We will not attempt to describe the feelings Sanin experienced ashe read this letter. For such feelings there is no satisfactoryexpression they are too deep and too strong and too vague for anyword. Only music could reproduce them.
Sanin answered at once; and as a wedding gift to the young girl, sentto 'Mariana Slocum, from an unknown friend,' a garnet cross, set in amagnificent pearl necklace. This present, costly as it was, did notruin him; during the thirty years that had elapsed since his firstvisit to Frankfort, he had succeeded in accumulating a considerablefortune. Early in May he went back to Petersburg, but hardly for long.It is rumoured that he is selling all his lands and preparing to go toAmerica.
FIRST LOVE
The party had long ago broken up. The clock struck half-past twelve.There was left in the room only the master of the house and SergeiNikolaevitch and Vladimir Petrovitch.
The master of the house rang and ordered the remains of the supperto be cleared away. 'And so it's settled,' he observed, sitting backfarther in his easy-chair and lighting a cigar; 'each of us is to tellthe story of his first love. It's your turn, Sergei Nikolaevitch.'
Sergei Nikolaevitch, a round little man with a plump,light-complexioned face, gazed first at the master of the house, thenraised his eyes to the ceiling. 'I had no first love,' he said atlast; 'I began with the second.'
'How was that?'
'It's very simple. I was eighteen when I had my first flirtationwith a charming young lady, but I courted her just as though itwere nothing new to me; just as I courted others later on. To speakaccurately, the first and last time I was in love was with my nursewhen I was six years old; but that's in the remote past. The detailsof our relations have slipped out of my memory, and even if Iremembered them, whom could they interest?'
'Then how's it to be?' began the master of the house. 'There wasnothing much of interest about my first love either; I never fellin love with any one till I met Anna Nikolaevna, now my wife,--andeverything went as smoothly as possible with us; our parents arrangedthe match, we were very soon in love with each other, and got marriedwithout loss of time. My story can be told in a couple of words. Imust confess, gentlemen, in bringing up the subject of first love, Ireckoned upon you, I won't say old, but no longer young, bachelors.Can't you enliven us with something, Vladimir Petrovitch?'
'My first love, certainly, was not quite an ordinary one,' responded,with some reluctance, Vladimir Petrovitch, a man of forty, with blackhair turning grey.
'Ah!' said the master of the house and Sergei Nikolaevitch with onevoice: 'So much the better.... Tell us about it.'
'If you wish it ... or no; I won't tell the story; I'm no hand attelling a story; I make it dry and brief, or spun out and affected. Ifyou'll allow me, I'll write out all I remember and read it you.'
His friends at first would not agree, but Vladimir Petrovitch insistedon his own way. A fortnight later they were together again, andVladimir Petrovitch kept his word.
His manuscript contained the following story:--
I
I was sixteen then. It happened in the summer of 1833.
I lived in Moscow with my parents. They had taken a country house forthe summer near the Kalouga gate, facing the Neskutchny gardens. Iwas preparing for the university, but did not work much and was in nohurry.
No one interfered with my freedom. I did what I liked, especiallyafter parting with my last tutor, a Frenchman who had never been ableto get used to the idea that he had fallen 'like a bomb' (_commeune bombe_) into Russia, and would lie sluggishly in bed with anexpression of exasperation on his face for days together. My fathertreated me with careless kindness; my mother scarcely noticed me,though she had no children except me; other cares completely absorbedher. My father, a man still young and very handsome, had married herfrom mercenary considerations; she was ten years older than he. Mymother led a melancholy life; she was for ever agitated, jealous andangry, but not in my father's presence; she was very much afraid ofhim, and he was severe, cold, and distant in his behaviour.... Ihave never seen a man more elaborately serene, self-confident, andcommanding.
I shall never forget the first weeks I spent at the country house.The weather was magnificent; we left town on the 9th of May, on St.Nicholas's day. I used to walk about in our garden, in the Neskutchnygardens, and beyond the town gates; I would take some book withme--Keidanov's Course, for instance--but I rarely looked into it, andmore often than anything declaimed verses aloud; I knew a great dealof poetry by heart; my blood was in a ferment and my heart ached--sosweetly and absurdly; I was all hope and anticipation, was a littlefrightened of something, and full of wonder at everything, and wason the tiptoe of expectation my imagination played continually,fluttering rapidly about the same fancies, like martins about abell-tower at dawn; I dreamed, was sad, even wept; but through thetears and through the sadness, inspired by a musical verse, or thebeauty of evening, shot up like grass in spring the delicious sense ofyouth and effervescent life.
I had a horse to ride; I used to saddle it myself and set off alonefor long rides, break into a rapid gallop and fancy myself a knight ata tournament. How gaily the wind whistled in my ears! or turning myface towards the sky, I would absorb its shining radiance and blueinto my soul, that opened wide to welcome it.
I remember that at that time the image of woman, the vision of love,scarcely ever arose in definite shape in my brain; but in all Ithought, in all I felt, lay hidden a half-conscious, shamefacedpresentiment of something new, unutterably sweet, feminine....
