Rudin Part 25

Darya Mihailovna, directly she saw her, called her into her study, made her sit near her, and caressingly stroked her cheek. Meanwhile she gazed attentively, almost with curiosity, into her eyes. Darya Mihailovna was secretly perplexed; for the first time it struck her that she did not really understand her daughter. When she had heard from Pandalevsky of her meeting with Rudin, she was not so much displeased as amazed that her sensible Natalya could resolve upon such a step. But when she had sent for her, and fell to upbraiding her--not at all as one would have expected from a lady of European renown, but with loud and vulgar abuse--Natalya's firm replies, and the resolution of her looks and movements, had confused and even intimidated her.

Rudin's sudden, and wholly unexplained, departure had taken a great load off her heart, but she had expected tears, and hysterics.... Natalya's outward composure threw her out of her reckoning again.

'Well, child,' began Darya Mihailovna, 'how are you to-day?' Natalya looked at her mother. 'He is gone, you see... your hero. Do you know why he decided on going so quickly?'

'Mamma!' said Natalya in a low voice, 'I give you my word, if you will not mention him, you shall never hear his name from me.'

'Then you acknowledge how wrongly you behaved to me?'

Natalya looked down and repeated:

'You shall never hear his name from me.'

'Well, well,' answered Darya Mihailovna with a smile, 'I believe you.

But the day before yesterday, do you remember how--There, we will pa.s.s that over. It is all over and buried and forgotten. Isn't it? Come, I know you again now; but I was altogether puzzled then. There, kiss me like a sensible girl!'

Natalya lifted Darya Mihailovna's hand to her lips, and Darya Mihailovna kissed her stooping head.

'Always listen to my advice. Do not forget that you are a Lasunsky and my daughter,' she added, 'and you will be happy. And now you may go.'

Natalya went away in silence. Darya Mihailovna looked after her and thought: 'She is like me--she too will let herself be carried away by her feelings; _mais ella aura moins d'abandon_.' And Darya Mihailovna fell to musing over memories of the past... of the distant past.

Then she summoned Mlle. Boncourt and remained a long while closeted with her.

When she had dismissed her she sent for Pandalevsky. She wanted at all hazards to discover the real cause of Rudin's departure... but Pandalevsky succeeded in completely satisfying her. It was what he was there for.

The next day Volintsev and his sister came to dinner. Darya Mihailovna was always very affable to him, but this time she was especially cordial to him. Natalya felt unbearably miserable; but Volintsev was so respectful, and addressed her so timidly, that she could not but be grateful to him in her heart. The day pa.s.sed quietly, rather tediously, but all felt as they separated that they had fallen back into the old order of things; and that means much, very much.

Yes, all had fallen back into their old order--all except Natalya. When at last she was able to be alone, she dragged herself with difficulty into her bed, and, weary and worn out, fell with her face on the pillow.

Life seemed so cruel, so hateful, and so sordid, she was so ashamed of herself, her love, and her sorrow, that at that moment she would have been glad to die.... There were many sorrowful days in store for her, and sleepless nights and torturing emotions; but she was young--life had scarcely begun for her, and sooner or later life a.s.serts its claims.

Whatever blow has fallen on a man, he must--forgive the coa.r.s.eness of the expression--eat that day or at least the next, and that is the first step to consolation.

Natalya suffered terribly, she suffered for the first time.... But the first sorrow, like first love, does not come again--and thank G.o.d for it!

XII

About two years had pa.s.sed. The first days of May had come. Alexandra Pavlovna, no longer Lipin but Lezhnyov, was sitting on the balcony of her house; she had been married to Mihailo Mihailitch for more than a year. She was as charming as ever, and had only grown a little stouter of late. In front of the balcony, from which there were steps leading into the garden, a nurse was walking about carrying a rosy-cheeked baby in her arms, in a white cloak, with a white cap on his head. Alexandra Pavlovna kept her eyes constantly on him. The baby did not cry, but sucked his thumb gravely and looked about him. He was already showing himself a worthy son of Mihailo Mihailitch.

