A common story

by Ivan Goncharov

  " What is all this you are inventing, maman ? I picked two or three berries, and you ate those yourself, and the rest Vassilisa "

  "Don't believe her, don't believe her, Alexandr Fedoritch; Vassilisa has been in the town since the morning. Why make a secret of it ? I'm sure Alexandr Fedoritch will like them all the better for you're having picked them, and not Vassilisa."

  Nadinka smiled, then disappeared again behind the flowers and appeared with a plate full of berries. She held out the plate to Alexandr. He kissed her hand and took the berries, feeling as if he had received a marshal's baton.

  "You don't deserve them! to keep us waiting so long for you!" said Nadinka: " I stood for two hours at the trellis; only imagine ! some one came along ; I thought it was you and waved my handkerchief, and saw all at once it was a stranger, some officer. And he waved back, impertinent wretch!" .

  In the evening guests arrived and went away again. It began to be dusk. The ladies of the house and Adouev were left again alone together. By degrees this trio too broke up. Nadinka went into the garden. Then an unequal duet was kept up between Maria Mihalovna and Adouev; she chatted at great length of what she had done yesterday and to-day and what she was going to do to-morrow. He became a prey to insufferable boredom and restlessness. The evening would soon be here, and he had not yet had an opportunity of saying a word to Nadinka by herself. The cook came to his rescue; the benefactor came in to inquire what to prepare for supper, and Adouev was more breathless with impatience than he had been before in the boat They had scarcely begun to discuss cutlets, a dish of curds, when Alexandr began to beat a skilful retreat How many manoeuvres he employed only to get away from Maria Mihalovna's armchair! To begin with, he walked to the window and looked out into the court Then with slow steps hardly able to restrain himself from running away at his utmost speed, he walked away to the piano, touched the keys here and there, took with feverish tremulousness some music from the desk, looked at it and laid it back : he even had the self-possession to sniff two flowers and wake up the parrot. Then he reached the utmost pitch of impatience ; the door was near, but to go out of it in any way seemed awkward—he had to stand still for two minutes and walk out as though casually. And the cook had already made two steps in retreat, another word more—she would be gone, and then Madame Lubetzky would be certain to turn to him. Alexandr could hold out no longer, and gliding like a snake out of the door, and jumping down the whole flight of steps without touching them, in a few strides he was at the end of the avenue—on the bank, near Nadinka.

  " You remembered me at last!" she said then with mild reproach.

  "Ah, what torture I have been enduring," replied Alexandr; "and you did not help me !"

  Nadinka showed him a book.

  "That's what I would have called you out for, if you had not come in another minute," she said.

  " Sit down, maman will not come out now; she is afraid

  of the damp. I have so much, so much I want to say to you. . . . ah 1"

  "And I too . ... ah!"

  And they said nothing or almost nothing, something or other they had talked of ten times before. Usually something like dreams, the sky, the stars, sympathy, happiness. Their conversation made more progress in the language of looks, smiles, and ejaculations. The book lay neglected on the grass.

  Night came on—or rather no, for what a night! Are there such nights in Petersburg in summer ? It was not night; one ought to have some other name for it—as half-light. Everything around was at peace. The Neva seemed asleep; sometimes, as though in sleep, it splashed in a slight ripple on the bank and then sank into silence. And then from somewhere came a belated breeze, and was wafted over the slumbering waters but could not waken them, and only rippled the surface and fanned a little freshness on to Nadinka and Alexandr, or brought them the sound of singing far away—and again all was silent, and again the Neva was motionless, like a man asleep who at some slight sound opens his eyes for a minute and at once shuts them again; and sleep settles all the heavier on his eyelids. Then from the direction of the bridge is heard as it were distant thunder and immediately after the barking of the watch-dog from the angling place near, and again all was stilL The trees formed a dark dome above, and scarcely and noiselessly waved their branches. The lights at the villas twinkled along the banks.

