The road that led to the ruins ran along the side of a narrow and wooded
dell. At the bottom a rapid stream rushed noisily over the stones, as if
in a hurry to lose itself in the great river, which was seen in the
distance behind the dark rampart of steep mountains. Gaguine called my
attention to several very harmonious effects of color, and his words
revealed to me, if not a painter of talent, at least a true artist. The
ruin was soon before us. It was at the top of a barren rock, a square
tower, entirely blackened, quite intact, but nearly split from top to
bottom by a deep crack. Walls covered with moss were attached to the
tower. Ivy clung here and there; stunted shrubbery sprang out of grayish
embrasures and caved-in vaults; a stony path led to an entrance door
standing upright. We were not far from it when a woman's figure appeared
suddenly before us, leaped lightly upon a heap of rubbish, and stood
erect upon the projection of a wall at the edge of a precipice.
"I am not mistaken!" exclaimed Gaguine; "it is Annouchka. How foolish of
her!"
We passed through the door, and found ourselves in a small court almost
entirely filled with nettles and wild apple trees. It was, indeed,
Annouchka, sitting upon the projection of the wall. She turned her head
towards us and began to laugh, not moving from her place; Gaguine shook
his finger at her, and raising my voice, I reproached her for her
imprudence.
"Be quiet," Gaguine said, in my ear; "let her do it; you have no idea of
what she is capable when provoked; she would climb to the top of the
tower. Admire rather the industrious spirit of the people of the
country."
I turned and saw in a corner a booth of boards, on the floor of which
was squatting an old woman knitting stockings, looking at us from under
her spectacles. She had for sale beer, cakes, and seltzer water, for the
use of tourists.
We seated ourselves upon a bench and began to drink foamy beer from
heavy tin goblets. Annouchka still remained seated in the same place,
her feet curled under her, her head enveloped in her muslin scarf; her
charming profile outlined clearly against the blue sky; but I looked at
her with some irritation. I believed the evening before that her manners
were affected and unnatural. She wishes to astonish us, I thought; but
why? what a childish whim. You would say that she had divined my
thought, for, throwing upon me a quick penetrating glance, she began to
laugh, descended from the wall in two jumps, then, approaching the old
woman, she asked her for a glass of water.
"You think I wish to drink?" she said to her brother; "no, I wish to
water the flowers upon the wall yonder that are dying and dried up by
the sun."
Gaguine did not reply; she left us, her glass in her hand, and climbed
once more upon the ruins. Stopping at intervals she stooped and poured
out with a comic gravity some drops of water that sparkled in the sun.
Her movements were very graceful; but I still watched her with
disapproval, admiring, however, her nimbleness and activity. Coming to
a dangerous place she purposely alarmed us by giving a little cry and
then began to laugh. That was the finishing stroke to my impatience.
"She is a regular goat," muttered the old woman, who had stopped
working.
Having emptied the last drop of water from her glass, Annouchka at
length arose to rejoin us, approaching with a defiant manner. A strange
smile for a moment contracted her lips and her eyebrows and dilated her
nostrils; she half closed her black eyes with a provoking air of
mockery.
"You think my conduct unbecoming," her face seemed to say; "no matter, I
know that you admire me."
"Perfect! charming! Annouchka," said Gaguine.
Suddenly the young girl appeared to feel a sense of shame, and lowering
her eyes, she came and sat by us like a culprit. For the first time I
examined her features closely; and I have rarely seen more mobile ones.
A few moments had scarcely elapsed before her face lost all color and
took an expression approaching almost to sadness; it even seemed to me
that her features assumed grandeur, artlessness. She appeared entirely
absorbed.
We explored the ruins minutely. Annouchka kept behind us, and we began
to admire the view. When the dinner hour arrived, Gaguine paid the old
woman, and asked from her a last jug of beer; then turning to me, he
said with a shy smile:--
"To the lady of your thoughts!"
"He has then--you have then a lady of whom you think?" asked Annouchka.
"And who has not?" replied Gaguine.
Annouchka remained thoughtful for some moments, the expression of her
face changed again, and a smile of defiance, almost impudent, appeared
once more upon her lips.
We again took our way to the house, and Annouchka again began to laugh
and frolic with more affectation than before. Breaking a branch from a
tree, she shouldered it like a gun, and rolled her scarf about her head.
I remember that we then met a large family of English people, with light
hair, looking awkward; all, as if obeying a word of command, threw upon
Annouchka their blue eyes, in which was depicted a cold look of
astonishment; she began to sing in a loud voice, as if to defy them.
When we arrived, she immediately went to her room, and did not reappear
until dinner, decked out in her finest dress, her hair dressed with
care, wearing a tight-fitting bodice, and gloves on her hands. At table
she sat with dignity, scarcely tasted anything, and drank only water. It
was evident she wished to play a new rôle in my presence: that of a
young person, modest and well-bred. Gaguine did not restrain her; you
could see that it was his custom to contradict her in nothing. From time
to time he contented himself with looking at me, faintly shrugging his
shoulders, and his kindly eye seemed to say: "She is but a child; be
indulgent." Immediately after dinner she rose, bowed to us, and, putting
on her hat, asked of Gaguine if she could go and see Dame Louise.
