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<h2> CHAPTER X </h2> Early in the morning a slight noise wakened Raisky, and he sat up to see Mark disappear through the window. He does not like the straight way, he thought, and stepped to the window. Mark was going through the park, and vanished under the thick trees on the top of the precipice. As he had no inclination to go to bed again, he put on a light overcoat and went down into the park too, thinking to bring Mark back, but he was already far below on the bank of the Volga. Raisky remained standing at the top of the precipice. The sun had not yet risen, but his rays were already gilding the hill tops, the dew covered fields were glistening in the distance, and the cool morning wind breathed freshness. The air grew rapidly warmer, giving promise of a hot day. Raisky walked on in the park, and the rain began to fall. The birds sang, as they darted in all directions seeking their morning meal, and the bees and the humble-bees hummed over the flowers. A feeling of discomfort came over Raisky. He had a long day before him, with the impressions of yesterday and the day before still strong upon him. He looked down on the unchanging prospect of smiling nature, the woods and the melancholy Volga, and felt the caress of the same cooling breeze. He went forward over the courtyard, taking no notice of the greetings of the servants or the friendly advances of the dogs. He intended to go back to his room to turn the tenseness of his mood to account as an artistic motive in his novel; but as he hurried past the old house, he noticed that the door was half open, and went in. Since his arrival he had only been here for a moment with Marfinka, and had glanced into Vera’s room. Now it occurred to him to make a closer inspection. Passing through his old bedroom and two or three other rooms, he came into the corner room, then with an expression of extreme astonishment in his face he stood still. Leaning on the window-sill, so that her profile was turned towards him, stood a girl of two or three and twenty, looking with strained curiosity, as if she were following some one with her eyes, down to the bank of the Volga. He was startled by the white, almost pallid face under the dark hair, the velvet-black eyes with their long lashes. Her face, still looking anxiously into the distance, gradually assumed an indifferent expression. The girl glanced hastily over park and courtyard, then as she turned and caught sight of him, shrank back. “Sister Vera!” he cried. Her face cleared, and her eyes remained fixed on him with an expression of modest curiosity, as he approached to kiss her. She drew back almost imperceptibly, turning her head a little so that his lips touched her cheek, not her mouth, and they sat down opposite the window. Impatient to hear her voice he began: “How eagerly I have expected you, and you have stayed away so long.” “Marina told me yesterday that you were here.” Her voice, though not so clear as Marfinka’s, was still fresh and youthful. “Grandmother wanted to send you word of my arrival, but I begged her not to tell you. When did you return? No one told me you were here.” “Yesterday, after supper. Grandmother and my sister don’t know I am here yet. No one saw me but Marina.” She threw some white garments that lay beside her into the next room, pushed aside a bundle and brought a table to the window. Then she sat down again, with a manner quite unconstrained, as if she were alone. “I have prepared coffee,” she said. “Will you drink it with me. It will be a long time before it is ready at the other house. Marfinka gets up late.” “I should like it very much,” he replied, following her with his eyes. Like a true artist he abandoned himself to the new and unexpected impression. “You must have forgotten me, Vera,” he remarked after a pause, with an affectionate note in his voice. “No,” she said, as he poured out the coffee, “I remember everything. How was it possible to forget you when Grandmother was for ever talking about you?” He would have liked to ask her question after question, but they crowded into his brain in so disconnected a fashion that he did not know where to begin. “I have already been in your room. Forgive the intrusion,” he said. “There is nothing remarkable here,” she said hastily, looking around as if something not intended for strange eyes might be lying about. “Nothing remarkable, quite right. What book is that?” He put out his hand for the book under her hand; she rapidly drew it away and put it behind her on the shelf. “You hide it as you used to hide the currants in your mouth. But show it me.” “Do you read books that may not be seen?” he said, laughingly as she shook her head. “Heavens! how lovely she is!” he thought. And he wondered how such beauty could have lost its way in such an outlandish place. He wanted to touch some answering chord in her heart, wanted her to reveal something of her feelings, but his efforts only produced a greater coldness. “My library was in your hands?” “Yes, but later Leonid Ivanovich took it over, and I was glad to be relieved of the charge.” “But he must have left you a few books?” “Oh no! I read what I liked, and then surrendered the books.” “What did you like?” She looked out of the window as she answered: “A great many. I have really forgotten.” “Do you care for music?” She looked at him inquiringly before she said, “Does that mean that I play myself, or like to hear music?” “Both.” “I don’t play, but I like to hear