attention. His heart beat violently, and involuntarily he held his
breath. At last he caught the sound of light, hurrying footsteps, and
Natalya came into the arbour.
Rudin rushed up to her, and took her hands. They were cold as ice.
‘Natalya Alexyevna!’ he began, in an agitated whisper, ‘I wanted to see
you.... I could not wait till to-morrow. I must tell you what I did not
suspect--what I did not realise even this morning. I love you!’
Natalya’s hands trembled feebly in his.
‘I love you!’ he repeated, ‘and how could I have deceived myself so
long? How was it I did not guess long ago that I love you? And you?
Natalya Alexyevna, tell me!’
Natalya could scarcely draw her breath.
‘You see I have come here,’ she uttered, at last.
‘No, say that you love me!’
‘I think--yes,’ she whispered.
Rudin pressed her hands still more warmly, and tried to draw her to him.
Natalya looked quickly round.
‘Let me go--I am frightened.... I think some one is listening to us....
For God’s sake, be on your guard. Volintsev suspects.’
‘Never mind him! You saw I did not even answer him to-day.... Ah,
Natalya Alexyevna, how happy I am! Nothing shall sever us now!’
Natalya looked into his eyes.
‘Let me go,’ she whispered; ‘it’s time.’
‘One instant,’ began Rudin.
‘No, let me go, let me go.’
‘You seem afraid of me.’
‘No, but it’s time.’
‘Repeat, then, at least once more.’...
‘You say you are happy?’ asked Natalya.
‘I? No man in the world is happier than I am! Can you doubt it?’
Natalya lifted up her head. Very beautiful was her pale, noble, young
face, transformed by passion, in the mysterious shadows of the arbour,
in the faint light reflected from the evening sky.
‘I tell you then,’ she said, ‘I will be yours.’
‘Oh, my God!’ cried Rudin.
But Natalya made her escape, and was gone.
Rudin stood still a little while, then walked slowly out of the arbour.
The moon threw a light on his face; there was a smile on his lips.
‘I am happy,’ he uttered in a half whisper. ‘Yes, I am happy,’ he
repeated, as though he wanted to convince himself.
He straightened his tall figure, shook back his locks, and walked
quickly into the garden, with a happy gesture of his hands.
Meanwhile the bushes of the lilac arbour moved apart, and Pandalevsky
appeared. He looked around warily, shook his head, pursed up his mouth,
and said, significantly, ‘So that’s how it is. That must be brought to
Darya Mihailovna’s knowledge.’ And he vanished.
VIII
On his return home, Volintsev was so gloomy and dejected, he gave his
sister such listless answers, and so quickly locked himself up in his
room, that she decided to send a messenger to Lezhnyov. She always had
recourse to him in times of difficulty. Lezhnyov sent her word that he
would come in the next day.
Volintsev was no more cheerful in the morning. After tea he was starting
to superintend the work on the estate, but he stayed at home instead,
lay on the sofa, and took up a book--a thing he did not often do.
Volintsev had no taste for literature, and poetry simply alarmed
him. ‘This is as incomprehensible as poetry,’ he used to say, and, in
confirmation of his words, he used to quote the following lines from a
Russian poet:--
‘And till his gloomy lifetime’s close
Nor reason nor experience proud
Will crush nor crumple Destiny’s
Ensanguined forget-me-nots.’
Alexandra Pavlovna kept looking uneasily at her brother, but she did not
worry him with questions. A carriage drew up at the steps.
‘Ah!’ she thought, ‘Lezhnyov, thank goodness!’
A servant came in and announced the arrival of Rudin.
Volintsev flung his book on the floor, and raised his head. ‘Who has
come?’ he asked.
‘Rudin, Dmitri Nikolaitch,’ repeated the man. Volintsev got up.
‘Ask him in,’ he said, ‘and you, sister,’ he added, turning to Alexandra
Pavlovna, ‘leave us alone.’
‘But why?’ she was beginning.
‘I have a good reason,’ he interrupted, passionately. ‘I beg you to
leave us.’
Rudin entered. Volintsev, standing in the middle of the room, received
him with a chilly bow, without offering his hand.
‘Confess you did not expect me,’ began Rudin, and he laid his hat down
by the window. His lips were slightly twitching. He was ill at ease, but
tried to conceal his embarrassment.
‘I did not expect you, certainly,’ replied Volintsev, ‘after yesterday.
I should have more readily expected some one with a special message from
you.’
‘I understand what you mean,’ said Rudin, taking a seat, ‘and am very
grateful for your frankness. It is far better so. I have come myself to
you, as to a man of honour.’
