PART TWO
CHAPTER I
THE LOVERS
Semyonov and Marie Ivanovna did not offer us a picture of idealisedlove--they did not offer us a picture of anything, and although theywere, both of them, most certainly changed, they could not be said inany way to do what the Otriad expected of them. The Otriad quitefrankly expected them to be ashamed of themselves. To expect that ofSemyonov at any time showed a lamentable lack of interest in humancharacter, but, as I have already said, our Otriad was always excitedby results rather than causes. Semyonov had never shown himselfashamed of anything, and he most certainly did not intend to beginnow. He had never disguised his love for Marie Ivanovna and now shewas his "spoils"--won by his own strong piratical hand from the goodbut rather feeble bark Trenchard--he manifested his scorn of us moreopenly than ever.
He seemed to have grown rather stronger and stouter during these lastmonths, and his square stolidity was a thing at which to marvel. Hadhe been taller, had his beard been pointed rather than square, hewould have been graceful and even picturesque--but his figure, as hestrode along, showed foursquare, as though it had been hewn out ofwood; one of those pale, almost white, honey-coloured woods wouldgive the effect of his fair beard and eyebrows. His thick red lipswere more startling than ever, curved as they usually were in cynicalcontempt of some foolish victim. How he did despise us!
When one of our childish quarrels arose at meal-times he would saynothing, but would continue stolidly his serious business of eating.He was very fond of his food, which he ate in the greediest manner.When the quarrel was subsiding, as it usually did, into the firstglasses of tea, he would look up, watch us with his contemptuous blueeyes, laugh and say: "Well, and now?... Who is it next?"--and everyone would be clumsily embarrassed.
We were often, as are all Russian companies, ridiculously amused aboutnothing. At the most serious crises we would, like Gayeff in "TheCherry Orchard," suddenly break into stupid bursts of laughter, quiteaimless but with a great deal of sincerity. Whirls of laughter wouldinvade our table. "Oh, do look at Goga!" some one would say, and therewe all were, perhaps for a quarter of an hour! Semyonov, strangelyenough, shared this childish habit, and there was nothing odder thanto see the man lose control of himself, double himself up, laugh untilthe tears ran down his face--simply at nothing at all!
The truth is that now I was very far from hating him. There weremoments, certainly, when he was rude to the Sisters, when he wasabominably greedy, when he was ruthlessly selfish, when he pouredscorn upon me; at such times I thought him, as Trenchard has expressedit, a "beastly" man. He certainly had no great opinion of myself. "Youthink yourself very clever, Ivan Andreievitch. Yes, you think you'rewatching all of us and studying all our characters. And I supposethere'll be a book one day, another of those books by Englishmen aboutpoor Russians--and you'll flatter yourself that now at last one truepicture has been given ... but let me tell you that you'll never knowanything really about us so long as you're a sentimentalist!"
Yes, there were moments when I hated him, but those moments nevercontinued for long. For one thing one could not hate so magnificent, sohonest, so uncompromising, so efficient a worker! He was worthy of somevery high position in the army, and he could certainly have attained anyheight had he chosen. He had a genius for compelling other men to obeyhim, he was never perturbed by unexpected mischance, he paid noattention at all to what other people thought of him, and he seemedincapable of fatigue. I often wondered what he was doing here, why hehad chosen so small an Otriad as ours in which to work, why he stayedwith us when he, so openly, despised us all. Until the arrival of MarieIvanovna there was no answer to these questions--after that the answerwas obvious enough. Again, one could not hate a man of his sterlingindependence of character. We were, all of us I think, emotionalists, ofone kind or another, and went up and down in our feelings, alliances,severances, trusts and distrusts, as a thermometer goes up and down. Wewere good enough people in our way, but we were most certainly not "astrong lot." Even Nikitin, the best of the rest of us, was a dreamyidealist, far enough from life as it was and quite unprepared to comedown from his dreams and see things as they were.
But Semyonov never relaxed for an instant from his position. He askedno man's help nor advice, minded no man's scorn, sought no man's love.During my experience of him I saw him moved only once by anovermastering emotion, and that was, of course, his love for MarieIvanovna. That, I believe, _did_ master him, but deep down, deep down,he kept his rebellions, his anxieties, his surmises; only as thelight of a burning house is seen by men, pale and faint upon the skymany miles from the conflagration, did we catch signs of his trouble.If I had not had those talks with Trenchard and read his diary Ishould have known nothing. Even now I can offer no solution....
