The Torrents of Spring
Polozov listened to him in silence, his eyes straying from time to time
to the door, by which the luncheon was to appear. The luncheon did
appear at last. The head-waiter, accompanied by two other attendants,
brought in several dishes under silver covers.
“Is the property in the Tula province?” said Polozov, seating himself
at the table, and tucking a napkin into his shirt collar.
“Yes.”
“In the Efremovsky district … I know it.”
“Do you know my place, Aleksyevka?” Sanin asked, sitting down too at
the table.
“Yes, I know it.” Polozov thrust in his mouth a piece of omelette with
truffles. “Maria Nikolaevna, my wife, has an estate in that
neighbourhood…. Uncork that bottle, waiter! You’ve a good piece of
land, only your peasants have cut down the timber. Why are you selling
it?”
“I want the money, my friend. I would sell it cheap. Come, you might as
well buy it … by the way.”
Polozov gulped down a glass of wine, wiped his lips with the napkin,
and again set to work chewing slowly and noisily.
“Oh,” he enunciated at last…. “I don’t go in for buying estates; I’ve
no capital. Pass the butter. Perhaps my wife now would buy it. You talk
to her about it. If you don’t ask too much, she’s not above thinking of
that…. What asses these Germans are, really! They can’t cook fish. What
could be simpler, one wonders? And yet they go on about ‘uniting the
Fatherland.’ Waiter, take away that beastly stuff!”
“Does your wife really manage … business matters herself?” Sanin
inquired.
“Yes. Try the cutlets—they’re good. I can recommend them. I’ve told you
already, Dimitri Pavlovitch, I don’t interfere in any of my wife’s
concerns, and I tell you so again.”
Polozov went on munching.
“H’m…. But how can I have a talk with her, Ippolit Sidorovitch?”
“It’s very simple, Dimitri Pavlovitch. Go to Wiesbaden. It’s not far
from here. Waiter, haven’t you any English mustard? No? Brutes! Only
don’t lose any time. We’re starting the day after to-morrow. Let me
pour you out a glass of wine; it’s wine with a bouquet—no vinegary
stuff.”
Polozov’s face was flushed and animated; it was never animated but when
he was eating—or drinking.
“Really, I don’t know, how that could be managed,” Sanin muttered.
“But what makes you in such a hurry about it all of a sudden?”
“There is a reason for being in a hurry, brother.”
“And do you need a lot of money?”
“Yes, a lot. I … how can I tell you? I propose … getting married.”
Polozov set the glass he had been lifting to his lips on the table.
“Getting married!” he articulated in a voice thick with astonishment,
and he folded his podgy hands on his stomach. “So suddenly?”
“Yes … soon.”
“Your intended is in Russia, of course?”
“No, not in Russia.”
“Where then?”
“Here in Frankfort.”
“And who is she?”
“A German; that is, no—an Italian. A resident here.”
“With a fortune?”
“No, without a fortune.”
“Then I suppose your love is very ardent?”
“How absurd you are! Yes, very ardent.”
“And it’s for that you must have money?”
“Well, yes … yes, yes.”
Polozov gulped down his wine, rinsed his mouth, and washed his hands,
carefully wiped them on the napkin, took out and lighted a cigar. Sanin
watched him in silence.
“There’s one means,” Polozov grunted at last, throwing his head back,
and blowing out the smoke in a thin ring. “Go to my wife. If she likes,
she can take all the bother off your hands.”
“But how can I see your wife? You say you are starting the day after
to-morrow?”
Polozov closed his eyes.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said at last, rolling the cigar in his lips,
and sighing. “Go home, get ready as quick as you can, and come here. At
one o’clock I am going, there’s plenty of room in my carriage. I’ll
take you with me. That’s the best plan. And now I’m going to have a
nap. I must always have a nap, brother, after a meal. Nature demands
it, and I won’t go against it. And don’t you disturb me.”
Sanin thought and thought, and suddenly raised his head; he had made up
his mind.
“Very well, agreed, and thank you. At half-past twelve I’ll be here,
and we’ll go together to Wiesbaden. I hope your wife won’t be angry….”
But Polozov was already snoring. He muttered, “Don’t disturb me!” gave
a kick, and fell asleep, like a baby.
Sanin once more scanned his clumsy figure, his head, his neck, his
upturned chin, round as an apple, and going out of the hotel, set off
with rapid strides to the Rosellis’ shop. He had to let Gemma know.
XXXII
He found her in the shop with her mother. Frau Lenore was stooping
down, measuring with a big folding foot-rule the space between the
windows. On seeing Sanin, she stood up, and greeted him cheerfully,
though with a shade of embarrassment.
“What you said yesterday,” she began, “has set my head in a whirl with
ideas as to how we could improve our shop. Here, I fancy we might put a
couple of cupboards with shelves of looking-glass. You know, that’s the
fashion nowadays. And then …”
“Excellent, excellent,” Sanin broke in, “we must think it all over….
But come here, I want to tell you something.” He took Frau Lenore and
Gemma by the arm, and led them into the next room. Frau Lenore was
alarmed, and the foot-rule slipped out of her hands. Gemma too was
almost frightened, but she took an intent look at Sanin, and was
reassured. His face, though preoccupied, expressed at the same time
keen self-confidence and determination. He asked both the women to sit
down, while he remained standing before them, and gesticulating with
his hands and ruffling up his hair, he told them all his story; his
meeting with Polozov, his proposed expedition to Wiesbaden, the chance
of selling the estate. “Imagine my happiness,” he cried in conclusion:
“things have taken such a turn that I may even, perhaps, not have to go
to Russia! And we can have our wedding much sooner than I had
anticipated!”
