Obryv. English

  CHAPTER XXI

  Raisky laughed as he went out into the garden. He looked sadly at theclosed shutters of the old house, and stood for a long time on the edgeof the precipice, looking down thoughtfully into the depths of thethicket and the trees rustling and cracking in the wind. Then he turnedto look at the long avenues, here forming gloomy corridors, and thenopening out into open stately spaces, at the flower gardens now fadingunder the approach of autumn, at the kitchen garden, and at the distantglimmer of the rising moon, and at the stars. He looked out over theVolga, gleaming like steel in the distance. The evening was fresh andcool, and the withered leaves were falling with a gentle rustle aroundhim. He could not take his eyes from the river, now silvered by the moon,which separated him from Vera. She had gone without leaving a word forhim. A word from her would have brought tenderness and would havedrowned all bitterness, he thought. But she was gone without leaving atrace or any kind remembrance. With bent head and full of anxiousthought he made his way along the dark avenues.

  Suddenly delicate fingers seized his shoulders, and he heard a low laugh.

  "Vera!" he cried, seizing her hand violently. "You here, and not awayover the Volga!"

  "Yes, here, not over there." She put her arm in his and asked him,laughing, whether he thought she would let him go without saying good-bye.

  "Witch!" he said, not knowing whether fear or joy was uppermost. "I wasthis very moment complaining that you had not left a line for me, andnow I can't understand, as everyone in the house told me you had goneaway yesterday."

  "And you believed it," she said laughing. "I told them to say so, tosurprise you. They were humbugging.... To go away without two words,"she asked triumphantly, "or to stay, which is better?"

  Her gay talk, her quick gestures, the mockery in her voice, all thesethings seemed unnatural, and he recognised beneath it all weariness,strain, an effort to conceal the collapse of her strength. When theyreached the end of the avenue he tried to lead her to an open spot,where he could see her face.

  "Let me look at you! How gay and merry you are, Vera!" he said timidly.

  "What is there to see?" she interrupted impatiently, and tried to drawhim into the shadow again. He felt that her hands were trembling, andfor the moment his own passion was stilled, and he shared her suffering.

  "Why do you look at me like that? I am not crazy," she said, turning herface away.

  He was stricken with horror. The insane are always assuring everyone oftheir sanity. What was wrong with Vera? She did not confide in him, shewould not speak out, she was determined to fight her own battles. Whocould support and shelter her? An inner voice told him that TatianaMarkovna alone could do it.

  "Vera, you are ill," he said earnestly. "Give Grandmother yourconfidence."

  "Silence! Not a word of Grandmother! Goodbye! To-morrow we will go for astroll, do some shopping, go down by the river, anything you like."

  "I will go away, Vera," he cried, filled with inexpressible fear. "I amworn out. Why do you deceive me? Why did you call me back to find youstill here? Was it to mock my sufferings?"

  "So that we could suffer together," she answered. "Passion is beautiful,as you yourself have said; it is life itself. You have taught me how tolove, have educated passion in me, and now you may admire the result ofyour labour," she ended, drawing in a deep breath of the cool eveningair.

  "I warned you, Vera. I told you passion was a fierce wolf."

  "No, worse, it is a tiger. I could not believe what you said, but I donow. Do you know the picture in the old house which represents a tigershowing his teeth at a seated Cupid? I never understood the picture,which seemed meaningless, but now I understand it. Passion is a tiger,lying there apparently so peaceful and inviting, until he begins to howland to whet his teeth."

  Raisky pursued the comparison in the hope that he might learn the nameof Vera's lover.

  "Your comparison is false, Vera. There are no tigers in our Northernclimate. I am nearer the mark when I compare passion to a wolf."

  "You are right," she said with a nervous laugh. "A real wolf. Howevercarefully you feed him he looks always to the woods. You are all wolves,and _he_, too, is a wolf."

  "Who?" he asked in an expressionless voice. "Tushin is a bear, a genuineRussian bear. You may lay your hand on his shaggy head, and sleep; yourrest is sure, for he will serve you all his life."

