‘And then one morning the lodger came to ask about his room being wallpapered as he had been promised. One thing led to another, Grandmother is talkative, you see, and she says: “Go to my bedroom, Nastenka, and bring me my accounts.” I immediately jumped up, blushing, I don’t know why, and I’d forgotten that I was sitting there pinned to Grandmother; I didn’t quietly unpin myself so that the lodger wouldn’t see, no – I dashed off so that Grandmother’s chair went flying. When I saw that the lodger now knew everything about me, I blushed, stood there as if I were rooted to the ground and burst into tears – I became so ashamed and miserable at that moment that life didn’t seem worth living! Grandmother shouts: “Why are you just standing there?” – which made me cry even more … When the lodger saw this, when he saw that I was embarrassed on account of him, he took his leave and went away at once!
‘From that moment on I would practically die at the slightest sound in the entrance hall. There goes the lodger, I’d say to myself, and quietly undo the pin just in case. Only it was never him, he never came. Two weeks passed; the lodger sent word through Fyokla that he had a lot of French books and that they were all good books, suitable for me to read; wouldn’t Grandmother like me to read them to her, so that we wouldn’t be bored? Grandmother accepted with gratitude, but she kept asking if the books were moral or not, because if the books were immoral, then you, Nastenka, she says, mustn’t read them under any circumstances, you’ll learn bad things.
‘ “And what would I learn, Grandmother? What’s written in them?”
‘ “Oh!” she says, “they describe how young men lead well-behaved girls astray; how under the pretence of wanting to marry them, they carry them off from their parents’ house; how they later abandon these unfortunate girls to the whims of fate; and how they then perish in the most lamentable manner. I,” Grandmother says, “have read a lot of books like that and everything,” she says, “is so wonderfully described that you sit up all night, quietly reading. So you, Nastenka,” she says, “see that you don’t read them. What kind of books,” she asks, “has he sent?”
‘ “They’re all novels by Walter Scott, Grandmother.”
‘ “Novels by Walter Scott! But wait just a minute, there must be some sort of shenanigans going on here. Take a good look to see if he slipped a little love note in one of them.”
‘ “No, I say, Grandmother, there isn’t a note.”
‘ “And look under the binding as well; sometimes they stuff it into the binding, the rascals! …”
‘ “No, Grandmother, there isn’t anything under the binding either.”
‘ “Well, what did I tell you!”
‘And so we began to read Walter Scott and in a month or so we had read almost half. Then he sent us some more and some more. He sent Pushkin; in the end I couldn’t be without a book and stopped thinking about marrying a Chinese prince.
‘That’s how things stood when I chanced to meet our lodger on the staircase. Grandmother had sent me for something. He stopped, I blushed and he blushed; he laughed though, said hello, asked after Grandmother’s health and says: “So have you read the books?” I answered: “Yes.” “Which one,” he asks, “did you like the most?” And I say: “I liked Ivanhoe16 and Pushkin best of all.” And that was the end of it that time.
‘A week later I ran into him again on the staircase. This time Grandmother hadn’t sent me, I had needed to get something for myself. It was after two, which was when the lodger would come home. “Hello!” he says. I answer: “Hello!”
‘ “Don’t you get bored,” he asks, “sitting with your grandmother all day long?”
‘As soon as he asked me that, I blushed, I don’t know why; I became embarrassed, and once again my feelings were hurt, evidently because now others had begun asking questions about this. I wanted to walk away without answering, but I didn’t have the strength.
‘ “Listen,” he says, “you’re a good girl! Forgive me for talking with you like this, but I assure you I wish you well more than your grandmother does. Don’t you have any girlfriends whom you can go and visit?”
‘I say that I don’t have any, that there was one, Mashenka, but that she’s gone away to Pskov.
‘ “Listen,” he says, “would you like to go to the theatre with me?”
‘ “To the theatre? But what about Grandmother?”
‘ “Well,” he says, “you can go without telling her …”
‘ “No,” I say, “I don’t want to deceive Grandmother. Good-bye!”
