The foliage on the birches was still almost completely green, although it had noticeably faded; only here and there stood a young tree all decked out in red or gold, and one could not help watching how brightly it flared up when the sun’s rays broke, gliding and scintillating, through the myriad network of fine branches only just washed by glittering rain. There was not a single bird to be heard: all had taken cover and fallen silent; only the mocking little voice of the tom-tit tinkled occasionally like a little steel bell.
Before I had stopped in this little birch wood, I had gone with my dog through a grove of tall aspens. I confess that I am not particularly fond of that tree – the aspen – with its pale-mauve trunk and grey-green, metallic foliage which it raises as high as possible and spreads out in the air like a quivering fan; nor do I like the continual flutterings of its round untidy leaves which are so awkwardly attached to their long stalks. It acquires beauty only on certain summer evenings when, rising on high in isolation among low bushy undergrowth, it meets the challenge of the ebbing rays of the sunset and gleams and trembles, suffused from its topmost branches to its roots by a uniform yellow and purple light; or when, on a clear windy day, it is all noisily streaming and babbling against the blue sky, and every leaf, seized by the wind’s ardour, appears to want to tear itself free, fly away and hurry off into the distance. But in general I dislike this tree and therefore, without stopping to rest in the aspen grove, I made my way to the little birch wood, settled myself under a tree whose branches began close to the ground and were able, in consequence, to shelter me from the rain, and, having gazed admiringly at the surrounding view, fell into the kind of untroubled and mild sleep familiar only to hunters.
I cannot say how long I was asleep, but when I opened my eyes the entire interior of the wood was filled with sunlight and in all directions through the jubilantly rustling foliage a bright blue sky peered and seemed to sparkle; the clouds had vanished, dispersed by the wind that had sprung up; the weather had cleared, and in the air could be felt that special dry freshness which, imbuing the heart with a feeling of elation, almost always means a peaceful and clear evening after a rainy day.
I was on the point of rising and again trying my luck, when suddenly my eyes lighted on a motionless human form. I looked closely and saw that it was a young peasant girl. She was sitting twenty paces from me, her head lowered in thought and both hands dropped on her knees; in the half-open palm of one of them lay a thick bunch of wild flowers and at each breath she took the bunch slipped quietly down on to her checked skirt. A clean white blouse, buttoned at the neck and at the wrists, gathered in short soft folds about her waist; two rows of large yellow beads fell from her neck on to her bosom. She was very pretty in her own way. Her thick fair hair of a beautiful ash colour was parted into two carefully styled semi-circles below a narrow crimson ribbon drawn almost down to her temples, which were white as ivory; the rest of her face was faintly sunburned to that golden hue which is only acquired by a delicate skin. I could not see her eyes because she did not raise them; but I clearly saw her fine, high eyebrows and long eyelashes, which were damp, and on one of her cheeks I saw the dried trace of a tear that had come to rest at the edge of her slightly pale lips and glittered in the sunlight. The whole appearance of her head was very charming; even the slightly thick and rounded nose did nothing to spoil it. I particularly liked the expression on her face for the way in which it was so artless and gentle, so melancholy and full of childish bewilderment at her own grief.
She was evidently waiting for someone. Something crackled faintly in the wood and she at once raised her head and looked round; in the transparent shade her large eyes, bright and frightened, flashed quickly before me like the eyes of a doe. She listened for a few moments without taking her wide-open eyes from the place where the faint sound had been made, then heaved a sigh, turned her head calmly back, bent still farther down and began slowly to finger the flowers. Her eyelids reddened, her lips gave a quiver of bitterness and another tear slipped from beneath her thick lashes, coming to rest on her cheek where it glittered radiantly. Some time passed in this way, and the poor girl did not move save to make a few regretful gestures with her hands and to go on listening and listening. Again something made a noise in the wood and she was instantly alerted. The noise continued, grew louder as it approached, and finally could be heard the noise of rapid, decisive footsteps. She straightened herself and appeared to be overcome with shyness; her attentive features began to quiver and burn with expectation. The figure of a man could be glimpsed through the thicket. She peered in that direction, blushed suddenly, gave a joyful and happy smile, got ready to stand up and once again suddenly lowered her head, growing pale and confused – and she only raised her faltering, almost imploring gaze to the newcomer when he had stopped beside her.
