by Ricarda Huch
He spoke so graciously, gallantly and almost affectionately that Papa became quite animated, vigorously agreeing with everything. I fancy he believed himself to be entirely of the same mind as Lyu.
Thus things had sorted themselves out again at the table, but then Katya’s bottled-up anger towards Lyu poured out. He’d behaved abominably, she said; he ought to have supported her because he thought exactly as she did. What he said may have been frightfully elegant, but she didn’t understand it, nor did she wish to understand it; it can only have been rhetoric to hide his true opinions. She fully expected me to be duplicitous and cowardly, but she’d imagined him to be a prouder man. She was quite adorable, like a fretful little bird, ruffling up its crest, pecking with its beak and cheeping in the highest possible tones. Lyu evidently found her adorable too, for he reacted very benignly to her nonsense. I left in the middle of this because my village beauty was waiting for me.
I brought Papa back a selection of the finest sweetmeats the Turk has to offer. He found them excellent and said he’d guessed I must have a particular reason for bicycling to the village so often. Moreover, he ate more of them than I did, without feeling sick at all. He truly is an admirable man; I’m a decadent fellow by contrast. But it’s impossible to compare him to Lyu. He’s like a handsome dagger with an ornate grip and a scabbard colourfully decorated with precious stones, as you sometimes see on display in museums. Lyu is like Apollo’s simple bow, which never shoots a stray arrow. Unadorned, slim, flexible, handsome on account of its complete functionality, a picture of divine power, accuracy and unscrupulousness. For goodness’ sake, I’m writing to a Silurian sloth, not a Greek sophisticate. Do not torture yourself with the pervasiveness of my poetic images and don’t crow if they’re lame. A lame Achilles still arrives before a brontosaurus that’s stuck in the sand.
Velya
KATYA TO PETER
Kremskoye, 30th May
Dear Peter,
We are not engaged and I’ve told you before that I’ll never marry you, but I know that you still think about it, which is why I wish to tell you something. I have now met the man I will marry, should I ever come to marry. The only one I could love. Do not ask who he is; don’t ask any more questions at all. There was no need for me to tell you. I’m only doing so because I like you, because I consider you my friend, and because you have regarded me as your future wife ever since you were a child. Naturally there’s nothing I can do about that. Nobody is to know this apart from you.
Katya
LUSINYA TO TATYANA
Kremskoye, 2nd June
My dear Tatyana,
From somewhere or other, a slight shadow is descending upon our summer, which has been nothing but beautiful. Perhaps because it is so beautiful it must bear the sign of its earthly nature. At the moment I am especially concerned about Jessika; I can no longer deny that she’s in love with Lyu. Without her being aware of it, her entire being is drawn to him. You might say she’s a sort of sundial from which one can always pinpoint the position of her sun. Indeed, there is something sunlike about him; it is as if he radiates a life-generating force, which can cause life to wither too, of course. He has a wholesome influence on Velya and Katya; he inspires them to think, to attain a higher level of intellectual activity. But I fear his rays are too hot for my little Jessika. She needs warmth, but mustn’t stand in the middle of the fire. Or at least that’s how it appears to me. Sometimes I feel that not only is she attracted to him, but he harbours a slight affection for her too. Does he love her? Whenever I believe this to be the case I cannot help but feel joy inside, for a mother senses her child’s every pain and pleasure. But would this be a desirable state of affairs? Would it spell happiness for her? Lyu’s opinions and – more importantly – his whole world view differ markedly from Yegor’s and my own, I can feel this. As far as his upbringing and lifestyle are concerned, he is also more distant from the children than they themselves believe. Maybe I’m doing him an injustice, but could we really live together as a family in the long term? And what would Yegor say? He has nothing against Lyu – he is free of common prejudices – but he’d like to marry our girls off to men with whose way of living he is familiar, with whom we could become one big family. And then, my dearest, there is his sleepwalking! For me that is almost the most dreadful thing. O God, I know it’s so silly, but sometimes I wish Lyu had never come to us, or that he’d leave again.
