Affaires du coeur exercised me greatly that winter. In fact, I fell in
love three times. The first time, I became passionately enamoured of a
buxom lady whom I used to see riding at Freitag’s riding-school; with
the result that every day when she was taking a lesson there (that is to
say, every Tuesday and Friday) I used to go to gaze at her, but always
in such a state of trepidation lest I should be seen that I stood a long
way off, and bolted directly I thought her likely to approach the spot
where I was standing. Likewise, I used to turn round so precipitately
whenever she appeared to be glancing in my direction that I never
saw her face well, and to this day do not know whether she was really
beautiful or not.
Dubkoff, who was acquainted with her, surprised me one day in the
riding-school, where I was lurking concealed behind the lady’s grooms
and the fur wraps which they were holding, and, having heard from
Dimitri of my infatuation, frightened me so terribly by proposing to
introduce me to the Amazon that I fled incontinently from the school,
and was prevented by the mere thought that possibly he had told her
about me from ever entering the place again, or even from hiding behind
her grooms, lest I should encounter her.
Whenever I fell in love with ladies whom I did not know, and especially
married women, I experienced a shyness a thousand times greater than I
had ever felt with Sonetchka. I dreaded beyond measure that my divinity
should learn of my passion, or even of my existence, since I felt sure
that, once she had done so, she would be so terribly offended that I
should never be forgiven for my presumption. And indeed, if the Amazon
referred to above had ever come to know how I used to stand behind the
grooms and dream of seizing her and carrying her off to some country
spot--if she had ever come to know how I should have lived with her
there, and how I should have treated her, it is probable that she would
have had very good cause for indignation! But I always felt that, once
I got to know her, she would straightway divine these thoughts, and
consider herself insulted by my acquaintance.
As my second affaire du coeur, I, (for the third time) fell in love with
Sonetchka when I saw her at her sister’s. My second passion for her had
long since come to an end, but I became enamoured of her this third time
through Lubotshka sending me a copy-book in which Sonetchka had copied
some extracts from Lermontoff’s The Demon, with certain of the more
subtly amorous passages underlined in red ink and marked with pressed
flowers. Remembering how Woloda had been wont to kiss his inamorata’s
purse last year, I essayed to do the same thing now; and really, when
alone in my room in the evenings and engaged in dreaming as I looked at
a flower or occasionally pressed it to my lips, I would feel a certain
pleasantly lachrymose mood steal over me, and remain genuinely in love
(or suppose myself to be so) for at least several days.
Finally, my third affaire du coeur that winter was connected with the
lady with whom Woloda was in love, and who used occasionally to visit
at our house. Yet, in this damsel, as I now remember, there was not a
single beautiful feature to be found--or, at all events, none of those
which usually pleased me. She was the daughter of a well-known Moscow
lady of light and leading, and, petite and slender, wore long flaxen
curls after the English fashion, and could boast of a transparent
profile. Every one said that she was even cleverer and more learned
than her mother, but I was never in a position to judge of that, since,
overcome with craven bashfulness at the mere thought of her intellect
and accomplishments, I never spoke to her alone but once, and then
with unaccountable trepidation. Woloda’s enthusiasm, however (for the
presence of an audience never prevented him from giving vent to his
rapture), communicated itself to me so strongly that I also became
enamoured of the lady. Yet, conscious that he would not be pleased to
know that two brothers were in love with the same girl, I never told him
of my condition. On the contrary, I took special delight in the thought
that our mutual love for her was so pure that, though its object was, in
both cases, the same charming being, we remained friends and ready, if
ever the occasion should arise, to sacrifice ourselves for one another.
Yet I have an idea that, as regards self-sacrifice, he did not quite
share my views, for he was so passionately in love with the lady that
once he was for giving a member of the diplomatic corps, who was said
to be going to marry her, a slap in the face and a challenge to a duel;
but, for my part, I would gladly have sacrificed my feelings for his
sake, seeing that the fact that the only remark I had ever addressed to
her had been on the subject of the dignity of classical music, and that
my passion, for all my efforts to keep it alive, expired the following
week, would have rendered it the more easy for me to do so.