I examined him with curiosity from my hiding-place. I confess that he produced an unpleasant impression on me. To all appearances he was the pampered valet of some rich young master. His clothes displayed pretensions to good taste and dandified casualness: they consisted of a short, bronze-coloured top-coat buttoned up to the neck and inherited, more than likely, from his master, a little rosetinted neck-tie with mauve tips and a black velvet cap with gold lace edging worn pulled down over the eyebrows. The rounded collar of his white shirt pressed unmercifully up against his ears and bit into his cheek, while his starched cuffs covered his hands right down to the red and crooked fingers which were embellished with gold and silver rings containing turquoise forget-me-nots. His face – ruddy, fresh-complexioned and impudent – belonged to the category of faces which, so far as I have been able to judge, almost invariably annoy men and, unfortunately, are very often pleasing to women. He clearly made an effort to endow his rather coarse features with an expression of superciliousness and boredom; he endlessly screwed up his already tiny milk-grey eyes, frowned, let his mouth droop at the edges, gave forced yawns and with a casual, though not entirely skilled, air of abandon either patted the reddish, artfully coiled hair on his temples or twiddled the little yellow hairs that stuck out on his fat upper lip – in a word, he showed off insufferably. He began to show off as soon as he saw the young peasant girl waiting for him; he slowly approached her at a lounging pace, came to a stop, shrugged his shoulders, stuck both hands into the pockets of his top-coat and, with hardly more than a fleeting and indifferent glance at the poor girl, lowered himself to the ground.
‘Well,’ he began, still looking away to one side, swinging his leg and yawning, ‘have you been here long?’
The girl was unable to answer him immediately.
‘A long time, sir, Victor Alexandrych,’ she said eventually in a scarcely audible voice.
‘Ah!’ He removed his cap, grandly drew his hand through his thick, tightly coiled hair, which began almost at his eyebrows, and glancing round with dignity, once more carefully covered his priceless head. ‘And I’d almost completely forgotten. After all, look how it rained!’ He yawned once more. ‘There’s a mass of things to be done, what with everything to be got ready and the master swearing as well. Tomorrow we’ll be off…’
‘Tomorrow?’ the girl said and directed him a look of fright.
‘That’s right – tomorrow. Now, now, now, please,’ he added hastily and with annoyance, seeing that she had begun to tremble all over and was quietly lowering her head, ‘please, Akulina, no crying. You know I can’t stand crying.’ And he puckered up his snub nose. ‘If you start, I’ll leave at once. What silliness – blubbering!’
‘No, I won’t, I won’t,’ Akulina uttered hurriedly, making herself swallow her tears. ‘So you’re leaving tomorrow?’ she added after a brief pause. ‘When will God bring you back to see me again, Victor Alexandrych?’
‘We’ll meet again, we’ll meet again. If not next year, then later. It seems the master wants to enter government service in St Petersburg,’ he continued, speaking the words casually and slightly through the nose, ‘and maybe we’ll go abroad.’
/> ‘You’ll forget me, Victor Alexandrych,’ Akulina said sadly.
‘No, why should I? I won’t forget you. Only you’ve got to be sensible, not start playing up, obey your father… I’ll not forget you – no-o-o.’ And he calmly stretched himself and again yawned.
‘You mustn’t forget me, Victor Alexandrych,’ she continued in an imploring voice. ‘I’ve loved you so much, it seems, and it seems I’ve done everything for you… You tell me to listen to my father, Victor Alexandrych… There’s no point in listening to my father…’
‘Why not?’ He uttered these words as it were from his stomach, lying on his back with his arms behind his head.
‘There’s no point, Victor Alexandrych. You know that yourself…’
She said nothing. Victor played with the steel chain of his watch.
‘You’re not a fool, Akulina,’ he started saying at last, ‘so don’t talk nonsense. I want what’s best for you, do you understand me? Of course, you’re not stupid, you’re not a complete peasant girl, so to speak; and your mother also wasn’t always a peasant girl. But you’re without any education, so you’ve got to listen when people tell you things.’