“When must you go?” asked Gemma.
“To-day, in an hour’s time; my friend has ordered a carriage—he will
take me.”
“You will write to us?”
“At once! directly I have had a talk with this lady, I will write.”
“This lady, you say, is very rich?” queried the practical Frau Lenore.
“Exceedingly rich! her father was a millionaire, and he left everything
to her.”
“Everything—to her alone? Well, that’s so much the better for you. Only
mind, don’t let your property go too cheap! Be sensible and firm. Don’t
let yourself be carried away! I understand your wishing to be Gemma’s
husband as soon as possible … but prudence before everything! Don’t
forget: the better price you get for your estate, the more there will
be for you two, and for your children.”
Gemma turned away, and Sanin gave another wave of his hand. “You can
rely on my prudence, Frau Lenore! Indeed, I shan’t do any bargaining
with her. I shall tell her the fair price; if she’ll give it—good; if
not, let her go.”
“Do you know her—this lady?” asked Gemma.
“I have never seen her.”
“And when will you come back?”
“If our negotiations come to nothing—the day after to-morrow; if they
turn out favourably, perhaps I may have to stay a day or two longer. In
any case I shall not linger a minute beyond what’s necessary. I am
leaving my heart here, you know! But I have said what I had to say to
you, and I must run home before setting off too…. Give me your hand for
luck, Frau Lenore—that’s what we always do in Russia.”
“The right or the left?”
“The left, it’s nearer the heart. I shall reappear the day after
to-morrow with my shield or on it! Something tells me I shall come back
in triumph! Good-bye, my good dear ones….”
He embraced and kissed Frau Lenore, but he asked Gemma to follow him
into her room—for just a minute—as he must tell her something of great
importance. He simply wanted to say good-bye to her alone. Frau Lenore
saw that, and felt no curiosity as to the matter of such great
importance.
Sanin had never been in Gemma’s room before. All the magic of love, all
its fire and rapture and sweet terror, seemed to flame up and burst
into his soul, directly he crossed its sacred threshold…. He cast a
look of tenderness about him, fell at the sweet girl’s feet and pressed
his face against her waist….
“You are mine,” she whispered: “you will be back soon?”
“I am yours. I will come back,” he declared, catching his breath.
“I shall be longing for you back, my dear one!”
A few instants later Sanin was running along the street to his lodging.
He did not even notice that Pantaleone, all dishevelled, had darted out
of the shop-door after him, and was shouting something to him and was
shaking, as though in menace, his lifted hand.
Exactly at a quarter to one Sanin presented himself before Polozov. The
carriage with four horses was already standing at the hotel gates. On
seeing Sanin, Polozov merely commented, “Oh! you’ve made up your mind?”
and putting on his hat, cloak, and over-shoes, and stuffing cotton-wool
into his ears, though it was summer-time, went out on to the steps. The
waiters, by his directions, disposed all his numerous purchases in the
inside of the carriage, lined the place where he was to sit with silk
cushions, bags, and bundles, put a hamper of provisions for his feet to
rest on, and tied a trunk on to the box. Polozov paid with a liberal
hand, and supported by the deferential door-keeper, whose face was
still respectful, though he was unseen behind him, he climbed gasping
into the carriage, sat down, disarranged everything about him
thoroughly, took out and lighted a cigar, and only then extended a
finger to Sanin, as though to say, “Get in, you too!” Sanin placed
himself beside him. Polozov sent orders by the door-keeper to the
postillion to drive carefully—if he wanted drinks; the carriage steps
grated, the doors slammed, and the carriage rolled off.
XXXIII
It takes less than an hour in these days by rail from Frankfort to
Wiesbaden; at that time the extra post did it in three hours. They
changed horses five times. Part of the time Polozov dozed and part of
the time he simply shook from side to side, holding a cigar in his
teeth; he talked very little; he did not once look out of the window;
picturesque views did not interest them; he even announced that “nature
was the death of him!” Sanin did not speak either, nor did he admire
the scenery; he had no thought for it. He was all absorbed in
reflections and memories. At the stations Polozov paid with exactness,
took the time by his watch, and tipped the postillions—more or
less—according to their zeal. When they had gone half way, he took two
oranges out of the hamper of edibles, and choosing out the better,
offered the other to Sanin. Sanin looked steadily at his companion, and
suddenly burst out laughing.
“What are you laughing at?” the latter inquired, very carefully peeling
his orange with his short white nails.
“What at?” repeated Sanin. “Why, at our journey together.”
“What about it?” Polozov inquired again, dropping into his mouth one of
the longitudinal sections into which an orange parts.
“It’s so very strange. Yesterday I must confess I thought no more of
you than of the Emperor of China, and to-day I’m driving with you to
sell my estate to your wife, of whom, too, I have not the slightest
idea.”
“Anything may happen,” responded Polozov. “When you’ve lived a bit
longer, you won’t be surprised at anything. For instance, can you fancy
me riding as an orderly officer? But I did, and the Grand Duke Mihail
Pavlovitch gave the order, “Trot! let him trot, that fat cornet! Trot
now! Look sharp!”
Sanin scratched behind his ear.
“Tell me, please, Ippolit Sidorovitch, what is your wife like? What is
her character? It’s very necessary for me to know that, you see.”
“It was very well for him to shout, ‘Trot!’” Polozov went on with