Meanwhile he showed fiercely and openly enough his love for MarieIvanovna. He behaved to her with the vulgarest ostentation, as a richmerchant behaves when he has snatched some priceless picture from adefeated rival. As he laughed at us he seemed to say: "Now, I havereally a thing of value here. You are, all of you, too stupid torealise this, but you must take my word for it. Show yourself off, mydear, and let them all see!"
Marie Ivanovna most certainly did _not_ "show herself off." Thebeginning of his trouble was that he could not do with her as hepleased. She had fallen into his hands so easily that he thought, Isuppose, that "she had been dying of love for him" from the firstmoment of seeing him. But this was I believe very far from the truth.My impression of her acceptance of him was that she had done it "withher eyes fixed upon something else." That _she_ had not realised allthe consequences of accepting _him_ any more than she had realised theconsequences of her accepting Trenchard was obvious from the first.She simply was ignorant of life, and at the same time wanted to craminto her hands the full sense of it (as one crushes rose-leaves) asquickly as possible. She admired Semyonov--it may be that she lovedhim; but she certainly had not surrendered herself to him, and in herlively ignorant way she was as strong as he.
During the first weeks of her engagement she was, as she had been ather first arrival amongst us, as happy and light-hearted as a child.She knew that we disapproved of her treatment of Trenchard, but shethought that we must see, as she did, that "she had behaved in theonly possible way." Once again she was straight and honest to theworld--and she could behave now like a real friend of her John. Thatstrange irrational temper that she had shown during the Retreat hadnow entirely disappeared. She approved of us all and wished us toapprove of her--which we, as we were Russians and could not possiblydislike pleasant agreeable people whatever there might be againstthem, speedily did. She was charming to us. I can see her now, leaningher chin on her hands; looking at us, the colour, shell-pink, comingand going delicately in her cheek, like flame behind china. Herdelicacy, her height, her slender figure, her wide childish eyes, hercharmingly ugly large mouth and short nose, her black hair, the appealof her ignorance and strength and credulity--ah! she won our heartssimply whenever she pleased! Of course we disliked her when she wasrude to us, our self-respect demanded it, but let her "come round" andround we came too.
Her treatment of Semyonov was strange. She was quite fearless,laughing at his temper, his sarcasm, rebuking his selfishness and badmanners, avoiding his coarse and unhesitating love-making, and aboveall, trusting him in the oddest way as though, in spite of his faults,she placed all her reliance on him and knew that he would not failher. Nothing annoyed him more than her behaviour to Trenchard. Itwould, of course, be absurd to say that he was jealous of Trenchard;he despised the man too deeply and was, himself, too sure of his ladyto know jealousy; but he was irritated by the attention paid to him,irritated even by the attention he himself paid to him.
"Wherever I go there's that man," he said once to me. "Why doesn't hego back to his own country?"
"I suppose," I would answer hotly, "he has other things to do than toconsider your individual wishes, Alexei Petrovitch."
Then he would laugh: "Well, well, Ivan Andreiev
itch, yousentimentalists all hang together."
"Why can't you leave him alone?" I remember that I continued.
"Because he doesn't leave me alone," he answered shortly.
It was, of course, Marie Ivanovna who brought them together. She couldnot see, or rather she _would_ not see, that friendship between twosuch men was an impossibility. For herself she liked Trenchard betterthan she had ever done. She had now no responsibility towards him; wewere all fond of him, pleased ourselves by saying that "he was moreRussian than English." The Sisters mended his clothes, cared for hisstomach, and listened with pleased gravity to his innocent chatter.Marie Ivanovna was now really proud of him. There were great storiesof the courage and enterprise he had shown during the night when hehad been with Nikitin. Nikitin, in his lofty romantic fashion, spokeof him as though he had been the hero of the Russian army. Trenchardwas, of course, quite unspoiled by this praise and popularity. Heremained for me at least very much the same innocent, clumsy,pathetic, and frequently irritating figure that he had been at thebeginning. I will honestly confess that I was often heartily tired ofhis Glebeshire stories, tired too of a certain childish obstinacy withwhich he clung to his generally crude and half-baked opinions.
