‘Yes. I must, don’t you see, think over all you’ve just said,
thoroughly.... I have no doubt you are right ... but now leave me
alone!’
‘You ‘re in such a state of excitement ...’ I was beginning.
‘Excitement? I?’ Tarhov laughed, but instantly pulled himself up. ‘Yes,
of course I am. How could I help being? You say yourself it’s no joking
matter. Yes; I must think about it ... alone.’ He was still squeezing my
hands. ‘Good-bye, my dear fellow, good-bye!’
‘Good-bye,’ I repeated. ‘Good-bye, old boy!’ As I was going away I flung
a last glance at Tarhov. He seemed pleased. At what? At the fact that I,
like a true friend and comrade, had pointed out the danger of the way
upon which he had set his foot--or that I was going? Ideas of the most
diverse kind were floating in my head the whole day till evening--till
the very instant when I entered the house occupied by Punin and Baburin,
for I went to see them the same day. I am bound to confess that some of
Tarhov’s phrases had sunk deep into my soul ... and were ringing in my
ears.... In truth, was it possible Baburin ... was it possible he did
not see she was not a fit match for him?
But could this possibly be: Baburin, the self-sacrificing Baburin--an
honest fool!
* * * * *
Punin had said, when he came to see me, that I had been expected there
the day before. That may have been so, but on this day, it is certain,
no one expected me.... I found every one at home, and every one was
surprised at my visit. Baburin and Punin were both unwell: Punin had a
headache, and he was lying curled up on the sofa, with his head tied up
in a spotted handkerchief, and strips of cucumber applied to his
temples. Baburin was suffering from a bilious attack; all yellow,
almost dusky, with dark rings round his eyes, with scowling brow and
unshaven chin--he did not look much like a bridegroom! I tried to go
away.... But they would not let me go, and even made tea. I spent
anything but a cheerful evening. Musa, it is true, had no ailment, and
was less shy than usual too, but she was obviously vexed, angry.... At
last she could not restrain herself, and, as she handed me a cup of
tea, she whispered hurriedly: ‘You can say what you like, you may try
your utmost, you won’t make any difference.... So there!’ I looked at
her in astonishment, and, seizing a favourable moment, asked her, also
in a whisper, ‘What’s the meaning of your words?’ ‘I’ll tell you,’ she
answered, and her black eyes, gleaming angrily under her frowning
brows, were fastened for an instant on my face, and turned away at
once: ‘the meaning is that I heard all you said there to-day, and thank
you for nothing, and things won’t be as you ‘d have them, anyway.’ ‘You
were there,’ broke from me unconsciously.... But at this point
Baburin’s attention was caught, and he glanced in our direction. Musa
walked away from me.
Ten minutes later she managed to come near me again. She seemed to enjoy
saying bold and dangerous things to me, and saying them in the presence
of her protector, under his vigilant eye, only exercising barely enough
caution not to arouse his suspicions. It is well known that walking on
the brink, on the very edge, of the precipice is woman’s favourite
pastime. ‘Yes, I was there,’ whispered Musa, without any change of
countenance, except that her nostrils were faintly quivering and her
lips twitching. ‘Yes, and if Paramon Semyonitch asks me what I am
whispering about with you, I’d tell him this minute. What do I care?’
‘Be more careful,’ I besought her. ‘I really believe they are noticing.’
‘I tell you, I’m quite ready to tell them everything. And who’s
noticing? One’s stretching his neck off the pillow, like a sick duck,
and hears nothing; and the other’s deep in philosophy. Don’t you be
afraid!’ Musa’s voice rose a little, and her cheeks gradually flushed a
sort of malignant, dusky red; and this suited her marvellously, and
never had she been so pretty. As she cleared the table, and set the cups
and saucers in their places, she moved swiftly about the room; there was
something challenging about her light, free and easy movement. ‘You may
criticise me as you like,’ she seemed to say; ‘but I’m going my own way,
and I’m not afraid of you.’
I cannot disguise the fact that I found Musa bewitching just that
evening. ‘Yes,’ I mused; ‘she’s a little spitfire--she’s a new type....
She’s--exquisite. Those hands know how to deal a blow, I dare say....
What of it! No matter!’
‘Paramon Semyonitch,’ she cried suddenly, ‘isn’t a republic an empire in
which every one does as he chooses?’
‘A republic is not an empire,’ answered Baburin, raising his head, and
contracting his brows; ‘it is a ... form of society in which everything
rests on law and justice.’
‘Then,’ Musa pursued, ‘in a republic no one can oppress any one else?’
‘No.’
‘And every one is free to dispose of himself?’
‘Quite free.’
‘Ah! that’s all I wanted to know.’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Oh, I wanted to--I wanted _you_ to tell me that.’
‘Our young lady is anxious to learn,’ Punin observed from the sofa.
When I went out into the passage Musa accompanied me, not, of course,
from politeness, but with the same malicious intent. I asked her, as I
took leave, ‘Can you really love him so much?’
‘Whether I love him, or whether I don’t, that’s _my_ affair,’ she
answered. ‘What is to be, will be.’
‘Mind what you’re about; don’t play with fire ... you’ll get burnt.’
‘Better be burnt than frozen. You ... with your good advice! And how can
you tell he won’t marry me? How do you know I so particularly want to
get married? If I am ruined ... what business is it of yours?’
She slammed the door after me.
I remember that on the way home I reflected with some pleasure that my
friend Vladimir Tarhov might find things rather hot for him with his new
type.... He ought to have to pay something for his happiness!
That he would be happy, I was--regretfully--unable to doubt.
Three days passed by. I was sitting in my room at my writing-table, and
not so much working as getting myself ready for lunch.... I heard a
rustle, lifted my head, and I was stupefied. Before me--rigid, terrible,
white as chalk, stood an apparition ... Punin. His half-closed eyes were
looking at me, blinking slowly; they expressed a senseless terror, the
terror of a frightened hare, and his arms hung at his sides like sticks.
‘Nikander Vavilitch! what is the matter with you? How did you come here?
Did no one see you? What has happened? Do speak!’
‘She has run away,’ Punin articulated in a hoarse, hardly audible voice.
‘What do you say?’
‘She has run away,’ he repeated.
‘Who?’
‘Musa. She went away in the night, and left a note.’
‘A note?’
‘Yes. “I thank you,” she said, “but I am not coming back again. Don’t
look for me.” We ran up and down; we questioned the cook; she knew
nothing. I can’t speak loud; you must excuse me. I’ve lost my voice.’
‘Musa Pavlovna has left you!’ I exclaimed. ‘Nonsense! Mr. Baburin must
be in despair. What does he intend to do now?’
‘He has no intention of doing anything. I wanted to run to the
Governor-general: he forbade it. I wanted to give information to the
police; he forbade that too, and got very angry. He says, “She’s free.”
He says, “I don’t want to constrain her.” He has even gone to work, to
his office. But he looks more dead than alive. He loved her
terribly....Oh, oh, we both loved her!’
Here Punin for the first time showed that he was not a wooden image, but
a live man; he lifted both his fists in the air, and brought them down
on his pate, which shone like ivory.
‘Ungrateful girl!’ he groaned; ‘who was it gave you food and drink,
clothed you, and brought you up? who cared for you, would have given all
his life, all his soul ... And you have forgotten it all? To cast me
off, truly, were no great matter, but Paramon Semyonitch, Paramon ...’