This was what Dimitri Sanin remembered when in the stillness of his
room turning over his old papers he found among them a garnet cross.
The events we have described rose clearly and consecutively before his
mental vision…. But when he reached the moment when he addressed that
humiliating prayer to Madame Polozov, when he grovelled at her feet,
when his slavery began, he averted his gaze from the images he had
evoked, he tried to recall no more. And not that his memory failed him,
oh no! he knew only too well what followed upon that moment, but he was
stifled by shame, even now, so many years after; he dreaded that
feeling of self-contempt, which he knew for certain would overwhelm
him, and like a torrent, flood all other feelings if he did not bid his
memory be still. But try as he would to turn away from these memories,
he could not stifle them entirely. He remembered the scoundrelly,
tearful, lying, pitiful letter he had sent to Gemma, that never
received an answer…. See her again, go back to her, after such
falsehood, such treachery, no! no! he could not, so much conscience and
honesty was left in him. Moreover, he had lost every trace of
confidence in himself, every atom of self-respect; he dared not rely on
himself for anything. Sanin recollected too how he had later on—oh,
ignominy!—sent the Polozovs’ footman to Frankfort for his things, what
cowardly terror he had felt, how he had had one thought only, to get
away as soon as might be to Paris—to Paris; how in obedience to Maria
Nikolaevna, he had humoured and tried to please Ippolit Sidoritch and
been amiable to Dönhof, on whose finger he noticed just such an iron
ring as Maria Nikolaevna had given him!!! Then followed memories still
worse, more ignominious … the waiter hands him a visiting card, and on
it is the name, “Pantaleone Cippatola, court singer to His Highness the
Duke of Modena!” He hides from the old man, but cannot escape meeting
him in the corridor, and a face of exasperation rises before him under
an upstanding topknot of grey hair; the old eyes blaze like red-hot
coals, and he hears menacing cries and curses: “_Maledizione!_” hears
even the terrible words: “_Codardo! Infame traditore!_” Sanin closes
his eyes, shakes his head, turns away again and again, but still he
sees himself sitting in a travelling carriage on the narrow front seat
… In the comfortable places facing the horses sit Maria Nikolaevna and
Ippolit Sidoritch, the four horses trotting all together fly along the
paved roads of Wiesbaden to Paris! to Paris! Ippolit Sidoritch is
eating a pear which Sanin has peeled for him, while Maria Nikolaevna
watches him and smiles at him, her bondslave, that smile he knows
already, the smile of the proprietor, the slave-owner…. But, good God,
out there at the corner of the street not far from the city walls,
wasn’t it Pantaleone again, and who with him? Can it be Emilio? Yes, it
was he, the enthusiastic devoted boy! Not long since his young face had
been full of reverence before his hero, his ideal, but now his pale
handsome face, so handsome that Maria Nikolaevna noticed him and poked
her head out of the carriage window, that noble face is glowing with
anger and contempt; his eyes, so like _her_ eyes! are fastened upon
Sanin, and the tightly compressed lips part to revile him….
And Pantaleone stretches out his hand and points Sanin out to Tartaglia
standing near, and Tartaglia barks at Sanin, and the very bark of the
faithful dog sounds like an unbearable reproach…. Hideous!
And then, the life in Paris, and all the humiliations, all the
loathsome tortures of the slave, who dare not be jealous or complain,
and who is cast aside at last, like a worn-out garment….
Then the going home to his own country, the poisoned, the devastated
life, the petty interests and petty cares, bitter and fruitless regret,
and as bitter and fruitless apathy, a punishment not apparent, but of
every minute, continuous, like some trivial but incurable disease, the
payment farthing by farthing of the debt, which can never be settled….
The cup was full enough.
How had the garnet cross given Sanin by Gemma existed till now, why had
he not sent it back, how had it happened that he had never come across
it till that day? A long, long while he sat deep in thought, and taught
as he was by the experience of so many years, he still could not
comprehend how he could have deserted Gemma, so tenderly and
passionately loved, for a woman he did not love at all…. Next day he
surprised all his friends and acquaintances by announcing that he was
going abroad.
The surprise was general in society. Sanin was leaving Petersburg, in
the middle of the winter, after having only just taken and furnished a
capital flat, and having even secured seats for all the performances of
the Italian Opera, in which Madame Patti … Patti, herself, herself, was
to take part! His friends and acquaintances wondered; but it is not
human nature as a rule to be interested long in other people’s affairs,
and when Sanin set off for abroad, none came to the railway station to
see him off but a French tailor, and he only in the hope of securing an
unpaid account “_pour un saute-en-barque en velours noir tout à fait
chic_.”