‘ “Well, goodbye,” he says, and he didn’t say another word.
‘Only after dinner he comes to see us; he sat down, talked with Grandmother for a long time, asked whether she goes out anywhere, whether she has any friends – and suddenly he says: “I took a box at the opera today; they’re putting on The Barber of Seville,17 friends wanted to go and then cancelled, so I’m left with the tickets.”
‘ “The Barber of Seville!” Grandmother exclaimed, “is that the same Barber they used to put on in the old days?”
‘ “Yes,” he says, “it’s the very same Barber”, and he cast a glance at me. And then I understood everything, blushed and my heart began to thump in expectation!
‘ “But of course I know it!” Grandmother says. “In the old days I even sang Rosina in amateur theatricals.”
‘ “So, would you like to go today?” said the lodger. “My tickets will go to waste.”
‘ “Yes, I suppose we could go,” Grandmother says, “why shouldn’t we go? After all, my Nastenka has never been to the theatre.”
‘My goodness, what joy! We at once pulled ourselves together, got ready and set off. Even though Grandmother is blind, she still wanted to hear the music, and besides she’s a kind old woman: more than anything she wanted me to enjoy myself; we should never have gone on our own. I won’t tell you my impressions of The Barber of Seville, except to say that all that evening our lodger looked at me so nicely, and spoke so nicely that I saw at once that he had wanted to test me in the morning by proposing that I go with him alone. Well, what joy! I went to bed so proud, so happy; my heart was pounding so that I became slightly feverish and I raved on about The Barber of Seville all night long.
‘I thought that he would stop by more and more often after that – but that wasn’t the case. He almost stopped coming altogether. And so, he would drop by once a month, and then only to invite us to the theatre. We went with him again a couple of times. Only I wasn’t at all happy with this. I saw that he simply felt sorry for me, because I was kept under Grandmother’s thumb so, and there wasn’t anything else to it. And then as time went on something came over me: I couldn’t sit still, and I couldn’t read, and I couldn’t work; sometimes I would laugh and do something to Grandmother out of spite, while at other times I would simply cry. In the end, I grew thin and almost became ill. The opera season was over and the lodger stopped dropping by altogether; whenever we would meet – always on that same staircase, it goes without saying – he would bow so silently, so seriously, as though he didn’t wish to speak, and then walk down all the way to the front door, while I was still standing halfway up the stairs, as red as a cherry, because all my blood would rush to my head whenever we met.
‘Now we’re coming to the end. Exactly a year ago, in May, the lodger comes to us and tells Grandmother that he has finished all his business and that he must return to Moscow for a year. When I heard this I turned white and collapsed on to the chair half dead. Grandmother didn’t notice anything, and after announcing that he was going away, he took his leave and left.
‘What was I to do? I thought and thought, I became more and more miserable, and finally I came to a decision. He was to leave the next day, and I decided that I would bring everything to a conclusion that evening after Grandmother had gone to bed. And that’s what happened. I gathered into a bundle all my dresses, as many underclothes as was necessary, and with the bundle in hand, neither dead nor alive, I set off to our lodger’s room in the att
ic. I think I spent an entire hour walking up that staircase. When I opened his door, he cried out upon seeing me. He thought that I was a ghost, and rushed to get me some water, because I could scarcely stand on my own feet. My heart was pounding so that my head ached and my thinking had become confused. When I came to my senses, I began straightaway by placing my bundle on his bed, sat down next to it, buried my face in my hands and let loose floods of tears. He seemed to understand everything in an instant and stood before me pale, looking at me with such sadness that it broke my heart.
‘ “Listen,” he began, “listen, Nastenka, I can’t do anything; I’m a poor man; I don’t have anything yet, not even a decent job; how would we live if I were to marry you?”
‘We talked for a long time, but in the end I worked myself into such a state that I said I couldn’t live with Grandmother, that I would run away from her, that I didn’t want to be pinned to her and that if he liked, I would go with him to Moscow, because I couldn’t live without him. Shame, and love, and pride spoke in me all at once, and I collapsed on his bed almost in convulsions. I was so afraid of a refusal!