‘I’m frightened, Victor Alexandrych.’
‘Hey, there, that’s a lot of nonsense, my dear. What’s there to be frightened of! What’s that you’ve got there,’ he added, turning to her, ‘flowers?’
‘Flowers,’ answered Akulina despondently. ‘They’re some field tansies I’ve picked,’ she continued, brightening slightly, ‘and they’re good for calves. And these are marigolds, they help against scrofula. Just look what a lovely little flower it is! I’ve never seen such a lovely little flower before in all my born days. Then there are some forget-me-nots, here are some violets. But these I got for you,’ she added, taking out from beneath the yellow tansies a small bunch of blue cornflowers tied together with a fine skein of grass, ‘would you like them?’
Victor languidly stretched out his hand, took the bunch, casually sniffed the flowers and began to twiddle them in his fingers, gazing up in the air from time to time with thoughtful self-importance. Akulina looked at him and her sad gaze contained such tender devotion, such worshipful humility and love. Yet she was also afraid of him, and fearful of crying; and taking her own leave of him and doting on him for the last time; but he lay there in the lounging pose of a sultan and endured her worship of him with magnanimous patience and condescension. I confess that his red face vexed me with its pretentiously disdainful indifference through which could be discerned a replete and self-satisfied vanity. Akulina was so fine at that moment, for her whole heart was trustfully and passionately laid open before him, craving him and yearning to be loved, but he… he simply let the cornflowers drop on the grass, took a round glass in a bronze frame out of the side pocket of his top-coat and started trying to fix it in place over his eye; but no matter how hard he tried to keep it in place with a puckered brow, a raised cheek and even with his nose, the little eyeglass kept on falling out and dropping into his hand.
‘What’s that?’ Akulina asked finally in astonishment.
‘A lorgnette,’ he answered self-importantly.
‘What’s it for?’
‘So as to see better.’
‘Show it me.’
Victor frowned, but he gave her the eyeglass.
‘Don’t break it, mind.’
‘You needn’t worry, I won’t.’ She raised it timidly to her eye. ‘I don’t see anything,’ she said artlessly.
‘It’s your eye, you’ve got to screw up your eye,’ he retorted in the voice of a dissatisfied mentor. She screwed up the eye before which she was holding the little glass. ‘Not that one, not that one, idiot! The other one!’ exclaimed Victor and, giving her no chance to correct her mistake, took the lorgnette from her.
Akulina reddened, gave a nervous laugh and turned away.
‘It’s obviously not for the likes of me,’ she murmured.
‘That’s for sure!’
The poor girl was silent and let fall a deep sigh.
‘Oh, Victor Alexandrych, what’ll I do without you?’ she suddenly said.
Victor wiped the lorgnette with the edge of his coat and put it back in his pocket.
‘Yes, yes,’ he said eventually, ‘it sure will be hard for you to start with.’ He gave her several condescending pats on the shoulder; she ever so quietly lifted his hand from her shoulder and timidly kissed it. ‘Well, all right, all right, you’re a good kid,’ he went on, giving a self-satisfied smile, ‘but what can I do about it? Judge for yourself! The master and I can’t stay here; it’ll be winter soon now and to spend the winter in the country – you know this yourself – is just horrible. But it’s another matter in St Petersburg! There are simply such wonderful things there, such as you, stupid, wouldn’t be able to imagine even in your wildest dreams! What houses and streets, and the sochiety, the culture – it’s simply stupendous!’ Akulina listened to him with greedy interest, her lips slightly parted like a child’s. ‘Anyhow,’ he added, turning over, ‘why am I telling you all this? You won’t be able to understand it.’
‘Why say that, Victor Alexandrych? I’ve understood it, I’ve understood everything.’
‘What a bright one you are!’
Akulina lowered her head.
‘You never used to talk to me like that before, Victor Alexandrych,’ she said without raising her eyes.
‘Didn’t I before? Before! You’re a one! Before indeed!’ he commented, pretending to be indignant.
Both were silent for a while.
‘However, it’s time for me to be going,’ said Victor, and was on the point of raising himself on one elbow.
‘Stay a bit longer,’ Akulina declared in an imploring voice.