Afternoon
Lyu really is an uncanny individual! He has eyes that can read one’s heart. I had just written that last sentence when he came and told me how happy he was here with us, and sensed, too, that we liked him. He felt superfluous, however, and thought it would be for the best if he left, so he’d come to discuss the matter with me. He spoke with such trust, such simplicity; he sounded almost like a child. I was quite moved and said that although my fear for my husband had indeed gradually subsided, he, Lyu, was also engaged here as a secretary. My husband is unable to write himself at the moment – he’s suffering from writer’s cramp – and he’d hate to have to get used to another man, nor would he be likely to find another with his, Lyu’s, education and knowledge. Lyu said he’d already thought about this and that surely the most sensible solution for my husband would be to acquaint himself with a typewriter, to free him from dependence on anyone; after all, there were many correspondences he’d prefer remained secret. I thought this a capital idea – I really do find him a terribly sensible man – and said that Yegor could certainly acquire a typewriter, but it would probably be quite a while before he got to grips with it, if he had any inclination to do so, and even then the machine would not replace him altogether. Of course, if he wished to leave for another reason, that would be quite a different matter. To which he said that if life were about being happy, all his efforts would be focused on staying with us permanently. He’d found a sort of happiness with us that he’d never previously thought possible; he’d accumulated some indelible impressions. But he regarded man’s purpose, or his at least, to be active, to work, to pursue great goals. He was like a horse, he said, that must follow the trumpet call to battle, no matter how comfortable it felt beside its manger full of hay. And he thought he’d heard the call of the trumpet in the distance. ‘Do you have anything particular in mind?’ I asked. ‘Do you wish to leave us immediately?’ No, he said, that wasn’t what he’d meant. He’d only wanted to hear from me that his presence here was unnecessary, and I’d been candid enough to admit this to him. Now he would ponder where to go. In the meantime, my husband could obtain a typewriter and try to acquire a taste for it.
So you see, Tatyana, now I’m troubled that it’s come to this. My little Jessika! Do you know what I think? It’s on account of Jessika that he wants to leave. He must have noticed that she loves him. Either the feeling is not mutual or, aware of his poverty and dependence, he does not wish to propose and considers it his duty to avoid her. Such noble behaviour, and the manner in which he deals with the situation is particularly refined. He’s made no insinuations, made nothing difficult, kept everything smooth. I’ve never found him so endearing and I feel Jessika’s pain, but now that I can see the conflict – if one exists at all – can be resolved, my heart is less heavy. What a letter! Has your patience lasted till the end?
Your sister-in-law, Lusinya
JESSIKA TO TATYANA
7th June
Dearest Aunt,
You say you haven’t had any news from us for a while? Why, I feel as if I wrote to you only yesterday; these summer days are passing by at such a pace! Especially when they’re harnessed to a motorcar! Lyu has taken us out for a ride once, but not for long because he still lacks confidence. Our Ivan is even less capable than he, although he drives around for several hours a day. Papa would like to drive too, but Mama doesn’t want him to, as she says it would strain his nerves. She claims to know for certain that two-thirds of all chauffeurs go mad or commit suicide due to shredded nerves. Although Papa tried to protest, we clamoured in uni
son that he had to keep himself well for the sake of the country and his family, and at that he gave in, for the time being at least. He has another pastime now: the typewriter.