  What is the special charm that haunts the warm air on such nights ? What is the secret wafted from flowers, from trees, from the grass, and floating with such inexplicable tenderness into the soul? Why aTe the thoughts, the emotions conceived within the soul then quite other than those conceived among noise, among one's fellows ? But what a moment for love in this slumber of nature, in darkness, among the silent trees, the sweet breathed flowers and solitude ! How powerfully it all attunes the soul to reveries, the heart to these rare emotions, which in the ordinary, regular stern realities of life seem such profitless, injudicious and ridiculous irregularities .... yes ! profitless, and yet at these instants only the soul dimly apprehends the possibility

  of a happiness which at other times it seeks so zealously and never attains.

  Alexandr and Nadinka walked up to the river and leaned on the fence. Nadinka gazed long at the Neva, into the distance deep in thought, Alexandr gazed at Nadinka. Their souls were filled full of happiness, their hearts of a sweet and yet painful ache, but the tongue was silent.

  Alexandr gently touched her waist. She gently pushed away his hand with her elbow. He touched her again, she repelled him more feebly, not taking her eyes from the Neva. The third time she did not repell him.

  He took her by the hand—she did not take away her hand ; he pressed it; the hand answered his pressure. So they stood in silence; but what were they feeling!

  " Nadinka!" he said softly.

  She was silent.

  Alexandr bent over her, his heart swooning with rapture. She felt his burning breath on her cheek, shivered, turned away and—did not run away in righteous indignation, did not scream! She had not the force to dissemble and run away; the power of love kept reason silent, and when Alexandras lips fastened on hers, she answered his kiss, though weakly, scarcely perceptibly. ^ "

  " Oh, how happy man may be !" said Alexandr to himself, and again bent over her lips and stayed so for some seconds.

  She stood pale, motionless, tears glittering on her eyelashes, her bosom panting violently and convulsively.

  " It is like a dream ! " murmured Alexandr. Suddenly Nadinka started, the minute of oblivion had passed.

  " What does this mean ? you have forgotten yourself," she said, flinging herself a few steps away from him. " I will tell mamma!"

  Alexandr fell from heaven.

  " Nadyezhda Alexandrovna, don't destroy my happiness with reproaches," he began; " don't be like "

  She looked at him and all at once laughed aloud, gaily, went up to him again, and again stood at the fence and confidingly leaned her hands and her head on his shoulder.

  " So you love me so much ? " she asked, wiping away a tear that had fallen on her cheek.

  Alexandr made an indescribable motion of the shoulders.

  In silence they looked as before at the water and at the sky and at the distance, as though nothing had passed between them. Only they were afraid to look at one another; at last they looked, smiled, and at once turned away again.

  " Can there be sorrow in the world ? " said Nadinka, after a pause.

  "They say there is," replied Adouev, thoughtfully, "but I don't believe it."

  " What sorrow can there be ? " " Uncle says—poverty."

  " Poverty! do the poor not feel as we do now; if they do, they are not poor."

  " Uncle says that it's not so with them—they want to eat and drink."

  " Ugh! eat! Your uncle does not tell the truth; they may be happy without that; I have had no dinner to-day, but how happy I am!" He laughed.

  " Ah, at this minute I would give everything to the poor, yes, everything!" Nadinka went on, "only let the poor come. Ah ! why can I
not comfort and delight every one with pleasure of some kind ? "

  " Angel, angel! " Alexandr uttered rapturously, pressing her hand.

  " Oh, how horribly you pinch me!" Nadinka interrupted suddenly, frowning and taking away her hand.

  But he seized the hand again and began to kiss it with warmth.

  " How I will pray," she continued, " to-day, to-morrow, always, in thankfulness for this evening. How happy I am! And you ? " >

  Suddenly she grew thoughtful; there was a gleam of fear in her eyes.

  " Do you know," she said, "they say that what has been once can never return again ! Can it be that this minute will never return ? "

  " Oh, no," answered Alexandr, " it is not true; it will

  return ! there will be happier minutes still; yes, I feel it! "

  She shook her head incredulously. And his uncle's

  lessons came into his head, and he came to a pause

  suddenly.