‘Cannot we dispense with compliments?’ observed Volintsev.
‘I want to explain to you why I have come.’
‘We are acquainted; why should you not come? Besides, this is not the
first time you have honoured me with a visit.’
‘I came to you as one man of honour to another,’ repeated Rudin, ‘and
I want now to appeal to your sense of justice.... I have complete
confidence in you.’
‘What is the matter?’ said Volintsev, who all this time was still
standing in his original position, staring sullenly at Rudin, and
sometimes pulling the ends of his moustache.
‘If you would kindly... I came here to make an explanation, certainly,
but all the same it cannot be done off-hand.’
‘Why not?’
‘A third person is involved in this matter.’
‘What third person?’
‘Sergei Pavlitch, you understand me?’
‘Dmitri Nikolaitch, I don’t understand you in the least.’
‘You prefer----’
‘I prefer you should speak plainly!’ broke in Volintsev.
He was beginning to be angry in earnest.
Rudin frowned.
‘Permit... we are alone... I must tell you--though you certainly are
aware of it already (Volintsev shrugged his shoulders impatiently)--I
must tell you that I love Natalya Alexyevna, and I have the right to
believe that she loves me.’
Volintsev turned white, but made no reply. He walked to the window and
stood with his back turned.
‘You understand, Sergei Pavlitch,’ continued Rudin, ‘that if I were not
convinced...’
‘Upon my word!’ interrupted Volintsev, ‘I don’t doubt it in the
least.... Well! so be it! Good luck to you! Only I wonder what the devil
induced you to come with this news to me.... What have I to do with it?
What is it to me whom you love, or who loves you? It simply passes my
comprehension.’
Volintsev continued to stare out of the window. His voice sounded
choked.
Rudin got up.
‘I will tell you, Sergei Pavlitch, why I decided to come to you, why
I did not even think I had the right to hide from you our--our mutual
feelings. I have too profound an esteem for you--that is why I have
come; I did not want... we both did not wish to play a part before you.
Your feeling for Natalya Alexyevna was known to me.... Believe me, I
have no illusions about myself; I know how little I deserve to supplant
you in her heart, but if it was fated this should be, is it made any
better by pretence, hypocrisy, and deceit? Is it any better to expose
ourselves to misunderstandings, or even to the possibilities of such
a scene as took place yesterday at dinner? Sergei Pavlitch, tell me
yourself, is it?’
Volintsev folded his arms on his chest, as though he were trying to hold
himself in.
‘Sergei Pavlitch!’ Rudin continued, ‘I have given you pain, I feel
it--but understand us--understand that we had no other means of proving
our respect to you, of proving that we know how to value your honour and
uprightness. Openness, complete openness with any other man would have
been misplaced; but with you it took the form of duty. We are happy to
think our secret is in your hands.’
Volintsev gave vent to a forced laugh.
‘Many thanks for your confidence in me!’ he exclaimed, ‘though, pray
observe, I neither wished to know your secret, nor to tell you mine,
though you treat it as if it were your property. But excuse me, you
speak as though for two. Does it follow I am to suppose that Natalya
Alexyevna knows of your visit, and the object of it?’
Rudin was a little taken aback.
‘No, I did not communicate my intention to Natalya Alexyevna; but I know
she would share my views.’
‘That’s all very fine indeed,’ Volintsev began after a short pause,
drumming on the window pane with his fingers, ‘though I must confess it
would have been far better if you had had rather less respect for me. I
don’t care a hang for your respect, to tell you the truth; but what do
you want of me now?’
‘I want nothing--or--no! I want one thing; I want you not to regard me
as treacherous or hypocritical, to understand me... I hope that now you
cannot doubt of my sincerity... I want us, Sergei Pavlitch, to part as
friends... you to give me your hand as you once did.’
And Rudin went up to Volintsev.
‘Excuse me, my good sir,’ said Volintsev, turning round and stepping
back a few paces, ‘I am ready to do full justice to your intentions, all
that’s very fine, I admit, very exalted, but we are simple people, we do
not gild our gingerbread, we are not capable of following the flight
of great minds like yours.... What you think sincere, we regard as
impertinent and disingenuous and indiscreet.... What is clear and
simple to you, is involved and obscure to us.... You boast of what
we conceal.... How are we to understand you! Excuse me, I can neither
regard you as a friend, nor will I give you my hand.... That is petty,
perhaps, but I am only a petty person.’
Rudin took his hat from the window seat.
