“There’s something going on,” he assured himself, “there’s something behind it all, and I’ll find out what it is no matter what, or however much pain it causes me…
“I won’t allow a seducer
To beguile the maiden’s heart
With the flames of his sighs and praise.
Nor will I permit that contemptible and poisonous worm
To gnaw through the stem of that short-lived delicate bloom
And make it wither before it flowers.”*
That day, after the Count had left, Alexander did his best to snatch a moment to talk to Nadenka alone. He tried everything he knew. He took the book which she had used as a way of getting him away from her mother and into the garden, showed it to her and went down to the river, thinking that she would hurry after him. He waited and waited, but she didn’t come. She was reading a book of her own and didn’t even glance at him. He sat down next to her. She didn’t look up, and then interrupted her reading for the briefest moment to ask him whether he was keeping up with literature and whether anything new had been published recently, and didn’t even mention the recent past.
He struck up a conversation with her mother. Nadenka went into the garden. Her mother left the room, and Alexander rushed into the garden. Nadenka saw him and got up from her seat; instead of going to meet him, she set out slowly on the narrow path towards the house as if she was trying to avoid him. He started walking faster, and so did she.
“Nadezhda Alexandrovna!” he called out from a distance. “I would like a word with you.”
“Let’s go inside, it’s damp here,” she replied.
She entered the room and sat down next to her mother. Alexander almost felt sick.
“So you’re afraid of the damp now?” he remarked caustically.
“Yes, now the evenings are getting dark and cold,” she replied with a yawn.
“We’ll be moving back soon,” said her mother. “Alexander Fyodorych, would you mind dropping by at the apartment and reminding the landlord to change the locks on the door to Nadenka’s bedroom and fix the shutter? He promised to do it, but you never know if he will forget. They’re all like that – only interested in the money.”
Aduyev started to take his leave.
“Don’t leave it too long now!” said Maria Mikhailovna.
Nadenka remained silent.
He was already at the door when he turned to her. She took three steps towards him. His heart missed a beat.
“At last,” he thought.
“Will you be coming tomorrow?” she asked coldly, but her eyes fastened on him with avid curiosity.
“I don’t know, why do you ask?”
“I’m just asking, will you be coming?”
“Would you like me to?”
“Will you be here tomorrow?” she persisted as coldly as before, only more impatiently.
“No!” he snapped back.
“What about the day after tomorrow?”
“No, I won’t be back for a good week, maybe… two weeks… or even longer.”
He gave her a searching look, trying to read in her eyes what impression his reply had made on her.
She said nothing, but for just a moment as he answered, she lowered her eyes – but what did that mean? Was it a shadow of sadness, or a lightning glint of gratification? There was no way of reading that beautiful face cast in marble.
Alexander tightened his grip on his hat and left.
“Don’t forget to rub your chest with opodeldoc!” Maria Mikhailovna called out after him. But Alexander was wrestling with another problem – how to interpret Nadenka’s question? What was its purpose? Did it imply that she wanted to see him, or was she afraid of seeing him?
“What torment, what torment!” he said in despair.
Poor Alexander simply couldn’t hold out, and returned two days later. Nadenka was standing by the garden fence as he approached in the boat. He was tempted to feel happy, but the moment the boat drew near the riverbank, she turned away, as if she had not seen him, and took a few tentative steps on the path, as if strolling aimlessly, and headed home.
He found her with her mother. There were two people from the town with them: their neighbour, Maria Ivanovna, and the inevitable Count. Alexander’s anguish was intolerable. Another whole day passed in trivial, pointless conversation. The guests bored him stiff. Nothing they talked about so complacently was of the slightest significance; they argued, they joked and they laughed.
“They’re laughing!” said Alexander. “Oh yes, it’s easy for them to laugh when… Nadenka… has turned against me! It means nothing to them. A pitiful, shallow bunch. Any little thing will please them.”
Nadenka went into the garden, but the Count did not go with her. For some time, they had appeared to be avoiding each other while in Alexander’s presence. Sometimes, when he came upon them alone together indoors or in the garden, they would go their separate ways, but would not rejoin each other while Alexander was around. This new discovery dismayed Alexander, because he took it as a sign that they had something to hide from him.
The guests departed, along with the Count. Nadenka had not noticed this and did not hurry home. Aduyev left Maria Mikhailovna without excusing himself, and went into the garden. Nadenka was standing with her back to Alexander, holding on to the fence with her hand and resting her head on it, just as she had on that unforgettable evening. She did not see or hear him approaching.
How fast his heart was beating as he stole up to her on tiptoe; he had practically stopped breathing.
“Nadezhda Alexandrovna,” he said, so agitated that he was almost inaudible.
She started, as if some shots had been fired near her, turned around and took a step backwards away from him.
“What’s that smoke over there?” was the first thing she found to say in her consternation, pointing animatedly at the other side of the river. “Could it be a fire, or a furnace… in a factory or something?”
He regarded her in silence.
“Yes, I thought it might be a fire. Why are you looking at me like that, don’t you believe me?”
She fell silent.
