The Diary of a Superfluous Man and Other Stories Part 16

"I deserved it!" I thought--and did not meet them again.

Still another year elapsed. I transferred my residence to Petersburg.

Winter arrived; the masquerades began. One day, as I emerged at eleven o'clock at night from the house of a friend, I felt myself in such a gloomy frame of mind that I decided to betake myself to the masquerade in the a.s.sembly of the n.o.bility.[22] For a long time I roamed about among the columns and past the mirrors with a discreetly-fatalistic expression on my countenance--with that expression which, so far as I have observed, makes its appearance in such cases on the faces of the most well-bred persons--why, the Lord only knows. For a long time I roamed about, now and then parrying with a jest the advances of divers shrill dominoes with suspicious lace and soiled gloves, and still more rarely addressing them. For a long time I surrendered my ears to the blare of the trumpets and the whining of the violins; at last, being pretty well bored, I was on the point of going home .... and .... and remained. I caught sight of a woman in a black domino, leaning against a column,--and no sooner had I caught sight of her than I stopped short, stepped up to her, and ... will the reader believe me?.... immediately recognised in her my Unknown. How I recognised her: whether by the glance which she abstractedly cast upon me through the oblong aperture in her mask, or by the wonderful outlines of her shoulders and arms, or by the peculiarly feminine stateliness of her whole form, or, in conclusion, by some secret voice which suddenly spoke in me,--I cannot say .... only, recognise her I did. With a quiver in my heart, I walked past her several times. She did not stir; in her att.i.tude there was something so hopelessly sorrowful that, as I gazed at her, I involuntarily recalled two lines of a Spanish romance:

Soy un cuadro de tristeza, Arrimado a la pared.[23]

I stepped behind the column against which she was leaning, and bending my head down to her very ear, enunciated softly:

"_Pa.s.sa quei colli._"...

She began to tremble all over, and turned swiftly round to me. Our eyes met at very short range, and I was able to observe how fright had dilated her pupils. Feebly extending one hand in perplexity, she gazed at me.

"On May 6, 184*, in Sorrento, at ten o'clock in the evening, in della Croce Street,"--I said in a deliberate voice, without taking my eyes from her; "afterward, in Russia, in the *** Government, in the hamlet of Mikhailovskoe, on June 22, 184*."....

I said all this in French. She recoiled a little, scanned me from head to foot with a look of amazement, and whispering, "_Venez_," swiftly left the room. I followed her.

We walked on in silence. It is beyond my power to express what I felt as I walked side by side with her. It was as though a very beautiful dream had suddenly become reality ... as though the statue of Galatea had descended as a living woman from its pedestal in the sight of the swooning Pygmalion.... I could not believe it, I could hardly breathe.

We traversed several rooms.... At last, in one of them, she paused in front of a small divan near the window, and seated herself. I sat down beside her.

She slowly turned her head toward me, and looked intently at me.

"Do you .... do you come from _him_?" she said.

Her voice was weak and unsteady...

Her question somewhat disconcerted me.

"No .... not from him,"--I replied haltingly.

"Do you know him?"

"Yes,"--I replied, with mysterious solemnity. I wanted to keep up my role.--"Yes, I know him."

She looked distrustfully at me, started to say something, and dropped her eyes.

"You were waiting for him in Sorrento,"--I went on;--"you met him at Mikhailovskoe, you rode on horseback with him...."

"How could you ...." she began.

"I know ... I know all...."

"Your face seems familiar to me, somehow,"--she continued:--"but no ...."

"No, I am a stranger to you."

"Then what is it that you want?"

"I know that also,"--I persisted.

I understood very well that I must take advantage of the excellent beginning to go further, that my repet.i.tions of "I know all, I know,"

were becoming ridiculous--but my agitation was so great, that unexpected meeting had thrown me into such confusion, I had lost my self-control to such a degree that I positively was unable to say anything else.

Moreover, I really knew nothing more. I felt conscious that I was talking nonsense, felt conscious that, from the mysterious, omniscient being which I must at first appear to her to be, I should soon be converted into a sort of grinning fool .... but there was no help for it.

"Yes, I know all,"--I muttered once more.

She darted a glance at me, rose quickly to her feet, and was on the point of departing.

But this was too cruel. I seized her hand.

"For G.o.d's sake,"--I began,--"sit down, listen to me...."

She reflected, and seated herself.

"I just told you,"--I went on fervently,--"that I knew everything--that is nonsense. I know nothing; I do not know either who you are, or who he is, and if I have been able to surprise you by what I said to you a while ago by the column, you must ascribe that to chance alone, to a strange, incomprehensible chance, which, as though in derision, has brought me in contact with you twice, and almost in identically the same way on both occasions, and has made me the involuntary witness of that which, perhaps, you would like to keep secret...."

And thereupon, without the slightest circ.u.mlocution, I related to her everything: my meetings with her in Sorrento, in Russia, my futile inquiries in Mikhailovskoe, even my conversation in Moscow with Madame Shlkoff and her sister.

"Now you know everything,"--I went on, when I had finished my story.--"I will not undertake to describe to you what an overwhelming impression you made on me: to see you and not to be bewitched by you is impossible.

On the other hand, there is no need for me to tell you what the nature of that impression was. Remember under what conditions I beheld you both times.... Believe me, I am not fond of indulging in senseless hopes, but you must understand also that inexpressible agitation which has seized upon me to-day, and you must pardon the awkward artifice to which I decided to have recourse in order to attract your attention, if only for a moment ...."

She listened to my confused explanations without raising her head.

"What do you want of me?"--she said at last.

"I?... I want nothing ... I am happy as I am.... I have too much respect for such secrets."

"Really? But, up to this point, apparently .... However,"--she went on,--"I will not reproach you. Any man would have done the same in your place. Moreover, chance really has brought us together so persistently ... that would seem to give you a certain right to frankness on my part.

Listen: I am not one of those uncomprehended and unhappy women who go to masquerades for the sake of chattering to the first man they meet about their sufferings, who require hearts filled with sympathy.... I require sympathy from no one; my own heart is dead, and I have come hither in order to bury it definitively."

She raised a handkerchief to her lips.

"I hope"--she went on with a certain amount of effort--"that you do not take my words for the ordinary effusions of a masquerade. You must understand that I am in no mood for that...."

And, in truth, there was something terrible in her voice, despite all the softness of its tones.

"I am a Russian,"--she said in Russian;--up to that point she had expressed herself in the French language:--"although I have lived little in Russia.... It is not necessary for me to know your name. Anna Feodorovna is an old friend of mine; I really did go to Mikhailovskoe under the name of her sister... It was impossible at that time for me to meet him openly... And even without that, rumours had begun to circulate ... at that time, obstacles still existed--he was not free... Those obstacles have disappeared ... but he whose name should become mine, he with whom you saw me, has abandoned me."

She made a gesture with her hand, and paused awhile....

"You really do not know him? You have not met him?"

"Not once."

"He has spent almost all this time abroad. But he is here now.... That is my whole history,"--she added;--"you see, there is nothing mysterious about it, nothing peculiar."

"And Sorrento?"--I timidly interposed.

"I made his acquaintance in Sorrento,"--she answered slowly, becoming pensive.