The Same Old Story

by Ivan Goncharov

  He spoke respectfully of a few, and was gently derisive of the others.

  All he had to say about Alexander’s poetry was that he didn’t know it and had never heard of it.

  Nadenka gave Alexander a strange kind of look, as if to say: “Well, my friend, it looks as if you have some catching up to do!”

  Alexander looked flattened. His defiant and boorish demeanour gave way to sheer dejection. He looked for all the world like a rooster with a soaking-wet tail huddling in some corner to shelter from the elements.

  The sideboard rang with the clinking of glasses and the clatter of spoons; the table was being laid, and the Count showed no sign of leaving. Alexander gave up all hope, and even accepted Lyubetskaya’s invitation to stay for their supper of curds.

  “The Count even eats curds!” Aduyev whispered, regarding him with hatred.

  The Count ate with appetite, and continued to amuse the company with his conversation, as comfortable as if he were in his own home.

  “It’s his first time in this house, and he’s eating enough for three – what effrontery!” Alexander whispered to Nadenka.

  “What of it? He’s hungry, that’s all!” she simply replied.

  At last the Count left, but it was too late to broach the subject. Aduyev took his hat and made a hasty exit. Nadenka went after him and managed to soothe his ruffled feelings.

  “Tomorrow then?” he asked.

  “We won’t be home tomorrow.”

  “Well, the day after then.”

  On that they parted.

  Two days later Alexander arrived on the early side. As he stepped into the garden he heard unfamiliar sounds coming from the living room… “Could it be a cello? No!” He moved closer. It was a male voice singing, and what a voice! Sonorous, fresh, the kind of voice no woman’s heart could resist. It went straight to Aduyev’s heart too, but in different way. His heart sank and was gripped by anguish, hatred and a vague, troubling presentiment. Alexander entered the house.

  “Who’s here?” he asked the servant.

  “Count Novinsky.”

  “Been here long?”

  “Since six o’clock.”

  “Tell the young lady quietly that I came, and will be back later.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Alexander left and wandered around the dachas, hardly aware of where he was going. Two hours later he went back to the house.

  “So, is he still here?”

  “Here, oh yes, I believe he is staying to supper. The mistress has ordered roast grouse for supper.”

  “Did you tell the young lady about me?”

  “I did, sir.”

  “Well, what did she say?”

  “The young lady didn’t tell me to say anything.”

  Alexander went home and didn’t come back for two days.

  God knows what was going on in his mind and what his feelings were; finally he decided to go back.

  There he is in the boat, and he stands up and catches sight of the house and, shielding his eyes from the sun, he looks straight ahead. Flitting among the trees, he glimpses the blue dress which is so becoming on Nadenka: it’s the shade of blue which goes so well with her face. She always wore that dress when she wanted to look particularly attractive for Alexander. His heart leapt.

  “Ah! She wants to make it up to me for her temporary lapse in ignoring me last time,” he thought, “but it was really my fault, not hers. It was unforgivable of me to have behaved like that – it only makes things worse for yourself; I mean, a stranger, a new acquaintance… it was only natural; after all she was the hostess… Ah, there she is, coming out of the shrubbery on that narrow path; she’s going towards the fence, where she’ll stand and wait…”

  She was indeed turning onto the broad path, but who was that walking beside her?

  “The Count!” Alexander exclaimed aloud in dismay. He could not believe his eyes.

  “What?” responded one of the oarsmen.

  “Alone with him in the garden,” Alexander whispered, “just the way it was with me.”

  Nadenka and the Count approached the fence and, without looking at the river, turned round and walked back slowly along the path. He leant towards her and murmured something. She walked on with her head lowered.

  Aduyev was still standing in the boat open-mouthed, without moving, his hands stretched out towards the riverbank. He lowered his hands and sat down. The oarsmen continued rowing.

  “Where are you going?” Alexander shouted at them in a frenzy as he came to his senses. “Turn back!”

  “Back?”

  “You want to go back?” said one of the oarsmen, his mouth wide open.

  “Back! I said. What are you, deaf?”

