‘‘Yes,’’ laughed Samoilenko.
Laevsky also laughed and drank some wine.
‘‘His ideals are despotic as well,’’ he said, laughing and taking a bite of peach. ‘‘Ordinary mortals, if they work for the general benefit, have their neighbor in mind—me, you, in short, a human being. But for von Koren, people are puppies and nonentities, too small to be the goal of his life. He works, he’ll go on an expedition and break his neck there, not in the name of love for his neighbor but in the name of such abstractions as mankind, future generations, an ideal race of people. He worries about the improvement of the human race, and in that respect we are merely slaves for him, cannon fodder, beasts of burden; he’d destroy some or slap them with hard labor, others he’d bind with discipline, like Arakcheev,24 make them get up and lie down to the drum, set eunuchs to protect our chastity and morality, order that anyone who steps outside the circle of our narrow, conservative morality be shot at, and all that in the name of improving the human race... But what is the human race? An illusion, a mirage... Despots have always been given to illusions. I understand him very well, brother. I appreciate him and do not deny his significance; this world stands on men like him, and if the world were placed at the disposal of us alone, with all our kindness and good intentions, we’d do with it just what the flies are doing to that painting. It’s true.’’
Laevsky sat down beside Samoilenko and said with genuine enthusiasm:
‘‘I’m an empty, worthless, fallen man! The air I breathe, this wine, love, in short, life—I’ve been buying it all up to now at the price of lies, idleness, and pusillanimity. Up to now I’ve been deceiving people and myself, I’ve suffered from it, and my sufferings have been cheap and trite. I timidly bend my neck before von Koren’s hatred, because at times I, too, hate and despise myself.’’
Laevsky again paced from corner to corner in agitation and said:
‘‘I’m glad I see my shortcomings clearly and am aware of them. That will help me to resurrect and become a different man. My dear heart, if only you knew how passionately, with what anguish, I thirst for my renewal. And I swear to you, I will be a man! I will! I don’t know whether it’s the wine speaking in me, or it’s so in reality, but it seems to me that it’s long since I’ve lived through such bright, pure moments as now with you.’’
‘‘Time to sleep, brother...’ said Samoilenko.
‘‘Yes, yes... Forgive me. I’ll go at once.’’
Laevsky fussed around the furniture and windows, looking for his cap.
‘‘Thank you ...’ he murmured, sighing. ‘‘Thank you... Gentleness and a kind word are higher than alms. You’ve revived me.’’
He found his cap, stopped, and looked guiltily at Samoilenko.
‘‘Alexander Davidych!’’ he said in a pleading voice.
‘‘What?’’
‘‘Allow me, dear heart, to spend the night with you!’’
‘‘Please do ... why not?’’
Laevsky lay down to sleep on the sofa, and for a long time went on talking with the doctor.
X
SOME THREE DAYS after the picnic, Marya Konstantinovna unexpectedly came to Nadezhda Fyodorovna and, without greeting her, without taking off her hat, seized her by both hands, pressed them to her bosom, and said in great agitation:
‘‘My dear, I’m so agitated, so shocked. Our dear, sympathetic doctor told my Nikodim Alexandrych yesterday that your husband has passed away. Tell me, dear... Tell me, is it true?’’
‘‘Yes, it’s true, he died,’’ Nadezhda Fyodorovna answered.
‘‘My dear, it’s terrible, terrible! But there’s no bad without some good. Your husband was probably a marvelous, wonderful, holy man, and such people are more needed in heaven than on earth.’’
All the little lines and points in Marya Konstantinovna’s face trembled, as if tiny needles were leaping under her skin. She smiled an almond-butter smile and said rapturously, breathlessly:
‘‘And so you’re free, my dear. Now you can hold your head high and look people boldly in the eye. From now on, God and men will bless your union with Ivan Andreich. It’s charming. I’m trembling with joy, I can’t find words. My dear, I’ll be your sponsor... Nikodim Alexandrych and I have loved you so much, you must allow us to bless your lawful, pure union. When, when are you going to be married?’’
‘‘I haven’t even thought about it,’’ said Nadezhda Fyodorovna, freeing her hands.
‘‘That’s impossible, my dear. You have thought about it, you have!’’
‘‘By God, I haven’t,’’ laughed Nadezhda Fyodorovna. ‘‘Why should we get married? I see no need for it. We’ll live as we’ve lived.’’
‘‘What are you saying!’’ Marya Konstantinovna was horrified. ‘‘For God’s sake, what are you saying!’’
