Piotr Ivanitch pointed to his forehead.
" Your Varinka was twenty per cent, more sensible than you when she made the condition that you should wait a year."
/
" But could I have acted a part even if I had the ability ? To do this one must not love as I do. Some people pretend sometimes to be cold, and stay away for a few days from policy—and that produces an effect. But for me to try to be politic when, at the sight of her, my soul caught fire and my limbs shook and trembled under me, when I was ready to endure any torture, if only I might see her .... No ! whatever you say, for me there is more rapture in loving with all the strength of the soul, even though one suffers, than in being loved without loving, or in loving in a halfhearted way, as an amusement, on a repulsive, calculated system, and playing with a woman as if she were a lapdog and then throwing her aside."
Piotr Ivanitch shrugged his shoulders.
s> " All right then, suffer, if it's so agreeable to you," he
/ said. " Oh, the provinces ! oh, Asia ! You ought to have
I lived in the East; there they give the women orders whom
j they are to love, and if they don't obey, they drown them.
No, here," he continued as if to himself, " to be happy with
a woman can't be managed on your principles, a madman's
really—but it can be done by prudence—many conditions
are necessary .... one must know how to turn a girl into a
woman on a well-thought-out plan, on a method, if you like,
so that she may understand and fulfil her destination. One
must trace a magic circle round her, not too narrow, so that
she may not be conscious of its limits and may not overstep
them ; one must artfully gain the mastery not only of her
heart—that's something, but it's a slippery and unstable
possession—but of her intelligence, her will, and must make
her tastes, her disposition subject to your own, so that she
may look at things with your eyes, think with your brain."
" That means, make her a doll, or the silent slave of her
_ husband !" interposed Alexandr.
" Why ? You must manage so that she shall lose nothing of her character and dignity as a woman. Allow her liberty of action in her own sphere, but let your shrewd wit keep watch over her every action, every breath, every step, so that the husband's eye, ever wakeful—however outwardly indifferent—may note every passing emotion, every whim, every germ of feeling, everywhere and always. Establish— without her observing it—a perpetual control over her without any kind of tyrannising, and lead her into the ways you
desire Oh, a wonderful and difficult training is wanted,
and the best training is—a husband of intelligence and experience—that's where it all is!"
He coughed significantly and tossed off a glass at one draught.
" Then," he continued, " a husband can sleep in peace when his wife is not beside him, or can sit with his mind at rest in his study while she is asleep/'
" Since I see, uncle," continued Alexandr, " that you sit with mind at rest in your study while my aunt is asleep, I surmise that the husband is "
" Sh, sh ! be quiet,' 7 his uncle began to say, lifting his hand; " it's a good thing my wife's asleep, but "
At this moment the door of the study began very quietly to open, but no one was visible.
" But the wife," said a woman's voice in the corridor, i " must not show that she understands her husband's grand •. system of training and must set up a little system of her , own, without chattering about it over a bottle of wine."
Both the Adouevs rushed to the door, but a sound of quick steps, of fluttering skirts came from the corridor, and all was still again.
The uncle and nephew looked at one another.
"What do you say now, uncle? " asked the nephew, after a pause.
"What, nothing!" said Piotr Ivanitch, knitting his brows. " I have chosen a bad time to boast! Learn, Alexandr, that it's better not to marry, or else choose a fool; you'll not be a match for a clever woman: it's a difficult task to train her!"
He fell into thought, then clapped his hand to his brow.
" How came I not to consider that she would know of your visit so late ? " he said with annoyance, " that a woman will never sleep when there's a secret between two men in the next room, that she'd be certain either to send her maid or come herself .... not to have foreseen it! stupidity ! and it's all your doing, and this cursed glass of Lafitte! I've been blabbing! What a lesson from a girl of twenty . . . ."
" You're uneasy, uncle!"
" What is there to be uneasy about ? not much ! I have
made a mistake, I must not lose my self-possession, but must extricate myself skilfully."
He grew thoughtful again.
" She was boasting," he began again, " what sort of training could she use ? no, that could not be in her power; she is young ! she only said that .... from irritation; but now she has discovered this magic circle, she too will begin to play a part .... oh, I know a woman's nature ! But we shall see.''
He smiled confidently and cheerfully, and his brow grew smooth again.
"What were we talking of? oh yes, I think you were wanting to murder your—what's-her-name ? "
" I despise her from the depths of my soul," said Alexandr, with a heavy sigh.
" There, you see ! you're already halfway to recovery. But is that the truth ? you are still angry, I fancy; you will very likely go back there again."
"What an idea! after this."
u Men do go back after more than that! your word of honour now—not to go ? "
" On my word of honour then."
" Well, then."
" If we "
" I will tell you then there's nothing to despise her for."
"Nothing to despise her for! no, uncle, that's beyond everything ! The Count, he did not know! but she ! Who is to blame then ? I ? "
" Well, almost so, but in reality no one is to blame. Tell me, why do you despise her?"
