In Tatiana Markovna’s house, servants, cooks and coachmen were all
astir, and at a very early hour in the morning were already drunk. The
mistress of the house herself was unusually silent and sad when she let
Marfinka go with her future mother-in-law. She had no instructions or
advice to give, and hardly listened to Marfinka’s questions about what
she ought to take with her. “What you like,” she said absently, and gave
orders to Vassilissa and the maid who was going with Marfinka to
Kolchino to put everything in order and pack up what was necessary. She
handed over her dear child to Marfa Egorovna’s charge, at the same time
pointing out to Marfinka’s fiancé that he must take the greatest care of
her, and that in order not to give strangers a wrong impression, he must
be more dignified and must not chase about the garden and the woods with
her as he did in Malinovka.
When she saw that Vikentev coloured at this advice, which indicated
doubt of his tactfulness, and that Marfa Egorovna bit her underlip,
Tatiana Markovna changed her tone; she laid her hand on his shoulder
calling him “Dear Nikolinka,” and telling him that she knew herself how
unnecessary her words were, but that old women liked to preach. Then she
sighed, and said not another word to her guests before their departure.
Vera too came to breakfast; she looked pale, and it was clear that she
had had a sleepless night. She said she still had a headache, but felt
better than she did yesterday. There was no change in Tatiana Markovna’s
affectionate manner to her. Now and then Marfa Egorovna cast questioning
glances in Vera’s direction. What was the meaning of pain without any
definite illness? Why did she not appear yesterday until after dinner,
and then only for a moment, to go out followed by Tushin. What had they
found to say to one another for an hour in the twilight? Being a
sensible woman she did not pursue these inquiries, though they flashed
for a moment in her eyes; nevertheless Vera saw them, although they were
quickly exchanged for looks of sympathy. Neither did Marfa Egorovna’s
questioning glances escape Tatiana Markovna, who kept her eyes on the
ground, while Vera maintained her indifferent manner. Already people are
wondering what had happened, thought Tatiana Markovna sadly; on my arms
she came into the world, she is my child and yet I do not know what her
trouble is.
Raisky had been out for a walk before breakfast, and wore on his face a
look as if he had just come to a decision on a momentous question. He
looked at Vera as calmly as at the others, and did not avoid Tatiana
Markovna’s eyes. He promised Vikentev to come over to see him in a day
or two, and listened attentively to his guest’s conversation about
hunting and fishing.
At last everything was ready for their departure. Tatiana Markovna and
Raisky went with their guests as far as the Volga, leaving Vera at home.
Vera’s world had always been a small one, and its boundaries were now
drawn more narrowly than ever. She had been contented during the long
years with the observation and experience which were accessible to her
in her immediate environment. Her small circle represented to her the
crowd; she made her own in a short time what it took others many years
in many places to learn. Unlike Marfinka she was cautious in her
sympathies, granting her friendship only to the priest’s wife and to
Tushin, whom she openly called her friend. The simple things and the
simple people who surrounded her did not serve only trivial purposes.
She understood how to embroider on this ordinary canvas the bold pattern
of a richer life with other needs, thoughts and feelings; she guessed at
these by reading between the lines of everyday life other lines which
expressed the desires of her mind and heart. If she was cautious in her
sympathies she was excessively so in the sphere of thought and knowledge.
She read books from the library in the old house, taking from the
shelves at first without choice or system as a pastime whatever came
into her hands; then she began to experience curiosity, and finally a
definite desire for knowledge. She was keen-sighted enough to understand
how aimless and unfruitful it was to wander among these other minds
without any guiding thread. Without making direct inquiries she procured
some explanations from Koslov, and although she understood many things
at a bound, she never let it be seen that she had any knowledge of
things beyond her immediate circle. Without losing sight of Koslov’s
instructions she read the books once more, to find that they meant much
more to her and that her interest in them was steadily increasing. At
the request of the young priest, Natasha’s husband, she brought him
books too, and listened when he expressed his views on this or that
author, without herself adopting the seminarist view.
Later on she came into contact with Mark, who brought a new light to
bear on all that she had read and heard and known; his attitude was one
of blank denial. No authority in heaven or earth weighed with him, he
despised science as it had hitherto developed, and made no distinction
between virtue and crime. If he thought that he would soon be able to
triumph over Vera’s convictions he was mistaken. She regarded these bold
and often alluring ideas with shy admiration, without giving herself up
blindly to their influence; she listened cautiously to the preaching of
the apostle, but found in it neither a new life, nor happiness, nor
truth, and, though she followed attentively what he had to say, it was
only because she was drawn on by the ardent desire to find the reality
that lay behind Mark’s extraordinary and audacious personality. Mark
displayed his unsparing negation, enmity and scorn against all that men
believe, love and hope for; Vera did not agree with all she heard,
because she observed the malady that lay concealed behind the teaching,
even if she could not discover where it lay. Her Columbus could show her
nothing but a row of open graves standing ready to receive all that by
which society had hitherto existed. Vera remembered the story of
Pharaoh’s lean kine, which without themselves becoming fatter devoured
the fat kine.
