation with you, but I have the honour to announce to youthat if you ever visit me again, I shall throw you out of window. Idon't like your handwriting.' The count bowed, bit his lips, shrankaway, and vanished.
Preparations were beginning for our removal to town, to Arbaty Street,where we had a house. My father himself probably no longer caredto remain at the country house; but clearly he had succeeded inpersuading my mother not to make a public scandal. Everything wasdone quietly, without hurry; my mother even sent her compliments tothe old princess, and expressed her regret that she was prevented byindisposition from seeing her again before her departure. I wanderedabout like one possessed, and only longed for one thing, for it allto be over as soon as possible. One thought I could not get out ofmy head: how could she, a young girl, and a princess too, after all,bring herself to such a step, knowing that my father was not a freeman, and having an opportunity of marrying, for instance, Byelovzorov?What did she hope for? How was it she was not afraid of ruining herwhole future? Yes, I thought, this is love, this is passion, thisis devotion ... and Lushin's words came back to me: to sacrificeoneself for some people is sweet. I chanced somehow to catch sightof something white in one of the windows of the lodge.... 'Can it beZinaida's face?' I thought ... yes, it really was her face. I couldnot restrain myself. I could not part from her without saying a lastgood-bye to her. I seized a favourable instant, and went into thelodge.
In the drawing-room the old princess met me with her usual slovenlyand careless greetings.
'How's this, my good man, your folks are off in such a hurry?' sheobserved, thrusting snuff into her nose. I looked at her, and a loadwas taken off my heart. The word 'loan,' dropped by Philip, had beentorturing me. She had no suspicion ... at least I thought so then.Zinaida came in from the next room, pale, and dressed in black, withher hair hanging loose; she took me by the hand without a word, anddrew me away with her.
'I heard your voice,' she began, 'and came out at once. Is it so easyfor you to leave us, bad boy?'
'I have come to say good-bye to you, princess,' I answered, 'probablyfor ever. You have heard, perhaps, we are going away.'
Zinaida looked intently at me.
'Yes, I have heard. Thanks for coming. I was beginning to think Ishould not see you again. Don't remember evil against me. I havesometimes tormented you, but all the same I am not what you imagineme.' She turned away, and leaned against the window.
'Really, I am not like that. I know you have a bad opinion of me.'
'I?'
'Yes, you ... you.'
'I?' I repeated mournfully, and my heart throbbed as of old under theinfluence of her overpowering, indescribable fascination. 'I? Believeme, Zinaida Alexandrovna, whatever you did, however you tormented me,I should love and adore you to the end of my days.'
She turned with a rapid motion to me, and flinging wide her arms,embraced my head, and gave me a warm and passionate kiss. God knowswhom that long farewell kiss was seeking, but I eagerly tastedits sweetness. I knew that it would never be repeated. 'Good-bye,good-bye,' I kept saying ...
She tore herself away, and went out. And I went away. I cannotdescribe the emotion with which I went away. I should not wish itever to come again; but I should think myself unfortunate had I neverexperienced such an emotion.
We went back to town. I did not quickly shake off the past; I didnot quickly get to work. My wound slowly began to heal; but I had noill-feeling against my father. On the contrary he had, as it were,gained in my eyes ... let psychologists explain the contradictionas best they can. One day I was walking along a boulevard, and tomy indescribable delight, I came across Lushin. I liked him for hisstraightforward and unaffected character, and besides he was dear tome for the sake of the memories he aroused in me. I rushed up to him.'Aha!' he said, knitting his brows,' so it's you, young man. Let mehave a look at you. You're still as yellow as ever, but yet there'snot the same nonsense in your eyes. You look like a man, not alap-dog. That's good. Well, what are you doing? working?'
I gave a sigh. I did not like to tell a lie, while I was ashamed totell the truth.
'Well,
never mind,' Lushin went on, 'don't be shy. The great thing isto lead a normal life, and not be the slave of your passions. What doyou get if not? Wherever you are carried by the tide--it's all a badlook-out; a man must stand on his own feet, if he can get nothing buta rock to stand on. Here, I've got a cough ... and Byelovzorov--haveyou heard anything of him?'
'No. What is it?'
'He's lost, and no news of him; they say he's gone away to theCaucasus. A lesson to you, young man. And it's all from not knowinghow to part in time, to break out of the net. You seem to have got offvery well. Mind you don't fall into the same snare again. Good-bye.'