This presentiment, this expectation, permeated my whole being; Ibreathed in it, it coursed through my veins with every drop of blood... it was destined to be soon fulfilled.
The place, where we settled for the summer, consisted of a woodenmanor-house with columns and two small lodges; in the lodge onthe left there was a tiny factory for the manufacture of cheapwall-papers.... I had more than once strolled that way to look atabout a dozen thin and dishevelled boys with greasy smocks and wornfaces, who were perpetually jumping on to wooden levers, that presseddown the square blocks of the press, and so by the weight of theirfeeble bodies struck off the variegated patterns of the wall-papers.The lodge on the right stood empty, and was to let. One day--threeweeks after the 9th of May--the blinds in the windows of this lodgewere drawn up, women's faces appeared at them--some family hadinstalled themselves in it. I remember the same day at dinner, mymother inquired of the butler who were our new neighbours, and hearingthe name of the Princess Zasyekin, first observed with some respect,'Ah! a princess!' ... and then added, 'A poor one, I suppose?'
'They arrived in three hired flies,' the butler remarkeddeferentially, as he handed a dish: 'they don't keep their owncarriage, and the furniture's of the poorest.'
'Ah,' replied my mother, 'so much the better.'
My father gave her a chilly glance; she was silent.
Certainly the Princess Zasyekin could not be a rich woman; the lodgeshe had taken was so dilapidated and small and low-pitched thatpeople, even moderately well-off in the world, would hardly haveconsented to occupy it. At the time, however, all this went in at oneear and out at the other. The princely title had very little effect onme; I had just been reading Schiller's _Robbers_.
II
I was in the habit of wandering about our garden every evening on thelook-out for rooks. I had long cherished a hatred for those wary, sly,and rapacious birds. On the day of which I have been speaking, I wentas usual into the garden, and after patrolling all the walks withoutsuccess (the rooks knew me, and merely cawed spasmodically at adistance), I chanced to go close to the low fence which separated ourdomain from the narrow strip of garden stretching beyond the lodge tothe right, and belonging to it. I was walking along, my eyes on theground. Suddenly I heard a voice; I looked across the fence, and wasthunder-struck.... I was confronted with a curious spectacle.
A few paces from me on the grass between the green raspberry bushesstood a tall slender girl in a striped pink dress, with a whitekerchief on he
r head; four young men were close round her, and shewas slapping them by turns on the forehead with those small greyflowers, the name of which I don't know, though they are well known tochildren; the flowers form little bags, and burst open with a pop whenyou strike them against anything hard. The young men presented theirforeheads so eagerly, and in the gestures of the girl (I saw her inprofile), there was something so fascinating, imperious, caressing,mocking, and charming, that I almost cried out with admiration anddelight, and would, I thought, have given everything in the world onthe spot only to have had those exquisite fingers strike me on theforehead. My gun slipped on to the grass, I forgot everything, Idevoured with my eyes the graceful shape and neck and lovely arms andthe slightly disordered fair hair under the white kerchief, and thehalf-closed clever eye, and the eyelashes and the soft cheek beneaththem....
'Young man, hey, young man,' said a voice suddenly near me: 'is itquite permissible to stare so at unknown young ladies?'
I started, I was struck dumb.... Near me, the other side of the fence,stood a man with close-cropped black hair, looking ironically at me.At the same instant the girl too turned towards me.... I caught sightof big grey eyes in a bright mobile face, and the whole face suddenlyquivered and laughed, there was a flash of white teeth, a drolllifting of the eyebrows.... I crimsoned, picked up my gun from theground, and pursued by a musical but not ill-natured laugh, fled tomy own room, flung myself on the bed, and hid my face in my hands. Myheart was fairly leaping; I was greatly ashamed and overjoyed; I feltan excitement I had never known before.
After a rest, I brushed my hair, washed, and went downstairs to tea.The image of the young girl floated before me, my heart was no longerleaping, but was full of a sort of sweet oppression.
'What's the matter?' my father asked me all at once: 'have you killeda rook?'
I was on the point of telling him all about it, but I checked myself,and merely smiled to myself. As I was going to bed, I rotated--I don'tknow why--three times on one leg, pomaded my hair, got into bed, andslept like a top all night. Before morning I woke up for an instant,raised my head, looked round me in ecstasy, and fell asleep again.
III
'How can I make their acquaintance?' was my first thought when I wakedin the morning. I went out in the garden before morning tea, but Idid not go too near the fence, and saw no one. After drinking tea,I walked several times up and down the street before the house, andlooked into the windows from a distance.... I fancied her face at acurtain, and I hurried away in alarm.
'I must make her acquaintance, though,' I thought, pacing distractedlyabout the sandy plain that stretches before Neskutchny park ... 'buthow, that is the question.' I recalled the minutest details of ourmeeting yesterday; I had for some reason or other a particularly vividrecollection of how she had laughed at me.... But while I racked mybrains, and made various plans, fate had already provided for me.
