YESTERDAY, the conjurer Apfelbaum arrived here. A long placard made its
appearance on the door of the restaurant, informing the most respected
public that the above-mentioned marvellous conjurer, acrobat, chemist,
and optician would have the honour to give a magnificent performance on
the present day at eight o’clock in the evening, in the saloon of the
Nobles’ Club (in other words, the restaurant); tickets--two rubles and a
half each.
Everyone intends to go and see the marvellous conjurer; even Princess
Ligovski has taken a ticket for herself, in spite of her daughter being
ill.
After dinner to-day, I walked past Vera’s windows; she was sitting by
herself on the balcony. A note fell at my feet:
“Come to me at ten o’clock this evening by the large staircase. My
husband has gone to Pyatigorsk and will not return before to-morrow
morning. My servants and maids will not be at home; I have distributed
tickets to all of them, and to the princess’s servants as well. I await
you; come without fail.”
“Aha!” I said to myself, “so then it has turned out at last as I thought
it would.”
At eight o’clock I went to see the conjurer. The public assembled before
the stroke of nine. The performance began. On the back rows of chairs
I recognized Vera’s and Princess Ligovski’s menservants and maids. They
were all there, every single one. Grushnitski, with his lorgnette, was
sitting in the front row, and the conjurer had recourse to him every
time he needed a handkerchief, a watch, a ring and so forth.
For some time past, Grushnitski has ceased to bow to me, and to-day
he has looked at me rather insolently once or twice. It will all be
remembered to him when we come to settle our scores.
Before ten o’clock had struck, I stood up and went out.
It was dark outside, pitch dark. Cold, heavy clouds were lying on the
summit of the surrounding mountains, and only at rare intervals did
the dying breeze rustle the tops of the poplars which surrounded
the restaurant. People were crowding at the windows. I went down the
mountain and, turning in under the gate, I hastened my pace. Suddenly it
seemed to me that somebody was following my steps. I stopped and looked
round. It was impossible to make out anything in the darkness. However,
out of caution, I walked round the house, as if taking a stroll. Passing
Princess Mary’s windows, I again heard steps behind me; a man wrapped in
a cloak ran by me. That rendered me uneasy, but I crept up to the flight
of steps, and hastily mounted the dark staircase. A door opened, and a
little hand seized mine...
“Nobody has seen you?” said Vera in a whisper, clinging to me.
“Nobody.”
“Now do you believe that I love you? Oh! I have long hesitated, long
tortured myself... But you can do anything you like with me.”
Her heart was beating violently, her hands were cold as ice. She broke
out into complaints and jealous reproaches. She demanded that I should
confess everything to her, saying that she would bear my faithlessness
with submission, because her sole desire was that I should be happy. I
did not quite believe that, but I calmed her with oaths, promises and so
on.
“So you will not marry Mary? You do not love her?... But she thinks...
Do you know, she is madly in love with you, poor girl!”...
*****
About two o’clock in the morning I opened the window and, tying two
shawls together, I let myself down from the upper balcony to the lower,
holding on by the pillar. A light was still burning in Princess Mary’s
room. Something drew me towards that window. The curtain was not quite
drawn, and I was able to cast a curious glance into the interior of the
room. Mary was sitting on her bed, her hands crossed upon her knees;
her thick hair was gathered up under a lace-frilled nightcap; her white
shoulders were covered by a large crimson kerchief, and her little feet
were hidden in a pair of many-coloured Persian slippers. She was sitting
quite still, her head sunk upon her breast; on a little table in front
of her was an open book; but her eyes, fixed and full of inexpressible
grief, seemed for the hundredth time to be skimming the same page whilst
her thoughts were far away.
At that moment somebody stirred behind a shrub. I leaped from the
balcony on to the sward. An invisible hand seized me by the shoulder.
“Aha!” said a rough voice: “caught!... I’ll teach you to be entering
princesses’ rooms at night!”
“Hold him fast!” exclaimed another, springing out from a corner.
It was Grushnitski and the captain of dragoons.
I struck the latter on the head with my fist, knocked him off his feet,
and darted into the bushes. All the paths of the garden which covered
the slope opposite our houses were known to me.
“Thieves, guard!”... they cried.
A gunshot rang out; a smoking wad fell almost at my feet.
Within a minute I was in my own room, undressed and in bed. My
manservant had only just locked the door when Grushnitski and the
captain began knocking for admission.
“Pechorin! Are you asleep? Are you there?”... cried the captain.
“I am in bed,” I answered angrily.
“Get up! Thieves!... Circassians!”...
“I have a cold,” I answered. “I am afraid of catching a chill.”
They went away. I had gained no useful purpose by answering them: they
would have been looking for me in the garden for another hour or so.
Meanwhile the alarm became terrific. A Cossack galloped up from the
fortress. The commotion was general; Circassians were looked for in
every shrub--and of course none were found. Probably, however, a good
many people were left with the firm conviction that, if only more
courage and despatch had been shown by the garrison, at least a score of
brigands would have failed to get away with their lives.