‘Sergei Pavlitch!’ he said sorrowfully, ‘goodbye; I was mistaken in my
expectations. My visit certainly was rather a strange one... but I had
hoped that you... (Volintsev made a movement of impatience). ... Excuse
me, I will say no more of this. Reflecting upon it all, I see indeed,
you are right, you could not have behaved otherwise. Good-bye, and allow
me, at least once more, for the last time, to assure you of the purity
of my intentions.... I am convinced of your discretion.’
‘That is too much!’ cried Volintsev, shaking with anger, ‘I never asked
for your confidence; and so you have no right whatever to reckon on my
discretion!’
Rudin was about to say something, but he only waved his hands, bowed and
went away, and Volintsev flung himself on the sofa and turned his face
to the wall.
‘May I come in?’ Alexandra Pavlovna’s voice was heard saying at the
door.
Volintsev did not answer at once, and stealthily passed his hand over
his face. ‘No, Sasha,’ he said, in a slightly altered voice, ‘wait a
little longer.’
Half an hour later, Alexandra Pavlovna again came to the door.
‘Mihailo Mihailitch is here,’ she said, ‘will you see him?’
‘Yes,’ answered Volintsev, ‘let them show him up here.’
Lezhnyov came in.
‘What, aren’t you well?’ he asked, seating himself in a chair near the
sofa.
Volintsev raised himself, and, leaning on his elbow gazed a long,
long while into his friend’s face, and then repeated to him his whole
conversation with Rudin word for word. He had never before given
Lezhnyov a hint of his sentiments towards Natalya, though he guessed
they were no secret to him.
‘Well, brother, you have surprised me!’ Lezhnyov said, as soon as
Volintsev had finished his story. ‘I expected many strange things from
him, but this is----Still I can see him in it.’
‘Upon my honour!’ cried Volintsev, in great excitement, ‘it is simply
insolence! Why, I almost threw him out of the window. Did he want to
boast to me or was he afraid? What was the object of it? How could he
make up his mind to come to a man----?’
Volintsev clasped his hands over his head and was speechless.
‘No, brother, that’s not it,’ replied Lezhnyov tranquilly; ‘you won’t
believe me, but he really did it from a good motive. Yes, indeed. It
was generous, do you see, and candid, to be sure, and it would offer an
opportunity of speechifying and giving vent to his fine talk, and, of
course, that’s what he wants, what he can’t live without. Ah! his tongue
is his enemy. Though it’s a good servant to him too.’
‘With what solemnity he came in and talked, you can’t imagine!’
‘Well, he can’t do anything without that. He buttons his great-coat
as if he were fulfilling a sacred duty. I should like to put him on a
desert island and look round a corner to see how he would behave there.
And he discourses on simplicity!’
‘But tell me, my dear fellow,’ asked Volintsev, ‘what is it, philosophy
or what?’
‘How can I tell you? On one side it is philosophy, I daresay, and on the
other something altogether different. It is not right to put every folly
down to philosophy.’
Volintsev looked at him.
‘Wasn’t he lying then, do you imagine?’
‘No, my son, he wasn’t lying. But, do you know, we’ve talked enough of
this. Let’s light our pipes and call Alexandra Pavlovna in here. It’s
easier to talk when she’s with us and easier to be silent. She shall
make us some tea.’
‘Very well,’ replied Volintsev. ‘Sasha, come in,’ he cried aloud.
Alexandra Pavlovna came in. He grasped her hand and pressed it warmly to
his lips.
Rudin returned in a curious and mingled frame of mind. He was annoyed
with himself, he reproached himself for his unpardonable precipitancy,
his boyish impulsiveness. Some one has justly said: there is nothing
more painful than the consciousness of having just done something
stupid.
Rudin was devoured by regret.
‘What evil genius drove me,’ he muttered between his teeth, ‘to call on
that squire! What an idea it was! Only to expose myself to insolence!’
But in Darya Mihailovna’s house something extraordinary had been
happening. The lady herself did not appear the whole morning, and did
not come in to dinner; she had a headache, declared Pandalevsky, the
only person who had been admitted to her room. Natalya, too, Rudin
scarcely got a glimpse of: she sat in her room with Mlle. Boncourt. When
she met him at the dinner-table she looked at him so mournfully that
his heart sank. Her face was changed as though a load of sorrow had
descended upon her since the day before. Rudin began to be oppressed by
a vague presentiment of trouble. In order to distract his mind in some
way he occupied himself with Bassistoff, had much conversation with him,
and found him an ardent, eager lad, full of enthusiastic hopes and still
untarnished faith. In the evening Darya Mihailovna appeared for a couple
of hours in the drawing-room. She was polite to Rudin, but kept him
somehow at a distance, and smiled and frowned, talking through her nose,
and in hints more than ever. Everything about her had the air of the
society lady of the court. She had seemed of late rather cooler to
Rudin. ‘What is the secret of it?’ he thought, with a sidelong look at
her haughtily-lifted head.