" For her base conduct."
"In what does it consist?"
"In repaying with ingratitude a lofty, an unbounded passion."
"What has gratitude to do with it? did you love her for her sake, to oblige her ? did you want to do her a service, eh ? According to that you should have loved your mother a little better."
Alexandr looked at him and did not know what to say.
" You ought not to have displayed your feeling in its full strength before her; a woman begins to grow cool when a man comes out altogether. You ought to have found out
A
her character and behaved in accordance with it, and not have lain down at her feet like a dog. How is one to get on without understanding the companion with whom you have to do in any relation ? You would have seen then that you must not expect more from her. She had played her romance with you to the end, just as she is playing it with the Count, and as she very likely will play it again with some one else; she cannot go deeper or further! that's not in such a nature; and God only knows what you are expecting."
" But why did she love another?" interposed Alexandr with bitterness.
" What a crime you have discovered ! what a sensible question ! Ah, you primitive creature ! Why did you love her ? Come, get over loving her as easily!"
" Does it depend on me ? "
"Well, then, did her loving the Count depend on her? You maintained yourself that the impulses of the heart ought not to be held in check, but as soon as you are touched by it yourself then you ask why did she love him ! Why did so-and-so die ? Why did what's-her-name go out of her mind ? how is one to answer such questions? Love must end some time; it can't last for ever."
" .Oh, I will be revenged on her!" said Alexandr.
" You are ungrateful," continued Piotr Ivanitch, " it's too bad ! Remember that for a year and a half you have be
en ready to fall on every one's neck with joy, and haven't known what to do for happiness ! a year and a half of unbroken pleasure ! Whatever you say—you are ungrateful!"
" Ah, uncle, for me there was nothing in the world so sacred as love—life without her is not life!"
"Ah!" Piotr Ivanitch,. broken with vexation, " I am sick of listening to such nonsense !"
"I could have worshipped Nadinka," continued Alexandr, " and I would not have grudged her any happiness in the world; I had dreamed of spending my whole life with Nadinka—and what has happened ? What has become of that sublime, immense passion of which I dreamed ? it has been transformed into a stupid petty comedy of sighs and scenes—jealousy, lying, and hypocrisy — oh, my God!"
" Why did you imagine what does not happen ? Didn't I
^
A COMMON STORY 141
tell you plainly that up to now you have been trying to live a kind of life that's never possible ? According to you a man's only business was to be a lover, a husband, father . . . . and of anything else you won't even hear. Man is something beyond this; he is a citizen as well, and has a calling, an occupation of some kind—he's an author, a landowner, a soldier, an official, or a manufacturer. You have read novels, and listened to your auntie out there in the wilds, and have come up here full of these ideas. You still imagined— a sublime passion.
" Yes, sublime !"
" Oh, please, stop ! is a sublime passion possible ? "
" What ? "
" Why this. By a passion we mean, I suppose, when feeling, inclination, attraction has reached such a pitch that it ceases to be guided by reason? Well, what is there sublime in that ? I don't understand it; it's only a madness—the man falls below the dignity of man. And why do you present only one side of the medal ? I am speaking of love—turn the other side and you will see that love was not such a bad thing. Remember your moments of happiness; you keep buzzing into my ears "
" Oh, don't remind me, don't remind me!" said Alexandr, with a gesture of his hand, " it's very well for you to reason so, because you believe in the woman you love; I should like to see what you would have done in my place."
" What should I have done? I should have sought distraction .... at the factory. Won't you like to try tomorrow ? "
" No, I can't feel at one with you in anything," Alexandr exclaimed mournfully; " your views do not reconcile me to life, but make me more averse to it. It makes me miserable, it is a chill breath in my soul. Hitherto love has saved me from this chill; it is no more—and now there is torture in my heart—I am frightened, I am weary."
41 Turn to work."
" It is all true, uncle, you and those like you can reason so. You are a cold man by nature. You think, feel, and speak just as a steam-engine rolls along a railway line— evenly, smoothly, easily."
" I hope there's no harm in that; it's better than dashing
off the track, pitching into the ditch, as you are now, and not knowing how to keep upright."
Piotr Ivanitch looked at his nephew and stopped short at once.
" What is it ? I do believe you're crying !" he said, and his face grew dark ; that is to say, he blushed. Alexandr did not answer. He remembered his lost happiness, and all that was now so different. And the tears streamed down his cheeks.
" Oh, oh ! for shame !" said Piotr Ivanitch; " are you a man ? Don't cry, for goodness' sake, before me ! "
" Uncle! remember the years of your youth," said Alexandr sobbing; " could you have calmly and indifferently endured the bitterest injury which Fate ever sends upon a man ? To live for a year and a half such a full life and all to end so suddenly—nothing—emptiness ! If I had the consolation," he went on, "of having lost her through circumstance—if they had forced her against her will—even if she had died—then it would have been easier to bear—but that another!—that's terrible, insufferable! What am I to do ? I am suffocating, I am ill—it's torture, agony! I shall die. I shall shoot
myself." "~ "
"—^fte leaned his elbows on the table, covered his head with his hand, and sobbed aloud.
