The Torrents of Spring
this very freedom and familiarity a good omen for his undertaking. “We
must humour this rich lady’s caprices,” he decided inwardly; and as
unconstrainedly as she had questioned him he answered, “Yes; I am going
to be married.”
“To whom? To a foreigner?”
“Yes.”
“Did you get acquainted with her lately? In Frankfort?”
“Yes.”
“And what is she? May I know?”
“Certainly. She is a confectioner’s daughter.”
Maria Nikolaevna opened her eyes wide and lifted her eyebrows.
“Why, this is delightful,” she commented in a drawling voice; “this is
exquisite! I imagined that young men like you were not to be met with
anywhere in these days. A confectioner’s daughter!”
“I see that surprises you,” observed Sanin with some dignity; “but in
the first place, I have none of these prejudices …”
“In the first place, it doesn’t surprise me in the least,” Maria
Nikolaevna interrupted; “I have no prejudices either. I’m the daughter
of a peasant myself. There! what can you say to that? What does
surprise and delight me is to have come across a man who’s not afraid
to love. You do love her, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
“Is she very pretty?”
Sanin was slightly stung by this last question…. However, there was no
drawing back.
“You know, Maria Nikolaevna,” he began, “every man thinks the face of
his beloved better than all others; but my betrothed is really
beautiful.”
“Really? In what style? Italian? antique?”
“Yes; she has very regular features.”
“You have not got her portrait with you?”
“No.” (At that time photography was not yet talked off. Daguerrotypes
had hardly begun to be common.)
“What’s her name?”
“Her name is Gemma.”
“And yours?”
“Dimitri.”
“And your father’s?”
“Pavlovitch.”
“Do you know,” Maria Nikolaevna said, still in the same drawling voice,
“I like you very much, Dimitri Pavlovitch. You must be an excellent
fellow. Give me your hand. Let us be friends.”
She pressed his hand tightly in her beautiful, white, strong fingers.
Her hand was a little smaller than his hand, but much warmer and
smoother and whiter and more full of life.
“Only, do you know what strikes me?”
“What?”
“You won’t be angry? No? You say she is betrothed to you. But was that
… was that quite necessary?”
Sanin frowned. “I don’t understand you, Maria Nikolaevna.”
Maria Nikolaevna gave a soft low laugh, and shaking her head tossed
back the hair that was falling on her cheeks. “Decidedly—he’s
delightful,” she commented half pensively, half carelessly. “A perfect
knight! After that, there’s no believing in the people who maintain
that the race of idealists is extinct!”
Maria Nikolaevna talked Russian all the time, an astonishingly pure
true Moscow Russian, such as the people, not the nobles speak.
“You’ve been brought up at home, I expect, in a God-fearing, old
orthodox family?” she queried. “You’re from what province?”
“Tula.”
“Oh! so we’re from the same part. My father … I daresay you know who my
father was?”
“Yes, I know.”
“He was born in Tula…. He was a Tula man. Well … well. Come, let us get
to business now.”
“That is … how come to business? What do you mean to say by that?”
Maria Nikolaevna half-closed her eyes. “Why, what did you come here
for?” (when she screwed up her eyes, their expression became very
kindly and a little bantering, when she opened them wide, into their
clear, almost cold brilliancy, there came something ill-natured …
something menacing. Her eyes gained a peculiar beauty from her
eyebrows, which were thick, and met in the centre, and had the
smoothness of sable fur). “Don’t you want me to buy your estate? You
want money for your nuptials? Don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And do you want much?”
“I should be satisfied with a few thousand francs at first. Your
husband knows my estate. You can consult him—I would take a very
moderate price.”
Maria Nikolaevna tossed her head from left to right. “_In the first
place_,” she began in deliberate tones, drumming with the tips of her
fingers on the cuff of Sanin’s coat, “I am not in the habit of
consulting my husband, except about matters of dress—he’s my right hand
in that; _and in the second place_, why do you say that you will fix a
low price? I don’t want to take advantage of your being very much in
love at the moment, and ready to make any sacrifices…. I won’t accept
sacrifices of any kind from you. What? Instead of encouraging you …
come, how is one to express it properly?—in your noble sentiments, eh?
am I to fleece you? that’s not my way. I can be hard on people, on
occasion—only not in that way.”
Sanin was utterly unable to make out whether she was laughing at him or
speaking seriously, and only said to himself: “Oh, I can see one has to
mind what one’s about with you!”
A man-servant came in with a Russian samovar, tea-things, cream,
biscuits, etc., on a big tray; he set all these good things on the
table between Sanin and Madame Polozov, and retired.
She poured him out a cup of tea. “You don’t object?” she queried, as
she put sugar in his cup with her fingers … though sugar-tongs were
lying close by.
“Oh, please!… From such a lovely hand …”
He did not finish his phrase, and almost choked over a sip of tea,
while she watched him attentively and brightly.
“I spoke of a moderate price for my land,” he went on, “because as you
are abroad just now, I can hardly suppose you have a great deal of cash
available, and in fact, I feel myself that the sale … the purchase of
my land, under such conditions is something exceptional, and I ought to
take that into consideration.”
Sanin got confused, and lost the thread of what he was saying, while
Maria Nikolaevna softly leaned back in her easy-chair, folded her arms,
and watched him with the same attentive bright look. He was silent at
last.
“Never mind, go on, go on,” she said, as it were coming to his aid;
“I’m listening to you. I like to hear you; go on talking.”
