NATALYA MIHALOVNA, a young married lady who had arrived in the
morning from Yalta, was having her dinner, and in a never-ceasing
flow of babble was telling her husband of all the charms of the
Crimea. Her husband, delighted, gazed tenderly at her enthusiastic
face, listened, and from time to time put in a question.
"But they say living is dreadfully expensive there?" he asked, among
other things.
"Well, what shall I say? To my thinking this talk of its being so
expensive is exaggerated, hubby. The devil is not as black as he
is painted. Yulia Petrovna and I, for instance, had very decent and
comfortable rooms for twenty roubles a day. Everything depends on
knowing how to do things, my dear. Of course if you want to go up
into the mountains . . . to Aie-Petri for instance . . . if you
take a horse, a guide, then of course it does come to something.
It's awful what it comes to! But, Vassitchka, the mountains there!
Imagine high, high mountains, a thousand times higher than the
church. . . . At the top--mist, mist, mist. . . . At the bottom
--enormous stones, stones, stones. . . . And pines. . . . Ah, I
can't bear to think of it!"
"By the way, I read about those Tatar guides there, in some magazine
while you were away . . . . such abominable stories! Tell me is
there really anything out of the way about them?"
Natalya Mihalovna made a little disdainful grimace and shook her
head.
"Just ordinary Tatars, nothing special . . ." she said, "though
indeed I only had a glimpse of them in the distance. They were
pointed out to me, but I did not take much notice of them. You know,
hubby, I always had a prejudice against all such Circassians, Greeks
. . . Moors!"
"They are said to be terrible Don Juans."
"Perhaps! There are shameless creatures who . . . ."
Natalya Mihalovna suddenly jumped up from her chair, as though she
had thought of something dreadful; for half a minute she looked
with frightened eyes at her husband and said, accentuating each
word:
"Vassitchka, I say, the im-mo-ral women there are in the world! Ah,
how immoral! And it's not as though they were working-class or
middle-class people, but aristocratic ladies, priding themselves
on their _bon-ton!_ It was simply awful, I could not believe my own
eyes! I shall remember it as long as I live! To think that people
can forget themselves to such a point as . . . ach, Vassitchka, I
don't like to speak of it! Take my companion, Yulia Petrovna, for
example. . . . Such a good husband, two children . . . she moves
in a decent circle, always poses as a saint--and all at once,
would you believe it. . . . Only, hubby, of course this is _entre
nous_. . . . Give me your word of honour you won't tell a soul?"
"What next! Of course I won't tell."
"Honour bright? Mind now! I trust you. . . ."
The little lady put down her fork, assumed a mysterious air, and
whispered:
"Imagine a thing like this. . . . That Yulia Petrovna rode up into
the mountains . . . . It was glorious weather! She rode on ahead
with her guide, I was a little behind. We had ridden two or three
miles, all at once, only fancy, Vassitchka, Yulia cried out and
clutched at her bosom. Her Tatar put his arm round her waist or she
would have fallen off the saddle. . . . I rode up to her with my
guide. . . . 'What is it? What is the matter?' 'Oh,' she cried, 'I
am dying! I feel faint! I can't go any further' Fancy my alarm!
'Let us go back then,' I said. 'No, _Natalie_,' she said, 'I can't
go back! I shall die of pain if I move another step! I have spasms.'
And she prayed and besought my Suleiman and me to ride back to the
town and fetch her some of her drops which always do her good."
"Stay. . . . I don't quite understand you," muttered the husband,
scratching his forehead. "You said just now that you had only seen
those Tatars from a distance, and now you are talking of some
Suleiman."
"There, you are finding fault again," the lady pouted, not in the
least disconcerted. "I can't endure suspiciousness! I can't endure
it! It's stupid, stupid!"
"I am not finding fault, but . . . why say what is not true? If you
rode about with Tatars, so be it, God bless you, but . . . why
shuffle about it?"
"H'm! . . . you are a queer one!" cried the lady, revolted. "He is
jealous of Suleiman! as though one could ride up into the mountains
without a guide! I should like to see you do it! If you don't know
the ways there, if you don't understand, you had better hold your
tongue! Yes, hold your tongue. You can't take a step there without
a guide."
"So it seems!"
"None of your silly grins, if you please! I am not a Yulia. . . .
I don't justify her but I . . . ! Though I don't pose as a saint,
I don't forget myself to that degree. My Suleiman never overstepped
the limits. . . . No-o! Mametkul used to be sitting at Yulia's all
day long, but in my room as soon as it struck eleven: 'Suleiman,
march! Off you go!' And my foolish Tatar boy would depart. I made
him mind his p's and q's, hubby! As soon as he began grumbling about
money or anything, I would say 'How? Wha-at? Wha-a-a-t?' And his
heart would be in his mouth directly. . . . Ha-ha-ha! His eyes, you
know, Vassitchka, were as black, as black, like coals, such an
amusing little Tatar face, so funny and silly! I kept him in order,
didn't I just!"
"I can fancy . . ." mumbled her husband, rolling up pellets of
bread.
"That's stupid, Vassitchka! I know what is in your mind! I know
what you are thinking . . . But I assure you even when we were on
our expeditions I never let him overstep the limits. For instance,
if we rode to the mountains or to the U-Chan-Su waterfall, I would
always say to him, 'Suleiman, ride behind! Do you hear!' And he
always rode behind, poor boy. . . . Even when we . . . even at the
most dramatic moments I would say to him, 'Still, you must not
forget that you are only a Tatar and I am the wife of a civil
councillor!' Ha-ha. . . ."
The little lady laughed, then, looking round her quickly and assuming
an alarmed expression, whispered:
"But Yulia! Oh, that Yulia! I quite see, Vassitchka, there is no
reason why one shouldn't have a little fun, a little rest from the
emptiness of conventional life! That's all right, have your fling
by all means--no one will blame you, but to take the thing
seriously, to get up scenes . . . no, say what you like, I cannot
understand that! Just fancy, she was jealous! Wasn't that silly?
One day Mametkul, her _grande passion_, came to see her . . . she
was not at home. . . . Well, I asked him into my room . . . there
was conversation, one thing and another . . . they're awfully
amusing, you know! The evening passed without our noticing it. . . .
All at once Yulia rushed in. . . . She flew at me and at Mametkul
--made such a scene . . . fi! I can't understand that sort of
thing, Vassitchka."
Vassitchka cleared his throat, frowned, and walked up and down the
room.
"You had a gay time there, I must say," he growled with a disdainful
smile.
"How stu-upid that is!" cried Natalya Mihalovna, offended. "I know
what you are thinking about! You always have such horrid ideas! I
won't tell you anything! No, I won't!"
The lady pouted and said no more.