'Kiss!' I could not help crying aloud.
'Bravo! he has won it,' the princess said quickly. 'How glad I am!'She came down from the chair and gave me such a bright sweet look,that my heart bounded. 'Are you glad?' she asked me.
'Me?' ... I faltered.
'Sell me your lot,' Byelovzorov growled suddenly just in my ear. 'I'llgive you a hundred roubles.'
I answered the hussar with such an indignant look, that Zinaidaclapped her hands, while Lushin cried, 'He's a fine fellow!'
'But, as master of the ceremonies,' he went on, 'it's my duty to seethat all the rules are kept. M'sieu Voldemar, go down on one knee.That is our regulation.'
Zinaida stood in front of me, her head a little on one side as thoughto get a better look at me; she held out her hand to me with dignity.A mist passed before my eyes; I meant to drop on one knee, sank onboth, and pressed my lips to Zinaida's fingers so awkwardly that Iscratched myself a little with the tip of her nail.
'Well done!' cried Lushin, and helped me to get up.
The game of forfeits went on. Zinaida sat me down beside her. Sheinvented all sorts of extraordinary forfeits! She had among otherthings to represent a 'statue,' and she chose as a pedestal thehideous Nirmatsky, told him to bow down in an arch, and bend hishead down on his breast. The laughter never paused for an instant.For me, a boy constantly brought up in the seclusion of a dignifiedmanor-house, all this noise and uproar, this unceremonious, almostriotous gaiety, these relations with unknown persons, were simplyintoxicating. My head went round, as though from wine. I beganlaughing and talking louder than the others, so much so that the oldprincess, who was sitting in the next room with some sort of clerkfrom the Tversky gate, invited by her for consultation on business,positively came in to look at me. But I felt so happy that I did notmind anything, I didn't care a straw for any one's jeers, or dubiouslooks. Zinaida continued to show me a preference, and kept me at herside. In one forfeit, I had to sit by her, both hidden under one silkhandkerchief: I was to tell her _my secret_. I remember our two headsbeing all at once in a warm, half-transparent, fragrant darkness, thesoft, close brightness of her eyes in the dark, and the burning breathfrom her parted lips, and the gleam of her teeth and the ends of herhair tickling me and setting me on fire. I was silent. She smiledslyly and mysteriously, and at last whispered to me, 'Well, whatis it?' but I merely blushed and laughed, and turned away, catchingmy breath. We got tired of forfeits--we began to play a game witha string. My God! what were my transports when, for not payingattention, I got a sharp and vigorous slap on my fingers from her,and how I tried afterwards to pretend that I was absent-minded, andshe teased me, and would not touch the hands I held out to her! Whatdidn't we do that evening! We played the piano, and sang and dancedand acted a gypsy encampment. Nirmatsky was dressed up as a bear,and made to drink salt water. Count Malevsky showed us several sortsof card tricks, and finished, after shuffling the cards, by dealinghimself all the trumps at whist, on which Lushin 'had the honour ofcongratulating him.' Meidanov recited portions from his poem 'TheManslayer' (romanticism was at its height at this period), which heintended to bring out in a black cover with the title in blood-redletters; they stole the clerk's cap off his knee, and made him dance aCossack dance by way of ransom for it; they dressed up old Vonifaty ina woman's cap, and the young princess put on a man's hat.... I couldnot enumerate all we did. Only Byelovzorov kept more and more inthe background, scowling and angry.... Sometimes his eyes lookedbloodshot, he flushed all over, and it seemed every minute as thoughhe would rush out upon us all and scatter us like shavings in alldirections; but the young princess would glance at him, and shake herfinger at him, and he would retire into his corner again.
We were quite worn out at last. Even the old princess, though she wasready for anything, as she expressed it, and no noise wearied her,felt tired at last, and longed for peace and quiet. At twelve o'clockat night, supper was served, consisting of a piece of stale drycheese, and some cold turnovers of minced ham, which seemed to me moredelicious than any pastry I had ever tasted; there was only one bottleof wine, and that was a strange one; a dark-coloured bottle with awide neck, and the wine in it was of a pink hue; no one drank it,however. Tired out and faint with happiness, I left the lodge; atparting Zinaida pressed my hand warmly, and again smiled mysteriously.