Piotr Ivanitch's self-possession was gone. He walked up and down the room twice, then stopped opposite Alexandr and scratched his head, not knowing how to begin.
" Drink a little wine, Alexandr," said Piotr Ivanitch, as gently as he could ; " perhaps that "
Alexandr did nothing, but his head and shoulders shook convulsively; he kept on sobbing. Piotr Ivanitch frowned, and with a wave of the hand went out of the room.
" What am I do with Alexandr ?" he said to his wife. " He is sobbing there in my room and has driven me out; I am quite worn out with him."
" And did you leave him like that ? " she said, " poor boy! Let me, I will go to him."
" But you will do no good; he is such a nature—just like his aunt; she was just as lacrymose; I have been arguing with him not a little already."
■v-
" Only arguing ? "
" And convincing him ; he agreed with me."
"Oh, I don't doubt it; you are so clever—and hypocritical !" she added.
" Thank goodness, if I am; that, I should suppose, is all that was wanted."
" Ah, I dare say you would, still he is crying."
" I'm not to blame; I did everything to comfort him."
" What did you do ? "
" What didn't I ? I've been talking a whole hour—my throat's quite sore. I laid down the whole theory of love as plain as possible—and offered him money—and tried him with supper and wine."
u And he's still crying."
" Yes, and groaning more than ever."
u That's astonishing! Let me try, and you meanwhile ' t think out your new method."
n " What, what ? "
fiut she had glided like a shadow from the room.
Atexandr was still sitting with his head dropped on his arms. Some one touched his shoulder. He lifted his head; J before him stood a young and beautiful woman, in a dressing-gown and a cap d la Finoise*
"Ma tantel" he said.
She took a seat near him and looked steadily at him, as only women can, and kissed him on the forehead, and he pressed his lips to her hand. They talked a long while.
An hour later he had gone away thoughtful but with a smile, and slept soundly for the first time after many sleepless nights. She returned to her bedroom with tear-stained eyes. Piotr Ivanitch had long ago been snoring.
». •«
J
CHAPTER VII
ABOUTa year had passed -since the scenes and events relateoTTn the last chapter. Alexandr changed by slow degrees from the depths of despair to the numbness of despondency.
. 144 A COMMON STORY
V Lizave ta Alexandrovna consoled him with all the tender-nesS Of sffriend anci a sister. He willingly yielded himself
v
jj v v " I to this sweet guardianship. All such natures as his love to give their will into the keeping of another. For them a nurse is a necessity.
Passion had at last died away in him, his genuine grief had passed, but he was sorry to part with it; he kept ^ it up by force or, better to say, created an artificial sorrow for himself, played with it, beautified it and revelled in it.
It pleased him somehow to play the part of a victim. He
was subdued, dignified, gloomy, like a man supporting, in
his own words, " a blow from fate."
.—^Lizaveta Alexandrovna listened indulgently to his lamen-
1 tations and comforted him as she could. It was not
I altogether disagreeable perhaps to her, because in spite of
1 everything, she found in her nephew sympathy for her own
J heart, she heard in his complaint against love the expression
/ of sufferings not unfamiliar to her.
^ She eagerly listened to the utterances of his grief, and an w .reFed them with imperceptible sighs and tears unseen by any one. * *She even found for her nephew's feigned and mawkish sorrows, words of consolation in a
like tone and spirit; but Alexandr would not even listen.
" Oh, don't speak to me, ma tante? was his reply, " I don't want to dishonour the holy name of love by using it
for my relations with that " Here he made a disdainful
face and was ready, like Piotr Ivanitch, to say " that—what's-her-name ? "
" However," he would add, with still greater disdain, " it was pardonable in her; I was on a higher level than she and the Count and all their pitiful and petty circle; it is not strange that I remained misunderstood by her.
"My uncle declares that I ought to be grateful to Nadinka," he continued," for what ? Her love was all vulgarity and commonplaceness. Was there any heroism or self-sacrifice to be seen in it ? No, everything was carried on by her almost with her mother's knowledge! Did she once for my sake overstep the conventions of the world and duty ? never! That—love indeed !"
" What kind of love would you expect from a woman ?" asked Lizaveta Alexandrovna.
/
A COMMON STORY 145
" What!" replied Alexandr, " I should expect from her the first place in her heart. The woman I love ought not to notice, not to see any man except me; every minute not spent with me should be for her a minute lost."
Lizaveta Alexandrovna tried to conceal a smile. Alexandr did not notice it.
" For my sake," he went on, with flashing eyes, " she ought to be ready to sacrifice every pitiful consideration of profit and advantage, throw off the despotic yoke of her mother, or her husband; flee with me, if need be, to the ends of the earth ; bear resolutely every privation—that is love ! but "
" And how would you have rewarded such love !" asked his aunt.
A common story Page 17