  "Which of the animals am I?" he asked gaily, noting that Tushin was notthe man. "Don't beat about the bush, Vera, you may say I am an ass."

  "No," she said scornfully. "You are a fox, a nice, cunning fox, with agift for deception. That's what you are. Why don't you say something?"she went on, as he kept an embarrassed silence.

  "Vera, there are weapons to be used against wolves, for me, to go away;for you, not to go down there," he said, pointing to the precipice.

  "Tell me how to prevent myself from going there. Teach me, since you aremy mentor, how not to go. You first set the house on fire, and then talkof leaving it. You sing in praise of passion, and then...."

  "I meant another kind of passion. Where both parties to it arehonourable, it means the supreme happiness in life, and its storms arefull of the glow of life...."

  "And where there is no dishonour, no precipice yawns? I love, and amloved, yet passion has me in its jaws. Tell me what I should do."

  "Confess all to Grandmother," whispered Raisky, pale with terror, "orpermit me to talk to her."

  "To shame me and ruin me? Who told me I need not obey her?"

  "At one moment you are on the point of telling your secret, at anotheryou hide behind it. I am in the dark, and feel my way in uncertainty.How can I, when I do not know the whole truth, diagnose the case?"

  "You know what is wrong with me? Why do you say you are in the dark.Come," she said, leading him into the moonlight. "See what is wrong withme."

  He stood transfixed with terror and pity. Pale, haggard, with wild eyesand tightly pressed lips, this was quite another Vera. Strands of hairwere loose from beneath her hood, and fell in gipsy-like confusion overher forehead and temples, and covered her eyes and mouth with everyquick movement she made. Her shoulders were negligently clad in a satinwrap trimmed with swansdown, held in place by a loosely tied knot ofsilk.

  "Well," she said, shaking her hair out of her eyes. "What has happenedto the beauty whose praise you sang?"

  "Vera," he said, "I would die for you. Tell me how I may serve you."

  "Die!" she exclaimed. "Help me to live. Give me that beautiful passionwhich sheds its glorious light over the whole of life. I see no passionbut this drowning tiger passion. Give me back at least my old strength,you, who talk of going to my Grandmother to place her and me on the samebier. It is too late to tell me to go no more to the precipice."

  She sat down on the bench and looked moodily straight before her.

  "You yourself, Vera, dreamed of freedom, and you prided yourself on yourindependence."

  "My head burns. Have pity on your sister! I am ashamed to be so weak."

  "What is it, dear Vera?"

  "Nothing. Take me home, help me to mount the steps. I am afraid, andwould like to lie down. Pardon me for having disturbed you for nothing,for having brought you here. You would have gone away and forgotten me.I am only feverish. Are you angry with me?"

  Too dejected to reply, he gave her his arm, took her as far as her room,and struck a light.

  "Send Marina or Masha to stay in my room, please. But say nothing toGrandmother, lest she should be alarmed and come herself. Why are youlooking at me so strangely? God knows what I have been saying to you, toplague you and to avenge myself of all my humiliations. Tell Grandmotherthat I have gone to bed to be up early in the morning, and I pray youbless me in your thoughts, do you hear?"

  "I hear," he said absently, as he pressed her hand and went out insearch of Masha.

  He looked forward with anxiety to Vera's awakening. He seemed to haveforgotten his own passion since his imagination had become absorbed inthe contemplation of
her suffering.

  "Something is wrong with Vera," said Tatiana Markovna, shaking her greyhead as she saw how grimly he avoided her questioning glance.

  "What can it be?" asked Raisky negligently, with an effort to assumeindifference.

  "Something is wrong, Borushka. She looks so melancholy and is so silent,and often seems to have tears in her eyes. I have spoken to the doctor,but he only talks the old nonsense about nerves," she said, relapsinginto a gloomy silence.