  " No," he said to himself, " no, that can never be! uncle knew nothing of such happiness, that is why he is so stern and suspicious with people. Poor fellow! I am sorry for his dry, cold heart: it has never known the intoxication of love; of course that's the reason of his jaundiced railings against life. God forgive him! If he had seen my bliss, even he would not have tried to destroy it, he would not have insulted it by his impure doubts. I am sorry for him."

  " No, Nadinka, no, we will be happy I" he went on aloud. " Look round ; are not all things here rejoicing looking on at our love ? God Himself blesses it. How gaily we shall go through life hand in hand 1 We shall be proud, great in mutuallove 1'"

  "Oh, stop, stop looking forward 1" she interposed. " Don't prophesy; I begin to be afraid when you talk so. And now I feel sad."

  "What are you afraid of? Cannot you believe in yourself?"

  " No, I can't, I can't!" she said, shaking her head. He looked at her and grew thoughtful.

  " Why ? " he began again, " what can destroy this world of our happiness ? Who can interfere with us ? We will always be alone, we will withdraw ourselves from others; what have we to do with them ? and what have they to do with us ? They will not remember us, they will forget us, and then the rumours of sorrow and troubles will not trouble us, just as now here in the garden no sound disturbs the heavenly peace."

  "Nadinka! Alexandr Fedoritch!" was suddenly heard from the steps, " where are you ? "

  "Listen!" said Nadinka in prophetic tones, "it's an omen of fate; this minute will not return again—I feel it."

  She seized his hand, squeezed it and looked at him somewhat strangely, mournfully, and suddenly rushed off into the dark avenue.

  He stood alone musing.

  " Alexandr Fedoritch!" sounded again from the steps, " the curds have been on the table a long while."

  He shrugged his shoulders and went into the room.

  "At the instant of ineffable bliss—all of a sudden

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  curds!!" he said to Nadinka, " Will it be always so in life?"

  " I only hope it won't be worse," she answered gaily; " curds are a very nice thing, especially for any one who has had no dinner."

  Her happiness animated her. Her cheeks glowed, her eyes flashed with unwonted brilliance. How zealously she played the hostess, how gaily she. chatted! There was not a shadow left of the momentary glimpse of sadness.

  The dawn was already filling half the heavens with light when Adouev took his seat in the boat. The boatmen in expectation of the promised reward, spit into their hands and were beginning to rise from their seats as before, plying the oars with all their might.

  " Go slower !" said Alexandr, " another half rouble for vodka!"

  They looked at him and then at one another. One scratched his throat, the other his back, and they began to row, scarcely moving the oars, hardly touching the water. The boat swam on like a swan.

  " And uncle wants to convince me that happiness is a chimaera, that one cannot believe unreservedly in anything,

  that life he is too bad ! Why does he want to deceive

  me so cruelly? No, this is life! So I imagined it to myself, so it must be, so it is, and so it shall be! Otherwise it is not life!"

  A soft morning breeze was lightly blowing from the north. Alexandr gave a little shiver, from the breeze and from his memories, then yawned and, wrapping himself in his coat, fell into reverie.

  CHAPTER V.

  Adouev had reached the zenith of his happiness. He had nothing more to wish for. His official duties, his journalistic work were all forgotten and thrown aside. They had already passed him over at his office ; he would not have noticed it at all, except that his uncle reminded him of

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  the fact. Piotr I van itch advised him to give up trifling, but Alexandr at the word "trifling" shrugged his shoulders, smiled compassionately and said nothing. His uncle, seeing that his representations were useless, also shrugged his shoulders, smiled compassionately and said nothing.

  Alexandr obviously avoided him. He had lost all kind of trust in his gloomy prognostications, and feared his cold views of love in general and his offensive insinuations as to his relations with Nadinka in especial.

  There was something of triumph, of mystery in Alexandr's deportment, his glance, his whole bearing. He behaved with other people, like some rich capitalist on Exchange with petty tradesmen, condescendingly, with consideration, thinking to himself, " poor creatures ! which of you is master of a treasure like mine ? which of you can feel like me ? whose mighty soul " and so on.

