VII
I was on the point of setting out for the English Prospect on Saturdayevening when there was a knock on my door, and to my surprise NicholasMarkovitch came in. He was in evening dress--rather quaint it seemed tome, with his pointed collar so high, his tail-coat so much too small,and his large-brimmed bowler hat. He explained to me confusedly that hewished to walk with me alone to the church... that he had things totell me... that we should meet the others there. I saw at once twothings, that he was very miserable, that he was a little drunk. Hismisery showed itself in his strange, pathetic, gleaming eyes, thatlooked so often as though they held unshed tears (this gave him anunfortunate ridiculous aspect), in his hollow pale cheeks and the droopof his mouth, not petulant nor peevish, simply unhappy in the way thatanimals or very young children express unhappiness. His drunkennessshowed itself in quite another way. He was unsteady a little on hisfeet, and his hands trembled, his forehead was flushed, and he spokethickly, sometimes running his words together. At the same time he wasnot very drunk, and was quite in control of his thoughts andintentions.
We went out together. It could not have been called a fine night--it wastoo cold, and there was a hint of rain in the air--and yet there isbeauty, I believe, in every Russian Easter Eve. The day comes sowonderfully at the end of the long heavy winter. The white nights withtheir incredible, almost terrifying beauty are at hand, the ice isbroken, the new world of sun and flowers is ready, at an instant's magicword, to be born. Nevertheless this year there was an incredible pathosin the wind. The soul of Petrograd was indeed stirring, but mournfully,ominously. There were not, for one thing, the rows of little fairy lampsthat on this night always make the streets so gay. They hang in chainsand clusters of light from street to street, blazing in the square,reflected star-like in the canals, misty and golden-veiled in distance.To-night only the churches had their lights; for the rest, the streetswere black chasms of windy desolation, the canals burdened with thebreaking ice which moved restlessly against the dead barges. Very strongin the air was the smell of the sea; the heavy clouds that moved in astrange kind of ordered procession overhead seemed to carry that scentwith them, and in the dim pale shadows of the evening glow one seemed tosee at the end of every street mysterious clusters of masts, and to hearthe clank of chains and the creak of restless boards. There were fewpeople about and a great silence everywhere. The air was damp and thick,and smelt of rotten soil, as though dank grass was everywhere pushingits way up through the cobbles and paving-stones.
As we walked Markovitch talked incessantly. It was only a very littlethe talk of a drunken man, scarcely disconnected at all, but every nowand again running into sudden little wildnesses and extravagances. Icannot remember nearly all that he said. He came suddenly, as I expectedhim to do, to the subject of Semyonov.
"You know of course that Alexei Petrovitch is living with us now?"
"Yes. I know that."
"You can understand, Ivan Andreievitch, that when he came first andproposed it to me I was startled. I had other things--very seriousthings to think of just then. We weren't--we aren't--very happy at homejust now... you know that... I didn't think he'd be very gay with us.I told him that. He said he didn't expect to be gay anywhere at thistime, but that he was lonely in his flat all by himself, and he thoughtfor a week or two he'd like company. He didn't expect it would be forvery long. No.... He said he was expecting 'something to happen.'Something to himself, he said, that would alter his affairs. So, as itwas only for a little time, well, it didn't seem to matter. Besides,he's a powerful man. He's difficult to resist--very difficult toresist...."
"Why have you given up your inventions, Nicolai Leontievitch?" I said tohim, suddenly turning round upon him.
"My inventions?" he repeated, seeming very startled at that.
"Yes, your inventions."
"No, no.... Understand, I have no more use for them. There are otherthings now to think about--more important things."
"But you were getting on with them so well?"
"No--not really. I was deceiving myself as I have often deceived myselfbefore. Alexei showed me that. He told me that they were no good--"
"But I thought that he encouraged you?"
"Yes--at first--only at first. Afterwards he saw into them moreclearly; he changed his mind. I think he was only intending to be kind.A strange man... a strange man...."