But then I do not care to be contradicted by people of whom,intellectually, I have a low estimation; it is one of my mostunfortunate weaknesses. I had no opinion of Trenchard's intellect atall, and in that I was quite wrong. Semyonov at this time flungNikitin, Andrey Vassilievitch, Trenchard and myself into one basket.We were all "crazy romantics" and there came an occasion, which I havereason most clearly to remember, when he told us what he thought ofus. We were together, Semyonov, Nikitin, Trenchard and I, afterbreakfast, smoking cigarettes, enjoying half an hour's idleness beforesetting about our various business. It was a blazing hot morning andthe air quivered, like a silver curtain before our eyes, separating usfrom the dim blue forest of S---- beyond the river, the Nestor itself,the deep green slopes of our own hill. We had been silent, thenTrenchard said a foolish thing: "War brings all the best out ofpeople, I think," he said. God knows what private line of thought hehad been pursuing, some sentimental reflections, I suppose, that werein him perfectly honest and sincere. But he did not look his best thatmorning, sitting back in his chair with his mouth open, his foreheaddamp with the heat, his tunic up about his neck and a rather dirtyblue pocket-handkerchief in his hand.
I saw Semyonov's lip curl.
"Yes. That's very interesting, Mr.," he said. "I'm glad at any ratethat we've had the honour of seeing the best of _you_. That's verypleasant to know."
"What I mean--" said Trenchard, blushing and stammering. "What ...that is--"
"I agree with Mr.," suddenly said Nikitin, who had been dreamilywatching the blue forest. "War _does_ bring out the best in the humancharacter--always."
Semyonov turned smilingly to him. "Yes, Vladimir Stepanovitch, we knowyour illusions. Forgive me for insisting that they are illusions. Iwould not disturb your romantic happiness for the world."
"You can't disturb me, Alexei Petrovitch," Nikitin answered sleepily."What a hot morning!"
"No," said Semyonov. "I would be very wrong to disturb you. Believeme, I've never tried. It's very agreeable to me to see you and Mr. sohappy together and it must be pleasant for both of you to feel thatyou've got a nice God all of your own who sleeps a good deal butstill, on the whole, gives you what you want. We may wonder a littlewhat Mr. has done to be so favoured--never very much I fancy--butstill I like the friendliness and comfort of it and I'm really luckyto have the good fortune of your acquaintance. So nice for Russia tooto have plenty of people about who don't do any work nor take anytrouble about anything because they've got a nice fat God who'll do itall for them if they'll only be patient. Thats why we're beating theGermans so handsomely--the poor Germans, who only, ignorant heathensas they are, believe in themselves."
He looked at us all with a friendly patronising contempt.
"That's your point of view, Alexei Petrovitch," Nikitin answeredrather hotly. "Think as you please of course. But there's more in lifethan you can see--there is indeed."
"Of course there is," said Semyonov lazily, "much more. I'm anignorant, rough man. I like things as they are and make the best ofthem, so, of course, I'm not clever. Mr.'s clever, aren't you, Mr.?All the same he doesn't know how to put his boots on properly. If heput his boots on better and knew less about God he might be of moreuse at the Front, perhaps. That's only my idea, and I daresay I'mwrong.... All the same, for the sake of the comfort _and_ the pocketsof all of us I do hope you'll really rouse your God and ask Him to dosomething sensible--something with method in it and a few more bulletsin it and a little more efficiency in it. You might ask Him to do whatHe can...."
He looked at us, laughing; then he said to Trenchard, "But don't youfear, Mr. You'll go to heaven all right. Even though it's the wise menwho succeed in this world, I don't doubt it's the fools who have theirway in the next."
He left us.