The night air was heavy and damp in my heated face; a storm seemed tobe gathering; black stormclouds grew and crept across the sky, theirsmoky outlines visibly changing. A gust of wind shivered restlesslyin the dark trees, and somewhere, far away on the horizon, muffledthunder angrily muttered as it were to itself.
I made my way up to my room by the back stairs. My old man-nurse wasasleep on the floor, and I had to step over him; he waked up, saw me,and told me that my mother had again been very angry with me, and hadwished to send after me again, but that my father had prevented her.(I had never gone to bed without saying good-night to my mother, andasking her blessing. There was no help for it now!)
I told my man that I would undress and go to bed by myself, and I putout the candle. But I did not undress, and did not go to bed.
I sat down on a chair, and sat a long while, as though spell-bound.What I was feeling was so new and so sweet.... I sat still, hardlylooking round and not moving, drew slow breaths, and only from time totime laughed silently at some recollection, or turned cold within atthe thought that I was in love, that this was she, that this was love.Zinaida's face floated slowly before me in the darkness--floated, anddid not float away; her lips still wore the same enigmatic smile, hereyes watched me, a little from one side, with a questioning, dreamy,tender look ... as at the instant of parting from her. At last I gotup, walked on tiptoe to my bed, and without undressing, laid my headcarefully on the pillow, as though I were afraid by an abrupt movementto disturb what filled my soul.... I lay down, but did not even closemy eyes. Soon I noticed that faint glimmers of light of some sortwere thrown continually into the room.... I sat up and looked at thewindow. The window-frame could be clearly distinguished from themysteriously and dimly-lighted panes. It is a storm, I thought; anda storm it really was, but it was raging so very far away that thethunder could not be heard; only blurred, long, as it were branching,gleams of lightning flashed continually over the sky; it was notflashing, though, so much as quivering and twitching like the wingof a dying bird. I got up, went to the window, and stood there tillmorning.... The lightning never ceased for an instant; it was what iscalled among the peasants a _sparrow night_. I gazed at the dumb sandyplain, at the dark mass of the Neskutchny gardens, at the yellowishfacades of the distant buildings, which seemed to quiver too ateach faint flash.... I gazed, and could not turn away; these silentlightning flashes, these gleams seemed in response to the secretsilent fires which were aglow within me. Morning began to dawn; thesky was flushed in patches of crimson. As the sun came nearer, thelightning grew gradually paler, and ceased; the quivering gleamswere fewer and fewer, and vanished at last, drowned in the soberingpositive light of the coming day....
And my lightning flashes vanished too. I felt great weariness andpeace ... but Zinaida's image still floated triumphant over my soul.But it too, this image, seemed more tranquil: like a swan rising outof the reeds of a bog, it stood out from the other unbeautiful figuressurrounding it, and as I fell asleep, I flung myself before it infarewell, trusting adoration....
Oh, sweet emotions, gentle harmony, goodness and peace of the softenedheart, melting bliss of the first raptures of love, where are they,where are they?
VIII
The next morning, when I came down to tea, my mother scolded me--lessseverely, however, than I had expected--and made me tell her how I hadspent the previous evening. I answered her in few words, omitting manydetails, and trying to give the most innocent air to everything.
'Anyway, they're people who're not _comme il faut_,' my mothercommented, 'and you've no business to be hanging about there, insteadof preparing yourself for the examination, and doing your work.'
As I was well aware that my mother's anxiety about my studies wasconfined to these few words, I did not feel it necessary to make anyrejoinder; but after morning tea was over, my father took me by thearm, and turning into the garden with me, forced me to tell him all Ihad seen at the Zasyekins'.
A curious influence my father had over me, and curious were therelations existing between us. He took hardly any interest in myeducation, but he never hurt my feelings; he respected my freedom, hetreated me--if I may so express it--with courtesy,... only he neverlet me be really close to him. I loved him, I admired him, he was myideal of a man--and Heavens! how passionately devoted I should havebeen to him, if I had not been continually conscious of his holding meoff! But when he liked, he could almost instantaneously, by a singleword, a single gesture, call forth an unbounded confidence in him. Mysoul expanded, I chattered away to him, as to a wise friend, a kindlyteacher ... then he as suddenly got rid of me, and again he waskeeping me off, gently and affectionately, but still he kept me off.