  Raisky looked anxiously for Vera's appearance next morning. She came atlast, accompanied by the maid, who carried a warm coat and her hat andshoes. She said good morning to her aunt, asked for coffee, ate her rollwith appetite, and reminded Raisky that he had promised to go shoppingwith her in the town and to take a walk in the park. It amazed him thatshe should be once more transformed, but there was a certain audacity inher gestures and a haste in her speech which seemed forced and alienfrom her usual manner and reminded him of her behaviour the day before.

  She was plainly making a great effort to conceal her real mood. Shechatted volubly with Paulina Karpovna, who had turned up unexpectedlyand was displaying the pattern of a dress intended for Marfinka'strousseau. That lady's visit was really directed towards Raisky, ofwhose return she had heard. She sought in vain an occasion to speak withhim alone, but seized a moment to sit down beside him, when she madeeyes at him and said in a low voice: _"Je comprends; dites tout, ducourage."_

  Raisky wished her anywhere, and moved away. Vera meanwhile put on hercoat and asked him to come with her. Paulina Karpovna wished toaccompany them, but Vera declined on the ground that they were walkingand had far to go, that the ground was damp, and that Paulina's elegantdress with a long train was unsuited for the expedition.

  "I want to have you this whole day for myself," she said to Raisky asthey went out together, "indeed every day until you go."

  "But, Vera, how can I help you when I don't know what is making yousuffer. I only see that you have your own drama, that the catastrophe isapproaching, or is in process. What is it?" he asked anxiously, as sheshivered.

  "I don't feel well, and am far from gay. Autumn is beginning. Naturegrows dark and sinister, the birds are already deserting us, and my mood,too, is autumnal. Do you see the black line high above the Volga? Thoseare the cranes in flight. My thoughts, too, fly away into the distance."

  She realised halfway that this strange explanation was unconvincing, andonly pursued it because she did not wish to tell the truth.

  "I wanted to ask you, Vera, about the letters you wrote to me."

  "I am ill and weak; you saw what an attack I had yesterday. I cannotremember just now all that I wrote."

  "Another time then!" he sighed. "But tell me, Vera, how I can help you.Why do you keep me back, and why do you want to spend these days in mysociety? I have a right to ask this, and it is your duty to give a plainanswer unless you want me to think you false."

  "Don't let us talk of it now."

  "No," he cried angrily. "You play with me as a cat does with a mouse. Iwill endure it no longer. You can either reveal your own secrets or keepthem as you please, but in so far as it touches me, I demand animmediate answer. What is my part in this drama?"

  "Do not be angry! I did not keep you back to wound you. But don't talkabout it, don't agitate me so that I have another attack likeyesterday's. You see that I can hardly stand. I don't want my weaknessto be seen at home. Defend me from myself. Come to me at dusk, about six,and I will tell you why I detained you."

  "Pardon me, Vera. I am not myself either," he said, struck by hersuffering. "I don't know what lies on your heart, and I will not ask. Iwill come later to fetch you."

  "I will tell you if I have the strength," she said.

  They went into the shops, where Vera made purchases for herself andMarfinka, she talked eagerly to the acquaintances they met, and evenvisited a poor godchild, for whom she took gifts. She assented readilyto Raisky's suggestion that they should visit Koslov.

  When they reached the house, Mark walked out of the door. He was plainlystartled, made no answer to Raisky's inquiry after Leonti's health, andwalked quickly away. Vera was still more disconcerted but pulled herselftogether, and followed Raisky into the house.

  "What is the matter with him?" asked Raisky. "He did not answer a word,but simply bolted. You were frightened, too, Vera. Is it Mark whosignalises his presence at the foot of the precipice by a shot? I haveseen him wandering round with a gun," he said joking.

  She answered in the same tone: "Of course, Cousin," but she did not lookat him.

  No, thought Raisky to himself, she could not have taken for her idol awandering, ragged gipsy like that. Then he wondered whether thepossibility could be entirely excluded, since passion wanders where helists, and not in obedience to the convictions and dictates of man. Heis invincible, and master of his own inexplicable moods. But Vera hadnever had any opportunity of meeting Mark, he concluded, and was merelyafraid of him as every one else was.

