XV

Anna Vassilyevna, as the reader knows already, liked staying at home;

but at times she manifested, quite unexpectedly, an irresistible longing

for something out of the common, some extraordinary _partie du

plaisir_, and the more troublesome the _partie du plaisir_ was, the

more preparations and arrangements it required, and the greater Anna

Vassilyevna’s own agitation over it, the more pleasure it gave her. If

this mood came upon her in winter, she would order two or three boxes

to be taken side by side, and, inviting all her acquaintances, would set

off to the theatre or even to a masquerade; in summer she would drive

for a trip out of town to some spot as far off as possible. The next day

she would complain of a headache, groan and keep her bed; but within two

months the same craving for something ‘out of the common’ would break

out in her again. That was just what happened now. Some one chanced

to refer to the beautiful scenery of Tsaritsino before her, and Anna

Vassilyevna suddenly announced an intention of driving to Tsaritsino the

day after tomorrow. The household was thrown into a state of bustle;

a messenger galloped off to Moscow for Nikolai Artemyevitch; with him

galloped the butler to buy wines, pies, and all sorts of provisions;

Shubin was commissioned to hire an open carriage--the coach alone was

not enough--and to order relays of horses to be ready; a page was

twice despatched to Bersenyev and Insarov with two different notes of

invitation, written by Zoya, the first in Russian, the second in French;

Anna Vassilyevna herself was busy over the dresses of the young ladies

for the expedition. Meanwhile the _partie du plaisir_ was very near

coming to grief. Nikolai Artemyevitch arrived from Moscow in a sour,

ill-natured, _frondeurish_ frame of mind. He was still sulky with

Augustina Christianovna; and when he heard what the plan was, he flatly

declared that he would not go; that to go trotting from Kuntsovo to

Moscow and from Moscow to Tsaritsino, and then from Tsaritsino again to

Moscow, from Moscow again to Kuntsovo, was a piece of folly; and, ‘in

fact,’ he added, ‘let them first prove to my satisfaction, that one can

be merrier on one spot of the globe than another spot, and I will

go.’ This, of course, no one could prove to his satisfaction, and Anna

Vassilyevna was ready to throw up the _partie du plaisir_ for lack of a

solid escort; but she recollected Uvar Ivanovitch, and in her distress

she sent to his room for him, saying: ‘a drowning man catches at

straws.’ They waked him up; he came down, listened in silence to Anna

Vassilyevna’s proposition, and, to the general astonishment, with a

flourish of his fingers, he consented to go. Anna Vassilyevna kissed

him on the cheek, and called him a darling; Nikolai Artemyevitch smiled

contemptuously and said: _quelle bourde!_ (he liked on occasions to make

use of a ‘smart’ French word); and the following morning the coach and

the open carriage, well-packed, rolled out of the Stahovs’ court-yard.

In the coach were the ladies, a maid, and Bersenyev; Insarov was seated

on the box; and in the open carriage were Uvar Ivanovitch and Shubin.

Uvar Ivanovitch had himself beckoned Shubin to him; he knew that

he would tease him the whole way, but there existed a queer sort of

attachment, marked by abusive candour, between the ‘primeval force’ and

the young artist. On this occasion, however, Shubin left his fat friend

in peace; he was absent-minded, silent, and gentle.

The sun stood high in a cloudless blue sky when the carriage drove up to

the ruins of Tsaritsino Castle, which looked gloomy and menacing, even

at mid-day. The whole party stepped out on to the grass, and at once

made a move towards the garden. In front went Elena and Zoya with

Insarov; Anna Vassilyevna, with an expression of perfect happiness on

her face, walked behind them, leaning on the arm of Uvar Ivanovitch. He

waddled along panting, his new straw hat cut his forehead, and his feet

twinged in his boots, but he was content; Shubin and Bersenyev brought

up the rear. ‘We will form the reserve, my dear boy, like veterans,’

whispered Shubin to Bersenyev. ‘Bulgaria’s in it now!’ he added,

indicating Elena with his eyebrows.