'I shan't,' I thought.... 'I shan't see her again.' But I was destinedto see Zinaida once more.
XXI
My father used every day to ride out on horse-back. He had a splendidEnglish mare, a chestnut piebald, with a long slender neck and longlegs, an inexhaustible and vicious beast. Her name was Electric. Noone could ride her except my father. One day he came up to me in agood humour, a frame of mind in which I had not seen him for a longwhile; he was getting ready for his ride, and had already put on hisspurs. I began entreating him to take me with him.
'We'd much better have a game of leap-frog,' my father replied.'You'll never keep up with me on your cob.'
'Yes, I will; I'll put on spurs too.'
'All right, come along then.'
We set off. I had a shaggy black horse, strong, and fairly spirited.It is true it had to gallop its utmost, when Electric went at fulltrot, still I was not left behind. I have never seen any one ride likemy father; he had such a fine carelessly easy seat, that it seemedthat the horse under him was conscious of it, and proud of its rider.We rode through all the boulevards, reached the 'Maidens' Field,'jumped several fences (at first I had been afraid to take a leap, butmy father had a contempt for cowards, and I soon ceased to feel fear),twice crossed the river Moskva, and I was under the impression thatwe were on our way home, especially as my father of his own accordobserved that my horse was tired, when suddenly he turned off awayfrom me at the Crimean ford, and galloped along the river-bank. I rodeafter him. When he had reached a high stack of old timber, he slidquickly off Electric, told me to dismount, and giving me his horse'sbridle, told me to wait for him there at the timber-stack, and,turning off into a small street, disappeared. I began walking up anddown the river-bank, leading the horses, and scolding Electric, whokept pulling, shaking her head, snorting and neighing as she went; andwhen I stood still, never failed to paw the ground, and whining, bitemy cob on the neck; in fact she conducted herself altogether like aspoilt thorough-bred. My father did not come back. A disagreeable dampmist rose from the river; a fine rain began softly blowing up, andspotting with tiny dark flecks the stupid grey timber-stack, whichI kept passing and repassing, and was deadly sick of by now. Iwas terribly bored, and still my father did not come. A sort ofsentry-man, a Fin, grey all over like the timber, and with a hugeold-fashioned shako, like a pot, on his head, and with a halberd(and how ever came a sentry, if you think of it, on the banks ofthe Moskva!) drew near, and turning his wrinkled face, like an oldwoman's, towards me, he observed, 'What are you doing here with thehorses, young master? Let me hold them.'
I made him no reply. He asked me for tobacco. To get rid of him (I wasin a fret of impatience, too), I took a few steps in the direction inwhich my father had disappeared, then walked along the little streetto the end, turned the corner, and stood still. In the street, fortypaces from me, at the open window of a little wooden house, stoodmy father, his back turned to me; he was leaning forward over thewindow-sill, and in the house, half hidden by a curtain, sat a womanin a dark dress talking to my father; this woman was Zinaida.
I was petrified. This, I confess, I had never expected. My firstimpulse was to run away. 'My father will look round,' I thought,'and I am lost ...' but a strange feeling--a feeling stronger thancuriosity, stronger than jealousy, stronger even than fear--held methere. I began to watch; I strained my ears to listen. It seemedas though my father were insisting on something. Zinaida would notconsent. I seem to see her face now--mournful, serious, lovely, andwith an inexpressible impress of devotion, grief, love, and a sort ofdespair--I can find no other word for it. She uttered monosyllables,not raising her eyes, simply smiling--submissively, but withoutyielding. By that smile alone, I should have known my Zinaida of olddays. My father shrugged his shoulders, and straightened his hat onhis head, which was always a sign of impatience with him.... Then Icaught the words: '_Vous devez vous separer de cette..._' Zinaida satup, and stretched out her arm.... Suddenly, before my very eyes, theimpossible happened. My father suddenly lifted the whip, with whichhe had been switching the dust off his coat, and I heard a sharp blowon that arm, bare to the elbow. I could scarcely restrain myself fromcrying out; while Zinaida shuddered, looked without a word at myfather, and slowly raising her arm to her lips, kissed the streak ofred upon it. My father flung away the whip, and running quickly upthe steps, dashed into the house.... Zinaida turned round, and withoutstretched arms and downcast head, she too moved away from thewindow.
