The next day I caught only a glimpse of Zinaída; she drove away
somewhere with the old Princess in a hired carriage. On the other hand,
I saw Lúshin--who, however, barely deigned to bestow a greeting on
me--and Malévsky. The young Count grinned and entered into conversation
with me in friendly wise. Among all the visitors to the wing he alone
had managed to effect an entrance to our house, and my mother had taken
a fancy to him. My father did not favour him and treated him politely to
the point of insult.
“Ah, _monsieur le page_,”--began Malévsky,--“I am very glad to meet you.
What is your beauteous queen doing?”
His fresh, handsome face was so repulsive to me at that moment, and he
looked at me with such a scornfully-playful stare, that I made him no
answer whatsoever.
“Are you still in a bad humour?”--he went on.--“There is no occasion for
it. It was not I, you know, who called you a page; and pages are chiefly
with queens. But permit me to observe to you that you are fulfilling
your duties badly.”
“How so?”
“Pages ought to be inseparable from their sovereigns; pages ought to
know everything that they do; they ought even to watch over them,”--he
added, lowering his voice,--“day and night.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“What do I mean? I think I have expressed myself plainly. Day--and
night. It does not matter so much about the day; by day it is light and
there are people about; but by night--that’s exactly the time to expect
a catastrophe. I advise you not to sleep o’nights and to watch, watch
with all your might. Remember--in a garden, by night, near the
fountain--that’s where you must keep guard. You will thank me for this.”
Malévsky laughed and turned his back on me. He did not, in all
probability, attribute any special importance to what he had said to me;
he bore the reputation of being a capital hand at mystification, and was
renowned for his cleverness in fooling people at the masquerades, in
which that almost unconscious disposition to lie, wherewith his whole
being was permeated, greatly aided him.... He had merely wished to tease
me; but every word of his trickled like poison through all my
veins.--The blood flew to my head.
“Ah! so that’s it!”--I said to myself:--“good! So it was not for nothing
that I felt drawn to the garden! That shall not be!” I exclaimed,
smiting myself on the breast with my fist; although I really did not
know what it was that I was determined not to permit.--“Whether Malévsky
himself comes into the garden,”--I thought (perhaps he had blurted out a
secret; he was insolent enough for that),--“or some one else,”--(the
fence of our vegetable-garden was very low and it cost no effort to
climb over it)--“at any rate, it will be all the worse for the person
whom I catch! I would not advise any one to encounter me! I’ll show the
whole world and her, the traitress,”--(I actually called her a
traitress)--“that I know how to avenge myself!”
I returned to my own room, took out of my writing-table a recently
purchased English knife, felt of the sharp blade, and, knitting my
brows, thrust it into my pocket with a cold and concentrated decision,
exactly as though it was nothing remarkable for me to do such deeds, and
this was not the first occasion. My heart swelled angrily within me and
grew stony; I did not unbend my brows until nightfall and did not relax
my lips, and kept striding back and forth, clutching the knife which had
grown warm in my pocket, and preparing myself in advance for something
terrible. These new, unprecedented emotions so engrossed and even
cheered me, that I thought very little about Zinaída herself. There kept
constantly flitting through my head Aleko, the young gipsy:[6]--“Where
art thou going, handsome youth?--Lie down....” and then: “Thou’rt all
with blood bespattered!... Oh, what is’t that thou hast done?...
Nothing!” With what a harsh smile I repeated that: that “Nothing!”
My father was not at home; but my mother, who for some time past had
been in a state of almost constant, dull irritation, noticed my baleful
aspect at supper, and said to me:--“What art thou sulking at, like a
mouse at groats?”--I merely smiled patronisingly at her by way of reply
and thought to myself: “If they only knew!”--The clock struck eleven; I
went to my own room but did not undress; I was waiting for midnight; at
last it struck.--“’Tis time!”--I hissed between my teeth, and buttoning
my coat to the throat and even turning up my sleeves I betook myself to
the garden.
I had selected a place beforehand where I meant to stand on guard. At
the end of the garden, at the spot where the fence, which separated our
property from the Zasyékins’, abutted on the party-wall, grew a solitary
spruce-tree. Standing beneath its low, thick branches, I could see well,
as far as the nocturnal gloom permitted, all that went on around; there
also meandered a path which always seemed to me mysterious; like a
serpent it wound under the fence, which at that point bore traces of
clambering feet, and led to an arbour of dense acacias. I reached the
spruce-tree, leaned against its trunk and began my watch.
The night was as tranquil as the preceding one had been; but there were
fewer storm-clouds in the sky, and the outlines of the bushes, even of
the tall flowers, were more plainly discernible. The first moments of
waiting were wearisome, almost terrible. I had made up my mind to
everything; I was merely considering how I ought to act. Ought I to
thunder out: “Who goes there? Halt! Confess--or die!”--or simply
smite.... Every sound, every noise and rustling seemed to me
significant, unusual.... I made ready.... I bent forward.... But half an
hour, an hour, elapsed; my blood quieted down and turned cold; the
consciousness that I was doing all this in vain, that I was even
somewhat ridiculous, that Malévsky had been making fun of me, began to
steal into my soul. I abandoned my ambush and made the round of the
entire garden. As though expressly, not the slightest sound was to be
heard anywhere; everything was at rest; even our dog was asleep, curled
up in a ball at the gate. I climbed up on the ruin of the hothouse,
beheld before me the distant plain, recalled my meeting with Zinaída,
and became immersed in meditation....
I started.... I thought I heard the creak of an opening door, then the
light crackling of a broken twig. In two bounds I had descended from
the ruin--and stood petrified on the spot. Swift, light but cautious
footsteps were plainly audible in the garden. They were coming toward
me. “Here he is.... Here he is, at last!”--darted through my heart. I
convulsively jerked the knife out of my pocket, convulsively opened
it--red sparks whirled before my eyes, the hair stood up on my head with
fright and wrath.... The steps were coming straight toward me--I bent
over, and went to meet them.... A man made his appearance.... My God! It
was my father!
I recognised him instantly, although he was all enveloped in a dark
cloak,--and had pulled his hat down over his face. He went past me on
tiptoe. He did not notice me although nothing concealed me; but I had so
contracted myself and shrunk together that I think I must have been on a
level with the ground. The jealous Othello, prepared to murder, had
suddenly been converted into the school-boy.... I was so frightened by
the unexpected apparition of my father that I did not even take note, at
first, in what direction he was going and where he had disappeared. I
merely straightened up at the moment and thought: “Why is my father
walking in the garden by night?”--when everything around had relapsed
into silence. In my alarm I had dropped my knife in the grass, but I did
not even try to find it; I felt very much ashamed. I became sobered on
the instant. But as I wended my way home, I stepped up to my little
bench under the elder-bush and cast a glance at the little window of
Zinaída’s chamber. The small, somewhat curved panes of the little window
gleamed dully blue in the faint light which fell from the night sky.
Suddenly their colour began to undergo a change.... Behind them--I saw
it, saw it clearly,--a whitish shade was lowered, descended to the
sill,--and there remained motionless.
“What is the meaning of that?”--I said aloud, almost involuntarily, when
I again found myself in my own room.--“Was it a dream, an accident,
or....” The surmises which suddenly came into my head were so new and
strange that I dared not even yield to them.