'He has gone away, he has gone away... he believed him!' Susanna was
saying meanwhile. 'He did not care even to question me; he thought I
should not tell him all the truth, he could think that of me! As though
I had ever deceived him!'
She bit her lower lip, and bending a little, began to scratch with her
nail the patterns of ice that covered the window-pane. I went hastily
into the next room, and sending my servant away, came back at once and
lighted another candle. I had no clear idea why I was doing all this....
I was greatly overcome. Susanna was sitting as before on the
window-seat, and it was at this moment that I noticed how lightly she
was dressed: a grey gown with white buttons and a broad leather belt,
that was all. I went up to her, but she did not take any notice of me.
'He believed it,... he believed it,' she whispered, swaying softly from
side to side. 'He did not hesitate, he dealt me this last... last blow!'
She turned suddenly to me. 'You know his address?'
'Yes, Susanna Ivanovna.. I learnt it from his servants... at his house.
He told me nothing of his intention; I had not seen him for two
days--went to inquire and he had already left Moscow.'
'You know his address?' she repeated. 'Well, write to him then that he
has killed me. You are a good man, I know. He did not talk to you of me,
I dare say, but he talked to me about you. Write... ah, write to him to
come back quickly, if he wants to find me alive!... No! He will not find
me!...'
Susanna's voice grew quieter at each word, and she was quieter
altogether. But this calm seemed to me more awful than the previous
sobs.
'He believed him,...' she said again, and rested her chin on her clasped
hands.
A sudden squall of wind beat upon the window with a sharp whistle and a
thud of snow. A cold draught passed over the room.... The candles
flickered.... Susanna shivered. Again I begged her to sit on the sofa.
'No, no, let me be,' she answered, 'I am all right here. Please.' She
huddled up to the frozen pane, as though she had found herself a refuge
in the recesses of the window. 'Please.'
'But you're shivering, you're frozen,' I cried, 'Look, your shoes are
soaked.'
'Let me be... please...' she whispered,. and closed her eyes.
A panic seized me.
'Susanna Ivanovna!' I almost screamed: 'do rouse yourself, I entreat
you! What is the matter with you? Why such despair? You will see, every
thing will be cleared up, some misunderstanding... some unlooked-for
chance.... You will see, he will soon be back. I will let him know.... I
will write to him to-day.... But I will not repeat your words.... Is it
possible!'
'He will not find me,' Susanna murmured, still in the same subdued
voice. 'Do you suppose I would have come here, to you, to a stranger, if
I had not known I should not long be living? Ah, all my past has been
swept away beyond return! You see, I could not bear to die so, in
solitude, in silence, without saying to some one, "I've lost every
thing... and I'm dying.... Look!"'
She drew back into her cold little corner.... Never shall I forget that
head, those fixed eyes with their deep, burnt-out look, those dark,
disordered tresses against the pale window-pane, even the grey, narrow
gown, under every fold of which throbbed such young, passionate life!
Unconsciously I flung up my hands.
'You... you die, Susanna Ivanovna! You have only to live.... You must
live!'
She looked at me.... My words seemed to surprise her.
'Ah, you don't know,' she began, and she softly dropped both her hands.
'I cannot live, Too much, too much I have had to suffer, too much! I
lived through it.... I hoped... but now... when even this is
shattered... when...'
She raised her eyes to the ceiling and seemed to sink into thought. The
tragic line, which I had once noticed about her lips, came out now still
more clearly; it seemed to spread across her whole face. It seemed as
though some relentless hand had drawn it immutably, had set a mark for
ever on this lost soul.
She was still silent.
'Susanna Ivanovna,' I said, to break that awful silence with anything;
'he will come back, I assure you!'
Susanna looked at me again.
'What do you say?' she enunciated with visible effort.
'He will come back, Susanna Ivanovna, Alexander will come back!'
'He will come back?' she repeated. 'But even if he did come back, I
cannot forgive him this humiliation, this lack of faith....'
She clutched at her head.
'My God! my God! what am I saying, and why am I here? What is it all?
What... what did I come to ask... and whom? Ah, I am going mad!...'
Her eyes came to a rest.
'You wanted to ask me to write to Alexander,' I made haste to remind
her.
She started.
'Yes, write, write to him... what you like.... And here...' She
hurriedly fumbled in her pocket and brought out a little manuscript
book. 'This I was writing for him... before he ran away.... But he
believed... he believed him!'
I understood that her words referred to Viktor; Susanna would not
mention him, would not utter his detested name.
'But, Susanna Ivanovna, excuse me,' I began, 'what makes you suppose
that Alexander Daviditch had any conversation... with that person?'
'What? Why, he himself came to me and told me all about it, and bragged
of it... and laughed just as his father laughs! Here, here, take it,'
she went on, thrusting the manuscript into my hand, 'read it, send it to
him, burn it, throw it away, do what you like, as you please.... But I
can't die like this with no one knowing.... Now it is time.... I must
go.'
She got up from the window-seat.... I stopped her.
'Where are you going, Susanna Ivanovna, mercy on us! Listen, what a
storm is raging! You are so lightly dressed.... And your home is not
near here. Let me at least go for a carriage, for a sledge....'
'No, no, I want nothing,' she said resolutely, repelling me and taking
up her cloak and shawl. 'Don't keep me, for God's sake! or... I can't
answer for anything! I feel an abyss, a dark abyss under my feet....
Don't come near me, don't touch me!' With feverish haste she put on her
cloak, arranged her shawl.... 'Good-bye... good-bye.... Oh, my unhappy
people, for ever strangers, a curse lies upon us! No one has ever cared
for me, was it likely he...' She suddenly ceased. 'No; one man loved
me,' she began again, wringing her hands, 'but death is all about me,
death and no escape! Now it is my turn.... Don't come after me,' she
cried shrilly. 'Don't come! don't come!'
I was petrified, while she rushed out; and an instant later, I heard the
slam downstairs of the heavy street door, and the window panes shook
again under the violent onslaught of the blast.
I could not quickly recover myself. I was only beginning life in those
days: I had had no experience of passion nor of suffering, and had
rarely witnessed any manifestation of strong feeling in others.... But
the sincerity of this suffering, of this passion, impressed me. If it
had not been for the manuscript in my hands, I might have thought that I
had dreamed it all--it was all so unlikely, and swooped by like a
passing storm. I was till midnight reading the manuscript. It consisted
of several sheets of letter-paper, closely covered with a large,
irregular writing, almost without an erasure. Not a single line was
quite straight, and one seemed in every one of them to feel the excited
trembling of the hand that held the pen. Here follows what was in the
manuscript. I have kept it to this day.