“And you are just like the rest of them,” he said, shaking his head. “Who would have thought it… two months ago?”
“What do you mean? I don’t understand you,” she said, and made as if to leave.
“Don’t go, Nadezhda Alexandrovna, I can’t stand this torture any longer.”
“What torture? I really don’t know…”
“Don’t pretend! Just tell me – is this really you? Are you the same person you were?”
“I’m just the same as I was!” she asserted firmly.
“How can you say that? You’ve turned against me.”
“No. I think I’m just as nice to you, and just as happy to see you.”
“Just as happy! Then why do you run away from the fence?”
“Run away? What will you think up next? I’m standing by the fence – and you tell me I’m running away?”
She gave a forced laugh.
“Nadezhda Alexandrovna, stop being evasive!” Aduyev continued.
“Who’s being evasive? Why are you harassing me?”
“Is this really you? My God! Six weeks ago in this very place…”
“I was asking you what that smoke was on the other side…”
“It’s horrible, horrible!”
“But what have I done to you? It was you who stopped coming – it’s what you wanted… no one’s forcing you…” Nadenka began.
“Why are you pretending you don’t know why I stopped coming?”
She looked away from him and shook her head.
“What about the Count?” he said almost menacingly.
“What count?”
Her expression suggested that this was the first time
she had ever heard of the Count.
“What count! Now you’re telling me that you have no interest in him?”
“You’re out of your mind!” she replied, moving away from him.
“I’m sure you’re right!” he continued. “I’m losing my mind a little more every day… How can you treat so deceitfully, so ungratefully someone who loved you more than anything in this world, someone who neglected everything for you – everything… and thought he would soon be happy for ever, while you…”
“What about me?” she said, moving farther away.
“What about you?” he replied, infuriated by her cold-blooded indifference. “Have you forgotten? May I remind you that here, on this very spot, you swore a hundred times that you would belong to me and said: ‘God Himself hears what I have sworn.’ Well he did hear you! You should be ashamed in the presence of such witnesses as the sky, these trees and every single blade of grass – all of these can testify to our happiness; every grain of sand can bear witness to our love; take a look around you! You’re a perjurer!”
She looked at him in horror. His eyes flashed, and his lips turned pale.
“My God, how nasty you are!” she said timidly. “Why are you so angry? I never refused you, you haven’t even spoken to maman, how do you know—”
“Speak to her after you have behaved so badly?”
“How have I behaved badly? I don’t know…”
“How? I’ll tell you right now; what’s the meaning of these trysts with the Count, and going riding with him?”
“So am I to run away from him whenever maman leaves the room? And as for the riding, it means I like to go riding – it’s so enjoyable… and galloping! And that sweet little horse, Lucy! Didn’t you see… she knows me now…”
“And what about the way you treat me now?” he went on. “Why does the Count spend every day with you from morning to night?”
“Good Lord! How should I know? You’re so ridiculous. It’s maman who is so eager.”
“That’s not true. Maman only wants what you want. What about all those gifts – the flowers, the music, the album – they’re all for maman?”
“Well, maman loves flowers. Yesterday she bought some more from the gardener.”
“And what is it you talk about with him when you lower your voices?” Alexander went on without listening to her. “Look, you’re growing pale because you’re feeling guilty. To destroy a man’s happiness, to forget, to ruin everything so quickly, so casually – hypocrisy, ingratitude, lies, betrayal! Yes, betrayal! The Count, a rich man, lionized in society, has deigned to look with favour upon you – and you melt and grovel at the feet of this cheap luminary; have you no shame? I don’t want to see him here again!” he said, his voice choking with emotion. “Do you hear? Give him up! Break off relations with him so that he forgets the way to your home! I don’t want…” He seized her hand in a frenzy.
“Maman, maman! Come here!” Nadenka screamed, breaking away from Alexander’s grip, and rushed headlong along the path to the house.
He sat down slowly on the bench, clutching his head. She ran into the house pale and frightened and slumped onto a chair.
“What is it? What’s wrong? Why did you call me?” her mother asked in alarm, hurrying towards her.
“Alexander Fyodorych… is sick!” She could barely force out the words.
“But why do you look so upset?”
“He frightens me, maman – for God’s sake don’t let him in: I don’t want him near me.”
“You gave me such a scare, you crazy girl! Anyway, what’s wrong with him? Oh, I know it’s his chest. Why should that upset you? It’s not consumption! He should rub his chest with opodeldoc – he’ll soon get over it. Of course, he didn’t listen to me and rub it in.”
Alexander came to his senses. His fever passed, but his pain was twice as great. Not only had he not resolved his doubts, but he had terrified Nadenka – and now, of course, he would never get an answer from her: he had gone about it all wrong.
The thought occurred to him as it does to everyone in love: “But what if it’s not her fault? Maybe she really is indifferent to the Count. After all, her befuddled mother invites him every day, so what is she to do? He is urbane and agreeable; Nadenka is a pretty girl; maybe he hopes she will like him, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he has succeeded. Perhaps it’s the flowers and the innocent diversions that appeal to her, rather than the Count himself? Even supposing that there is a certain element of flirtatiousness involved, surely that’s pardonable? Other girls – even older girls – well, God knows what they get up to.”