The weather was glorious. Everything around was flowering, humming,

singing; in the distance shone the waters of the lakes; a light-hearted

holiday mood took possession of all. ‘Oh, how beautiful; oh, how

beautiful!’ Anna Vassilyevna repeated incessantly; Uvar Ivanovitch

kept nodding his head approvingly in response to her enthusiastic

exclamations, and once even articulated: ‘To be sure! to be sure!’ From

time to time Elena exchanged a few words with Insarov; Zoya held the

brim of her large hat with two fingers while her little feet, shod in

light grey shoes with rounded toes, peeped coquettishly out from under

her pink barège dress; she kept looking to each side and then behind

her. ‘Hey!’ cried Shubin suddenly in a low voice, ‘Zoya Nikitishna is

on the lookout, it seems. I will go to her. Elena Nikolaevna despises me

now, while you, Andrei Petrovitch, she esteems, which comes to the same

thing. I am going; I’m tired of being glum. I should advise you, my dear

fellow, to do some botanising; that’s the best thing you could hit on in

your position; it might be useful, too, from a scientific point of

view. Farewell!’ Shubin ran up to Zoya, offered her his arm, and saying:

‘_Ihre Hand, Madame_’ caught hold of her hand, and pushed on ahead with

her. Elena stopped, called to Bersenyev, and also took his arm,

but continued talking to Insarov. She asked him the words for

lily-of-the-valley, clover, oak, lime, and so on in his language...

‘Bulgaria’s in it!’ thought poor Andrei Petrovitch.

Suddenly a shriek was heard in front; every one looked up. Shubin’s

cigar-case fell into a bush, flung by Zoya’s hand. ‘Wait a minute, I’ll

pay you out!’ he shouted, as he crept into the bushes; he found his

cigar-case, and was returning to Zoya; but he had hardly reached her

side when again his cigar-case was sent flying across the road. Five

times this trick was repeated, he kept laughing and threatening her, but

Zoya only smiled slyly and drew herself together, like a little cat.

At last he snatched her fingers, and squeezed them so tightly that

she shrieked, and for a long time afterwards breathed on her hand,

pretending to be angry, while he murmured something in her ears.

‘Mischievous things, young people,’ Anna Vassilyevna observed gaily to

Uvar Ivanovitch.

He flourished his fingers in reply.

‘What a girl Zoya Nikitishna is!’ said Bersenyev to Elena.

‘And Shubin? What of him?’ she answered.

Meanwhile the whole party went into the arbour, well known as Pleasant

View arbour, and stopped to admire the view of the Tsaritsino lakes.

They stretched one behind the other for several miles, overshadowed by

thick woods. The bright green grass, which covered the hill sloping

down to the largest lake, gave the water itself an extraordinarily vivid

emerald colour. Even at the water’s edge not a ripple stirred the

smooth surface. One might fancy it a solid mass of glass lying heavy and

shining in a huge font; the sky seemed to drop into its depths, while

the leafy trees gazed motionless into its transparent bosom. All were

absorbed in long and silent admiration of the view; even Shubin was

still; even Zoya was impressed. At last, all with one mind, began to

wish to go upon the water. Shubin, Insarov, and Bersenyev raced each

other over the grass. They succeeded in finding a large painted boat

and two boatmen, and beckoned to the ladies. The ladies stepped into

the boat; Uvar Ivanovitch cautiously lowered himself into it after

them. Great was the mirth while he got in and took his seat. ‘Look out,

master, don’t drown us,’ observed one of the boatmen, a snubnosed

young fellow in a gay print shirt. ‘Get along, you swell!’ said Uvar

Ivanovitch. The boat pushed off. The young men took up the oars, but

Insarov was the oniy one of them who could row. Shubin suggested that

they should sing some Russian song in chorus, and struck up: ‘Down

the river Volga’... Bersenyev, Zoya, and even Anna Vassilyevna, joined

in--Insarov could not sing--but they did not keep together; at the third

verse the singers were all wrong. Only Bersenyev tried to go on in

the bass, ‘Nothing on the waves is seen,’ but he, too, was soon in

difficulties. The boatmen looked at one another and grinned in silence.

‘Eh?’ said Shubin, turning to them, ‘the gentlefolks can’t sing, you

say?’ The boy in the print shirt only shook his head. ‘Wait a little

snubnose,’ retorted Shubin, ‘we will show you. Zoya Nikitishna, sing us

_Le lac_ of Niedermeyer. Stop rowing!’ The wet oars stood still, lifted

in the air like wings, and their splash died away with a tuneful drip;

the boat drifted on a little, then stood still, rocking lightly on the

water like a swan. Zoya affected to refuse at first.... ‘_Allons_’ said

Anna Vassilyevna genially.... Zoya took off her hat and began to sing:

‘_O lac, l’année à peine a fini sa carrière_!’