  He was convinced that he was the only person in the world who so loved and was so loved. However, he not only avoided his uncle, but all the " herd" as he said. He was either worshipping his divinity, or sitting at home in his study alone, brooding over his bliss, analysing it, dissecting it to infinity. He called this creating a world of his ozvn, and sitting in solitude he certainly did create for himself a world of some kind out of nothing and lived for the most part in it, and he went to his office rarely and reluctantly, calling it—"a miserable necessity."

  Behold him sitting in his armchair! Before him some sheets of paper, on which were carelessly jotted a few lines of poetry. He is either bending over the manuscript, making some correction or adding a few lines, or doubled up in the depths of his armchair dreaming. On his lips a smile is playing; it is clear that it is not long since they tasted the full " cup " of bliss.

  All around is still. Only in the distance'from the great street is heard the rumbling of carriages, and from time to time Yevsay, weary of cleaning shoes, talking aloud to himself: " mus'n't forget; borrowed a ha'porth of vinegar some time ago at the shop and a penn'orth of cabbage, must pay it to-morrow, or the man, maybe, won't trust me again—such a cur as he is 1 Sell bread by the pound—like the famine year—it's a shame! Oh, Lord, I'm tired ! There, I'll just

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  finish that boot—and then to bed. At Grahae they've been abed this long time, no doubt; it's very^HKerent from here ! When will the Lord grant I see "

  Here he gave a loud sigh, breathed on the boot, and began again to polish it with the brush. He considered this occupation a most important one, and almost his sole ' duty, and measured the value of a servant and even of a man principally by his skill in cleaning boots; he cleaned them himself with a kind of passionate ardour. " Do • stop, Yevsay! you prevent me doing my work with your ' fooling!" cried Adouev.

  " Fooling !" Yevsay muttered to himself; " it's not I but you that are fooling, and I am doing work. Just see how he's mudded his boots, one can scarcely get them clean." He put the boots on the table and looked lovingly at the brilliant polish on the leather.

  " Get along ! polishing like that fooling !" he added.

  Alexandr grew always more deeply buried in his dreams of Nadinka and then in his dreams of authorship.

  There was nothing on the table. Everything which recal
led his former occupations, his office duties, his journalistic work, lay under the table or in the cupboard or under the bed. " The very sight of such sordid things," he said, "frightens the creative impulse, and it takes flight like the nightingale from a thicket, at the sudden creaking of grating wheels on the road."

  Often the dawn found him over some lyric. Every hour not spent at the Lubetzkys was devoted to composition. He wrote poetry and read it to Nadinka; she would copy it out on superfine paper and learn it by heart, and he experienced " the poet's highest bliss—hearing his own creations from beloved lips."

  " You are my muse," he said to her; " be the Vesta of the sacred fire which burns within my breast; if you abandon it, it will die out."

  Then he sent verses under noms-de-plume to the magazines. They printed them because they were not bad, in parts not without force, and all animated by ardent feeling, and the style was good.

  Nadinka was proud of his love and called him " my poet"

  " Yes, yours, yours. for ever," he added. Fame seemed

  to smile before hiro, and Nadinka, he thought, would twine him the laurels to crown his brow, and then . . . . " Life, life, how fair a thing thou art! " he exclaimed. " And my uncle? He would destroy, he would corrupt my loving heart, he would pervert it."

  And he avoided his uncle, did not go to see him for whole weeks, then months. And if when they did meet, the conversation turned on matters of feeling, he kept a contemptuous silence or listened like a man whose convictions cannot be shaken by any arguments. He considered his judgments infallible, his feelings and opinions unsuitable, and decided in future to be guided only by them, declaring that he was no longer a boy and why should he be bound by the opinions of others, and so on.

  But his uncle was always the same; he never asked his nephew about anything and did not or would not notice his whims. He was as cordial with him as before, and lightly reproached him for coming so rarely to see him.

  " My wife is angry with you," he said : "she was accustomed to regard you as a relation: we dine every day at home; you must come in."

  But Alexandr rarely went in, for he had no time; in the morning at the office, after dinner till night at the Lubet-zkys ; night came, and at night he entered the " world of his own " he had created, and continued to create there. And besides it did him no harm to sleep a little sometimes.