"How long have you been in need of my permission?" he replied, with his
usual smile, which this time, however, was slightly constrained; "you
are tired of us, then?"
"No; but yesterday I promised Dame Louise to go and see her; besides, I
think you would be more at your ease without me. Monsieur," she added,
turning to me, "you will--you will perhaps, have some more confidences."
She left us.
"Dame Louise," said Gaguine, trying to avoid my look, "is the widow of
the old burgomaster of the town. She is rather a plain, but an excellent
old woman. She has a great liking for Annouchka, who, moreover, has a
mania for becoming intimate with people below her; a mania that, as far
as I can observe, almost always springs from pride."
"You see," added he, after a moment's silence, "that I treat Annouchka
like a spoiled child, and it could not be otherwise; I could not be
exacting towards any body, how much less towards her?"
I did not reply. Gaguine began to talk upon another subject. The more I
learned to know him the more he inspired me with affection. I soon
summed up his character; it was a fine, good Russian nature,
straightforward, upright, and unaffected, but unfortunately wanting in
energy and earnestness. His youth did not give forth passion and ardor,
but shone with a sweet and dim light. He had wit and charming manners,
but how difficult to conjecture what would become of him when he became
a man! An artist--no! Every art calls for hard work, unceasing efforts;
and never, I said to myself, in looking at his calm features, listening
to his languid voice, never could he bind himself to constant and
well-directed work. And yet it was impossible not to like him; one
became attached to him involuntarily. We passed nearly four hours
together, sometimes side by side upon the sofa, sometimes walking slowly
before the house, and our talk ended by uniting us. The sun went down,
and I was thinking about going home.
Annouchka had not yet returned.
"Ah, what a wayward child!" exclaimed Gaguine. "Wait, I will see you
home; would you not like to have me? As we go we will stop at Dame
Louise's and see if she is yet there; it will not be much out of the
way."
We descended into the town, and after following for a short time a
narrow and winding street, we stopped before a high, four-storied
house, with but two windows in front; the second story projected over
the street more than the first, and in the same manner the other two.
This strange habitation, with its Gothic arches, placed upon two
enormous posts and topped with a pointed tiled roof, and a dormer
window, surmounted by an iron crane extended in the form of a beak, had
the effect of an enormous bird meditating.
"Annouchka, are you there?" cried Gaguine.
A lighted window opened in the third story, and we perceived the brown
head of the young girl. Behind her appeared the toothless face of an old
German woman, her eyes weak with age.
"Here I am," said Annouchka, leaning coquettishly on the window-sill. "I
like it very well. Wait, take this," added she, throwing to Gaguine a
slip of geranium. "Imagine to yourself that I am the lady of your
thoughts."
Dame Louise began to laugh.
"He is going away," replied Gaguine; "he wishes to bid you farewell."
"Really?" said Annouchka. "Well, then, as he is going, give him the
flower. I will come home very soon."
She quickly closed the window, and I thought I saw her embrace the old
German. Gaguine offered me the flower in silence. Without saying a word
I put it in my pocket, and returning to the place where they cross the
river, I passed over to the other side. I recollect walking towards my
house with a singularly sad heart, though thinking of nothing, when a
perfume well known to me, but rare enough in Germany, attracted my
attention. I stopped, and saw near the road a plot of ground sown with
hemp. The perfume that this plant of the steppes gave out suddenly
transported me to Russia, and brought forth in my soul a passionate
enthusiasm towards my country; I conceived the ardent desire of
breathing my native air, and feeling again under my feet the soil of my
fatherland. "What am I doing here?" I exclaimed; "What interest have I
in wandering in a strange land, among people who are nothing to me?" and
the oppression that filled my heart soon gave way to an emotion violent
and full of bitterness.
I re-entered my house in a state of mind the opposite to that of the
night before; I felt almost vexed, and was long in calming myself. I
felt a deep vexation, for which I could not account. I ended by sitting
down, and recalling my faithless widow (she came to my recollection
officially every evening); I took one of her letters, but did not open
it, for my thoughts took wing to the other side of the river. I began to
dream, and Annouchka was the subject. I recalled that in the course of
our conversation; Gaguine gave me to understand that certain
circumstances prevented him from returning to Russia.--"Who knows,
indeed, if she is his sister," I asked myself aloud.
I laid down and tried to sleep, but an hour after I was still leaning on
my elbow, and thinking again of that capricious little girl with a
forced laugh. She has the figure of _La Galathée_ of Raphael of the
Farnese palace, I murmured.--It is well that--and she is not his sister.
During this time the widow's letter reposed quietly upon the floor,
lighted up by a pale ray of the moon.