Her small, but pure voice, seemed to dart over the surface of the lake;

every word echoed far off in the woods; it sounded as though some one

were singing there, too, in a distinct, but mysterious and unearthly

voice. When Zoya finished, a loud bravo was heard from an arbour

near the bank, from which emerged several red-faced Germans who were

picnicking at Tsaritsino. Several of them had their coats off, their

ties, and even their waistcoats; and they shouted ‘_bis!_’ with such

unmannerly insistence that Anna Vassilyevna told the boatmen to row as

quickly as possible to the other end of the lake. But before the boat

reached the bank, Uvar Ivanovitch once more succeeded in surprising his

friends; having noticed that in one part of the wood the echo repeated

every sound with peculiar distinctness, he suddenly began to call like a

quail. At first every one was startled, but they listened directly with

real pleasure, especially as Uvar Ivanovitch imitated the quail’s cry

with great correctness. Spurred on by this, he tried mewing like a

cat; but this did not go off so well; and after one more quail-call, he

looked at them all and stopped. Shubin threw himself on him to kiss him;

he pushed him off. At that instant the boat touched the bank, and all

the party got out and went on shore.

Meanwhile the coachman, with the groom and the maid, had brought the

baskets out of the coach, and made dinner ready on the grass under the

old lime-trees. They sat down round the outspread tablecloth, and fell

upon the pies and other dainties. They all had excellent appetites,

while Anna Vassilyevna, with unflagging hospitality, kept urging the

guests to eat more, assuring them that nothing was more wholesome than

eating in the open air. She even encouraged Uvar Ivanovitch with such

assurances. ‘Don’t trouble about me!’ he grunted with his mouth full.

‘Such a lovely day is a God-send, indeed!’ she repeated constantly.

One would not have known her; she seemed fully twenty years younger.

Bersenyev said as much to her. ‘Yes, yes.’ she said; ‘I could hold my

own with any one in my day.’ Shubin attached himself to Zoya, and kept

pouring her out wine; she refused it, he pressed her, and finished by

drinking the glass himself, and again pressing her to take another; he

also declared that he longed to lay his head on her knee; she would on

no account permit him ‘such a liberty.’ Elena seemed the most serious of

the party, but in her heart there was a wonderful sense of peace, such

as she had not known for long. She felt filled with boundless goodwill

and kindness, and wanted to keep not only Insarov, but Bersenyev too,

always at her side.... Andrei Petrovitch dimly understood what this

meant, and secretly he sighed.

The hours flew by; the evening was coming on. Anna Vassilyevna suddenly

took alarm. ‘Ah, my dear friends, how late it is!’ she cried. ‘All

good things must have an end; it’s time to go home.’ She began bustling

about, and they all hastened to get up and walk towards the castle,

where the carriages were. As they walked past the lakes, they stopped

to admire Tsaritsino for the last time. The landscape on all sides

was glowing with the vivid hues of early evening; the sky was red, the

leaves were flashing with changing colours as they stirred in the rising

wind; the distant waters shone in liquid gold; the reddish turrets and

arbours scattered about the garden stood out sharply against the dark

green of the trees. ‘Farewell, Tsaritsino, we shall not forget to-day’s

excursion!’ observed Anna Vassilyevna.... But at that instant, and as

though in confirmation of her words, a strange incident occurred, which

certainly was not likely to be forgotten.

This was what happened. Anna Vassilyevna had hardly sent her farewell

greeting to Tsaritsino, when suddenly, a few paces from her, behind

a high bush of lilac, were heard confused exclamations, shouts, and

laughter; and a whole mob of disorderly men, the same devotees of song

who had so energetically applauded Zoya, burst out on the path. These

musical gentlemen seemed excessively elevated. They stopped at the sight

of the ladies; but one of them, a man of immense height, with a bull

neck and a bull’s goggle eyes, separated from his companions, and,

bowing clumsily and staggering unsteadily in his gait, approached Anna

Vassilyevna, who was petrified with alarm.

‘_Bonzhoor, madame_,’ he said thickly, ‘how are you?’

Anna Vassilyevna started back.

‘Why wouldn’t you,’ continued the giant in vile Russian, ‘sing again

when our party shouted _bis_, and bravo?’