My heart sinking with panic, with a sort of awe-struck horror, Irushed back, and running down the lane, almost letting go my holdof Electric, went back to the bank of the river. I could not thinkclearly of anything. I knew that my cold and reserved father wassometimes seized by fits of fury; and all the same, I could nevercomprehend what I had just seen.... But I felt at the time that,however long I lived, I could never forget the gesture, the glance,the smile, of Zinaida; that her image, this image so suddenlypresented to me, was imprinted for ever on my memory. I staredvacantly at the river, and never noticed that my tears were streaming.'She is beaten,' I was thinking,... 'beaten ... beaten....'
'Hullo! what are you doing? Give me the mare!' I heard my father'svoice saying behind me.
Mechanically I gave him the bridle. He leaped on to Electric ... themare, chill with standing, reared on her haunches, and leaped ten feetaway ... but my father soon subdued her; he drove the spurs into hersides, and gave her a blow on the neck with his fist.... 'Ah, I've nowhip,' he muttered.
I remembered the swish and fall of the whip, heard so short a timebefore, and shuddered.
'Where did you put it?' I asked my father, after a brief pause.
My father made no answer, and galloped on ahead. I overtook him. Ifelt that I must see his face.
'Were you bored waiting for me?' he muttered through his teeth.
'A little. Where did you drop your whip?' I asked again.
My father glanced quickly at me. 'I didn't drop it,' he replied; 'Ithrew it away.' He sank into thought, and dropped his head ... andthen, for the first, and almost for the last time, I saw how muchtenderness and pity his stern features were capable of expressing.
He galloped on again, and this time I could not overtake him; I gothome a quarter-of-an-hour after him.
'That's love,' I said to myself again, as I sat at night before mywriting-table, on which books and papers had begun to make theirappearance; 'that's passion!... To think of not revolting, of bearinga blow from any one whatever ... even the dearest hand! But it seemsone can, if one loves.... While I ... I imagined ...'
I had grown much older during the last month; and my love, with allits transports and sufferings, struck me myself as something small andchildish and pitiful beside this other unimagined something, which Icould hardly fully grasp, and which frightened me like an unknown,beautiful, but menacing face, which one strives in vain to make outclearly in the half-darkness....
A strange and fearful dream came to me that same night. I dreamed Iwent into a low dark room.... My father was standing with a whip inhis hand, stamping with anger; in the corner crouched Zinaida, and noton her arm, but on her forehead, was a stripe of red ... while behindthem both towered Byelovzorov, covered with blood; he opened his whitelips, and wrathfully threatened my father.
Two months later, I entered the university; and within six months myfather died of a stroke in Petersburg, where he
had just moved withmy mother and me. A few days before his death he received a letterfrom Moscow which threw him into a violent agitation.... He went tomy mother to beg some favour of her: and, I was told, he positivelyshed tears--he, my father! On the very morning of the day when hewas stricken down, he had begun a letter to me in French. 'My son,'he wrote to me, 'fear the love of woman; fear that bliss, thatpoison....' After his death, my mother sent a considerable sum ofmoney to Moscow.
XXII
Four years passed. I had just left the university, and did not knowexactly what to do with myself, at what door to knock; I was hangingabout for a time with nothing to do. One fine evening I met Meidanovat the theatre. He had got married, and had entered the civil service;but I found no change in him. He fell into ecstasies in just the samesuperfluous way, and just as suddenly grew depressed again.
'You know,' he told me among other things, 'Madame Dolsky's here.'
'What Madame Dolsky?'
'Can you have forgotten her?--the young Princess Zasyekin whom we wereall in love with, and you too. Do you remember at the country-housenear Neskutchny gardens?'
'She married a Dolsky?'
'Yes.'
'And is she here, in the theatre?'
'No: but she's in Petersburg. She came here a few days ago. She'sgoing abroad.'
'What sort of fellow is her husband?' I asked.
'A splendid fellow, with property. He's a colleague of mine in Moscow.You can well understand--after the scandal ... you must know allabout it ...' (Meidanov smiled significantly) 'it was no easy taskfor her to make a good marriage; there were consequences ... but withher cleverness, everything is possible. Go and see her; she'll bedelighted to see you. She's prettier than ever.'