Sometimes he was in high spirits, and then he was ready to romp andfrolic with me, like a boy (he was fond of vigorous physical exerciseof every sort); once--it never happened a second time!--he caressedme with such tenderness that I almost shed tears.... But high spiritsand tenderness alike vanished completely, and what had passed betweenus, gave me nothing to build on for the future--it was as though Ihad dreamed it all. Sometimes I would scrutinise his clever handsomebright face ... my heart would throb, and my whole being yearn tohim ... he would seem to feel what was going on within me, would giveme a passing pat on the cheek, and go away, or take up some work,or suddenly freeze all over as only he knew how to freeze, and Ishrank into myself at once, and turned cold too. His rare fitsof friendliness to me were never called forth by my silent, butintelligible entreaties: they always occurred unexpectedly. Thinkingover my father's character later, I have come to the conclusion thathe had no thoughts to spare for me and for family life; his heart wasin other things, and found complete satisfaction elsewhere. 'Take foryourself what you can, and don't be ruled by others; to belong tooneself--the whole savour of life lies in that,' he said to me oneday. Another time, I, as a young democrat, fell to airing my views onliberty (he was 'kind,' as I used to call it, that day; and at suchtimes I could talk to him as I liked). 'Liberty,' he repeated; 'and doyou know what can give a man liberty?'
'What?'
'Will, his own will, and it gives power, which is better than liberty.Know how to will, and you will be free, and will lead.'
'My father, before all, and above all, desired to live, and lived....Perhaps he had a presentiment that he would not have long to enjoy the'savour' of life: he died at forty-two.
I described my evening at the Zasyekins' minutely to my father. Halfattentively, half carelessly, he listened to me, sitting on a gardenseat, drawing in the sand with his cane. Now and then he laughed, shotbright, droll glances at me, and spurred me on with short questionsand assents. At first I could not bring myself even to utter the nameof Zinaida, but I could not restrain myself long, and began singingher praises. My father still laughed; then he grew thoughtful,stretched, and got up. I remembered that as he came out of the househe had ordered his horse to be saddled. He was a splendid horseman,and, long before Rarey, had the secret of breaking in the most vicioushorses.
'Shall I come with you, father?' I asked.
'No,' he answered, and his face resumed its ordinary expression offriendly indifference. 'Go alone, if you like; and tell the coachmanI'm not going.'
He turned his back on me and walked rapidly away. I looked after him;he disappeared through the gates. I saw his hat moving along besidethe fence; he went into the Zasyekins'.
He stayed there not more than an hour, but then departed at once forthe town, and did not return home till evening.
After dinner I went myself to the Zasyekins'. In the drawing-room Ifound only the old princess. On seeing me she scratched her head underher cap with a knitting-needle, and suddenly asked me, could I copy apetition for her.
'With pleasure,' I replied, sitting down on the edge of a chair.
'Only mind and make the letters bigger,' observed the princess,handing me a dirty sheet of paper; 'and couldn't you do it to-day, mygood sir?'
'Certainly, I will copy it to-day.'
The door of the next room was just opened, and in the crack I saw theface of Zinaida, pale and pensive, her hair flung carelessly back; shestared at me with big chilly eyes, and softly closed the door.
'Zina, Zina!' called the old lady. Zinaida made no response. I tookhome the old lady's petition and spent the whole evening over it.