music, but what music is there here?” “But what are your particular tastes?” Again she looked at him inquiringly. “Do you like housekeeping, or needlework. Do you do embroidery?” “No, Marfinka likes and understands all those things.” “But what do you like? A book only occupies you for a short time. You say that you don’t do any needlework, but you must like something, flowers perhaps.” “Flowers, yes, in the garden, but not in the house where they have to be tended. I love this corner of God’s earth, the Volga, the precipice, the forest and the garden—these are the things I love,” she said, looking contentedly at the prospect from the window. “What ties bind you to this little place?” She gave no answer, but her eyes wandered lovingly over the trees and the rising ground, and finally rested on the dazzling mirror of water. “It is a beautiful place,” admitted Raisky, “but the view, the river bank, the hills, the forest—all these things would became tedious if they were not inhabited by living creatures which share our feelings and exchange ideas with us.” She was silent. “Vera!” said Raisky after a pause. “Ah!” she said, as if she had only just heard his remarks, “I don’t live alone; Grandmother, Marfinka....” “As if you shared your sympathies and thoughts with them. But perhaps you have a congenial spirit here?” Vera nodded her head. “Who is that happy individual?” he stammered, urged on by envy, terror and jealousy. “The pope’s wife with whom I have been stopping,” said Vera as she rose and shook the crumbs from her apron. “You must have heard of her.” “The pope’s wife!” he repeated. “When she is here with me we both admire the Volga, we are never tired of talking about it. Will you have some more coffee? May I have it cleared away?” “The pope’s wife,” he repeated thoughtfully, without hearing her question, and the smile on her lips passed unobserved. “Will you have some more coffee?” “No. Do you care for Grandmother and Marfinka?” “Whom else should I hold dear?” “Well—me,” he retorted, jesting. “You too,” she said, looking gaily at him, “if you deserve it.” “How does one earn this good fortune?” he asked ironically. “Love, they say, is blind, gives herself without any merit, is indeed blind,” she rejoined. “Yet sometimes love comes consciously, by way of confidence, esteem and friendship. I should like to begin with the last, and end with the first. So what must one do, dear sister, to attract your attention.” “Not to make such round eyes as you are doing now for instance, not to go into my room—without me, not to try to find out what my likes and dislikes are....” “What pride! Tell me, Sister, forgive my bluntness: Do you pride yourself on this? I ask because Grandmother told me you were proud.” “Grandmother must have her finger in everything. I am not proud. In what connection did she say I was?” “Because I have made a gift of these houses and gardens to you and Marfinka. She said that you would not accept the gift. Is that true? Marfinka has accepted on the condition that you do not refuse. Grandmother hesitated, and has not come to a final decision, but waits, it seems, to see what you will say. And how shall you decide. Will a sister take a gift from a brother?” “Yes, I accept ... but no, I can buy the estate. Sell it to me.... I have money, and will pay you 50,000 roubles for it.” “I will not do it that way.” She looked thoughtfully out on the Volga, the precipice, and the park. “Very well. I agree to anything you please, so long as we remain here.” “I will have the deed drawn up.” “Yes, thank you!” she said, stretching out both hands to him. He pressed her hands, and kissed Vera on the cheek. She returned the pressure of his hands and kissed the air. “You seem really to love the place and this old house.” “And you, do you mean to stay here long?” “I don’t know. It depends on circumstances—on you.” “On me?” “Come over to the other house.” “I will follow you. I must first put things straight here. I have not yet unpacked.” The less Raisky appeared to notice Vera, the more friendly Vera was to him, although, in spite of her aunt’s wishes she neither kissed him nor addressed him as “thou.” But as soon as he looked at her overmuch or seemed to hang on her words, she became suspicious, careful and reserved. Her coming made a change in the quiet circle, putting everything in a different light. It might happen that she said nothing, and was hardly seen for a couple of days, yet Raisky was conscious every moment of her whereabouts and her doings. It was as if her voice penetrated to him through any wall, and as if her doings were reflected in any place where he was. In a few days he knew her habits, her tastes, her likings, all that love on her outer life. But the indwelling spirit, Vera herself, remained concealed in the shadows. In her conversation she betrayed no sign of her active imagination and she answered a jest with a gay smile, but Raisky rarely made her laugh outright. If he did her laughter broke off abruptly to give place to an indifferent silence. She had no regular employment. She read, but was never heard to speak of what she read; she did not play the piano, though she sometimes struck discords and listened to their effects. Raisky noticed that their aunt was liberal with observation and warnings for Marfinka; but she said nothing to Vera, no doubt in the hope that the good seed sown would bear fruit. Vera had moments when she was seized with a feverish desire for activity; and then she would help in the house, and in