‘He sat in silence for several minutes, then got up, walked over to me and took me by the hand.
‘ “Listen, my dear, my sweet Nastenka!” he began, also through tears, “Listen, I swear to you that if ever I am in the position to marry, then you will certainly be the one to make me happy; I assure you that now only you alone can make me happy. Listen: I am going to Moscow and will stay there for exactly one year. I hope to put my affairs in order. When I return, and if you have not stopped loving me, then I swear to you that we will be happy. But this is impossible now; I can’t, I don’t even have the right to promise something. But, I repeat, if this doesn’t happen in a year’s time, then it certainly will some day; it goes without saying – but only in the event that you don’t prefer somebody else to me, because I cannot and dare not bind you by any sort of promise.”
‘That’s what he told me and the next day he went away. We both agreed not to say a word about this to Grandmother. That was how he wanted it. Well, now my story is almost finished. Exactly a year has passed. He has arrived, he has been here already three whole days and, and …’
‘And what?’ I cried out, impatient to hear the end.
‘And he still hasn’t shown himself!’ Nastenka answered, as if summoning up all her strength. ‘There has been neither hide nor hair of him …’
Here she stopped, fell silent for a bit, bent her head and suddenly, having covered her face with her hands, began to sob so hard that it broke my heart.
I wasn’t at all expecting an ending like that.
‘Nastenka!’ I began in a timid and ingratiating voice, ‘Nastenka! For goodness’ sake, don’t cry! How do you know? Maybe he hasn’t arrived yet …’
‘He’s here, he’s here!’ Nastenka rejoined. ‘He’s here, I know it. We made an agreement back then, on that evening before his departure: when we had already said everything that I’ve told you, and we had come to an agreement, we came out here for a stroll, right on this very embankment. It was ten o’clock; we were sitting on this bench; I had stopped crying, and I was enjoying listening to him talk … He said that upon his arrival he would come to us at once and if I didn’t refuse him, then we would tell Grandmother about everything. Now he’s arrived, I know it, and he hasn’t come, he hasn’t!’
And once again she broke down in tears.
‘Good heavens! Is there really nothing I can do to ease your sorrow?’ I cried out, jumping up from the bench in despair. ‘Tell me, Nastenka, couldn’t I at least go and see him?’
‘Would that really be possible?’ she said, suddenly raising her head.
‘No, of course not, no!’ I said, after giving it some thought. ‘But here’s what you could do – write a letter.’
‘No, that’s impossible, I couldn’t do that,’ she answered resolutely, but she had already lowered her head and wasn’t looking at me.
‘How is it that you can’t? Why can’t you?’ I continued, taking up my idea. ‘But you know, Nastenka, you need a certain kind of letter! There are letters and then there are letters and … Oh, Nastenka, it’s true! Believe me, believe me! I wouldn’t give you bad advice. All this can be arranged! It was you who took the first step – then why can’t you now …’
‘I can’t, I can’t! It would seem that I was forcing myself on him …’
‘Oh, my dear little Nastenka!’ I interrupted, not concealing a smile, ‘not at all, no; you, of course, have a right to, because he promised you. And everything tells me that he’s a delicate person, that he conducted himself properly,’ I continued, becoming more and more enraptured with the logic of my own arguments and convictions. ‘How did he conduct himself? He bound himself with a promise. He said that he would not marry anyone but you, if he does marry; he left you completely free to refuse him even now … Under such circumstances, you may take the first step, you have the right, you have the advantage over him, if, for example, you should wish to release him from his promise …’
‘Listen, how would you write it?’
‘What?’
‘Why, this letter.’
‘I would write it like this: “Dear Sir …” ’
‘Is this “Dear Sir” absolutely necessary?’
‘Absolutely! But then again, why should it be? I suppose …’
‘Well, well! Go on!’