Mark would have despoiled mankind of his crown in the name of wisdom; he
would acknowledge in him nothing but an animal organism. And while he
denied man in man, denied him the possession of a soul and the right to
immortality, he yet spoke of his strivings to introduce a better order
of things, neglecting to observe that in accordance with his own theory
of the chance arrangement of existence, by which men herd together like
flies in the hot weather; such efforts were useless.
Granting the correctness of his ideas as a premiss, thought Vera, there
can be no sense in striving to be better, kinder, truer and purer, if
this life enduring only for a few decades is the end of all things. When
she looked deeper into the matter and examined the new truth taught by
the young apostle, the new conception of good and the new revelation,
she saw with astonishment that what in his talk was good and
incontrovertible was not new, that it was derived from sources from
which others also drew, who certainly did not belong to the new society;
she recognised that the seed of the new civilisation which he preached
with so much boastfulness and such a parade of mystery lay in the
old-fashioned doctrine, and for this reason she believed more firmly than
ever in the older philosophy of life. She looked on Mark’s personality
with such suspicion that she gradually withdrew herself from his
influence. Hideously disturbed by his audacity of thought, she had even
gone so far as to tell Tatiana Markovna of this accidental acquaintance,
with the result that the old lady told the servants to keep a watch on
the garden, but Volokov came from the direction of the precipice, from
which the watchmen were effectually kept away by their superstitious
fears. Mark himself had noted Vera’s distrust, and he set himself to
overcome it.
He was the more easily able to accomplish this because, when her
interest was once awakened, she met him halfway, imperceptibly to
herself. She meditated carefully on the facts that made up her life; her
mind was occupied by new questionings, and for that reason she listened
more attentively to his words when she met him in the fields. Often they
went out walking on the banks of the Volga, and eventually found a
meeting-place in the arbour at the bottom of the precipice. Gradually
Vera adopted a more active role in their intercourse. She wanted to
convert him, to lead him back to the acceptance of proved truth, the
truth of love, of human as opposed to animal happiness, of faith and
hope. Mark gave way in some things, though only gradually; his manners
became less eccentric, he was less provocative in his behaviour to the
police than before, he lived in a more orderly fashion, and ceased to
stud his conversation with cynical remarks.
The change pleased Vera, and this was the cause of the happy excitement
that Tatiana Markovna and Raisky had remarked in her. Since her
influence was effective even if only in what affected his external life,
she hoped by incessant effort and sacrifice gradually to produce a
miracle; her reward was to be the happiness of being loved by the man of
her heart’s choice. She flattered herself that she would be introducing
a new strong man into society. If he were to show himself in wisdom and
strength of will, simply and reliable, as Tushin was, her life was
mapped out for her. While she was engaged in these efforts she allowed
her passionate nature to be carried away by his personality; she fell in
love, not with his doctrine, which she refused to accept, but with
himself. He called to new activity, but she saw in his appeal nothing
more than the lending of forbidden books. She agreed with him that work
was necessary, and herself avoided idleness; she drew up for herself a
picture of simple genuine activity for the future, and envied Marfinka
because she understood how to make herself useful in the house and the
village. She intended to share these labours with her sister when once
the stiff battle with Mark had been brought to a conclusion; but the
struggle was not to end with a victory for either one or the other, but
with mutual overthrow and a permanent separation.
These were the thoughts that passed through Vera’s mind while Tatiana
Markovna and Raisky were accompanying their guests and Marfinka as far
as the Volga. What was the Wolf doing now? was he enjoying his triumph?
She took from her letter case a sealed letter on blue paper which she
had received early that morning and looked at it thoughtfully for a
minute before she threw it down with its seals unbroken on the table.
All her troubles were submerged in the painful question, what would
become of her Grandmother. Raisky had already whispered to Vera that he
would speak to Tatiana Markovna that evening if she were alone, and that
he would take care that none of the servants should have the opportunity
of seeing the impression which the news was bound to make on her. Vera
shivered with foreboding when he spoke of these precautions; she would
have liked to have died before evening came. After her talk of past
events with Raisky and Tushin she recovered something of her usual
calmness; a part of her burden was gone now that, like a sailor in a
storm, she had lightened the ship of some of its ballast, but she felt
that the heaviest load of all still lay on her conscience. It is
impossible to go on living like this, she told herself, as she made her
way to the chapel. There, on her knees, she looked anxiously up at the
holy picture as if she expected a sign, but the sign she longed for was
not granted, and she passed out of the chapel in despair as one who lay
under the ban of God.