In my absence my mother had received from her new neighbour a letteron grey paper, sealed with brown wax, such as is only used in noticesfrom the post-office or on the corks of bottles of cheap wine. In thisletter, which was written in illiterate language and in a slovenlyhand, the princess begged my mother to use her powerful influencein her behalf; my mother, in the words of the princess, was veryintimate with persons of high position, upon whom her fortunes and herchildren's fortunes depended, as she had some very important businessin hand. 'I address myself to you,' she wrote, 'as one gentlewoman toanother gentlewoman, and for that reason am glad to avail myself ofthe opportunity.' Concluding, she begged my mother's permission tocall upon her. I found my mother in an unpleasant state of indecisionmy father was not at home, and she had no one of whom to ask advice.Not to answer a gentlewoman, and a princess into the bargain, wasimpossible. But my mother was in a difficulty as to how to answerher. To write a note in French struck her as unsuitable, and Russianspelling was not a strong point with my mother herself, and she wasaware of it, and did not care to expose herself. She was overjoyedwhen I made my appearance, and at once told me to go round to theprincess's, and to explain to her by word of mouth that my motherwould always be glad to do her excellency any service within herpowers, and begged her to come to see her at one o'clock. Thisunexpectedly rapid fulfilment of my secret desires both delighted andappalled me. I made no sign, however, of the perturbation which cameover me, and as a preliminary step went to my own room to put on a newnecktie and tail coat; at home I still wore short jackets and lay-downcollars, much as I abominated them.
IV
In the narrow and untidy passage of the lodge, which I entered with aninvoluntary tremor in all my limbs, I was met by an old grey-headedservant with a dark copper-coloured face, surly little pig's eyes, andsuch deep furrows on his forehead and temples as I had never beheldin my life. He was carrying a plate containing the spine of a herringthat had been gnawed at; and shutting the door that led into the roomwith his foot, he jerked out, 'What do you want?'
'Is the Princess Zasyekin at home?' I inquired.
'Vonifaty!' a jarring female voice screamed from within.
The man without a word turned his back on me, exhibiting as he didso the extremely threadbare hindpart of his livery with a solitaryreddish heraldic button on it; he put the plate down on the floor, andwent away.
'Did you go to the police station?' the same female voice calledagain. The man muttered something in reply. 'Eh.... Has some onecome?' I heard again.... 'The young gentleman from next door. Ask himin, then.'
'Will you step into the drawing-room?' said the servant, making hisappearance once more, and picking up the plate from the floor. Imastered my emotions, and went into the drawing-room.
I found myself in a small and not over clean apartment, containingsome poor furniture that looked as if it had been hurriedly set downwhere it stood. At the window in an easy-chair with a broken arm wassitting a woman of fifty, bareheaded and ugly, in an old green dress,and a striped worsted wrap about her neck. Her small black eyes fixedme like pins.
I went up to her and bowed.
'I have the honour of addressing the Princess Zasyekin?'
'I am the Princess Zasyekin; and you are the son of Mr. V.?'
'Yes. I have come to you with a message from my mother.'
'Sit down, please. Vonifaty, where are my keys, have you seen them?'
I communicated to Madame Zasyekin my mother's reply to her note. Sheheard me out, drumming with her fat red fingers on the window-pane,and when I had finished, she stared at me once more.
'Very good; I'll be sure to come,' she observed at last. 'But howyoung you are! How old are you, may I ask?'
'Sixteen,' I replied, with an involuntary stammer.
The princess drew out of her pocket some greasy papers covered withwriting, raised them right up to her nose, and began looking throughthem.
'A good age,' she ejaculated suddenly, turning round restlessly onher chair. 'And do you, pray, make yourself at home. I don't stand onceremony.'
'No, indeed,' I thought, scanning her unprepossessing person with adisgust I could not restrain.
At that instant another door flew open quickly, and in the doorwaystood the girl I had seen the previous evening in the garden. Shelifted her hand, and a mocking smile gleamed in her face.
'Here is my daughter,' observed the princess, indicating her with herelbow. 'Zinotchka, the son of our neighbour, Mr. V. What is your name,allow me to ask?'
'Vladimir,' I answered, getting up, and stuttering in my excitement.
'And your father's name?'
'Petrovitch.'
'Ah! I used to know a commissioner of police whose name was VladimirPetrovitch too. Vonifaty! don't look for my keys; the keys are in mypocket.'
The young girl was still looking at me with the same smile, faintlyfluttering her eyelids, and putting her head a little on one side.
'I have seen Monsieur Voldemar before,' she began. (The silvery noteof her voice ran through me with a sort of sweet shiver.) 'You willlet me call you so?'
> 'Oh, please,' I faltered.
'Where was that?' asked the princess.
The young princess did not answer her mother.
'Have you anything to do just now?' she said, not taking her eyes offme.
'Oh, no.'
'Would you like to help me wind some wool? Come in here, to me.'
She nodded to me and went out of the drawing-room. I followed her.