‘Yes, why?’ came from the ranks of his comrades.

Insarov was about to step forward, but Shubin stopped him, and himself

screened Anna Vassilyevna.

‘Allow me,’ he began, ‘honoured stranger, to express to you the

heartfelt amazement, into which you have thrown all of us by your

conduct. You belong, as far as I can judge, to the Saxon branch of the

Caucasian race; consequently we are bound to assume your acquaintance

with the customs of society, yet you address a lady to whom you have not

been introduced. I assure you that I individually should be delighted

another time to make your acquaintance, since I observe in you a

phenomenal development of the muscles, biceps, triceps and deltoid, so

that, as a sculptor, I should esteem it a genuine happiness to have you

for a model; but on this occasion kindly leave us alone.’

The ‘honoured stranger’ listened to Shubin’s speech, his head held

contemptuously on one side and his arms akimbo.

‘I don’t understand what you say,’ he commented at last. ‘Do you suppose

I’m a cobbler or a watchmaker? Hey! I’m an officer, an official, so

there.’

‘I don’t doubt that----’ Shubin was beginning.

‘What I say is,’ continued the stranger, putting him aside with his

powerful arm, like a twig out of the path--‘why didn’t you sing again

when we shouted _bis_? And I’ll go away directly, this minute, only I

tell you what I want, this _fräulein_, not that madam, no, not her, but

this one or that one (he pointed to Elena and Zoya) must give me _einen

Kuss_, as we say in German, a kiss, in fact; eh? That’s not much to

ask.’

‘_Einen Kuss_, that’s not much,’ came again from the ranks of his

companions, ‘_Ih! der Stakramenter!_’ cried one tipsy German, bursting

with laughter.

Zoya clutched at Insarov’s arm, but he broke away from her, and stood

directly facing the insolent giant.

‘You will please to move off,’ he said in a voice not loud but sharp.

The German gave a heavy laugh, ‘Move off? Well, I like that. Can’t I

walk where I please? Move off? Why should I move off?’

‘Because you have dared to annoy a lady,’ said Insarov, and suddenly he

turned white, ‘because you’re drunk.’

‘Eh? me drunk? Hear what he says. _Hören Sie das, Herr Provisor_? I’m an

officer, and he dares... Now I demand _satisfaction_! _Einen Kuss will

ich_.’

‘If you come another step nearer----’ began Insarov.

‘Well? What then’

‘I’ll throw you in the water!’

‘In the water? _Herr Je_! Is that all? Well, let us see that, that would

be very curious, too.’

The officer lifted his fists and moved forward, but suddenly something

extraordinary happened. He uttered an exclamation, his whole bulky

person staggered, rose from the ground, his legs kicking in the air, and

before the ladies had time to shriek, before any one had time to realise

how it had happened, the officer’s massive figure went plop with a heavy

splash, and at once disappeared under the eddying water.

‘Oh!’ screamed the ladies with one voice.

‘_Mein Gott_!’ was heard from the other side.

An instant passed... and a round head, all plastered

over with wet hair, showed above water, it was blowing bubbles, this

head; and floundering with two hands just at its very lips. ‘He will be

drowned, save him! save him!’ cried Anna Vassilyevna to Insarov, who was

standing with his legs apart on the bank, breathing heavily.

‘He will swim out,’ he answered with contemptuous and unsympathetic

indifference. ‘Let us go on,’ he added, taking Anna Vassilyevna by the

arm. ‘Come, Uvar Ivanovitch, Elena Nikolaevna.’

‘A--a--o--o’ was heard at that instant, the plaint of the hapless German

who had managed to get hold of the rushes on the bank.

They all followed Insarov, and had to pass close by the party. But,

deprived of their leader, the rowdies were subdued and did not utter

a word; but one, the boldest of them, muttered, shaking his head

menacingly: ‘All right... we shall see though... after that’; but one of

the others even took his hat off. Insarov struck them as formidable,

and rightly so; something evil, something dangerous could be seen in his

face. The Germans hastened to pull out their comrade, who, directly he

had his feet on dry ground, broke into tearful abuse and shouted after

the ‘Russian scoundrels,’ that he would make a complaint, that he would

go to Count Von Kizerits himself, and so on.