On the balcony, near Alexandra Pavlovna, was sitting our old friend, Pigasov. He had grown noticeably greyer since we parted from him, and was bent and thin, and he lisped when he spoke; one of his front teeth had gone; and this lisp gave still greater asperity to his words....

His spitefulness had not decreased with years, but his sallies were less lively, and he more frequently repeated himself. Mihailo Mihailitch was not at home; they were expecting him in to tea. The sun had already set. Where it had gone down, a streak of pale gold and of lemon colour stretched across the distant horizon; on the opposite quarter of the sky was a stretch of dove-colour below and crimson lilac above. Light clouds seemed melting away overhead. There was every promise of prolonged fine weather.

Suddenly Pigasov burst out laughing.

'What is it, African s.e.m.e.nitch?' inquired Alexandra Pavlovna.

'Oh, yesterday I heard a peasant say to his wife--she had been chattering away--"don't squeak!" I liked that immensely. And after all, what can a woman talk about? I never, you know, speak of present company. Our ancestors were wiser than we. The beauty in their stories always sits at the window with a star on her brow and never utters a syllable. That's how it ought to be. Think of it! the day before yesterday, our marshal's wife--she might have sent a pistol-shot into my head!--says to me she doesn't like my tendencies! Tendencies! Come, wouldn't it be better for her and for every one if by some beneficent ordinance of nature she were suddenly deprived of the use of her tongue?'

'Oh, you are always like that, African s.e.m.e.nitch; you are always attacking us poor... Do you know it's a misfortune of a sort, really? I am sorry for you.'

'A misfortune! Why do you say that? To begin with, in my opinion, there are only three misfortunes: to live in winter in cold lodgings, in summer to wear tight shoes, and to spend the night in a room where a baby cries whom you can't get rid of with Persian powder; and secondly, I am now the most peaceable of men. Why, I'm a model! You know how properly I behave!'

'Fine behaviour, indeed! Only yesterday Elena Antonovna complained to me of you.'

'Well! And what did she tell you, if I may know?'

'She told me that far one whole morning you would make no reply to all her questions but "what? what?" and always in the same squeaking voice.'

Pigasov laughed.

'But that was a happy idea, you'll allow, Alexandra Pavlovna, eh?'

'Admirable, indeed! Can you really have behaved so rudely to a lady, African s.e.m.e.nitch?'

'What! Do you regard Elena Antonovna as a lady?'

'What do you regard her as?'

'A drum, upon my word, an ordinary drum such as they beat with sticks.'

'Oh,' interrupted Alexandra Pavlovna, anxious to change the conversation, 'they tell me one may congratulate you.'

'Upon what?'

'The end of your lawsuit. The Glinovsky meadows are yours.'

'Yes, they are mine,' replied Pigasov gloomily.

'You have been trying to gain this so many years, and now you seem discontented.'

'I a.s.sure you, Alexandra Pavlovna,' said Pigasov slowly, 'nothing can be worse and more injurious than good-fortune that comes too late.

It cannot give you pleasure in any way, and it deprives you of the right--the precious right--of complaining and cursing Providence. Yes, madam, it's a cruel and insulting trick--belated fortune.'

Alexandra Pavlovna only shrugged her shoulders.

'Nurse,' she began, 'I think it's time to put Misha to bed. Give him to me.'

While Alexandra Pavlovna busied herself with her son, Pigasov walked off muttering to the other corner of the balcony.

Suddenly, not far off on the road that ran the length of the garden, Mihailo Mihailitch made his appearance driving his racing droshky. Two huge house-dogs ran before the horse, one yellow, the other grey, both only lately obtained. They incessantly quarrelled, and were inseparable companions. An old pug-dog came out of the gate to meet them. He opened his mouth as if he were going to bark, but ended by yawning and turning back again with a friendly wag of the tail.

'Look here, Sasha,' cried Lezhnyov, from the distance, to his wife, 'whom I am bringing you.'