The Last Summer

by Ricarda Huch

  Yours, Katya

  LYU TO KONSTANTIN

  Kremskoye, 20th May

  Dear Konstantin,

  Your letter induced me to commit an indiscretion, but it would be a poor general who was unable to correct, or even exploit, a false move. The rumour that the students’ trial is going to be held immediately, and thus the governor is returning to Petersburg at once, must be unfounded, for he would be the first to know and consequently I would be in the picture too. All the same, I entertained the possibility yesterday and have prepared myself in case I need to act rapidly and suddenly. I told myself that it would not be easy to find an opportunity during the daytime, especially not one that would be favourable to me. At night-time I could sedate him and his wife – they sleep in the same room – kill him with a stab to the heart and then retire to my bed unnoticed. There would be no finger of suspicion pointing at me in particular. During the day, however, no one could intrude on the governor without somebody – that’s to say me – noticing. Myriad unpredictable disruptions might occur in the daytime; at night, the circumstances are certain, clear. Essentially, the viability of my plan is dependent on how lightly the governor and his wife sleep, so I resolved to find out as soon as I could. I put on a coat and tiptoed to their bedroom, which is separated from mine by a dressing room with a connecting bathroom and cloakroom. Barely had I set foot over the threshold than I saw Mrs von Rasimkara hurrying towards me. I’ll admit that at that moment I almost lost my head; seeing before me this woman looking so strange, so beautiful, so different from during the day – it took my breath away. In her face was an expression of both horror and unhesitating determination, which, as soon as she recognized me, gave way to relief, surprise and, I should say, a feeling for the comic nature of the situation. Indeed, for an instant I could think and feel nothing save for how ravishing she was. She swiftly dragged me back into the dressing room and said in a whisper that I’d given her such a fright, she’d thought I was a murderer. What had happened? Was anything wrong? Was I sleepwalking? I told her she needn’t worry in the slightest; nothing had happened. I’d awoken, thought I’d heard a noise and just wanted to make sure that everything was all right with them. This was something I’d often done, I said, because I regarded it as part of my duty, but she’d never noticed before. I added that it might be better not to mention the incident to her husband. Of course not, she said, she was pleased he hadn’t woken up. Then she squeezed my hand, gave me a nod and a smile, and went back to her bedroom.

  This was a treacherous moment, and I was unable to get to sleep again until morning. When she stood before me, smiling, I found her ravishing, while also thinking that I would have to kill her. This thought occurred to me so vividly that I felt as if I were screaming from my eyes, ‘I am your killer because I am his killer. You will always be at his side, your body will throw itself in front of his when the time comes, which is why you must die with him.’ The peculiar look she gave me seemed to say, ‘I understand you. It is my destiny; I accept it.’

  In one respect I gained something from my unfortunate endeavour. Now I know that the governor sleeps deeply. I have impressed upon her the idea that I occasionally enter their bedroom for the protection of her husband. If she were to see me come in, bend over her, she would not harbour any suspicion until the very last moment; rather she would gaze at me expectantly with wide eyes. On the other hand, I have learned that I have an aversion to this kind of deed. I should resort to it only in the most extreme of circumstances. Another way will be found that is more promising for me. In any case you have no need to worry. I may have acted rashly, but I nipped in the bud any bad consequences.

  Lyu

  VELYA TO PETER

  Kremskoye, 20th May

  Dear Peter,

  Today I feel as if I’m in a madhouse. Last night Mama heard something which, it later became apparent, was nothing. In spite of the fact that it all turned out to be her imagination, she has a tear-stained face and she jumps at the slightest noise. Papa has fits of rage, which we are supposed to respect as nervousness. Earlier he rang for Mariushka, because she’d left the electric light on in the cloakroom. He made such a row that I could hear it in the garden, and virtually behaved as if this electric light would bring ruin on our whole family. It transpired afterwards that it was he who’d switched it on and forgotten to turn it off again. Now it was Katya’s turn to start shouting. She said it was outrageous that the entire household was in floods of tears on Papa’s account; how could the servants possibly respect him if he behaved like that? She asked me whether I didn’t think the same, to which I replied, ‘Thy will be done, Papa.’ At this her rage suddenly switched to me, which fortunately had us all soon laughing. Papa said he would have to apologize to Mariushka because he’d done her an injustice, and to this end he headed for the servants’ quarters. We wanted to go with him to be present at the scene, but Mama forbade us, regarding it as unseemly. I’d found the whole thing amusing from the outset and cannot understand how Katya gets annoyed.