But the ‘Russian scoundrels’ paid no attention to his vociferations, and

hurried on as fast as they could to the castle. They were all silent, as

they walked through the garden, though Anna Vassilyevna sighed a little.

But when they reached the carriages and stood still, they broke into

an irrepressible, irresistible fit of Homeric laughter. First Shubin

exploded, shrieking as if he were mad, Bersenyev followed with his

gurgling guffaw, then Zoya fell into thin tinkling little trills, Anna

Vassilyevna too suddenly broke down, Elena could not help smiling, and

even Insarov at last could not resist it. But the loudest, longest, most

persistent laugh was Uvar Ivanovitch’s; he laughed till his sides ached,

till he choked and panted. He would calm down a little, then would

murmur through his tears: ‘I--thought--what’s that splash--and

there--he--went plop.’ And with the last word, forced out with

convulsive effort, his whole frame was shaking with another burst of

laughter. Zoya made him worse. ‘I saw his legs,’ she said, ‘kicking in

the air.’ ‘Yes, yes,’ gasped Uvar Ivanovitch, ‘his legs, his legs--and

then splash!--there he plopped in!’

‘And how did Mr. Insarov manage it? why the German was three times his

size?’ said Zoya.

‘I’ll tell you,’ answered Uvar Ivanovitch, rubbing his eyes, ‘I saw;

with one arm about his waist, he tripped him up, and he went plop! I

heard--a splash--there he went.’

Long after the carriages had started, long after the castle of

Tsaritsino was out of sight, Uvar Ivanovitch was still unable to regain

his composure. Shubin, who was again with him in the carriage, began to

cry shame on him at last.

Insarov felt ashamed. He sat in the coach facing Elena (Bersenyev had

taken his seat on the box), and he said nothing; she too was silent. He

thought that she was condemning his action; but she did not condemn him.

She had been scared at the first minute; then the expression of his face

had impressed her; afterwards she pondered on it all. It was not quite

clear to her what the nature of her reflections was. The emotion she had

felt during the day had passed away; that she realised; but its

place had been taken by another feeling which she did not yet fully

understand. The _partie de plaisir_ had been prolonged too late;

insensibly evening passed into night. The carriage rolled swiftly along,

now beside ripening cornfields, where the air was heavy and fragrant

with the smell of wheat; now beside wide meadows, from which a sudden

wave of freshness blew lightly in the face. The sky seemed to lie

like smoke over the horizon. At last the moon rose, dark and red. Anna

Vassilyevna was dozing; Zoya had poked her head out of window and was

staring at the road. It occurred to Elena at last that she had not

spoken to Insarov for more than an hour. She turned to him with a

trifling question; he at once answered her, delighted. Dim sounds began

stirring indistinctly in the air, as though thousands of voices were

talking in the distance; Moscow was coming to meet them. Lights twinkled

afar off; they grew more and more frequent; at last there was the

grating of the cobbles under their wheels. Anna Vassilyevna awoke, every

one in the carriage began talking, though no one could hear what was

said; everything was drowned in the rattle of the cobbles under the two

carriages, and the hoofs of the eight horses. Long and wearisome seemed

the journey from Moscow to Kuntsovo; all the party were asleep or

silent, leaning with their heads pressed into their respective

corners; Elena did not close her eyes; she kept them fixed on Insarov’s

dimly-outlined figure. A mood of sadness had come upon Shubin; the

breeze was blowing into his eyes and irritating him; he retired into the

collar of his cloak and was on the point of tears. Uvar Ivanovitch was

snoring blissfully, rocking from side to side. The carriages came to a

standstill at last. Two men-servants lifted Anna Vassilyevna out of

the carriage; she was all to pieces, and at parting from her fellow

travellers, announced that she was ‘nearly dead’; they began thanking

her, but she only repeated, ‘nearly dead.’ Elena for the first time

pressed Insarov’s hand at parting, and for a long while she sat at her

window before undressing; Shubin seized an opportunity to whisper to

Bersenyev:

‘There, isn’t he a hero; he can pitch drunken Germans into the river!’

‘While you didn’t even do that,’ retorted Bersenyev, and he started

homewards with Insarov.

The dawn was already showing in the sky when the two friends reached

their lodging. The sun had not yet risen, but already the chill of

daybreak was in the air, a grey dew covered the grass, and the first

larks were trilling high, high up in the shadowy infinity of air, whence

like a solitary eye looked out the great, last star.