  Leonti's condition was unchanged. He wandered about like a drunken man,silent and listening for the noise of any carriage in the street, whenhe would rush to the window to look if it bore his fugitive wife.

  He would come to them in a few weeks, he said, after Marfinka's wedding,as Vera suggested. Then he became aware of Vera's presence.

  "Vera Vassilievna!" he cried in surprise, staring at her as he addressedRaisky. "Do you know, Boris Pavlovich, who else has read your books andhelped me to arrange them?"

  "Who has been reading my books?" asked Raisky.

  But Leonti had been distracted by the sound of a passing carriage anddid not hear the question. Vera whispered to Raisky that they should go.

  "I wanted to say something, Boris Pavlovich," said Leonti thoughtfully,raising his head, "but I can't remember what."

  "You said some one else had been reading my books."

  Leonti pointed to Vera, who was looking out of the window, but who nowpulled Raisky's sleeve "Come!" she said and they left the house.

  When they reached home Vera made over some of her purchases to her aunt,and had others taken to her room. She asked Raisky to go out with heragain in the park and down by the Volga.

  "Why are you tiring yourself out, Vera?" he asked, as they went. "Youare weak."

  "Air, I must have air!" she exclaimed, turning her face to the wind.

  She is collecting all her strength, he thought, as they entered the roomwhere the family was waiting for them for dinner. In the afternoon heslept for weariness, and only awoke at twilight, when six o'clock hadalready struck. He went to find Vera, but Marina told him she had goneto vespers, she did not know whether in the village church on the hillor in the church on the outskirts of the town. He went to the townchurch first, and after studying the faces of all the old womenassembled there, he climbed the hill to the village church. Old peoplestood in the corners and by the door, and by a pillar in a dark cornerknelt Vera, with a veil wrapped round her bowed head. He took his standnear her, behind another pillar, and, engrossed in his thoughts of herstate of mind, watched her intently as she prayed motionless, with hereyes fixed on the cross. He went sadly into the porch to wait for her,and there she joined him, putting her hand in his arm without a word.

  As they crossed the big meadow into the park he thought of nothing butthe promised explanation. His own intense desire to be freed from hismiserable uncertainty weighed with him less than his duty, as heconceived it, of shielding her, of illuminating her path with hisexperience, and of lending his undivided strength to keep her fromoverstepping her moral precipice. Perhaps it was merely a remnant ofpride that prevented her from telling him why she had summoned him anddetained him.

  He could not, and, even if he could, he had not the right to share hisapprehensions with anyone else. Even if he might confide in TatianaMarkovna, if he spoke to her of his suspicion and his surmises, he wasnot clear that it would help matters, for he feared that their aunt'spractical, but old-fashioned wisdom would be shattered on Ver
a'sobstinacy. Vera possessed the bolder mind, the quicker will. She waslevel with contemporary thought, and towered above the society in whichshe moved. She must have derived her ideas and her knowledge from somesource accessible to her alone. Though she took pains to conceal herknowledge, it was betrayed by a chance word, by the mention of a name oran authority in this or that sphere of learning, and it was betrayedalso in her speech; in the remarkable aptness of the words in which sheclothed her thoughts and feelings. In this matter she held so great anadvantage over Tatiana Markovna that the old lady's efforts in argumentwere more likely to be disastrous than not.

  Undoubtedly Tatiana Markovna was a wise woman with a correct judgment ofthe general phenomena of life. She was a famous housewife, ruling herlittle tsardom magnificently; she knew the ways, the vices and thevirtues of mankind as they are set out in the Ten Commandments and theGospels, but she knew nothing of the life where the passions rage andsteep everything in their colours. And even if she had known such aworld in her youth it must have been passion divorced from experience,an unshared passion, or one stifled in its development, not a stormydrama of love, but rather a lyric tenderness which unfolded and perishedwithout leaving a trace on her pure life. How could she lend a rescuinghand to snatch Vera from the precipice, she who had no faith in passion,but had merely sought to understand facts?

