Platonída Ivánova was unspeakably delighted at the return of her nephew.
She had thought all sorts of things during his absence!--"At the very
least he has gone to Siberia!" she whispered, as she sat motionless in
her little chamber: "for a year at the very least!"--Moreover the cook
had frightened her by imparting the most authentic news concerning the
disappearance of first one, then another young man from the
neighbourhood. Yásha's complete innocence and trustworthiness did not in
the least serve to calm the old woman.--"Because ... much that
signifies!--he busies himself with photography ... well, and that is
enough! Seize him!" And now here was her Yáshenka come back to her safe
and sound! She did notice, it is true, that he appeared to have grown
thin, and his face seemed to be sunken--that was comprehensible ... he
had had no one to look after him. But she did not dare to question him
concerning his trip. At dinner she inquired:
"And is Kazán a nice town?"
"Yes," replied Arátoff.
"Tatárs live there, I believe?"
"Not Tatárs only."
"And hast not thou brought a khalát[65] thence?"
"No, I have not."
And there the conversation ended.
But as soon as Arátoff found himself alone in his study he immediately
felt as though something were embracing him round about, as though he
were again in _the power_,--precisely that, in the power of another
life, of another being. Although he had told Anna--in that outburst of
sudden frenzy--that he was in love with Clara, that word now seemed to
him devoid of sense and whimsical.--No, he was not in love; and how
could he fall in love with a dead woman, whom, even during her lifetime
he had not liked, whom he had almost forgotten?--No! But he was in the
power of ... in _her_ power ... he no longer belonged to himself. He had
been _taken possession of_. Taken possession of to such a point that he
was no longer trying to free himself either by ridiculing his own
stupidity, or by arousing in himself if not confidence, at least hope
that all this would pass over, that it was nothing but nerves,--or by
seeking proofs of it,--or in any other way!--"If I meet him I shall take
him" he recalled Clara's words reported by Anna ... and so now he had
been taken.
But was not she dead? Yes; her body was dead ... but how about her
soul?--Was not that immortal ... did it require bodily organs to
manifest its power? Magnetism has demonstrated to us the influence of
the living human soul upon another living human soul.... Why should not
that influence be continued after death, if the soul remains alive?--But
with what object? What might be the result of this?--But do we, in
general, realise the object of everything which goes on around us?
These reflections occupied Arátoff to such a degree that at tea he
suddenly asked Platósha whether she believed in the immortality of the
soul. She did not understand at first what it was he had asked; but
afterward she crossed herself and replied, "of course. How could the
soul be otherwise than immortal?"
"But if that is so, can it act after death?" Arátoff put a second
question.
The old woman replied that it could ... that is to say, it can pray for
us; when it shall have passed through all sorts of tribulations, and is
awaiting the Last Judgment. But during the first forty days it only
hovers around the spot where its death occurred.
"During the first forty days?"
"Yes; and after that come its tribulations."[66]
Arátoff was surprised at his aunt's erudition, and went off to his own
room.--And again he felt the same thing, that same power upon him. The
power was manifested thus--that the image of Clara incessantly presented
itself to him, in its most minute details,--details which he did not
seem to have observed during her lifetime; he saw ... he saw her
fingers, her nails, the bands of hair on her cheeks below her temples, a
small mole under the left eye; he saw the movement of her lips, her
nostrils, her eyebrows ... and what sort of a gait she had, and how she
held her head a little on the right side ... he saw everything!--He did
not admire all this at all; he simply could not help thinking about it
and seeing it.--Yet he did not dream about her during the first night
after his return ... he was very weary and slept like one slain. On the
other hand, no sooner did he awake than she again entered his room, and
there she remained, as though she had been its owner; just as though she
had purchased for herself that right by her voluntary death, without
asking him or requiring his permission.
He took her photograph; he began to reproduce it, to enlarge it. Then it
occurred to him to arrange it for the stereoscope. It cost him a great
deal of trouble, but at last he succeeded. He fairly started when he
beheld through the glass her figure which had acquired the semblance of
bodily substance. But that figure was grey, as though covered with
dust ... and moreover, the eyes ... the eyes still gazed aside, as
though they were averting themselves. He began to gaze at them for a
long, long time, as though expecting that they might, at any moment,
turn themselves in his direction ... he even puckered up his eyes
deliberately ... but the eyes remained motionless, and the whole figure
assumed the aspect of a doll. He went away, threw himself into an
arm-chair, got out the leaf which he had torn from her diary, with the
underlined words, and thought: "They say that people in love kiss the
lines which have been written by a beloved hand; but I have no desire to
do that--and the chirography appears to me ugly into the bargain. But in
that line lies my condemnation."--At this point there flashed into his
mind the promise he had made to Anna about the article. He seated
himself at his table, and set about writing it; but everything he wrote
turned out so rhetorical ... worst of all, so artificial ... just as
though he did not believe in what he was writing, or in his own feelings
... and Clara herself seemed to him unrecognisable, incomprehensible!
She would not yield herself to him.
"No," he thought, throwing aside his pen, "either I have no talent for
writing in general, or I must wait a while yet!"
He began to call to mind his visit to the Milovídoffs, and all the
narration of Anna, of that kind, splendid Anna.... The word she had
uttered: "unsullied!" suddenly struck him. It was exactly as though
something had scorched and illuminated him.
"Yes," he said aloud, "she was unsullied and I am unsullied.... That is
what has given her this power!"
Thoughts concerning the immortality of the soul, the life beyond the
grave, again visited him. "Is it not said in the Bible: 'O death, where
is thy sting?' And in Schiller: 'And the dead also shall live!' (_Auch
die Todten sollen leben!_)--Or here again, in Mickiewicz, 'I shall love
until life ends ... and after life ends!'--While one English writer has
said: 'Love is stronger than death!'"--The biblical sentence acted with
peculiar force on Arátoff. He wanted to look up the place where those
words were to be found.... He had no Bible; he went to borrow one from
Platósha. She was astonished; but she got out an old, old book in a
warped leather binding with brass clasps, all spotted with wax, and
handed it to Arátoff. He carried it off to his own room, but for a long
time could not find that verse ... but on the other hand, he hit upon
another:
"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life
for his friends".... (the Gospel of John, Chap. XV, verse 13).
He thought: "That is not properly expressed.--It should read: 'Greater
_power_ hath no man!'"....
"But what if she did not set her soul on me at all? What if she killed
herself merely because life had become a burden to her?--What if she, in
conclusion, did not come to that tryst with the object of obtaining
declarations of love at all?"
But at that moment Clara before her parting on the boulevard rose up
before him.... He recalled that sorrowful expression on her face, and
those tears, and those words:--"Akh, you have understood nothing!"
No! He could not doubt for what object and for what person she had laid
down her life....
Thus passed that day until nightfall.