  KATYA TO PETER

  Of course I get annoyed. Velya cannot take anything seriously because he is too idle. Naturally it’s outrageous that a man such as Papa, who cannot control himself, closes the university because the students are defending their rights. It’s outrageous that a man can enjoy such power; this fact alone spells doom for our circumstances. Please see if you can find some teachers who will give us – and anyone else who wishes to take part – private tuition. We could hold the lessons at your house, nobody can forbid that. I don’t think we should put up with this state of affairs. Whether I finish a few years earlier or later does not bother me in the slightest, but it should at least be dependent on me. And if this doesn’t work then I’d like to go away, abroad. Having to live in Russia has become insufferable. I get no response from Velya; he’s completely gormless and shows no interest in anything I say or suggest. I accept that if you must, you must, but first one should try to see whether there’s another way.

  Katya

  LUSINYA TO TATYANA

  24th May

  Oh my goodness! So the children have written to say that we’re on edge again? If you promise not to breathe a word to anyone else, I’ll tell you how it happened. You know I’m an anxious, jumpy soul, and you also know that – unfortunately – I have good reason to be so. I’ll admit that I would be like that anyway, but this doesn’t alter the fact that the reason exists. Well, a few nights ago I woke up to find a man in the doorway to our bedroom. Naturally I thought he’d come to kill Yegor, so I rushed straight at him in protection – I had no time to think about it. It was only a moment, then I recognized Lyu. Yes, it was Lyu. The abrupt dissipation of fear and dread was so liberating that I almost burst out laughing; I could have embraced him. But afterwards, as I lay in bed, the consequences of having my nerves strained manifested themselves: the tears came to my eyes and I couldn’t stop crying. I was overcome by a sense of unease, far more disconcerting than the fear I’d felt earlier; I found it so sinister that Lyu had been sleepwalking. For I cannot find any explanation for what happened other than that he’s a somnambulist. He gave me a different account; he said he regarded it as his duty to check from time to time that everything is all right with us, and claimed he’d often been in our bedroom before, especially when he thought he’d heard a noise. It sounds perfectly plausible and perhaps you’ll say that I ought to find it reassuring to have him watch over us so devotedly. Previously I would have thought so too, but now I see that the idea of a situation is very different from the situation itself. The fact that all of a sudden there’s a man standing in our room at night, whether because he’s sleepwalking or for any other reason, isn’t alarming to me, but I do find it most sinister. I cannot sleep any more, because I’m always thinking that he’ll be standing there at any moment, looking at me with his strange grey eyes which seem to penetrate everything. The moment I’ve fallen asleep I wake again with a start, terrified. It struck me that he might climb in through the o
pen window; surely you know that sleepwalkers can wander everywhere, even on the edge of the roof. And I find this thought sinister. There’s nothing I can do to combat it. I’d really like to close the window, but Yegor doesn’t want to. He says it’s nonsense and I ought to banish such morbid thoughts. Snakes can crawl up walls, he said, sleepwalkers cannot. What do you think? I once read that the law of gravity didn’t apply to sleepwalkers. God only knows!

  Unfortunately I related the entire episode to Yegor, who didn’t wake up and heard nothing. He’s in good spirits, but my fearfulness makes him slightly impatient, because he cannot empathize with it himself. What also irritate him are the circumstances that demand a certain wariness, and wisely so. With his temperament, he cannot bear to see this.

  The children know nothing of the incident, for I should not like it to be discussed at the dinner table. It also seems to me to be more considerate of Lyu, to whom we owe so much. If the rumour went around that he is a sleepwalker, it would harm his standing. Nor should it become known that he enters our room at night to check on us.