  The shots in the depths of the precipice, and Vera's expeditions wereindeed facts, against which Tatiana Markovna might be able to adoptmeasures. She might double the watch kept on the property, set men towatch for the lover, while Vera, shut up in the house, enduredhumiliation and a fresh kind of suffering.

  Vera would not endure any such rough constraint, and would make herescape, just as she had fled across the Volga from Raisky. These wouldbe, in fact, no means at all, for she had outgrown Tatiana Markovna'scircle of experience and morals. No, authority might serve with Marfinka,but not with the clear-headed, independent Vera.

  Such were Raisky's thoughts as he walked silently by Vera's side, nolonger desiring full knowledge for his own sake, but for her salvation.Perhaps, he thought, he would best gain his end by indirect efforts tomake her betray herself.

  "Leonti said," he began, "that you have been reading books out of mylibrary. Did you read them with him?"

  "Sometimes he told me of the contents of certain books; others I readwith the priest, Natasha's husband."

  "What books did you read with the priest?"

  "For the moment I don't remember, but he read the writings of theFathers, for instance, and explained them to Natasha and me, to my greatadvantage. We also read with him Voltaire and Spinoza. Why do youlaugh?" she asked, looking at Raisky.

  "There seems a remarkable gap between the Fathers and Spinoza andVoltaire. The Encyclopaedists are also included in my library. Did youread them?"

  "Nikolai Ivanovich read some to us, and talked about others."

  "Did you also occupy yourselves with Feuerbach, with the Socialists andthe Materialists?"

  "Yes, Natasha's husband asked us to copy out passages, which heindicated by pencil marks."

  "What was his object in this?"

  "I think he was preparing to publish a refutation."

  "Where did you obtain the newer books that are not in my library?Not the exile," he suggested as she gave no answer, "who liveshere under police supervision, the same man about whom you wroteto me? But you are not listening."

  "Yes, I am. Who gave me the books? Sometimes one person, sometimesanother here in the town."

  "Volokov borrowed these books."

  "Perhaps so, I had them from professors."

  The thought flashed through Raisky's head that there might be otherprofessors of the same kind as Monsieur Charles. But he merely askedwhat were the views of Nikolai Ivanovich on Spinoza and these otherwriters.

  "He says." replied Vera, "that these writings are the efforts of boldminds to evade the truth; they have beaten out for themselves side pathswhich must in the end unite with the main road. He says too, that allthese attempts serve the cause of truth, in that the truth shines outwith greater splendour in the end."

  "But he does not tell you where truth lies?"

  By way of answer she pointed to the little chapel now in sight.

  "And you think he is right?"

  "I don't think, I believe. And don't you also believe he is right."

  He agreed, and she asked him why, that being so, he had asked her.

  "I wanted," he said, "to know your opinion."

  "But you have often seen me at prayer," said Vera.

  "Yes, but I do not overhear your prayers. Do you pray for thealleviation of the restless sorrow that afflicts your mind?"

  They had reached the chapel, and Vera stood still for a moment. She didnot appear to have heard his question, and she answered only with a deepsigh. It was growing dark as they retraced their steps, Vera's growingslower and more uncertain as they approached the old house, where shestood still and glanced in the direction of the precipice.

  "To still the storm I must not go near the precipice, you say--I beg ofyou to stand by me, for I am sick and helpless."

  "Will not Grandmother know better how to help you, Vera? Confide in her,a woman, who will perhaps understand your pain."

  She shook her head. "I will tell you, Grandmother and you, but not now;now I cannot. And yet I beg of you not to leave me, not to allow me outof your sight. If a shot summons me, keep me away from the precipice,and, if necessary, hold me back by force. Things are as bad as that withme. That is all you can do for me. That is why I asked you not to goaway, because I felt that my strength is failing, because except you Ihave no one to help me, for Grandmother would not understand. Forgiveme."

  "You did right, Vera," he replied, deeply moved. "Depend on me. I amwilling to stay here for ever, if that will bring you peace."

  "No, in a week's time the shots will cease."

  She dried her eyes, and pressed his hand; then with slow, uneven steps,supporting herself by the balustrade she passed up the steps and intothe house.