Sanin fell to describing his estate, how many acres it contained, and
where it was situated, and what were its agricultural advantages, and
what profit could be made from it … he even referred to the picturesque
situation of the house; while Maria Nikolaevna still watched him, and
watched more and more intently and radiantly, and her lips faintly
stirred, without smiling: she bit them. He felt awkward at last; he was
silent a second time.
“Dimitri Pavlovitch,” began Maria Nikolaevna, and sank into thought
again…. “Dimitri Pavlovitch,” she repeated…. “Do you know what: I am
sure the purchase of your estate will be a very profitable transaction
for me, and that we shall come to terms; but you must give me two
days…. Yes, two days’ grace. You are able to endure two days’
separation from your betrothed, aren’t you? Longer I won’t keep you
against your will—I give you my word of honour. But if you want five or
six thousand francs at once, I am ready with great pleasure to let you
have it as a loan, and then we’ll settle later.”
Sanin got up. “I must thank you, Maria Nikolaevna, for your kindhearted
and friendly readiness to do a service to a man almost unknown to you.
But if that is your decided wish, then I prefer to await your decision
about my estate—I will stay here two days.”
“Yes; that is my wish, Dimitri Pavlovitch. And will it be very hard for
you? Very? Tell me.”
“I love my betrothed, Maria Nikolaevna, and to be separated from her is
hard for me.”
“Ah! you’re a heart of gold!” Maria Nikolaevna commented with a sigh.
“I promise not to torment you too much. Are you going?”
“It is late,” observed Sanin.
“And you want to rest after your journey, and your game of ‘fools’ with
my husband. Tell me, were you a great friend of Ippolit Sidorovitch, my
husband?”
“We were educated at the same school.”
“And was he the same then?”
“The same as what?” inquired Sanin. Maria Nikolaevna burst out
laughing, and laughed till she was red in the face; she put her
handkerchief to her lips, rose from her chair, and swaying as though
she were tired, went up to Sanin, and held out her hand to him.
He bowed over it, and went towards the door.
“Come early to-morrow—do you hear?” she called after him. He looked
back as he went out of the room, and saw that she had again dropped
into an easy-chair, and flung both arms behind her head. The loose
sleeves of her tea-gown fell open almost to her shoulders, and it was
impossible not to admit that the pose of the arms, that the whole
figure, was enchantingly beautiful.
XXXVI
Long after midnight the lamp was burning in Sanin’s room. He sat down
to the table and wrote to “his Gemma.” He told her everything; he
described the Polozovs—husband and wife—but, more than all, enlarged on
his own feelings, and ended by appointing a meeting with her in three
days!!! (with three marks of exclamation). Early in the morning he took
this letter to the post, and went for a walk in the garden of the
Kurhaus, where music was already being played. There were few people in
it as yet; he stood before the arbour in which the orchestra was
placed, listened to an adaptation of airs from “Robert le Diable,” and
after drinking some coffee, turned into a solitary side walk, sat down
on a bench, and fell into a reverie. The handle of a parasol gave him a
rapid, and rather vigorous, thump on the shoulder. He started…. Before
him in a light, grey-green barége dress, in a white tulle hat, and
_suède_ gloves, stood Maria Nikolaevna, fresh and rosy as a summer
morning, though the languor of sound unbroken sleep had not yet quite
vanished from her movements and her eyes.
“Good-morning,” she said. “I sent after you to-day, but you’d already
gone out. I’ve only just drunk my second glass—they’re making me drink
the water here, you know—whatever for, there’s no telling … am I not
healthy enough? And now I have to walk for a whole hour. Will you be my
companion? And then we’ll have some coffee.”
“I’ve had some already,” Sanin observed, getting up; “but I shall be
very glad to have a walk with you.”
“Very well, give me your arm then; don’t be afraid: your betrothed is
not here—she won’t see you.”
Sanin gave a constrained smile. He experienced a disagreeable sensation
every time Maria Nikolaevna referred to Gemma. However, he made haste
to bend towards her obediently…. Maria Nikolaevna’s arm slipped slowly
and softly into his arm, and glided over it, and seemed to cling tight
to it.
“Come—this way,” she said to him, putting up her open parasol over her
shoulder. “I’m quite at home in this park; I will take you to the best
places. And do you know what? (she very often made use of this
expression), we won’t talk just now about that sale, we’ll have a
thorough discussion of that after lunch; but you must tell me now about
yourself … so that I may know whom I have to do with. And afterwards,
if you like, I will tell you about myself. Do you agree?”
“But, Maria Nikolaevna, what interest can there be for you …”
“Stop, stop. You don’t understand me. I don’t want to flirt with you.”
Maria Nikolaevna shrugged her shoulders. “He’s got a betrothed like an
antique statue, is it likely I am going to flirt with him? But you’ve
something to sell, and I’m the purchaser. I want to know what your
goods are like. Well, of course, you must show what they are like. I
don’t only want to know what I’m buying, but whom I’m buying from. That
was my father’s rule. Come, begin … come, if not from childhood—come
now, have you been long abroad? And where have you been up till now?
Only don’t walk so fast, we’re in no hurry.”
“I came here from Italy, where I spent several months.”
“Ah, you feel, it seems, a special attraction towards everything
Italian. It’s strange you didn’t find your lady-love there. Are you
fond of art? of pictures? or more of music?”