‘‘If we get married, it won’t be any better. On the contrary, even worse. We’ll lose our freedom.’’
‘‘My dear! My dear, what are you saying!’’ cried Marya Konstantinovna, stepping back and clasping her hands. ‘‘You’re being extravagant! Come to your senses! Settle down!’’
‘‘What do you mean, settle down? I haven’t lived yet, and you tell me to settle down!’’
Nadezhda Fyodorovna remembered that indeed she had not lived yet. She had finished the girls’ institute and married a man she did not love, then she had taken up with Laevsky and had been living with him the whole time on that dull, deserted coast in expectation of something better. Was that life?
‘‘Yet it would be proper to get married ...’ she thought but, remembering Kirilin and Atchmianov, blushed and said:
‘‘No, it’s impossible. Even if Ivan Andreich were to beg me on his knees, even then I would refuse.’’
Marya Konstantinovna sat silently on the sofa for a moment, sad, serious, looking at a single point, then got up and said coldly:
‘‘Good-bye, my dear! Excuse me for having troubled you. Though it’s not easy for me, I must tell you that from this day on, everything is over between us, and despite my deepest respect for Ivan Andreich, the door of my house is closed to you.’’
She uttered it with solemnity and was crushed herself by her solemn tone; her face trembled again, took on a soft almond-butter expression; she held out both hands to the frightened and abashed Nadezhda Fyodorovna and said imploringly:
‘‘My dear, allow me at least for one minute to be your mother or an older sister! I’ll be open with you, like a mother.’’
Nadezhda Fyodorovna felt such warmth, joy, and compassion for herself in her breast, as though it really was her mother, risen from the dead, who stood before her. She embraced Marya Konstantinovna impulsively and pressed her face to her shoulder. They both wept. They sat down on the sofa and sobbed for a few minutes, not looking at each other and unable to utter a single word.
‘‘My dear, my child,’’ Marya Konstantinovna began, ‘‘I shall tell you some stern truths, without sparing you.’’
‘‘Do, do, for God’s sake!’’
‘‘Trust me, my dear. You remember, of all the local ladies, I was the only one to receive you. You horrified me from the very first day, but I was unable to treat you with scorn, like everyone else. I suffered for dear, kind Ivan Andreich as for a son. A young man in a strange land, inexperienced, weak, with no mother, and I was tormented, tormented... My husband was against making his acquaintance, but I talked him into it... I persuaded him... We began to receive Ivan Andreich, and you with him, of course, otherwise he would have been insulted. I have a daughter, a son... You understand, the tender mind of a child, the pure heart ... and whosoever shall offend one of these little ones25 ... I received you and trembled for my children. Oh, when you’re a mother, you’ll understand my fear. And everyone was surprised that I received you, forgive me, as a respectable woman, people hinted to me ... well, of course, there was gossip, speculation... Deep in my soul, I condemned you, but you were unhappy, pathetic, extravagant, and I suffered out of pity.
’’
‘‘But why? Why?’’ asked Nadezhda Fyodorovna, trembling all over. ‘‘What have I done to anyone?’’
‘‘You’re a terrible sinner. You broke the vow you gave your husband at the altar. You seduced an excellent young man who, if he hadn’t met you, might have taken himself a lawful life’s companion from a good family of his circle, and he would now be like everybody else. You’ve ruined his youth. Don’t speak, don’t speak, my dear! I will not believe that a man can be to blame for our sins. The women are always to blame. In everyday domestic life, men are frivolous, they live by their minds, not their hearts, there’s much they don’t understand, but a woman understands everything. Everything depends on her. Much is given her, and much will be asked of her. Oh, my dear, if she were stupider or weaker than man in this respect, God wouldn’t have entrusted her with the upbringing of little boys and girls. And then, dearest, you entered upon the path of vice, forgetting all shame; another woman in your position would have hidden herself from people, would have sat locked up at home, and people would have seen her only in God’s church, pale, dressed all in black, weeping, and each would say with sincere contrition: ‘God, this is a sinful angel returning to you again...’ But you, my dear, forgot all modesty, you lived openly, extravagantly, as if you were proud of your sin, you frolicked, you laughed, and looking at you, I trembled with horror, fearing lest a thunderbolt from heaven strike our house while you were sitting with us. My dear, don’t speak, don’t speak!’’ Marya Konstantinovna cried, noticing that Nadezhda Fyodorovna was about to speak. ‘‘Trust me, I won’t deceive you, and I won’t conceal a single truth from the eyes of your soul. Listen to me, then, dearest... God marks great sinners, and you have been marked. Remember, your dresses have always been awful!’’
