The Precipice Part 23

"Are you frightened? The whole house fears him like fire?" And he explained how he got the coat. She listened absently as they went silently down the main path of the garden, Vera with her eyes on the ground.

Against his will he felt impelled to seek another argument with her.

"You seem to have something on your mind," she began, "which you do not wish to tell."

"I did wish to, but I feared the storm I might draw upon myself."

"You did not wish to discuss beauty once more?"

"No, no, I want to explain what my feeling for you is. I am convinced that this time I am not in error. You have opened to me a special door of your heart, and I recognise that your friendship would bring great happiness, and that its soft tones would bring colour into my dull life.

Do you think, Vera, that friendship is possible between a man and a woman?"

"Why not? If two such friends can make up their minds to respect one another's freedom, if one does not oppress the other, does not seek to discover the secret of the other's heart, if they are in constant, natural intercourse, and know how to respect secrets...."

His eyes blazed. "Pitiless woman," he broke in.

She had seen the glance, and lowered her eyes.

"We will go in to Grandmother. She has just opened the window, and will call us to tea?"

"One word more, Vera. You have wisdom, lucidity, decision...."

"What is wisdom?" she asked mischievously.

"Observation and experience, harmoniously applied to life."

"I have hardly any experience."

"Nature has bestowed on you a sharp eye and a clear brain."

"Is not such a possession disgraceful for a girl?"

"Your wholesome ideas, your cultivated speech...."

"You are surprised that a drop of village wisdom should have descended on your poor sister. You would have preferred to find a fool in my place, wouldn't you, and now you are annoyed?"

"No, Vera, you intoxicate me. You do indeed forbid me to mention your beauty by so much as a syllable, and will not hear why I place it so high. Beauty is the aim and at the same time the driving power of art, and I am an artist. The beauty of which I speak is no material thing, she does not kindle her fires with the glow of pa.s.sionate desire alone; more especially she awakens the man in man, arouses thought, inspires courage, fertilises the creative power of genius, even when that genius stands at the culmination of its dignity and power; she does not scatter her beams for trifles, does not besmirch purity--she is womanly wisdom.

You are a woman, Vera, and understand what I mean. Your hand will not be raised to punish the man, the artist, for this worship of beauty."

"According to you wisdom lies in keeping these rules before one's eyes as the guiding thread of life, in which case I am not wise, I have not 'received this baptism.'"

An emotion closely related to sadness shone in her eyes, as she gazed upwards for a moment before she entered the house. Raisky anxiously told himself that she was as enigmatic as night itself, and he wondered what was the origin of these foreign ideas and whether her young life was already darkened.

CHAPTER XII

On Sunday Tatiana Markovna had guests for the second breakfast. The covers had been removed from the purple damask-covered chairs in the reception room. Yakob had rubbed the eyes of the family portraits with a damp rag, and they appeared to look forth more sharply than on ordinary days. The freshly waxed floors shone. Yakob himself paraded in a dress coat and a white necktie, while Egorka, Petrushka and Stepka, the latter of whom had been fetched from the village and had not yet found his legs, had been put into old liveries which did not fit them and smelt of moth.

The dining-room and the reception room had been fumigated just before the meal.

Tatiana Markovna herself, in a silk dress and shawl, with her cap on the back of her head, sat on the divan. Near her the guests had taken their places in accordance with their rank and dignity. The place of honour was occupied by Niel Andreevich Tychkov, in a dress coat with an order, an important old gentleman whose eyebrows met in his great fat face, while his chin was lost in his cravat. The consciousness of his dignity appeared in every gesture and in his condescending speech. Next him sat the invariably modest Tiet Nikonich, also in a dress coat, with a glance of devotion for Tatiana Markovna, and a smile for all. Then followed the priest in a silk gown with a broad embroidered girdle, the councillors of the local court, the colonel of the garrison, ladies from the town; young officials who stood talking in undertones in a corner; young girls, friends of Marfinka, who timidly clasped their damp hands and continually changed colour; finally a proprietor from the neighbourhood with three half-grown sons.

When the company had already been a.s.sembled for some little time at the breakfast-table, Raisky entered. He felt that he was playing the role of an actor, fresh to the place, making his first appearance on the provincial stage after the most varying reports had been spread about him.

Tatiana Markovna introduced him as "My nephew, the son of my late niece Sfonichka," though everybody knew who he was. Several people stood up to greet him. Niel Andreevich, who expected that he would come and speak to him, gave him a friendly smile; the ladies pulled their dresses straight and glanced at the mirror; the young officials who were standing eating off their plates in the corner shifted from one foot to the other; and the young girls blushed still more and pressed their hands as if danger threatened.

Raisky bowed to the a.s.sembled guests, and sat down beside his aunt on the divan.

"Look how he throws himself down," whispered a young official to his neighbour. "His Excellency is looking at him."

"Niel Andreevich has been wanting to see you for a long time," said Tatiana Markovna aloud, adding under her breath, "His Excellency, don't forget." In the same low tone Raisky asked who the little lady was with the fine teeth and the well-developed figure.

"Shame, Boris Pavlovich," and aloud, "Niel Andreevich, Borushka has been desiring to present himself to you for a long time."

Raisky was about to reply when Tatiana Markovna pressed his hand, enjoining silence.

"Why have you not given me the pleasure of a visit from you before,"

said Niel Andreevich with a kindly air. "Good men are always welcome.

But it is not amusing to visit us old people, and the new generation do not care for us, do they? And you hold with the young people. Answer frankly."

"I do not divide mankind into the old and the new generation," said Raisky, helping himself to a slice of cake.

"Don't hurry about eating; talk to him," whispered Tatiana Markovna.

"I will eat and talk at the same time," he returned aloud.

Tatiana Markovna looked confused, and turned her back on him.

"Don't disturb him," continued Niel Andreevich. "Young people are like that. I am curious to know how you judge men, Boris Pavlovich."

"By the impression they produce on me."

"Admirable. I like you for your candour. Let us take an example. What is your opinion of me?"

"I am afraid of you."

Niel Andreevich laughed complacently.

"Tell me why. You may speak quite plainly."

"Why I am afraid of you? They say you find fault with everybody," he went on, heedless of Tatiana Markovna's efforts to interrupt. "My Grandmother tells me that you lectured one man for not having attended Ma.s.s."

Tatiana Markovna went hot all over, and taking off her cap, put it down behind her.

"I am glad she told you that. I like to have my doings correctly reported. Yes, I do lecture people sometimes. Do you remember?" he appealed to the young men at the door.

"At your service, your Excellency," answered one of them quickly, putting one foot forward and his hands behind his back. "I once received one."