IX
My 'passion' dated from that day. I felt at that time, I recollect,something like what a man must feel on entering the service: I hadceased now to be simply a young boy; I was in love. I have said thatmy passion dated from that day; I might have added that my sufferingstoo dated from the same day. Away from Zinaida I pined; nothingwas to my mind; everything went wrong with me; I spent whole daysthinking intensely about her ... I pined when away,... but in herpresence I was no better off. I was jealous; I was conscious of myinsignificance; I was stupidly sulky or stupidly abject, and, allthe same, an invincible force drew me to her, and I could not helpa shudder of delight whenever I stepped through the doorway of herroom. Zinaida guessed at once that I was in love with her, and indeedI never even thought of concealing it. She amused herself with mypassion, made a fool of me, petted and tormented me. There is asweetness in being the sole source, the autocratic and irresponsiblecause of the greatest joy and profoundest pain to another, and I waslike wax in Zinaida's hands; though, indeed, I was not the only one inlove with her. All the men who visited the house were crazy over her,and she kept them all in leading-strings at her feet. It amused her toarouse their hopes and then their fears, to turn them round her finger(she used to call it knocking their heads together), while they neverdreamed of offering resistance and eagerly submitted to her. Abouther whole being, so full of life and beauty, there was a peculiarlybewitching mixture of slyness and carelessness, of artificiality andsimplicity, of composure and frolicsomeness; about everything she didor said, about every action of hers, there clung a delicate, finecharm, in which an individual power was manifest at work. And herface was ever changing, working too; it expressed, almost at the sametime, irony, dreaminess, and passion. Various emotions, delicate andquick-changing as the shadows of clouds on a sunny day of wind, chasedone another continually over her lips and eyes.
Each of her adorers was necessary to her. Byelovzorov, whom shesometimes called 'my wild beast,' and sometimes simply 'mine,' wouldgladly have flung himself into the fire for her sake. With littleconfidence in his intellectual abilities and other qualities, he wasfor ever offering her marriage, hinting that the others were merelyhanging about with no serious intention. Meidanov responded to thepoetic fibres of her nature; a man of rather cold temperament, likealmost all writers, he forced himself to convince her, and perhapshimself, that he adored her, sang her praises in endless verses, andread them to her with a peculiar enthusiasm, at once affected andsincere. She sympathised with him, and at the same time jeered at hima little; she had no great faith in him, and after listening to hisoutpourings, she would make him read Pushkin, as she said, to clearthe air. Lushin, the ironical doctor, so cynical in words, knew herbetter than any of them, and loved her more than all, though he abusedher to her face and behind her back. She could not help respectinghim, but made him smart for it, and at times, with a peculiar,malignant pleasure, made him feel that he too was at her mercy. 'I'm aflirt, I'm heartless, I'm an actress in my instincts,' she said to himone day in my presence; 'well and good! Give me your hand then; I'llstick this pin in it, you'll be ashamed of this young man's seeing it,it will hurt you, but you'll laugh for all that, you truthful person.'Lushin crimsoned, turned away, bit his lips, but ended by submittinghis hand. She pricked it, and he did in fact begin to laugh,... andshe laughed, thrusting the pin in pretty deeply, and peepin
g into hiseyes, which he vainly strove to keep in other directions....
I understood least of all the relations existing between Zinaida andCount Malevsky. He was handsome, clever, and adroit, but somethingequivocal, something false in him was apparent even to me, a boy ofsixteen, and I marvelled that Zinaida did not notice it. But possiblyshe did notice this element of falsity really and was not repelled byit. Her irregular education, strange acquaintances and habits, theconstant presence of her mother, the poverty and disorder in theirhouse, everything, from the very liberty the young girl enjoyed, withthe consciousness of her superiority to the people around her, haddeveloped in her a sort of half-contemptuous carelessness and lackof fastidiousness. At any time anything might happen; Vonifaty mightannounce that there was no sugar, or some revolting scandal wouldcome to her ears, or her guests would fall to quarrelling amongthemselves--she would only shake her curls, and say, 'What does itmatter?' and care little enough about it.
But my blood, anyway, was sometimes on fire with indignation whenMalevsky approached her, with a sly, fox-like action, leanedgracefully on the back of her chair, and began whispering in her earwith a self-satisfied and ingratiating little smile, while she foldedher arms across her bosom, looked intently at him and smiled too, andshook her head.
'What induces you to receive Count Malevsky?' I asked her one day.
'He has such pretty moustaches,' she answered. 'But that's ratherbeyond you.'
'You needn't think I care for him,' she said to me another time. 'No;I can't care for people I have to look down upon. I must have some onewho can master me.... But, merciful heavens, I hope I may never comeacross any one like that! I don't want to be caught in any one'sclaws, not for anything.'
Veshnie vody. English Page 18