Nadezhda Fyodorovna, who had always had the highest opinion of her dresses, stopped crying and looked at her in astonishment.
‘‘Yes, awful!’’ Marya Konstantinovna went on. ‘‘Anyone could judge your behavior by the refinement and showiness of your clothes. Everyone chuckled and shrugged, looking at you, but I suffered, suffered... And forgive me, my dear, but you are slovenly! When I met you in the bathing cabin, you made me tremble. Your dress was still so-so, but the petticoat, the chemise ... my dear, I blush! Poor Ivan Andreich has no one to tie his necktie properly, and by the poor man’s linen and boots, one can see that no one looks after him at home. And you always keep him hungry, my darling, and indeed, if there’s no one at home to see to the coffee and the samovar, willy-nilly, one spends half one’s salary in the pavilion. And your home is simply terrible, terrible! Nobody in the whole town has flies, but you can’t get rid of them, the plates and saucers are black. On the windows and tables, just look—dust, dead flies, glasses... What are the glasses doing here? And my dear, your table still hasn’t been cleared yet. It’s a shame to go into your bedroom: underwear lying about, those various rubber things of yours hanging on the walls, certain vessels standing about... My dear! A husband should know nothing, and a wife should be as pure as a little angel before him! I wake up every morning at the first light and wash my face with cold water, so that my Nikodim Alexandrych won’t see me looking sleepy.’’
‘‘That’s all trifles,’’ Nadezhda Fyodorovna burst into sobs. ‘‘If only I were happy, but I’m so unhappy!’’
‘‘Yes, yes, you’re very unhappy!’’ Marya Konstantinovna sighed, barely keeping herself from crying. ‘‘And awful grief awaits you in the future! A lonely old age, illnesses, and then your answer before the dread Judgment Seat26... Terrible, terrible! Now fate itself is offering you a helping hand, and you senselessly push it aside. Get married, get married quickly!’’
‘‘Yes, I must, I must,’’ said Nadezhda Fyodorovna, ‘‘but it’s impossible!’’
‘‘Why so?’’
‘‘Impossible! Oh, if you only knew!’’
Nadezhda Fyodorovna was going to tell her about Kirilin, and about how she had met the young, handsome Atchmianov on the pier the previous evening, and how the crazy, funny thought had come into her head of getting rid of her three-hundred-rouble debt, she had found it very funny, and had returned home late at night, feeling irretrievably fallen and sold. She did not know how it happened herself. And now she was about to swear before Marya Konstantinovna that she would repay the debt without fail, but sobs and shame prevented her from speaking.
‘‘I’ll go away,’’ she said. ‘‘Ivan Andreich can stay, and I’ll go away.’’
‘‘Where?’’
‘‘To Russia.’’
‘‘But how are you going to live? You have nothing.’’
‘‘I’ll do translations or ... or open a little library...’
‘‘Don’t fantasize, my dear. You need money to start a library. Well, I’ll leave you now, and you calm down and think, and come to see me tomorrow all cheered up. That will be charming! Well, good-bye, my little angel. Let me kiss you.’’
Marya Konstantinovna kissed Nadezhda Fyodorovna on the forehead, made a cross over her, and quietly left. It was already growing dark, and Olga lit a light in the kitchen. Still weeping, Nadezhda Fyodorovna went to the bedroom and lay on the bed. She was in a high fever. She undressed lying down, crumpled her clothes towards her feet, and rolled up in a ball under the blanket. She was thirsty, and there was no one to give her a drink.
‘‘I’ll pay it back!’’ she said to herself, and in her delirium it seemed to her that she was sitting by some sick woman and in her recognized herself. ‘‘I’ll pay it back. It would be stupid to think it was for money that I... I’ll go away and send him money from Petersburg. First a hundred ... then a hundred ... and then another hundred...’
Laevsky came late at night.
‘‘First a hundred...’ Nadezhda Fyodorovna said to him, ‘‘then another hundred...’
‘‘You should take some quinine,’’ he said and thought: ‘‘Tomorrow is Wednesday, the steamer leaves, and I’m not going. That means I’ll have to live here till Saturday.’’
Nadezhda Fyodorovna got up on her knees in bed.
‘‘Did I say anything just now?’’ she asked, smiling and squinting because of the candle.
‘‘Nothing. We’ll have to send for the doctor tomorrow morning. Sleep.’’