  “You mean you don’t want to go there?”

  The other oarsman promptly began pulling at the left oar, and then pulled with both oars, and the boat was soon moving swiftly through the water in the other direction. Alexander pulled his hat down almost to his shoulders and gave himself over to the torment of his thoughts.

  He didn’t go back to the Lyubetskys for two weeks. Two weeks – how long that seems to someone in love! But all that time he was waiting. Surely they would send a servant to find out what was the matter with him and whether he was sick. This was what happened normally when he wasn’t feeling well, or just felt like pretending to be.

  At first Nadenka would enquire on her mother’s behalf for form’s sake, and then she would write whatever she felt like of her own. What sweet reproaches! What tender concern! What impatience!

  “No, this time I’m not going to give in so easily,” thought Alexander. “I’ll make her suffer a little. I’ll teach her how to act with a strange man; no! No easy reconciliation this time!”

  He planned a cruel revenge, imagined her repentance and how magnanimously he would forgive her and admonish her. But no servant was sent, and there was no admission of guilt. It was as if he had ceased to exist for them.

  He grew shrunken and pale. Jealousy is more painful than any illness, especially when that jealousy is nourished only by suspicion and without evidence.

  When the evidence becomes available, that’s the end of the jealousy, and mostly the end of love too, then at least you know where you stand, but until then it’s torture – which Alexander experienced to the full.

  Finally he decided to go in the morning, thinking he would find Nadenka alone, and have it out with her.

  He arrived. There was no one in the garden, or in the living room or drawing room. He went into the hall and opened the door to the courtyard. What a scene confronted him! Two grooms in the Count’s livery were holding the reins of a pair of saddle horses. The Count and one of his men had seated Nadenka; the other had been prepared for the Count himself. Maria Ivanovna was standing on the porch. She was frowning, worried by what she was seeing.

  “Hold tight, Nadenka!” she said. “Be careful with her, Count, for the love of Christ! Oh my! I’m so afraid, my God, so afraid. Nadenka, hang on to the horse’s ear; can’t you see how jumpy it is? Could be the Devil himself!”

  “Don’t worry, maman,” Nadenka called out cheerfully. “I do know how to ride; watch!” She struck the horse with her crop, and it launched itself ahead and began to prance and rear on the spot.

  “Hold, hold on!” Maria Ivanovna screamed, waving her arm. “Stop, you’ll be killed!” But Nadenka pulled on the reins and the horse stood still.

  “You see how obedient it is!” said Nadenka, stroking the horse’s neck.

  No one noticed Aduyev. Pale, he was watching Nadenka – who, to make matters worse, had never looked better. Her riding habit suited her wonderfully, as did the hat with a green veil, and set off her figure to perfection! Her face was animated by a timorous pride, and the thrill of a new sensation. Her face would lose its flush, but her excitement would bring it ba
ck to her cheeks. The horse was frisky, and its movements made Nadenka sway gracefully back and forth. Her slender figure quivered slightly, like the stalk of a flower in the breeze. Then a groom led the horse to the Count.

  “Count, shall we ride through the grove again?” Nadenka asked.

  “Again!” thought Aduyev.

  “Very well,” replied the Count.

  The horses moved off.

  “Nadezhda Alexandrovna!” Alexander, unable to restrain himself, suddenly called out. Everyone stopped dead in their tracks as if rooted to the spot and looked at Alexander in bewilderment. The scene froze for a minute.

  “Oh, it’s Alexander Fyodorych!” Nadenka’s mother was the first to react and break the silence. The Count bowed in an affable fashion. Nadenka swiftly brushed the veil aside from her face and turned to look at him in alarm. She began to open her mouth, but immediately turned away and struck the horse with her crop. The horse took off and in two bounds had disappeared beyond the gate, and the Count took off after her.

  “Not so fast, not so fast, for God’s sake!” Lyubetskaya screamed. “Hold on to its ear! Oh my God! She’ll fall off any moment now. What’s all this mad rush for?”