Semyonov was with every new day more baffled by Marie Ivanovna. In thefirst place she quietly refused to obey him. We were now much occupiedwith the feeding of the peasants in a village stricken with cholera onthe other side of the river. A gloomy enough business it was and Ishall have, very shortly, to speak of it in detail. For the moment itis enough to say that two of us went off every morning with a kitchenon wheels, distributed the food, and returned in the afternoon.Semyonov intensely disliked Marie Ivanovna's share in this work, buthe could not, of course, object to her taking, with the other Sisters,the risks and unpleasantness of it. He made, whenever it was possible,objections, found her work at the hospital where he himself was,occupied her in every possible way. But he did this against her will.She seemed to find a very especial pleasure and excitement in thecholera work; she wished often to take the place of some other Sister.Indeed everything on the other side of the river seemed to have agreat fascination for her. She herself told me: "The moment I crossthe bridge I feel as though I were on enchanted ground." On theoccasions when I accompanied her to the cholera village she wasradiant, so happy that she seemed to have nothing further in the worldto desire. She herself was puzzled. "What is it?" she said to me. "Isit the forest? It must be, I think, the forest. I would remain on thisside for ever if I had my way."
When I saw Semyonov's anxiety about her I could not but remember thatlittle scene at the battle of S---- when he had taken her off withhim, leaving Trenchard in so pitiful a condition. Certainly Timebrings in his revenges! And Marie Ivanovna would listen to nothingthat he said.
"I want you at the hospital this morning," he would say.
"Do you really want me?" she would ask, looking up, laughing, in hisface.
"Of course I do."
"Well, you should have told me last night. This morning I go with AnnaPetrovna to the cholera. All is arranged."
"I'm afraid you must change your plans."
"I'm afraid not."
"Goga may go...."
"No, I wish to go."
And she went. He had certainly never before in his life been thusdefied. He simply did not know what to do about it. If he had thoughtthat bullying would frighten her he would, I believe, have bulliedher, but he knew quite well that it wouldn't. And then, as I now beganto perceive (I had at first thought otherwise), he was for the firsttime in his life experiencing something deeper and more confusing thanhis customary animal passions. He may at first have wanted MarieIvanovna as he wanted his dinner or his supper ... now he wanted herdifferently. New emotions, surprising confusing emotions stirred inhim. At least that is how I interpret the uneasiness, the hesitation,which I now seemed to perceive in him. He was no longer sure ofhimself.
I witnessed just at this time a little scene that surprised me. I hadbeen in the bandaging room alone one evening, cutting up bandages. Iwas going through the passage into the other part of the house when asound stopped me. I could not avoid seeing beyond the open door alittle scene that happened so swiftly that I could neithe
r retire noradvance.
Marie Ivanovna and Semyonov were coming together towards the bandagingroom. She was in front of him when he put his hand on her arm.
"Do you love me?" he said in a low voice.
She turned round to him, laughing.
"Yes," she said, looking at him.
"Then kiss me."
"No, not now."
"Why not now?"
"I don't want to."
"Why don't you want to?"
She shook her head, still laughing into his eyes.
"But if I command you?"
"Ah! _command_!... Then I certainly will not."
His hand tightened on her arm and she did not draw away.
"Kiss me."
"No."
"I say yes."
"I say no."
He suddenly caught her, held her to him as though he would kill herand kissed her furiously, on her eyes, her mouth, her hair. With hisviolence he pushed back her head-dress. I could see his back bent likea bow, and his thick short legs wide apart, every muscle taut. She layquite motionless, as though asleep in his arms, giving him noresponse--then quite suddenly she flung her hands round his neck andkissed him as passionately as he had kissed her. At last they parted,both of them laughing.
He looked at her, and then with a gentleness and courtesy that I hadnever seen in him before nor dreamed that he possessed, very softlykissed her hand.
"I love you and--and you love me," he said.
"Yes ... I love you," she answered gravely. "At least, part of medoes."
"It shall be all of you soon," he answered.
"If there's time enough," she replied.
"Time!... I'll follow you wherever you go--"
"I really believe you will," she answered, laughing again. They waitedthen, looking at one another. A bell rang. "Ah! I'm hungry.... Suppertime...." To my relief they passed away from the bandaging roomtowards the other part of the house.
Meanwhile his irritation at Marie Ivanovna's kindness to Trenchardincreased with every hour. His attitude to the man had changed sinceTrenchard's night at the Position; he was vexed, I think, to hear thatthe fellow had proved himself a man--and a practical man with commonsense. Semyonov was honest about this. He did not doubt Nikitin'sword, he even congratulated Trenchard, but he certainly disliked himmore than ever. He thought, I suppose, as he had thought aboutNikitin: "How can a man with his wits about him be at the same timesuch a fool?" And then he saw that Marie Ivanovna was delighted withTrenchard's little piece of good luck. She laughed at Semyonov aboutit. "We all know you're a very brave man," she cried. "But you're notso brave as Mr." And Semyonov, because he knew that Trenchard was afool and that he himself was not, was vexed, as a bull is vexed by ared flag. These things made him think a great deal about Trenchard. Ihave seen him watching him with angry and puzzled gaze as though hewould satisfy himself why this gnat of a man worried him!