  Katya, my golden child, is an incorrigible little devil. At every opportunity she complains about the closure of the university, even though she knows that she ought not to touch on political and business matters at the moment, because it vexes Yegor. I wonder whether your Peter will ever be able to cope with her? It says a lot about him that he imagines he will. He has inherited nothing from you, dearest; he is just like your husband, who after all succeeded in making an impression on you, didn’t he? My little one is still too much of a child to be impressed by anything in this world. I should wish that he might succeed in winning her heart, if only so that she could have you as a mother-in-law. And his solidity and groundedness would be perfect for her too. Jessika is blossoming, the countryside is doing her the world of good; she is our Hebe with the rosy cheeks. I do hope the little night-time interlude will not disturb me for much longer.

  Love and kisses, Lusinya

  JESSIKA TO TATYANA

  Kremskoye, 25th May

  Dearest Auntie,

  It’s a good thing I stayed here. Mama is currently in a phase where all her attention is focused on her Yegor, our father. And there must be a spirit hovering above the house. Just imagine, Auntie, our motorcar is arriving in a few days’ time. At the last moment Mama asserted that it’s dangerous and we’d be better off without one. This was the final little nudge Papa needed to make up his mind. For he said that we should ignore Mama’s anxiety; if she didn’t grow up now she’d soon be too old for it. Papa doesn’t want a chauffeur, as that would make the whole affair too expensive, and besides, he doesn’t care for strangers in the house. Ivan will have to learn how to drive. Velya said, ‘The gaffer steers our carriage into the ditch. Where’s he going to end up with the motorcar?’ Papa told Velya not to exaggerate, Ivan was not always drunk, he was frequently sober too. With a sigh, Mama expressed her hope that he’d be sober for our outings in the motorcar. I suggested we make excursions only occasionally, so they’d be certain to coincide with Ivan’s frequent periods of sobriety. It made perfect sense to Mama, but Katya got hot under the collar, saying that this wasn’t why we were getting a motorcar, she wanted to go for a drive every day, and so on. Fortunately Lyu intervened, mentioning that he’d dabbled a little in driving and was keen to learn more, so he could replace Ivan from time to time. Afterwards, when Papa wasn’t there, Velya said, ‘All the same, Papa would rather drive with Ivan because he believes that God looks after drunkards.’ That’s a saying, you know.

  There’s something else I have to tell you about Ivan. Yesterday lunchtime Velya said he’d asked him what he thought of Lyu, because he’d noticed that Ivan couldn’t abide him. Apparently Ivan was evasive, unwilling to say anything. Velya said surely he found Lyu friendly, even-handed, helpful, bright, able – all of which Ivan conceded. Finally, however, he said, ‘He’s too educated for my liking.’ Velya replied that Papa was educated as well, upon which Ivan narrowed his eyes, shook his head and said, ‘Yes he is, on the surface, but deep down he’s a good man like the rest of us.’ All of us laughed, especially Lyu, who was delighted by the comment, seeing in it great profundity. Lyu doesn’t ask whether someone likes him or not; that’s what I admire about him.

  Dear Auntie, I’m singing Tristan, Isolde, Brangäne, King Marke and a few other heroic figures. Can you picture me in full flow? Papa just cast a reluctant glance at the score, and of course I only sing when he’s out of earshot.

  Yours, Jessika

  LYU TO KONSTANTIN

  Kremskoye, 27th May

  Dear Konstantin,

  You think that I might fulfil my mission with the help of the motorcar? Indeed, if it could be so arranged that the governor broke his neck and I my wrist! Do you know how that might be achieved? The thought had occurred to me, of course, the moment the motorcar was first discussed, and I spoke in favour of acquiring one. I also proffered my services as a chauffeur, which was warmly applauded. Besides the aforementioned difficulty, however, another disadvantage of this strategy is that I should lose a lot of time practising my driving, without any enjoyment on my part. I am no sportsman; I do not permit myself to expend much time and effort on such things. I would be interested in piloting an aircraft, but that is work, not sport, and has all manner of scholarly uses, both principal and secondary. I shall, nonetheless, familiarize myself with the motorcar, as I might conceivably need it for a rapid escape.

