ABOUT seven o’clock in the evening, I was walking on the boulevard.
Grushnitski perceived me a long way off, and came up to me. A sort of
ridiculous rapture was shining in his eyes. He pressed my hand warmly,
and said in a tragic voice:
“I thank you, Pechorin... You understand me?”
“No; but in any case it is not worth gratitude,” I answered, not having,
in fact, any good deed upon my conscience.
“What? But yesterday! Have you forgotten?... Mary has told me
everything”...
“Why! Have you everything in common so soon as this? Even gratitude?”...
“Listen,” said Grushnitski very earnestly; “pray do not make fun of
my love, if you wish to remain my friend... You see, I love her to the
point of madness... and I think--I hope--she loves me too... I have a
request to make of you. You will be at their house this evening; promise
me to observe everything. I know you are experienced in these matters,
you know women better than I... Women! Women! Who can understand them?
Their smiles contradict their glances, their words promise and allure,
but the tone of their voice repels... At one time they grasp and divine
in a moment our most secret thoughts, at another they cannot understand
the clearest hints... Take Princess Mary, now: yesterday her eyes, as
they rested upon me, were blazing with passion; to-day they are dull and
cold”...
“That is possibly the result of the waters,” I replied.
“You see the bad side of everything... materialist,” he added
contemptuously. “However, let us talk of other matters.”
And, satisfied with his bad pun, he cheered up.
At nine o’clock we went to Princess Ligovski’s together.
Passing by Vera’s windows, I saw her looking out. We threw a fleeting
glance at each other. She entered the Ligovskis’ drawing-room soon after
us. Princess Ligovski presented me to her, as a relation of her own. Tea
was served. The guests were numerous, and the conversation was general.
I endeavoured to please the Princess, jested, and made her laugh
heartily a few times. Princess Mary, also, was more than once on the
point of bursting out laughing, but she restrained herself in order not
to depart from the role she had assumed. She finds languor becoming to
her, and perhaps she is not mistaken. Grushnitski appears to be very
glad that she is not infected by my gaiety.
After tea we all went into the drawingroom.
“Are you satisfied with my obedience, Vera?” I said as I was passing
her.
She threw me a glance full of love and gratitude. I have grown
accustomed to such glances; but at one time they constituted my
felicity. The Princess seated her daughter at the pianoforte, and all
the company begged her to sing. I kept silence, and, taking advantage
of the hubbub, I went aside to the window with Vera, who wished to
say something of great importance to both of us... It turned out to
be--nonsense...
Meanwhile my indifference was vexing Princess Mary, as I was able to
make out from a single angry, gleaming glance which she cast at me...
Oh! I understand the method of conversation wonderfully well: mute but
expressive, brief but forceful!...
She began to sing. She has a good voice, but she sings badly... However,
I was not listening.
Grushnitski, on the contrary, leaning his elbows on the grand piano,
facing her, was devouring her with his eyes and saying in an undertone
every minute: “Charmant! Delicieux!”
“Listen,” said Vera to me, “I do not wish you to make my husband’s
acquaintance, but you must, without fail, make yourself agreeable to
the Princess; that will be an easy task for you: you can do anything you
wish. It is only here that we shall see each other”...
“Only here?”...
She blushed and continued:
“You know that I am your slave: I have never been able to resist you...
and I shall be punished for it, you will cease to love me! At least,
I want to preserve my reputation... not for myself--that you know very
well!... Oh! I beseech you: do not torture me, as before, with idle
doubts and feigned coldness! It may be that I shall die soon; I feel
that I am growing weaker from day to day... And, yet, I cannot think of
the future life, I think only of you... You men do not understand the
delights of a glance, of a pressure of the hand... but as for me, I
swear to you that, when I listen to your voice, I feel such a deep,
strange bliss that the most passionate kisses could not take its place.”
Meanwhile, Princess Mary had finished her song. Murmurs of praise were
to be heard all around. I went up to her after all the other guests, and
said something rather carelessly to her on the subject of her voice.
She made a little grimace, pouting her lower lip, and dropped a very
sarcastic curtsey.
“That is all the more flattering,” she said, “because you have not been
listening to me at all; but perhaps you do not like music?”...
“On the contrary, I do... After dinner, especially.”
“Grushnitski is right in saying that you have very prosaic tastes... and
I see that you like music in a gastronomic respect.”
“You are mistaken again: I am by no means an epicure. I have a most
wretched digestion. But music after dinner puts one to sleep, and
to sleep after dinner is healthful; consequently I like music in a
medicinal respect. In the evening, on the contrary, it excites my nerves
too much: I become either too melancholy or too gay. Both are fatiguing,
where there is no positive reason for being either sorrowful or glad.
And, moreover, melancholy in society is ridiculous, and too great gaiety
is unbecoming”...
She did not hear me to the end, but went away and sat beside
Grushnitski, and they entered into a sort of sentimental conversation.
Apparently the Princess answered his sage phrases rather absent-mindedly
and inconsequently, although endeavouring to show that she was
listening to him with attention, because sometimes he looked at her in
astonishment, trying to divine the cause of the inward agitation which
was expressed at times in her restless glance...
But I have found you out, my dear Princess! Have a care! You want to pay
me back in the same coin, to wound my vanity--you will not succeed! And
if you declare war on me, I will be merciless!
In the course of the evening, I purposely tried a few times to join in
their conversation, but she met my remarks rather coldly, and, at
last, I retired in pretended vexation. Princess Mary was triumphant,
Grushnitski likewise. Triumph, my friends, and be quick about it!...
You will not have long to triumph!... It cannot be otherwise. I have
a presentiment... On making a woman’s acquaintance I have always
unerringly guessed whether she would fall in love with me or not.
The remaining part of the evening I spent at Vera’s side, and talked to
the full about the old days... Why does she love me so much? In truth, I
am unable to say, all the more so because she is the only woman who
has understood me perfectly, with all my petty weaknesses and evil
passions... Can it be that wickedness is so attractive?...
Grushnitski and I left the house together. In the street he took my arm,
and, after a long silence, said:
“Well?”
“You are a fool,” I should have liked to answer. But I restrained myself
and only shrugged my shoulders.