Yesterday evening after dinner we sat out on the veranda. It was so beautiful, as only it can be here: above us in the blackness of the sky the damp stars shimmered, and the pale birches around us glowed in the darkness of the earth. We sat in silence, each of us dreaming his own dreams, until Mama asked Lyu – because of course he knows everything – to tell us what sorts of snakes there were in this area. He instantly reeled off a list of Latin names and said they were all adders and vipers: harmless, non-venomous creatures. I wondered whether these names actually existed, but Mama took it all as gospel truth and seemed very relieved. For Papa had recently said that nothing but snakes could climb the smooth walls of a house, and since then she’d been unable to banish from her mind the idea of a firm, smooth, slippery snake’s body pulling itself up the outside wall. Often this stopped her sleeping at night. Velya said he couldn’t understand people being frightened of snakes; he found them beautiful, graceful, colourful, mysterious, dangerous things, and he would never be able to fall in love with a woman who didn’t have something of the snake about them. ‘Fool!’ Katya said, and Lyu said that I had a few snake-like characteristics, namely mysteriousness and the ability to glide silently. Then he told a southern Russian fairy tale about a really horrible snake. Once upon a time a magician was in love with a king’s daughter who was locked up in a tall tower. At midnight, in the form of a snake, he would slither up the tower and through the window into her bedchamber, where he would reassume his human form, wake her and remain in her arms until morning. One night, however, the king’s daughter did not go to sleep, but waited up for him. All of a sudden, in the white light of the moon, she saw in the middle of the window the black head of a snake, flat and triangular on an upright neck, gazing at her. She got such a fright that she fell back onto the bed without a sound and died. At that moment there was a loud ringing at the garden gate, where we have an old, rusty bell pull that has sunk into oblivion because practically nobody ever uses it. Papa stood to go to the gate and see what was happening. Mama leapt up too and looked pleadingly at Lyu, implying that he should be the one to confront the murderer if there was one lurking for Papa. And because it’s a bit of an effort for Papa to get up and into his stride, and Lyu is a fast runner, our guardian angel got there first and met the delivery man carrying a crate. He said that deliveries were supposed to have stopped for the day, but the postmaster had said the crate was from St Petersburg and might be something important, and because it was the governor, for whom the postmaster had the highest regard, he’d insisted it be delivered tonight. Well, the man was given a tip and in the crate was the typewriter. Lyu unpacked it immediately and started typing. Papa wanted to have a go too, but he was all at sea; the rest of us tried but were equally bad, except for me, who could type a little – honestly. Then we watched Lyu type. After a while Papa tried again, and when Lyu said he had some talent he was most pleased. Mama was overjoyed and said the typewriter was a thing of such beauty that she’d even forgotten the snake. Velya said, ‘What’s that piece of junk for?’ And Katya said she didn’t see the point in it: if you had to use your hands you might as well write. But she was overruled.
Are you now au fait, my only aunt? It just remains for me to say that the roses are coming into bloom, the cabbage roses and the yellow climbers that have such a peculiar scent, and the wild roses too. The strawberries are ripening and Papa is in the most affable mood. He even asked the other day whether anybody was coming to visit us this summer.
Affectionately, Jessika
LYU TO KONSTANTIN
Kremskoye, 9th June
Dear Konstantin,
Yes, I can sense it: you are my friend. You revere and value in me what we regard to be the higher self, but you know and love my other side too, the ancient flow of ancestral blood, the unfathomable branches of which intervene at every step and cause me to suffer. I shall not hide from you the fact that I am suffering. You realized this some time ago. Perhaps I have never suffered like this before, but I know that it will be overcome. From the very first moment I entered their circle, I have sought to control all these people, and everything else follows from this, for the ruler is bound too, not just the ruled. My successes have become as fateful for me as my failures. I may be able to deceive the governor, but I have no influence over him. This wounds my vanity somewhat, but in the main I lament it for all it gives rise to. The man exudes a kind of magic to which I am not unsusceptible, although it emanates from powers I do not regard as the highest. One can see the characteristics of his lineage, in which the fire of life burns more brightly and beautifully than in common people. There is something perfect about him, though he is certainly not perfect in every way. Indeed, it is his shortcomings that endear him to me; in