Then, finally, was Andrey Vassilievitch.... The little man had notgiven me much of his company during these last weeks. I fancy thatsince that night at the battle of S---- when he had revealed histerror he had been shy of me although, God knows, he had no need tobe. He never forgot if any one had seen him in an unfortunateposition, and, although he bore me no grudge, he was nervous andembarrassed with me. It happened, however, that during this same weekof which I have been speaking I had a conversation with him. I wasstanding alone by the Cross watching a long trail of wagons cross thebridge far beneath me, watching too a high bank of black cloud thatwas passing away from the sky above the forest, blown by a wind thatrolled the surface of the river into silver. He too had come to lookat the view and was surprised and disturbed at finding me there. Ofcourse he was exaggerated in expressions of pleasure: "Why, IvanAndreievitch, this is delightful!" he cried. "If I only had known wemight have walked here together!"
We sat down on the stone seat.
"You don't think it will rain?" he asked anxiously. "No, those cloudsare going away, I see. Well ... this is delightful ..." and then satthere gloomily looking in front of him.
I could see that he was depressed.
"Well, Andrey Vassilievitch," I said to him. "You're depressed aboutsomething?"
"Yes," he said very gloomily indeed. "I have many unhappy hours, IvanAndreievitch."
I did not get up and leave him as I very easily might have done. I hadhad, since the night when Nikitin had spoken to me so frankly, adesire to know the little man's side of that affair. In some curiousfashion that silent plain wife of his had been very frequently in mythoughts; there had not been enough in Nikitin's account to explain tome his passion for her, and yet her ghost, as though evoked by thememories both of Nikitin and her husband, had seemed to me, sometimes,to be present with us....
I waited.
"Tell me frankly," Andrey Vassilievitch said at last, "am I of any usehere?"
"Of use?" I repeated, taken by surprise.
"Yes. Am I doing only what any one else can do as well? Would it bebetter perhaps if another were here?"
"No, certainly not," I answered warmly. "Your business training is ofthe greatest value to us. Molozov has said to me 'that he does notknow what we should do without you.'"
(This was not strictly true.)
"Ah!" the little man was greatly pleased. "I am glad, very glad--tohear what you say. Semyonov made me feel--"
"You should not be influenced," I hurriedly interrupted him, "by whatSemyonov thinks. It is of no importance."
"He has a bad character," Andrey Vassilievitch said suddenly withgreat excitement, "a bad character. And why cannot he leave me alone?Why should he laugh always? I do my best. I am quiet and not in hisway. I can do things that he cannot. I am not big as he but at least Ido not rob men of their women."
He was shaking with anger, his head trembling and his handsquivering--it was difficult not to smile.
"You must not listen nor notice nor think of it," I said firmly. "Weare grateful for your work--all of us. Semyonov laughs at us all."
"That poor Marie Ivanovna," he burst out. "She does not know. She isignorant of life. At first I was angry with her but now I see that sheis helpless. There will be terrible things afterwards, IvanAndreievitch!" he cried.
"I think she understands him better than we do."
"I have never," he said vehemently, "hated a man in my life as I hatehim." But in spite of his passionate declaration he was obviouslyreassured by my defence of him. He was quiet suddenly, looked at theview mildly and, in a moment, thought me the best friend he had in theworld--in the Russian manner.
"You see, Ivan Andreievitch," he said, looking at me with the eyes ofan unnaturally wise baby, "that I cannot help wishing that my wifewere here to advise Marie Ivanovna. She would have loved my wife verymuch, as every one did, and would have confided in her. That wouldhave helped a girl who, like Marie Ivanovna, is ignorant of the worldand the loves of men."
"You miss your wife very much?" I asked.
"There is not a moment of the day but I do not think of her," heanswered very solemnly, staring in front of him. "That must seemstrange to you who did not know her, and even I sometimes think it isnot good. But what to do? She was a woman so remarkable that no onewho knew her can forget."