the most varying tasks with surprising skill. This thirst for occupation came on her especially when she read reproach in her aunt’s eyes. If she complained that her guests were too much for her, Vera would not bring herself to assist immediately, but presently she would appear in the company with a bright face, her eyes gleaming with gaiety, and astonished her aunt by the grace and wit with which she entertained the visitors. This mood would last a whole evening, sometimes a whole day, before she again relapsed into shyness and reserve, so that no one could read her mind and heart. That was all that Raisky could observe for the time, and it was all the others saw either. The less ground he had to go on however, the more active his imagination was in seeking to divine her secret. She came over every day for a short time, exchanged greetings with her aunt and her sister, and returned to the other house, and no one knew how she passed her time there. Tatiana Markovna grumbled a little to herself, complained that her niece was moody, and shy, but did not insist. For Raisky the whole place, the park, the estate with the two houses, the huts, the peasants, the whole life of the place had lost its gay colours. But for Vera he would long since have left it. It was in this melancholy mood that he lay smoking a cigar on the sofa in Tatiana Markovna’s room. His aunt who was never happy unless she was doing something, was looking through some accounts brought her by Savili; before her lay on pieces of paper samples of hay and rye. Marfinka was working at a piece of lace. Vera, as usual, was not there. Vassilissa announced visitors; the young master; from Kolchino. “Nikolai Andreevich Vikentev, please enter.” Marfinka coloured, smoothed her hair, gave a tug to her fichu, and cast a glance in the mirror. Raisky shook his finger at her, making her colour more deeply. “The person who stayed one night here,” said Vassilissa to Raisky, “is also asking for you.” “Markushka?” asked Tatiana Markovna in a horrified tone. “Yes,” said Vassilissa. Raisky hurried out. “How glad he is, how he rushes to meet him. Don’t forget to ask him for the money. Is he hungry? I will send food directly,” cried his aunt after him. There stepped, or rather sprang into the room a fresh-looking, well-built young man of middle height of about twenty-three years of age. He had chestnut hair, a rosy face, grey-blue keen eyes, and a smile which displayed a row of strong teeth. He laid on a chair with his hat a bunch of cornflowers and a packet carefully done up in a handkerchief. “Good-day, Tatiana Markovna; Good-day, Marfa Vassilievna,” he cried. He kissed the old lady’s hand, and would have raised Marfinka’s to his lips, but she pulled it away, though he found time to snatch a hasty kiss from it. “You haven’t been to see us for three weeks,” said Tatiana Markovna, reproachfully. “I could not come. The Governor would not let me off. Orders were given to settle up all the business in the office,” said Vikentev, so hurriedly that he nearly swallowed some of the words. “That is absurd; don’t listen to him, Granny,” interrupted Marfinka. “He hasn’t any business, as he himself said.” “I swear I am up to my neck in work. We are now expecting a new chief clerk, and I swear by God we have to sit up into the night.” “It is not the custom to appeal to God over such trifles. It is a sin,” said Tatiana Markovna severely. “What do you mean? Is it a trifle when Marfa Vassilievna will not believe me, and I, by God—” “Again?” “Is it true, Tatiana Markovna, that you have a visitor? Has Boris Pavlovich arrived? Was it he I met in the corridor? I have come on purpose—” “You see, Granny, he has come to see my cousin. Otherwise he would have stayed away longer, wouldn’t he?” “As soon as I could tear myself away, I came here. Yesterday I was at Kolchino for a minute, with Mama—” “Is she well?” “Thanks for the kind thought. She sends her kind regards and begs you not to forget her nameday.” “Many thanks. I only don’t know whether I can come myself. I am old, and fear the crossing of the Volga.” “Without you, Granny, Vera and I will not go. We, too, are afraid of crossing the Volga.” “Be ashamed of yourself, Marfa Vassilievna. What are you afraid of? I will fetch you myself with our boat. Our rowers are singers.” “Under no circumstances will I cross with you. You never sit quiet in the boat for a minute. What have you got alive in that handkerchief? See, Granny, I am sure it’s a snake.” “I have brought you a carp, Tatiana Markovna, which I have caught myself. And these are for you, Marfa Vassilievna. I picked the cornflowers here in the rye.” “You promised not to pick any without me. Now you have not put in an appearance for more than two weeks. The cornflowers are all withered, and what can I do with them?” “Come with me, and we’ll pick some fresh ones.” “Wait,” called Tatiana Markovna. “You can never sit quiet, you have hardly had time to show your nose, the perspiration still stands on your forehead, and you are aching to be off. First you must have breakfast. And you, Marfinka, find out if that person, Markushka, will have anything. But don’t go yourself, send Egorka.” Marfinka seized the carp’s head with two fingers, but when he began to wave his tail hither and thither, she uttered a loud cry, hastily dropped him on the floor, and fled down the corridor. Vikentev hurried after, and a few moments later Tatiana Markovna heard a gay waltz in progress and a vigorous stampede, as if someone were