He had not long to wait for the solution of the enigma. As he was
returning at twelve o’clock at night to his room, along a dark corridor,
some one suddenly thrust a note into his hand. He looked round; a girl
was hurrying away in the distance, Natalya’s maid, he fancied. He went
into his room, dismissed the servant, tore open the letter, and read the
following lines in Natalya’s handwriting:--
‘Come to-morrow at seven o’clock in the morning, not later, to Avduhin
pond, beyond the oak copse. Any other time will be impossible. It will
be our last meeting, all will be over, unless... Come. We must make
our decision.--P.S. If I don’t come, it will mean we shall not see each
other again; then I will let you know.’
Rudin turned the letter over in his hands, musing upon it, then laid it
under his pillow, undressed, and lay down. For a long while he could not
get to sleep, and then he slept very lightly, and it was not yet five
o’clock when he woke up.
IX
The Avduhin pond, near which Natalya had fixed the place of meeting, had
long ceased to be a pond. Thirty years before it had burst through
its banks and it had been given up since then. Only by the smooth flat
surface of the hollow, once covered with slimy mud, and the traces of
the banks, could one guess that it had been a pond. A farm-house
had stood near it. It had long ago passed away. Two huge pine-trees
preserved its memory; the wind was for ever droning and sullenly
murmuring in their high gaunt green tops. There were mysterious tales
among the people of a fearful crime supposed to have been committed
under them; they used to tell, too, that not one of them would fall
without bringing death to some one; that a third had once stood there,
which had fallen in a storm and crushed a girl.
The whole place near the old pond was supposed to be haunted; it was
a barren wilderness, dark and gloomy, even on a sunny day--it seemed
darker and gloomier still from the old, old forest of dead and withered
oak-trees which was near it. A few huge trees lifted their grey heads
above the low undergrowth of bushes like weary giants. They were a
sinister sight; it seemed as though wicked old men had met together bent
on some evil design. A narrow path almost indistinguishable wandered
beside it. No one went near the Avduhin pond without some urgent reason.
Natalya intentionally chose this solitary place. It was not more than
half-a-mile from Darya Mihailovna’s house.
The sun had already risen some time when Rudin reached the Avduhin pond,
but it was not a bright morning. Thick clouds of the colour of milk
covered the whole sky, and were driven flying before the whistling,
shrieking wind. Rudin began to walk up and down along the bank, which
was covered with clinging burdocks and blackened nettles. He was not
easy in his mind. These interviews, these new emotions had a charm for
him, but they also troubled him, especially after the note of the
night before. He felt that the end was drawing near, and was in secret
perplexity of spirit, though none would have imagined it, seeing with
what concentrated determination he folded his arms across his chest and
looked around him. Pigasov had once said truly of him, that he was like
a Chinese idol, his head was constantly overbalancing him. But with the
head alone, however strong it may be, it is hard for a man to know even
what is passing in himself.... Rudin, the clever, penetrating Rudin, was
not capable of saying certainly whether he loved Natalya, whether he was
suffering, and whether he would suffer at parting from her. Why then,
since he had not the least disposition to play the Lovelace--one must do
him that credit--had he turned the poor girl’s head? Why was he awaiting
her with a secret tremor? To this the only answer is that there are none
so easily carried away as those who are without passion.
He walked on the bank, while Natalya was hurrying to him straight across
country through the wet grass.
‘Natalya Alexyevna, you’ll get your feet wet!’ said her maid Masha,
scarcely able to keep up with her.
Natalya did not hear and ran on without looking round.
‘Ah, supposing they’ve seen us!’ cried Masha; ‘indeed it’s surprising
how we got out of the house... and ma’mselle may wake up... It’s a
mercy it’s not far.... Ah, the gentleman’s waiting already,’ she
added, suddenly catching sight of Rudin’s majestic figure, standing out
picturesquely on the bank; ‘but what does he want to stand on that mound
for--he ought to have kept in the hollow.’
Natalya stopped.
‘Wait here, Masha, by the pines,’ she said, and went on to the pond.
Rudin went up to her; he stopped short in amazement. He had never seen
such an expression on her face before. Her brows were contracted, her
lips set, her eyes looked sternly straight before her.
‘Dmitri Nikolaitch,’ she began, ‘we have no time to lose. I have come
for five minutes. I must tell you that my mother knows everything. Mr.
Pandalevsky saw us the day before yesterday, and he told her of our
meeting. He was always mamma’s spy. She called me in to her yesterday.’