‘ “Dear Sir! Forgive me for …” But no, we don’t need any forgiveness! Here the fact itself justifies everything; write simply:
I am writing you. Forgive my impatience; but for a whole year hope alone has made me happy; am I to blame that I cannot now bear even a day of doubt? Now, when you have come back, perhaps you have changed your intentions. Then this letter will tell you that I do not complain, nor do I blame you. I do not blame you that I have no power over your heart; such, then, is my fate!
You are a noble person. You will not laugh and will not be annoyed at my impatient lines. Remember that they are written by a poor girl, that she is alone, that she has no one to teach her or to advise her and that she has never been able to control her heart. But forgive me that doubt should have crept into my heart for even a single moment. You are not capable of insulting, even in thought, the one who loved you so and who still loves you.’
‘Yes, yes! That’s exactly what I was thinking!’ Nastenka cried out, and joy began to shine in her eyes. ‘Oh, you have resolved my doubts, God himself has sent you to me! Thank you, thank you!’
‘For what? For God sending me?’ I answered, gazing in delight at her happy little face.
‘Yes, for that as well.’
‘Oh, Nastenka! You know, we thank some people for merely living at the same time as we do. I thank you for the fact that I met you, that I will remember you for all my life!’
‘Well, enough, enough! And now look here, listen closely: we agreed then that as soon as he arrived, he would immediately let me know, that he would leave a letter for me at a certain place, with some acquaintances of mine, good and simple people who know nothing about this; or that if he couldn’t write me a letter, because you can’t always say everything in a letter, then the very same day that he arrived he would be here at exactly ten o’clock, where we arranged to meet. I know that he’s arrived; but it’s now the third day and there’s been no letter, and he hasn’t come. It’s quite impossible for me to get away from my grandmother in the morning. Tomorrow, give my letter to these same good people, about whom I just told you: they will forward it; and if there’s an answer, then you bring it yourself in the evening at ten o’clock.’
‘But the letter, the letter! After all, you need to write the letter! So this will all probably be the day after tomorrow.’
‘The letter …’ Nastenka answered, a bit confused, ‘the letter … but …’
But she didn’t complete her thought. At first she turned her little face away from me, blushed, like a rose, and suddenly I felt in my hand a lett
er that had evidently been written long ago, sealed and all ready to go. Some familiar, sweet, graceful recollection passed through my mind!18
‘R, o–Ro, s, i–si, n, a–na,’ I began.
‘Rosina!’ we both began singing – I, almost embracing her in delight, and she, having blushed as only she could blush, laughing through her tears, which trembled like pearls on her black eyelashes.
‘Well, enough, enough! Goodbye now!’ she said in a rush. ‘Here’s the letter for you, and here’s the address to take it to. Goodbye! Until we meet! Until tomorrow!’
She firmly clasped both my hands, nodded her head and flew away like an arrow down the lane. I stood there for a long time, following her with my eyes.
‘Until tomorrow! Until tomorrow!’ flashed through my head, as she disappeared from sight.
THE THIRD NIGHT
Today was a sad, rainy day, without a ray of hope, just like my future old age. I am besieged by such strange thoughts, such dark sensations, such obscure questions, which still crowd my mind – and somehow I have neither the strength nor the desire to resolve them. It is not for me to resolve all this!
Today we will not see each other. Yesterday, when we were saying goodbye, clouds began to gather in the sky and a mist was rising. I said that tomorrow the weather would be bad; she didn’t answer, she didn’t want to say anything that would go contrary to her wishes; for her this day was to be both bright and clear, and there wasn’t to be a single cloud to darken her happiness.
‘If it rains, then we won’t see each other!’ she said. ‘I won’t come.’
I thought that she wouldn’t notice the rain today, but she didn’t come.
Yesterday was our third meeting, our third white night …
But how fine joy and happiness make a person! How the heart seethes with love! It seems that you want to pour out all your heart into another’s heart, you want everything to be gay, laughter everywhere. And how infectious is this joy! Yesterday in her words there was such tenderness, so much heartfelt kindness towards me … How she flattered me, how she treated me with affection, how she cheered and pampered my heart! Oh, how much coquetry springs forth from happiness! And I … I took everything for the genuine article; I thought that she …
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