" Animal instinct! " he muttered to himself; "that such an idea could enter my head—ah, bare shoulders, bust, ankle .... take advantage of her confidence, her innocence .... deceive .... and even so deceive her .... what then ? The same weariness and stings of conscience besides very likely, and for what ? No, no ! I will not let myself
go, I will not bring her to that Oh! I am firm ! I
feel in me so much purity of heart, so much generosity
I wilLnot fall into the mire, and I will not drag her into
it^r;
Liza expected him the whole day in a tremor of happiness ; afterwards her heart failed her, she lost courage, and, not knowing why herself, grew sad, and almost ceased to desire Alexandra coming. When the hour fixed had come, and no Alexandr, her impatience changed to insufferable wretchedness. With the last rays of the setting sun every hope left her; she burst into tears.
The next day she revived again, again she was light-hearted in the morning, but towards evening her heart began to ache and grow heavy with dread and hope. Again they did not come.
The third and the fourth day it was the same. Still hope drew her to the banks; scarcely did a boat appear in the distance, or two human figures on the bank, without her beginning to tremble and grow powerless under the burden of happy expectation. But when she saw they were not in the boat, that the figures were not theirs, she let her head drop exhausted on her breast, and despair settled down on her heart.
In a minute treacherous hope again whispered to her a
soothing explanation of the delay .... and again her heart began to beat with expectation. But Alexandr still did not come, as though on purpose.
At last, when half ill with despair in her heart, she was sitting one day at her place under the tree, suddenly she heard a rustling; she turned round and trembled with the shock of delight; before her, with his arms folded, stood Alexandr.
She stretched out her hands to him with tears of happiness, and for a long time she could not regain her control of herself. He took her hand and eagerly, even with emotion, looked her in the face.
" You have grown thin !" he said gently, " you are suffering ?"
She shuddered.
" How long you have stayed away !" she exclaimed.
" And you expected me ? "
"I?" she replied quickly. "Oh, if you knew!" She ended her reply by a warm pressure of his hand.
" And I came to say good-bye to you !" he said and paused, watching to see how it would affect her.
She gazed with dismay and incredulity at him.
" It's not true," she said.
" Yes, it's true ! " he replied.
" Listen ! " she said suddenly, looking timidly round on all sides; " don't go away, for goodness' sake, don't go away ! I will tell you a secret. Papa sees us here from the window ; come to me in the garden, to the summerhouse—it looks out on to the meadow. I will show you."
They went together. Alexandr did not take his eyes off her shoulders and her slender figure, and felt as though shaking with fever.
" What consequence is it," he thought as he followed her, " if I go; of course I shall—only look, it's just like visiting their home, the summerhouse .... the father invited me; of course I could go openly and directly .... but I am far from temptation, by God, and I will prove it; indeed I came here on purpose to say I was going away, though I am not going anywhere! No, Satan, you shall not lead me into temptation!"
But at this point it seemed as though Kriloffs imp appeared from the hermit's store and whispered to him, "But
why did you come to say this ? there was no necessity for it; if you had not come, in a fortnight you would have been forgotten."
But Alexandr considered that he was doing nobly, coming to perform a great act of self-sacrifice, to strive with the tempter face to face. The first trophy of his victory over himself was a kiss snatched from Liza, then he flung his arms round her waist, said that he was not going away, that he had invented that to test her, to find out whether she cared for him. Finally, to complete his victory he promised next day to be at the summerhouse at the same time.
As he went home, he thought over his conduct and felt hot and cold by turns. He was overwhelmed with horror and could not believe it of himself; finally, he resolved not to go to-morrow .... and was there before the hour fixed.
It was in the month of August. It was already dark. Alexandr had promised to be there at nine, but he arrived at eight, alone, without his fishing tackle. He stole towards the summerhouse like a thief, sometimes looking round apprehensively, sometimes running at full speed. But someone had been before him, and the latter also in haste, ran breathless into the summerhouse and sat down on a sofa in a dark corner.