"I have often been told that every one who knew her loved her," Isaid.
"Ah! you have heard that.... They talk of her, of course. She willalways be remembered." His eyes shone with pleasure. "Yes, every oneloved her. I myself loved her with a passion that nothing can everchange. And why?... I cannot tell you--unless it were that she was theonly person I have known who did not wish me another kind of man. Icould be myself with her and know that she still cared for me.... Iwill not pretend to you, Ivan Andreievitch, that I think myself a fineman," he continued. "I have never thought myself so. When I was veryyoung I envied tall men and handsome men and men who knew what was thebest thing to do without thinking of it. I have always known thatpeople would only come to me for what I have got to give and I havepretended that I do not
care. And once I had an English merchant as myguest. He was very agreeable and pleasant to me--and then by chance Ioverheard him say: 'Ah, Andrey Vassilievitch! A vulgar little snob!'That is perhaps what I am--I do not know--we are all what God pleases.But I had mistresses, I had friends, acquaintances. They despised me.They left me always for some one finer. They say that we Russians caretoo much what others think of us--but when in your own housepeople--your friends--say such things of you...."
He broke off, then, smiling, continued:
"My wife came. There was something in me, just as I was, that shecared for. She did not passionately love me, but she loved me with herheart because she saw that I needed love. She always saw people justas they were.... And I understood. I understood from the beginningexactly what I was to her...."
He paused again, put his hand on my knee, then spoke, looking veryserious with his comic little nose and mouth like the nose and mouthof a poodle. "I had a friend, Ivan Andreievitch. A fine man.... Heloved my wife and my wife loved him. He was not vulgar. He had a finetaste, he was handsome and clever. What was I to do? I knew that mywife loved him, and she must be happy. I knew that I owed hereverything because of all that she had done for me. I helped them intheir love.... For five years I wished them well. Do you think it waseasy for me? I suffered, Ivan Andreievitch, the tortures of hell. Iwas jealous, God forgive me! How jealous! Sometimes alone in my room Iwould cry all night--not a fine thing to do. But then how should Iact? She gave him what she could never give to me. She loved him withpassion--for me she cared as good women care for the poor. I wasfoolish perhaps. I tried to be as they were, with their taste and easyjudgments ... I failed, of course. What could I do all at once? One isas God has pleased from the beginning. Ah! how I was unhappy thosefive years! I wished that he would die and then cursed myself forwishing it. And yet I knew that I had something that he had not. Ineeded her more than he, and she knew that. Her charm for him wouldfade perhaps as the years passed. He was a passionate man who hadloved many women. For me, as she well knew, it would never pass.
"She died. For a time I was like a dead man. And she was not enoughwith me. I talked to her friends, but they had not known her--not asshe was. Only one had known her and he was the friend whom she hadloved.
"Of course he found me as he had always done--tiresome, irritating, ofvulgar taste. But he, too, wanted to speak of her. And so we weredrawn together.... Now ... is he my friend? I say always that he is. Isay to myself: 'Andrey Vassilievitch, he is your best friend'--but Iam jealous. Yes, Ivan Andreievitch, I am jealous of him. I think thatperhaps he will die before me and that then--somewhere--together--theywill laugh at me. And he has _such_ memories of her! At the last shecried his name! He is so much a grander man than I! Fine in every way!Did I say that she would laugh? No, no ... that never. But she willsay: 'Poor Andrey Vassilievitch!' She will pity me!... I think that Iwould be happier if I did not see my friend. But I cannot leavehim.... We talk of her often. And yet he despises me and wonders thatshe can have loved me...."
I had a fear lest Andrey Vassilievitch should cry. He seemed sodesolate there, giving strange little self-important coughs andsniffs, beating the ground with his smart little military boot.
Across the river the black wall of cloud had returned and now hungabove the forest of S----, that lay sullenly, in its shadow,forbidding and thick, itself like a cloud. The world was cold, theNestor like a snake.... I shivered, seized by some sudden sense ofcoming disaster and trouble. The evenings there were often strangelychill.
"Look," cried Andrey Vassilievitch, starting to his feet "There'sMarie Ivanovna!"
I turned and saw her standing there, smiling at us, silently andwithout movement, like an apparition.
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