  No one was left in sight. All that could be heard was the pounding of the horses’ hooves, and all that could be seen was a cloud of dust rising. Alexander was left alone with Lyubetskaya. He regarded her in silence; his eyes seemed to be asking her, “What’s all this about?” The answer was not long in coming.

  “They’ve left,” she said, “without trace! Well, let the young people have their fun – you and I can stay and talk. How come we haven’t seen hide nor hair of you for the last two weeks? Don’t you like us any more?”

  “I haven’t been well, Maria Mikhailovna,” he replied gloomily.

  “Yes, I can see – how pale and thin you’ve grown! Sit down now, and rest. Shall I order some soft-boiled eggs for you? We won’t be having supper for quite some time.”

  “Thanks very much, but no.”

  “Why not? They’ll be ready in a trice; they’re really fresh, the Finnish woman brought them just this morning.”

  “No, really, thank you.”

  “But what’s the matter with you? I’ve been waiting and waiting, and wondering why on earth isn’t he coming and bringing those French books with him? Don’t you remember that you promised, what was it now? Peau de chagrin,* wasn’t it? But you still didn’t come, and I’m thinking to myself: ‘He must not like us any more. Yes, that’s it, Alexander Fyodorych doesn’t like us any more.’”

  “What I’m afraid of, Maria Mikhailovna, is that it’s you who don’t like me any more.”

  “How can you even think such a thing, Alexander Fyodorych? Shame on you. I love you as if you were my own flesh and blood. Of course, I can’t speak for Nadenka, she’s still a child: how could she have learnt to judge people yet! Every day I’m saying to her: ‘How come we don’t see Alexander Fyodorych these days? I keep hoping to see him.’ I want you to know that we haven’t been sitting down to dinner before five o’clock, and I keep thinking, ‘He’ll be here soon.’ Nadenka sometimes says, ‘But who is it you’re waiting for, maman? I’m hungry, and so is the Count, I believe…’”

  “And is the Count here often?” Alexander asked.

  “Yes, almost every day – sometimes twice a day. Such a nice man, and he’s taken a liking to us… Anyway, so Nadenka says, ‘I’m hungry, and that’s all there is to it; so let’s start!’ ‘And what if Alexander Fyodorych turns up,’ I say. ‘He won’t, you want to bet? So there’s no point in waiting…’”

  Lyubetskaya’s words cut him to the quick.

  “Is that what she really said?” he asked, doing his best to smile.

  “Yes exactly that, and hurrying us to start dinner. Now I may look good-natured, but I’m actually quite strict, and I admonished her: ‘You’ve been known to wait for him until five o’clock without eating dinner, and here you are, and simply can’t wait at all – you don’t make any sense! That’s not nice! Alexander Fyodorych is an old friend of ours, and is fond of us, and his uncle, Pyotr Ivanych, has often shown how well disposed he is to us. It’s really not nice to treat him so off-handedly. Now he may be offended and stop coming…’”

  “What did she say?” asked Alexander.

  “Well, nothing. But you know how she is. So lively, always on the move, bursting into song or coming out with ‘He’ll come if he wants’ – she’s so flighty! Meanwhile, here I am thinking he’s going to come, but another day passes and he still doesn’t come! So again I go, ‘Nadenka, what do you think, is he sick?’ And she says, ‘Maman, how should I know? Why don’t we send someone to find out what the matter is?’ Well, we were going to send someone, but somehow we never got round to it. I somehow forgot, and was relying on Nadenka to do it, but you know what a scatterbrain she is. Now she is entirely taken up with this riding. She once saw the Count riding by from her window and started nagging me. ‘I want to go riding’ – nothing else would do. No matter what I said, all I heard was ‘I want to!’ Crazy! No, in my day there was no question of riding! That was not at all the way we were brought up. Nowadays, ladies have even taken up smoking; there’s a young widow living opposite – she sits on her balcony, smoking that cylindrical object all day long. People are walking and driving by, but she couldn’t care less! In our day, even if it was a man smoking and the room smelt of tobacco…”

  “Has this been going on for long?” Alexander asked.