It seemed they had watched Alexandr. He softly opened the door in violent agitation and walked on tip-toe to the sofa and softly took the hand—of Liza's father. Alexandr shuddered, jumped up, tried to run away, but the old man kept hold of the lappet of his coat and forced him to sit down beside him on the sofa.
" And what did you come after here, my good friend ? " he said.
" I—came after fish," muttered Alexandr, hardly able to move his lips. His teeth were chattering. The old man was in no way formidable, but like every thief caught in the act, Alexandr shook as if he were in a fever.
" After fish !" repeated the old man derisively. " Do you know the meaning of the saying to ' catch fish in troubled waters'? I have been keeping watch on you for a long time, and now I have found you out at last; but I have known my Liza from her cradle; she is good a"nd trusting, but as for you, you're a dangerous scoundrel."
Alexandr tried to get up, but the old man kept him by the arm.
" Oh, my friend, don'tget angry. You made an affectation of unhappiness, and hypocritically avoided Liza, drew her on, made sure of her, and were meaning to take advantage of it. Is that honourable conduct? What am I to call you ? "
" I swear on my honour I did not foresee the consequences," said Alexandr, in a voice of the deepest sincerity; " I did not mean "
The old man did not speak for a few minutes.
"Well, it may be even so ! " he said ; " it may be that not in passion but simply in idleness you have led the poor girl astray, without even realising yourself what would come of it; if you succeeded, so much the better—if you didn't, no matter! There are many fellows like you in Petersburg. Do you know how such gentlemen are treated ?"
Alexandr sat with downcast eyes. He could not find courage to defend himself.
" At first I thought better of you, but I was mistaken, greatly mistaken ! You know what an innocent fellow you affected to be ! Thank God, I discovered it in time ! Listen ; there is no time to lose; the silly girl will come to the tryst directly. I watched you yesterday. There is no need for her to see us together; you go away, and, needless to say, never come here again. She will begin to think you have deceived her and it will be a lesson to her. Only take care we never see anything of you here; find some other place to fish, or else—111 pack you off without much ceremony. It's lucky for you that Liza can still look me in the face ; I have been keeping watch on her all day .... else you would not have got off so easily—Good-bye ! "
Alexandr wanted to say something, but the old man had opened the door and almost shoved him out.
Alexandr went out in a condition of mind which my reader may imagine, if only he is not ashamed to put himself in his place for a minute. My hero's eyes were even glistening with tears, tears of shame, of anger with himself, and of despair.
" What have I to live for ? " he said aloud, " a loathsome, sickening life! But I — I . . . . no! if I have not strength of will enough to resist temptation .... at any
v/;
220 A COMMON STORY
rate I have the courage to cut short this useless, shameful existence."
With swift steps he made his way to the river. It was black, and thin, fantastic, misshapen shadows seemed to be hovering over its waters. The bank where Alexandr stood
was shallow.
" One cannot even die here !" he said scornfully, and went to the bridge which was some hundred paces away. Alexandr leaned his elbows on the handrail on the middle of the bridge and continued to gaze into the water. He mentally took leave of life, gave a sigh to his mother, and a blessing to his aunt, and even forgave Nadinka. Tears of self-pity flowed down his cheeks, He covered his face with his hands. There is no knowing what he would have done, when suddenly the bridge began to shake a little under his feet; he looked round; merciful Heavens ! he was on the verge of destruction; the grave seemed yawning before him; half the bridge had smashed off and was swimming away .... the planks were breaking up—another moment and all would have been over ! He rallied all his forces and took a despairing leap .... to the safe side. Then he stopped, drew a breath and pressed his hand to his heart.
" Well, you have had a fright, I guess, sir ?" a keeper asked him.
i( Why, my good man, I all but fell in the middle of the river !" replied Alexandr in a shaking voice.
" God save us! accidents easily happen ?" said the keeper yawning; "last year a young bargeman lost his life like that."