life’s struggle I believe he has grown, become more solid and harder, but he has not extended himself, he has failed to adopt anything new. This is narrow-minded, but it lends him a certain intensity. He has not lost anything either; he retains much of the folly, stubbornness and sincerity of childhood, which those who adapt to new and unfamiliar things usually let go. His ego is whole, so succulent, concentrated and proud that it is painful to touch, and because it is so, I must destroy him. Once I clung to the hope that I could win him over, could open his eyes to other viewpoints. I didn’t write to you about my plan; it was far too close to my heart and I already suspected that it would be in vain. My God, this man, this scorching, blind sun! Like a comet I shoot along beside him, and he has no idea that the moment at which our paths meet will tear him into pieces! Let me say nothing of the children. It would have been better, far better, had I exerted the same influence on their father as I have on them. This sounds foolish; after all, it is obvious that young people are easier to influence and control than older ones. But, just once, could not the reverse be true, by chance or miracle? As this is not the case I am trying to reflect on the fact that I have no choice, that I must do what I have acknowledged to be necessary, that the curative power of youth is effusive, that perhaps it is useful to these frolicking children to be jolted by fate. Good God, what does useful mean? In their dream life they were such wonderful souls! It has to end at some point, of course. Children with wrinkles and crooked backs are a perversion and in due course their transition must begin. Perhaps I can even be of assistance to them as they change. Everything a person can want is possible, just so long as there is audacity in the wanting of it.
I shall not write to you again in this vein, and I am also counting on the fact that you will not misconstrue what I say. There is not an ounce of doubt within me. Do not respond to any of this! No words can afford me comfort, and I know that you understand me.
Lyu
VELYA TO PETER
Kremskoye, 11th June
Dear Peter,
If you wish to experience a moment of history, ensure that you’re at home tomorrow or the day after. Our Ivan plunged into a ditch with the motorcar, which he’s blaming on the perfidy of the vehicle and we’re blaming on the schnapps. As he lay in the ditch for several hours beside the motorcar, he was fairly sober when he returned home, and so the question remains unresolved. The motorcar has suffered more than he; it looks like a tortoise without its shell, but it can still drive. Mama was pleased with the outcome and said we ought to leave it until Ivan could handle the car properly, so he didn’t drive us into a ditch too. Papa, on the other hand, said that he couldn’t allow the motorcar on the road in that state. Even if it were only Ivan inside, it would damage his reputation; it would be like letting his daughters out with ripped clothes. Persuaded by his argument, we decided that the motorcar must be repaired; Lyu offered to drive the wreck into town and make all the necessary arrangements. Jessika was keen to go with him, but Lyu said no, as given the damage to the vehicle it would not be safe. Since then she has been wandering around looking sorry for herself,
for naturally she is in love with Lyu. I say ‘naturally’ because all women must fall in love with a man like Lyu, whose willpower radiates from every atom of his material being. It’s all one to me; even when I’m in love, deep down I don’t really care whether I get the woman or not.
For some women this, too, has a certain charm, but it is the will which is truly irresistible. Nobody can fight it; it is the gravity of the soul. Lyu has an active volition with regard to everything. I could not put up with even a year of living like that, yet he has been doing it for twenty-eight years, and will probably grow very old. I doubt whether in the long term he can remain interested in individual women; he ought to be introduced to polygamy. He would not concern himself much with them, but they would be content to suckle for weeks on any phrase he came out with. He will be paying a visit to your mother, so take a good look at him.
Velya
LYU TO KONSTANTIN
Kremskoye, 11th June
Dear Konstantin,
I shall come to Petersburg tomorrow or the day after, and I’m counting on meeting up with you. I need to have the typewriter adapted, and would rather speak to you about this face to face. It can be fitted with an explosive or loaded with a pistol shot. If the latter, however, we could not be sure that the bullet would hit its target. I will soon send it back to the factory from where it was purchased, claiming that it needs to be repaired. It must go there and be sent back in a way that leaves no trace pointing to me in any later investigation. It is your duty to ensure that it doesn’t leave without being adapted to our purposes, which means you will need to call on the services of a factory or railway employee. There is no hurry; you can take your time to consider all precautionary measures.