rolling down the steps. Soon the two of them tore across the courtyard to the garden, Marfinka leading, and from the garden came the sound of chattering, singing and laughter. Tatiana Markovna shook her head as she looked through the window. Cocks, hens and ducks fled in panic, the dogs dashed barking at Marfinka’s heels, the servants put their heads out of the windows of their quarters, in the garden the tall plants swayed hither and hither, the flower beds were broken by the print of flying feet, two or three vases were overturned, and every bird sought refuge in the depths of the trees. A quarter of an hour later, the two culprits sat with Tatiana Markovna as politely as if nothing had happened. They looked gaily about the room and at one another, as Vikentev wiped the perspiration from his face and Marfinka fanned her burning face with her handkerchief. “You are a nice pair,” remarked Tatiana Markovna. “He is always like that,” complained Marfinka, “he chased me. Tell him to sit quiet.” “It wasn’t my fault, Tatiana Markovna. Marfa Vassilievna told me to go into the garden, and she herself ran on in front.” “He is a man. But it does not become you, who are a girl, to do these things.” “You see what I have to endure through you,” said Marfinka. “Never mind, Marfa Vassilievna. Granny is only scolding a little, as she is privileged to do.” “What do you say, Sir?” said Tatiana Markovna, catching his words. “Come here, and since your Mama is not here, I will box your ears for you.” “But, Tatiana Markovna, you threaten these things and never do them,” he said, springing up to the old lady and bowing his head submissively. “Do box his ears well, Granny, so that his ears will be red for a month.” “How did you come to be made of quicksilver?” said Tatiana Markovna, affectionately. “Your late father was serious, never talked at random, and even disaccustomed your mother from laughter!” “Ah, Marfa Vassilievna,” broke in Vikentev. “I have brought you some music and a new novel.” “Where are they?” “I left them in the boat. That’s the fault of the carp. I will go and fetch them now.” In a moment he was out of the door, and Marfinka would have followed if her aunt had not detained her. “What I wanted to say to you is——” she began. She hesitated a little, as if she could not make up her mind to speak. Marfinka came up to her, and the old lady smoothed her disordered hair. “What then, Granny?” “You are a good child, and obey every word of your grandmother’s. You are not like Veroshka....” “Don’t find fault with Veroshka, Granny!” “No, you always defend her. She does indeed respect me, but she retains her own opinion and does not believe me. Her view is that I am old, while you two girls are young, know everything, and read everything. If only she were right. But everything is not written in books,” she added with a sigh. “What do you want to say to me?” asked Marfinka curiously. “That a grown girl must be a little more cautious. You are so wild, and run about like a child.” “I am not always running about. I work, sew embroider, pour out tea, attend to the household. Why do you scold me, Grandmother,” she asked with tears in her eyes. “If you tell me I must not sing, I won’t do it.” “God grant that you may always be as happy as a bird. Sing, play——” “Then, why scold me?” “I don’t scold you; I only ask you to keep within bounds. You used to run about with Nikolai Andreevich—” Marfinka reddened and retired to her corner. “That is no harm,” continued Tatiana Markovna. “There is nothing against Nikolai Andreevich, but he is just as wild as you are. You are my dearest child, and you will remember what is due to your dignity.” Marfinka blushed crimson. “Don’t blush, darling. I know that you will do nothing wrong, but for other people’s sake you must be careful. Why do you look so angry. Come and let me kiss you.” “Nikolai Andreevich will be here in a moment, and I don’t know how to face him.” Before Tatiana Markovna could answer Vikentev burst in, covered with dust and perspiration, carrying music and a book which he laid on the table by Marfinka. “Give me your hand, Marfa Vassilievna,” he cried, wiping his forehead. “How I did run, with the dogs after me!” Marfinka hid her hand, bowed, and returned with dignity: “Je vous remercie, monsieur Vikentev, vous êtes bien amiable.” He stared first at Marfinka, then at her aunt, and asked whether she would try over a song with him. “I will try it by myself, or in company with Grandmother.” “Let us go into the park, and I will read you the new novel,” he then said, picking up the book. “How could I do such a thing?” asked Marfinka, looking demurely at her aunt. “Do you think I am a child?” “What is the meaning of this, Tatiana Markovna,” stammered Vikentev in amazement. “Marfa Vassilievna is unendurable.” He looked at both of them, walked into the middle of the room, assumed a sugary smile, bowed slightly, put his hat under his arm, and struggling in vain to drag his gloves on his moist hands began: “Mille pardons, mademoiselle, de vous avoir dérangée. Sacrebleu, ca n’entre pas. Oh mille pardons, mademoiselle.” “Do stop, you foolish boy!” Marfinka bit her lips, but could not help laughing. “Just look at him, Granny! How can anybody keep serious when he mimics Monsieur Charles so nicely?” “Stop, children,” cried Tatiana Markovna, her frown relaxing into smiles. “Go, and God be with you. Do whatever you like.” <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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