Alexandr went home, his hand still pressed to his heart. From time to time he looked round at the river, and at the broken drawbridge, and quickly turned round shuddering and quickened his pace.
Meanwhile Liza had put on her most fascinating attire, and without taking any one, either father or nurse with her, she sat every evening till late at night under the tree.
The dark evenings came; she still waited; but no sight nor sound of her friends.
The autumn had come. The yellow leaves fell off the trees and strewed the banks; the green was fading; the river began to assume a leaden hue; the sky was always
grey; there was a cold wind with drizzling rain. The river and its banks were deserted; there was no sound of songs or laughter or ringing voices on the banks; boats and canoes no longer glided to and fro. Not a single insect hummed in the grass, not a bird chirped in the trees ; only the cawing of rooks depressed the spirit; and the fish had ceased to bite.
But Liza still waited ; it was absolutely necessary for her to speak to Alexandr, to reveal her secret to him. She still sat on the seat under the tree, wrapped in her jacket. She had grown thin ; her eyes were somewhat sunken; her face was wrapped up in a handkerchief. It was thus her father found her one day.
" Let us go, you have sat here enough," he said, frowning and shivering with the cold; " look, your fingers are blue, you are frozen. Liza ! do you hear? we will go." " Where ? "
" Home; we will go back to town to-day." " What for ? " she asked bewildered. "What for? autumn is coming on; we are the only people left in the country."
" Oh, dear !" she said, " it will be nice here even in the winter; let us stop."
" So that's your plan ! Enough, enough, let us go." c * Wait a little ! " she said in imploring tones, " fine days will come back even now."
" Listen !" replied her father, tapping her on the cheek and pointing to the spot where her friends used to fish; "they won't come back."
" They won't—come back!" she repeated in mournful, questioning tones, then she dropped her father's hand, and slowly with bent head walked home, from time to time turning to look back.
Adouev and Kostyakoff for a long time past had fished on the side furthest from that place.
CHAPTER XI
By degrees Alexandr succeeded in forgetting Liza and also the disagreeable scene with her father. He became calm again and even cheerful, and often laughed at KostyakofFs feeble jokes. He was amused by the man's point of view of life. They even made plans to go away somewhere further, to put up a hut on the river's bank where there were plenty of fish, and to pass the remainder of their days there. Alexandras soul again grew accustomed to grovelling in the mud of narrow ideas and material existence. But fate did not slumber, and he was not permitted to grovel there for ever.
In the autumn he received a note from his aunt with an urgent request that he would escort her to a concert since his uncle was not quite well. A musician was in Petersburg, of European celebrity.
" What ? a concert!" said Alexandr, greatly disturbed, " go to a concert, into the world, into the tinsel show of lies and hypocrisy—no, I will not go."
" It would cost five roubles too, I shouldn't wonder," remarked Kostyakoff who was present.
"The ticket costs fifteen roubles," said Alexandr, "but I would gladly give fifty not to go."
14 Fifteen!" cried Kostyakoff, clasping his hands, "what swindlers ! to come here to cheat and plunder us! Confound the lazy beggars ! Don't go, Alexandr Fedoritch, don't you be taken in ! If it were something or other worth having; if you could take it home, set it on the table or eat it; but only to listen and nothing to show for it; pay fifteen roubles ! One can get a pony for fifteen roubles!"
" Men will sometimes pay even more to spend an evening pleasantly," observed Alexandr.
" Spend an evening pleasantly! I'll tell you what! let's go to the baths, we shall spend an evening gloriously! Every time I feel bored I go there—and it's capital; you go at six o'clock and you leave at twelve and you warm your body and get scrubbed, and often you make some agreeable acquaintance; some priest, a merchant or an officer will come in; they will begin a conversation about trade, maybe, or the end of the world—and you won't come away! and all
for sixpence each ! They don't know where to spend the evening!"
