In beginning, he begged me to forgive him for this hasty departure. He
added that when I was calmer I would approve, no doubt, of his
determination. It was the only means of getting out of an embarrassing
position, and one that might become dangerous.
"Yesterday evening," he said to me, "while we were waiting for Annouchka
in silence, I was convinced of the necessity of a separation. There are
prejudices that I respect; I can understand that you could not marry
her. She has told me all, and for her sake I must yield to her urgent
entreaties."
At the end of his letter he expressed regret at the breaking off of our
friendly intercourse so soon; hoped that I would always be happy;
pressed my hand, and begged me not to try and meet them again.
"A question of prejudices indeed!" I exclaimed, as if he could hear me.
"Folly all that! What right has he to take her away from me?" I clutched
my head wildly.
The servant began to scream for her mistress, and her fright brought me
to my senses. I felt that I had but one object: to find them again; to
find them again at any cost. To bear such a blow; to resign myself; to
see things end in this way was truly beyond my strength! I learned from
the landlady that they went at six o'clock to take the steamboat down
the Rhine. I went to the office; they told me that they had taken places
for Cologne. I returned to my house to pack up and immediately follow
them.
As I passed Dame Louise's house I heard some one call me. I raised my
head and perceived the burgomaster's widow at the window of the room
where the previous evening I had seen Annouchka. Upon her lips hovered
that disagreeable smile that I had noticed before. She beckoned to me. I
turned away, and was about to go on, but she called out that she had
something to give me. These words stopped me, and I entered the house.
How can I express to you my emotion, when I found myself again in that
little room.
"To tell the truth," began the old woman, showing me a note, "I should
only have given you this if you had come to my house of your own accord;
but you are such a fine young man--there!"
I took the note; I read upon a little piece of paper the following
lines, traced in haste with a pencil:--
"Farewell! we shall see each other no more. It is not through pride that
I go away; I cannot do otherwise. Yesterday, when I wept before you, if
you had said to me but one _word_, a _single word_, I would have
remained. You did not say it.--Who knows? Perhaps it is for the best
that it is so. Farewell forever!"
She had expected but "_one word_!" Fool that I was! That _word_ I said
the previous evening again and again with many tears; I threw it to the
wind; I cried it out in the midst of lonely fields: but I did not say it
to her; I did not tell her that I loved her! Yes, it was then impossible
for me to pronounce that word. In this fatal room, where I found myself
face to face with her, I was not yet fully conscious of my love; it did
not awaken even then, when in a dull and gloomy silence I stood near
her brother,--it only burst forth, sudden and irresistible, a few
moments after, when, terrified by the thought of a misfortune, I began
to seek her, calling aloud; but then already it was too late!--It is
impossible, they will tell me;--I know not if it is impossible, but I
know that it was so. Annouchka would not have gone if she had had the
least coquetry, if she had not found herself in an essentially false
position. An uncertain position that any other woman would have accepted
she found intolerable. This did not occur to me. My evil genius, then,
at my last interview with Gaguine, under his dark window, had checked
that confession which was upon my lips, and thus the last thread that I
could have seized had broken in my hands.
I returned the same day to L. with my traps, and started for Cologne. I
often remember that at the moment when the steamboat left the shore, and
when I said farewell to all those streets, to all those places that I
should never forget, I perceived Hannchen, the little servant-maid.
She was seated upon a bench near the river bank: though yet pale, her
face was no longer sorrowful. A handsome young fellow was by her side
and laughing with her, whilst at the other side of the Rhine my little
Madonna, concealed in the dark foliage of the old ash, followed me sadly
with her glance.