‘What’s there to wait for? I’ve already said goodbye to you.’
‘Stay a bit,’ Akulina repeated.
Victor again lay back and started whistling. Akulina never took her eyes off him. I could tell that she was slowly working herself into a state of agitation: her lips were working and her pale cheeks were faintly crimsoning.
‘Victor Alexandrych,’ she said at last in a breaking voice, ‘it’s sinful of you… sinful of you, Victor Alexandrych, in God’s name it is!’
‘What’s sinful?’ he asked, knitting his brows, and he raised himself slightly and turned his head towards her.
‘It’s sinful, Victor Alexandrych. If you’d only say one kind word to me now you’re leaving, just say one word to me, wretched little orphan that I am…’
‘But what should I say to you?’
‘I don’t know. You should know that better than me, Victor Alexandrych. Now you’re going away, and if only you’d say a word… Why should I deserve this?’
‘What a strange girl you are! What can I say?’
‘Just say one word…’
‘Well, you’ve certainly gone on and on about the same thing,’ he said in disgruntlement and stood up.
‘Don’t be angry, Victor Alexandrych,’ she added quickly, hardly restraining her tears.
‘I’m not angry, it’s only that you’re stupid… What do you want? You know I can’t marry you, don’t you? Surely you know I can’t? So what’s it you want? What is it?’ He stuck his face forward in expectation of her answer and opened wide his fingers.
‘I don’t want anything… anything,’ she answered, stammering and scarcely daring to stretch her trembling hands out towards him, ‘only if you’d just say one word in farewell…’
And tears streamed from her eyes.
‘Well, so there it is, you’ve started crying,’ Victor said callously, tipping his cap forward over his eyes.
‘I don’t want anything,’ she went on, swallowing her tears and covering her face with both hands, ‘but what’ll it be like for me in the family, what’ll there be for me? And what’s going to happen to me, what’s going to become of me, wretch that I am! They’ll give their orphan girl away to someone who doesn’t love her… O poor me,
poor me!’
‘Moan away, moan away!’ muttered Victor under his breath, shifting from one foot to the other.
‘If only he’d say one little word, just one word… Such as, Akulina, I… I…’
Suddenly heart-rending sobs prevented her from finishing what she was saying. She flopped on her face in the grass and burst into bitter, bitter tears. Her whole body shook convulsively, the nape of her neck rising and falling. Her long-restrained grief finally poured forth in torrents. Victor stood for a moment or so above her, shrugged his shoulders, turned and walked away with big strides.
Several moments passed. She grew quiet, raised her head, jumped up, looked about her and wrung her hands; she was on the point of rushing after him, but her legs collapsed under her and she fell on her knees. I could not hold myself back and rushed towards her, but she had hardly had time to look at me before she found the strength from somewhere to raise herself with a faint cry and vanish through the trees, leaving her flowers scattered on the ground.
I stopped there a moment, picked up the bunch of cornflowers and walked out of the wood into a field. The sun was low in the pale clear sky and its rays had, as it were, lost their colour and grown cold; they did not shine so much as flow out in an even, almost watery, light. No more than half an hour remained until evening, but the sunset was only just beginning to crimson the sky. A flurrying wind raced towards me across the dry, yellow stubble; hastily spinning before it, little shrivelled leaves streamed past me across the track and along the edge of the wood; the side which faced on to the field like a wall shuddered all over and glistened with a faint sparkling, distinctly though not brightly; on the red-tinted grass, on separate blades of grass, on pieces of straw, everywhere innumerable strands of autumn cobwebs glittered and rippled. I stopped, and a feeling of melancholy stole over me, for it seemed to me that the sombre terror associated with the approaching winter was breaking through the cheerless, though fresh, smile of nature at this time of withering. High above me, ponderously and sharply sundering the air with its wings, a vigilant raven flew by, turned its head, looked sidewards at me, took wing and disappeared beyond the wood with strident cawings; a large flock of pigeons rose smartly from a place where there had been threshing and after suddenly making a huge wheeling turn in the air settled busily on to the field – a sure sign of autumn! Someone rode by on the other side of a bare hillock, his empty cart clattering noisily…
Sketches From a Hunter's Album Page 32