But Alexandr did go. With a sigh he pulled out his evening suit of bygone years, which he had not put on for so long, and drew on a pair of white gloves.
"Gloves at five roubles brings it to twenty ! " Kostyakoff calculated up, as he was assisting at Adouev's toilet. "Twenty roubles wasted on one evening! Just for listening; as if that were something so wonderful! "
Adouev had got out of the way of dressing suitably. In the morning he went to the office in his comfortable official dress, in the evening he wore an old surtout or greatcoat. He felt ill at ease in his evening dress. Here it was too narrow, there too short; his neck felt too hot swathed in a silk handkerchief.
His aunt met him cordially, with a sense of gratitude to him for having determined for her sake to lay aside his misanthropy for once, but no word was spoken of his way of life and occupations. Having found a place in the hall for Lizaveta Alexandrovna, Adouev leaned against a column, under the shelter of a kindof broad-shouldered musical maniac and began to bd^Jorecfc He softly yawned behind his hand, but before he nacTtime to shut his mouth, an outburst of deafening applause announced the appearance of the musician. Alexandr did not even look at him.
They began to play the.prelude. In a few minutes the orchestra began to die away. Its last notes mingled indistinctly with another strain, at first sportive, playful, like a reminiscence of the sport of childhood; it seemed as though children's voices, ringing and merry, were heard in it; then it grew more glowing, more manly, and seemed to express the restlessness of youth, and its hardihood and overflow of life and energy. Then it flowed more slowly and softly, and seemed to be translating the outpourings of love, the language of the soul, and, sinking, fell slowly to the whisper of passion and died gradually away into silence
No one dared to stir. The mass of people sat in breathless stillness. At last a simultaneous "Ah ! " of admiration broke from all, and a whisper passed through the concert-hall. The crowd were just beginning to stir, but suddenly the music awoke again, and rushed along in a crescendo torrent, then broke into a thousand leaping cascades,
224 A COMMON STORY
thwarting and crushing one another in their course. They seemed to be thundering the reproaches of jealousy, and boiling with the frenzy of passion ; the ear had not time to catch them—and suddenly they broke off, as though the instrument had not strength, not voice left. Then a dim broken sound began to escape from under the violinist's bow, then sounds of weeping, of beseechings were heard, and all ceased in a long-drawn sigh of pain. The heart was torn b
y it; the music seemed to tell of love betrayed and hopeless pain. Every suffering, every pang of the human soul was heard in it.
Alexandr was trembling. He stood with downcast head and looked through his tears over his neighbour's shoulder. A lean German, bent over his instrument, was standing before the crowd which he swayed so completely. He had finished, and was wiping his brow and hands on his handkerchief. From the hall rose a roar and enthusiastic clapping. And suddenly the musician in his turn bowed before the crowd and began humbly to express his respect and gratitude.
" Even he bows before it," thought Alexandr, looking with awe at the many-headed monster, " even he who stands so high above it!"
The musician took his bow; and all were instantaneously silence. The crowd, which had begun to be restless, settled down again into a single motionless mass. A different strain was sounding, solemn, majestic; the listener straightened his back as he heard it, raised his head and drew himself up; it stirred pride in the heart and called up dreams of glory. The orchestra began indistinctly to chime in, like the echo of the crowd in the distance, of renown in the world
Alexandr stood pale and downcast. The music, as though of design, told him clearly of the past, of all his life, bitter and betrayed.
" Look at that fellow's face!" said some one, pointing towards Alexandr; " I can't think how he can make such an exhibition of himself; I have heard Paganini without stirring a muscle."
"' Alexandrcursed both his aunt's invitation and the musician, and above all destiny for not allowing him to forget
" What for ? with what object ? " he thought; " what does
it want from me ? why remind me of the weakness, the use-lessness of the past, which cannot be recalled ? "
After escorting his aunt to her door, he was just about to leave her, but she held his hand.
" Do you really mean you won't come in ?" she asked in reproachful tones.
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