  I have had another idea which I feel has great promise. If possible I should like not to be personally involved in the act of killing, which means a machine would have to play my role. It now occurs to me that this could be a typewriter. I shall furnish you with more detail when my plan has come to greater fruition. I may well need your wise help to ensure that the machine is adapted for purpose without the manufacturer finding out.

  Mrs von Rasimkara is a changed woman since that night: pale, almost shy, and permanently at her husband’s side. It may be the case that my actions have doubled her apprehensiveness, because she was forced to conclude that I believed her husband to be in great danger. Perhaps she has not been sleeping well since. Before then, my confidence and insouciance had a calming effect on her. A certain reserve – which she is not so much deliberately showing me as letting slip against her will – could be down to the fact that the memory of our night-time encounter, which was so peculiar, so fleeting, yet so arresting, and which only the two of us know about, makes her feel embarrassed or at least moves her in a particular way. She harbours no suspicion of me, of that I am quite sure. On the contrary, she treats me with a greater degree of friendliness and deference. As she is almost always in the company of her husband, I am obliged to spend more time with the children, whose close friend and confidant I have become.

  You must not leave Petersburg for the time being, as I may need your help with the typewriter.

  Lyu

  VELYA TO PETER

  Kremskoye, 28th May

  Dear Peter,

  Today we almost had a family catastrophe, in which of course I played no active part. At the table Katya started talking about what’s happening at the university. She pointed out that to her it makes no difference as she has no need to earn a livelihood, but for most students it’s disastrous to be forced to interrupt their studies indefinitely. Still relatively calm and composed, Papa said it was certainly unlucky for many, which was why those who had brought this misfortune on their fellow students with their inflammatory behaviour ought to be judged even more harshly. This really set Katya off! Like an artificial waterfall switched into action! How typical of unjust despots, she said, to malign the victims and offload their own guilt onto them! Demodov and the others were martyrs, she added. They might be executed or sent to Siberia, but they could never be stripped of their glory for having acted with courage and selflessness. Moreover, almost everybody shared her opinion, she added. You, for example, planned to make a stand against the Cossacks too; it was only by chance that y
ou were held up on your way to the university, otherwise Papa could have sent you to the mines as well, she said. Eventually Mama managed to interrupt her by saying that Papa definitely would have if he had considered it his duty, for surely Katya didn’t doubt that Papa was guided by his sense of duty, which is why she mustn’t criticize his actions. I said, ‘If he had your bird brain, of course he would act differently,’ upon which she gave me a withering look. Papa was quite pale and his eyebrows looked like a jagged black thunderbolt: incredibly atmospheric. If this hadn’t been about Katya, a raging storm would have erupted, sweeping away the entire table and all the chairs; as it was he managed to control himself to some extent. Moreover, Lyu’s presence averts any catastrophe; his masterful calmness somehow dissipates all accumulated electricity – either that, or he has so much strength that he can absorb it all himself and render it harmless. He sat there as coolly as Talleyrand, proving that all of us were right, with the result that everyone fell silent, feeling satisfied. He said that obviously there was injustice in the order to close the university, but that was why it could be entirely fair within the system to which it belonged. He was not endorsing this system; he said it had become obsolete, but while it still existed one must work within its rules. Papa looked at Lyu with interest and slight surprise, asking him what he meant when he said that he didn’t endorse the system. No government was perfect, Papa continued, because human nature was flawed. But in his opinion it was better to ensure that everyone did his duty rather than uncover the defects in the system. Lyu said that without the principle that everyone must do his duty, no social system could survive. He believed that the fault of the existing system was that it failed to cultivate a sense of duty, because it had imposed rules and regulations in its place. Such a strategy was justified for a primitive culture, but these days the people were no longer a herd; they were individuals. No connoisseur of art could fail to admire Byzantine painting, with its rigid forms; we might even believe, nay desire, that one day we would return to it via some circuitous route. But surely nobody would wish to reverse the level of social development back to that stage.