  “I don’t really know, they say it came into fashion about five years ago; it was the French, of course…”

  “No, I meant to ask, has Nadenka been riding for long?”

  “About ten days. The Count is so nice, so amiable, there’s nothing he won’t do for us, he positively spoils her. Look at all these flowers: they all come from his garden. Sometimes I feel so embarrassed. ‘But Count,’ I say, ‘you mustn’t spoil her like this: it’s sure to go to her head!’ And I scold her too. Maria Ivanovna and I went with Nadenka to visit his stables. Of course, as you know, I am the one who looks after her – I mean, who better than a mother knows how to care for her daughter? I brought her up myself, and I don’t think it would be immodest of me to say that anyone would thank God to be blessed with such a daughter. Nadenka even had her lessons here in this house. Afterwards we had breakfast in his garden, and now they’re going riding every day. And what a splendid home he has! We saw for ourselves how tasteful and luxurious everything is.”

  “Every day!” said Alexander, virtually to himself.

  “And why shouldn’t she enjoy herself! I mean, I too was young… once…”

  “And do they go out riding for long?”

  “About three hours. So what was wrong with you exactly?”

  “I don’t know… something in the chest…” he said, placing his hand on his heart.

  “Aren’t you taking something?”

  “No.”

  “That’s young people for you! Everything is in the here and now, and they only start taking action when it’s too late. So what exactly is it – an ache, a grumbling pain or a sharp one?”

  Alexander was at a loss. “Well, all three, really!”

  “It’s a cold, God help us! Don’t neglect it; is that how you look after yourself?… You’ll get an inflammation. And you’re not even taking any medicine! You know, you should use some opodeldoc* and rub it in well before you go to bed at night until your chest turns red. And instead of tea you should drink an infusion. I’ll give you the recipe.”

  Nadenka returned, pale from fatigue. She flung herself onto the divan, gasping for breath.

  “Just look at her,” said Maria Ivanovna, putting her hand to Nadenka’s head, “she’s all in, can hardly breathe. Drink some water, then go and change your clothes and loosen your stays. This riding is really not good for you!”

  Alexander and t
he Count stayed for the whole day. The Count was as friendly and amiable as ever with Alexander, and invited him to visit his garden, and also to come riding with them, even offering to provide a mount.

  “I don’t know how to ride a horse,” Aduyev responded coldly.

  “Can’t you really?” Nadenka asked. “But it’s so much fun! Shall we go out again tomorrow, Count?”

  The Count bowed.

  “That’s quite enough, Nadenka,” her mother remarked, “you shouldn’t bother the Count like that.”

  There was nothing to suggest that there was anything special in the relationship between the Count and Nadenka. He was equally nice to both the daughter and the mother. He never sought to be alone with Nadenka or ran after her into the garden, and looked at her and her mother in exactly the same way. That she was so spontaneous in the Count’s company can be explained by the inherent waywardness and capriciousness of her temperament, and by her naivety, but also by a flaw in her upbringing, namely ignorance of social realities. Another factor is the weakness and short-sightedness of her mother. That the Count was so attentive and obliging is something that can be put down to the fact that their two dachas were so close to each other, and the warmth of the welcome he always received in the Lyubetsky home.

  If looked at with the naked eye the whole thing would seem entirely natural – but Alexander was looking at it through a magnifying glass and saw much, much more in it than that casual onlooker.

  “Why,” he asked himself, “had Nadenka changed towards him?” She no longer waited for him in the garden, no longer greeted him with a smile, but rather as if she were afraid of him, and she now dressed with much more care. She was no longer so casual in her manner with people and was more careful about how she behaved, as if she had now become more discreet. It sometimes seemed as if there was something hidden lurking in her eyes and in her speech. What had become of her charming caprices, her waywardness, her playfulness, her liveliness? She had become serious, thoughtful and silent. It was as if something was gnawing at her. She was now like any other young woman, apt to dissemble and to lie, and careful to pay the necessary lip service to enquiries after people’s health… unfailingly attentive and courteous, as required by convention. As to her attitude to himself… to Alexander! With whom… it didn’t bear thinking of! His heart sank.