‘Good God!’ cried Rudin, ‘this is terrible.... What did your mother
say?’
‘She was not angry with me, she did not scold me, but she reproached me
for my want of discretion.’
‘That was all?’
‘Yes, and she declared she would sooner see me dead than your wife!’
‘Is it possible she said that?’
‘Yes; and she said too that you yourself did not want to marry me at
all, that you had only been flirting with me because you were bored, and
that she had not expected this of you; but that she herself was to blame
for having allowed me to see so much of you... that she relied on my
good sense, that I had very much surprised her... and I don’t remember
now all she said to me.’
Natalya uttered all this in an even, almost expressionless voice.
‘And you, Natalya Alexyevna, what did you answer?’ asked Rudin.
‘What did I answer?’ repeated Natalya.... ‘What do _you_ intend to do
now?’
‘Good God, good God!’ replied Rudin, ‘it is cruel! So soon... such a
sudden blow!... And is your mother in such indignation?’
‘Yes, yes, she will not hear of you.’
‘It is terrible! You mean there is no hope?’
‘None.’
‘Why should we be so unhappy! That abominable Pandalevsky!... You ask
me, Natalya Alexyevna, what I intend to do? My head is going round--I
cannot take in anything... I can feel nothing but my unhappiness... I am
amazed that you can preserve such self-possession!’
‘Do you think it is easy for me?’ said Natalya.
Rudin began to walk along the bank. Natalya did not take her eyes off
him.
‘Your mother did not question you?’ he said at last.
‘She asked me whether I love you.’
‘Well... and you?’
Natalya was silent a moment. ‘I told the truth.’
Rudin took her hand.
‘Always, in all things generous, noble-hearted! Oh, the heart of a
girl--it’s pure gold! But did your mother really declare her decision so
absolutely on the impossibility of our marriage?’
‘Yes, absolutely. I have told you already; she is convinced that you
yourself don’t think of marrying me.’
‘Then she regards me as a traitor! What have I done to deserve it?’ And
Rudin clutched his head in his hands.
‘Dmitri Nikolaitch!’ said Natalya, ‘we are losing our time. Remember I
am seeing you for the last time. I came here not to weep and lament--you
see I am not crying--I came for advice.’
‘And what advice can I give you, Natalya Alexyevna?’
‘What advice? You are a man; I am used to trusting to you, I shall trust
you to the end. Tell me, what are your plans?’
‘My plans.... Your mother certainly will turn me out of the house.’
‘Perhaps. She told me yesterday that she must break off all acquaintance
with you.... But you do not answer my question?’
‘What question?’
‘What do you think we must do now?’
‘What we must do?’ replied Rudin; ‘of course submit.’
‘Submit,’ repeated Natalya slowly, and her lips turned white.
‘Submit to destiny,’ continued Rudin. ‘What is to be done? I know
very well how bitter it is, how painful, how unendurable. But consider
yourself, Natalya Alexyevna; I am poor. It is true I could work; but
even if I were a rich man, could you bear a violent separation from your
family, your mother’s anger?... No, Natalya Alexyevna; it is useless
even to think of it. It is clear it was not fated for us to live
together, and the happiness of which I dreamed is not for me!’
All at once Natalya hid her face in her hands and began to weep. Rudin
went up to her.
‘Natalya Alexyevna! dear Natalya!’ he said with warmth, ‘do not cry, for
God’s sake, do not torture me, be comforted.’
Natalya raised her head.
‘You tell me to be comforted,’ she began, and her eyes blazed through
her tears; ‘I am not weeping for what you suppose--I am not sad for
that; I am sad because I have been deceived in you.... What! I come to
you for counsel, and at such a moment!--and your first word is, submit!
submit! So this is how you translate your talk of independence, of
sacrifice, which...’
Her voice broke down.
‘But, Natalya Alexyevna,’ began Rudin in confusion, ‘remember--I do not
disown my words--only----’
‘You asked me,’ she continued with new force, ‘what I answered my
mother, when she declared she would sooner agree to my death than my
marriage to you; I answered that I would sooner die than marry any other
man... And you say, “Submit!” It must be that she is right; you must,
through having nothing to do, through being bored, have been playing
with me.’
‘I swear to you, Natalya Alexyevna--I assure you,’ maintained Rudin.
But she did not listen to him.
‘Why did you not stop me? Why did you yourself--or did you not reckon
upon obstacles? I am ashamed to speak of this--but I see it is all over
now.’
‘You must be calm, Natalya Alexyevna,’ Rudin was beginning; ‘we must
think together what means----’