He took a pillow and went to the door. Once he had finally decided to go away and abandon Nadezhda Fyodorovna, she had begun to arouse pity and a feeling of guilt in him; he was slightly ashamed in her presence, as in the presence of an old or ailing horse slated to be killed. He stopped in the doorway and turned to look at her.
‘‘I was annoyed at the picnic and said something rude to you. Forgive me, for God’s sake.’’
Having said this, he went to his study, lay down, and for a long time was unable to fall asleep.
The next morning, when Samoilenko, in full dress uniform with epaulettes and decorations on occasion of the feast day, was coming out of the bedroom after taking Nadezhda Fyodorovna’s pulse and examining her tongue, Laevsky, who was standing by the threshold, asked him worriedly:
‘‘Well, so? So?’’
His face expressed fear, extreme anxiety, and hope.
‘‘Calm down, it’s nothing dangerous,’’ said Samoilenko. ‘‘An ordinary fever.’’
‘‘I’m not asking about that,’’ Laevsky winced impatiently. ‘‘Did you get the money?’’
‘‘Forgive me, dear heart,’’ Samoilenko whispered, glancing back at the door and getting embarrassed. ‘‘For God’s sake, forgive me! Nobody has ready cash, and so far I’ve only collected by fives or tens—a hundred and ten roubles in all. Today I’ll talk with someone else. Be patient.’’
‘‘But Saturday’s the last day!’’ Laevsky whispered, trembling with impatience. ‘‘By all that’s holy, before Saturday! If I don’t leave on Saturday, I’ll need nothing ... nothing! I don’t understand how a doctor can have no money!’’
‘‘Thy will be done, O Lord,’’ Samoilenko whispered quickly and te
nsely, and something even squeaked in his throat, ‘‘they’ve taken everything I’ve got, I have seven thousand owing to me, and I’m roundly in debt. Is it my fault?’’
‘‘So you’ll get it by Saturday? Yes?’’
‘‘I’ll try.’’
‘‘I beg you, dear heart! So that the money will be in my hands Friday morning.’’
Samoilenko sat down and wrote a prescription for quinine in a solution of kalii bromati, infusion of rhubarb, and tincturae gentianae aquae foeniculi—all of it in one mixture, with the addition of rose syrup to remove the bitterness, and left.
XI
‘‘YOU LOOK AS though you’re coming to arrest me,’’ said von Koren, seeing Samoilenko coming into his room in full dress uniform.
‘‘I was passing by and thought: why don’t I pay a call on zoology?’’ said Samoilenko, sitting down by the big table the zoologist himself had knocked together out of simple planks. ‘‘Greetings, holy father!’’ he nodded to the deacon, who was sitting by the window copying something. ‘‘I’ll sit for a minute and then run home to give orders for dinner. It’s already time ... I’m not bothering you?’’
‘‘Not at all,’’ replied the zoologist, laying out scraps of paper covered with fine writing on the table. ‘‘We’re busy copying.’’
‘So... Oh, my God, my God ...’ sighed Samoilenko; he cautiously drew from the table a dusty book on which lay a dead, dry phalangid, and said: ‘‘However! Imagine some little green bug is going about his business and suddenly meets such an anathema on his way. I can picture how terrifying it is!’’
‘‘Yes, I suppose so.’’
‘‘It’s given venom to defend itself from enemies?’’
‘‘Yes, to defend itself and to attack.’’
‘‘So, so, so... And everything in nature, my dear hearts, is purposeful and explainable,’’ sighed Samoilenko. ‘‘Only here’s what I don’t understand. You’re a man of the greatest intelligence, explain it to me, please. There are these little beasts, you know, no bigger than a rat, pretty to look at but mean and immoral in the highest degree, let me tell you. Suppose such a beast is walking along through the forest; it sees a little bird, catches it, and eats it up. It goes on and sees a nest with eggs in the grass; it doesn’t want any more grub, it’s not hungry, but even so, it bites into an egg and throws the others out of the nest with its paw. Then it meets a frog and starts playing with it. It tortures the frog to death, goes on, licking its chops, and meets a beetle. Swats the beetle with its paw... And it ruins and destroys everything in its way... It crawls into other animals’ holes, digs up anthills for nothing, cracks open snail shells... It meets a rat and gets into a fight with it; it sees a snake or a mouse and has to strangle it. And this goes on all day. So tell me, what is the need for such a beast? Why was it created?’’
The Complete Short Novels Page 20