"A very strange man. Don't you let him influence you, NicholasMarkovitch."
"Influence me? Do you think he does that?" He suddenly came close to me,catching my arm.
"I don't know. I haven't seen you often together."
"Perhaps he does... _Mojet bweet_... You may be right. I don't know--Idon't know what I feel about him at all. Sometimes he seems to me verykind; sometimes I'm frightened of him, sometimes"--here he dropped hisvoice--"he makes me very angry, so angry that I lose control ofmyself--a despicable thing... a despicable thing... just as I used tofeel about the old man to whom I was secretary. I nearly murdered himonce. In the middle of the night I thought suddenly of his stomach, allround and white and shining. It was an irresistible temptation to plungea knife into it. I was awake for hours thinking of it. Every man hassuch hours.... At the same time Alexei can be very kind."
"How do you mean--kind?" I asked.
"For instance he has some very good wine--fifty bottles at least--he hasgiven it all to us. Then he insists on paying us for his food. He is agenerous-spirited man. Money is nothing to us--"
"Don't you drink his wine," I said.
Nicholas was instantly offended.
"What do you mean, Ivan Andreievitch? Not drink his wine? Am I aninfant? Can I not look after myself?--_Blagadaryoo Vas_.... I am morethan ten years old." He took his hand away from my arm.
"No, I didn't mean that at all," I assured him. "Of course not--only youtold me not long ago that you had given up wine altogether. That's why Isaid what I did."
"So I have! So I have!" he eagerly assured me. "But Easter's a time forrejoicing... Rejoicing!"--his voice rose suddenly shrill andscornful--"rejoicing with the world in the state that it is. Truly, IvanAndreievitch, I don't wonder at Alexei's cynicism. I don't indeed. Theworld is a sad spectacle for an observant man." He suddenly put his handthrough my arm, so close to me now that I could feel his beating heart."But you believe, don't you, Ivan Andreievitch, that Russia now hasfound herself?" His voice became desperately urgent and beseeching. "Youmust believe that. You don't agree with those fools who don't believethat she will make the best of all this? Fools? Scoundrels! Scoundrels!That's what they are. I must believe in Russia now or I shall die. Andso with all of us. If she does not rise now as one great country andlead the world, she will never do so. Our hearts must break. But shewill... she will! No one who is watching events can doubt it. Onlycynics like Alexei doubt--he doubts everything. And he cannot leaveanything alone. He must smear everything with his dirty finger. But hemust leave Russia alone... I tell him...."
He broke off. "If Russia fails now," he spoke very quietly, "my life isover. I have nothing left. I will die."
"Come, Nicolai Leontievitch," I said, "you mustn't let yourself go likethat. Life isn't over because one is disappointed in one's country. Andeven though one is disappointed one does not love the less. What'sfriendship worth if every disappointment chills one's affection? Oneloves one's country because she is one's country, not because she'sdisappointing...." And so I went on with a number of amiable platitudes,struggling to comfort him somewhere, and knowing that I was not evenbeginning to touch the trouble of his soul.
He drew very close to me, his fingers gripping my sleeve--"I'll tellyou, Ivan Andreievitch--but you mustn't tell anybody else. I'm afraid.Yes, I am. Afraid of myself, afraid of this town, afraid of Alexei,although that must seem strange to you. Things are very bad with me,Ivan Andreievitch. Very bad, indeed. Oh! I have been disappointed! yes,I have. Not that I expected anything else. But now it has come at last,the blow that I have always feared has fallen--a very heavy blow. My ownfault,
perhaps, I don't know. But I'm afraid of myself. I don't knowwhat I may do. I have such strange dreams--Why has Alexei come to staywith us?"
"I don't know," I said.
Then, thank God, we reached the church. It was only as we went up thesteps that I realised that he had never once mentioned Vera.
The Secret City Page 43