He gave a sigh, and a ray of joy pierced his soul. People in love are all like that, sheer blindness alternating with great insight – but still, it’s always such a pleasure to find excuses for the object of one’s love!
Suddenly he found himself wondering: “But how to explain her change of attitude towards me?” He turned pale again. “Why does she avoid me and refuse to speak, as if she were ashamed of something? And yesterday, a perfectly ordinary day, why did she dress so smartly? There were no other guests apart from him. Why did she ask when the ballet season would begin?” A simple question, but he recalled that the Count had casually promised to reserve a box for the season in spite of all the difficulties; that meant that he would be going with them. “Why did she leave the garden? Why didn’t she come into the garden? Why did she ask one question, but not another?…”
So once again he was assailed by all those distressing doubts which tormented him so cruelly, and came to the conclusion that Nadenka had never loved him in the first place.
“My God, my God!” he exclaimed in despair. “Life is so hard, so bitter! Give me the peace and quiet of the grave, that slumber of the soul.”
A quarter of an hour later, he went back into the house, fearful and despondent.
“Goodbye, Nadezhda Alexandrovna,” he said meekly.
“Goodbye,” she replied curtly with her eyes lowered.
“When should I come again?”
“Whenever you like. However, we’re going back to town next week; we’ll let you know then…”
He left. More than two weeks went by. Everyone had returned to town from their dachas. The aristocratic salons were lit up once again. The office workers lit two wall lamps in their drawing rooms, bought twenty pounds of tallow candles, set up two card tables in anticipation of entertaining Stepan Ivanych and Ivan Stepanych, and announced to their wives that they would be “at home” on Tuesdays.
Meanwhile Aduyev had received no invitation from the Lyubetskys. He happened to run into their cook and their housemaid. When the housemaid caught sight of him, she took to her heels; clearly she was acting in accordance with her mistress’s wishes. The cook, however, stood his ground.
“Have you forgotten us, sir?” he said. “We moved back ten days ago.”
“I thought perhaps you hadn’t settled in yet and weren’t receiving guests for the moment.”
“Of course we have been receiving; everyone has been over – except yourself, sir. The young lady is so surprised. Now, His Excellency honours us with his presence every day… such a nice gentleman. The other day I took him a copybook from the young lady, and he was kind enough to give me ten roubles.”
“What a fool you are!” said Aduyev, and rushed away from that blabbermouth. In the evening he passed by the Lyubetsky apartment. The lights were on, and a carriage was at the porch.
“Whose carriage is it?” he asked.
“Count Novinsky’s.”
The next day and the day after, it was the same. Once, finally, he went in. Nadenka’s mother greeted him warmly, rebuked him for staying away and scolded him for not rubbing the opodeldoc into his chest; Nadenka greeted him calmly; the Count, politely. There was no conversation.
It was the same on two further occasions. He cast Nadenka mean
ingful glances, but she acted as if she didn’t notice – but how quick she had been to notice before! Before, he would be talking to her mother, and she would stand behind Maria Mikhailovna, facing him and pulling faces at him, and mischievously trying to make him laugh. His anguish was unbearable. The only thing he could think of was how to rid himself of this cross that he bore and had assumed of his own free will. What he wanted was to have it out with her, no matter what her answer would be. He thought that it didn’t matter, even if it meant that his doubts were to become certainties.
He spent a long time trying to think up a way to arrange such a confrontation. Having done so, he went to the Lyubetskys. All the circumstances were in his favour. There was no carriage standing outside. He proceeded quietly through the hallway, and stopped for a moment just outside the door of the drawing room to compose himself. Inside, Nadenka was playing the piano. Some distance away, Lyubetskaya herself was sitting on the divan knitting a scarf. Nadenka, hearing footsteps in the room, started playing more softly and looked directly ahead; she was smiling in anticipation of the arrival of a guest. The guest appeared, and the smile instantly disappeared and was replaced by a look of alarm. Her face fell as she stood up. This was not the guest she had been expecting.
Alexander bowed wordlessly and moved on like a ghost towards her mother. He walked slowly, having lost some of his former confidence, his head hanging. Nadenka sat down and continued playing, looking back uneasily from time to time. Half an hour later Maria Mikhailovna was called from the room. Alexander went up to Nadenka, who stood up and made as if to leave.
“Nadezhda Alexandrovna,” he said dejectedly. “Wait, I won’t take up more than five minutes of your time.”
“I can’t listen to you!” she said, and started to move away. “Last time you were…”
“Yes, that time I was at fault. This time, what I have to say will be different, and there will be no reproaches. Don’t turn your back on me for what may be the last time. An explanation is necessary. After all, you permitted me to ask your mother for your hand. Since then, so much has happened that… well, I need to repeat my question. Sit down and continue playing: it would be better for your mother not to hear; I mean, it’s not the first time…”
The Same Old Story Page 16
