The Torrents of Spring
“No, thank you,” she answered … “my man will find it. Stop!” she added
in an imperious whisper, and rapidly withdrew drawing Sanin along with
her.
“Go to the devil! Why are you staring at me?” Dönhof roared suddenly at
the literary man. He had to vent his feelings upon some one!
“_Sehr gut! sehr gut!_” muttered the literary man, and shuffled off.
Maria Nikolaevna’s footman, waiting for her in the entrance, found her
carriage in no time. She quickly took her seat in it; Sanin leapt in
after her. The doors were slammed to, and Maria Nikolaevna exploded in
a burst of laughter.
“What are you laughing at?” Sanin inquired.
“Oh, excuse me, please … but it struck me: what if Dönhof were to have
another duel with you … on my account…. wouldn’t that be wonderful?”
“Are you very great friends with him?” Sanin asked.
“With him? that boy? He’s one of my followers. You needn’t trouble
yourself about him!”
“Oh, I’m not troubling myself at all.”
Maria Nikolaevna sighed. “Ah, I know you’re not. But listen, do you
know what, you’re such a darling, you mustn’t refuse me one last
request. Remember in three days’ time I am going to Paris, and you are
returning to Frankfort…. Shall we ever meet again?”
“What is this request?”
“You can ride, of course?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, to-morrow morning I’ll take you with me, and we’ll go a
ride together out of the town. We’ll have splendid horses. Then we’ll
come home, wind up our business, and amen! Don’t be surprised, don’t
tell me it’s a caprice, and I’m a madcap—all that’s very likely—but
simply say, I consent.”
Maria Nikolaevna turned her face towards him. It was dark in the
carriage, but her eyes glittered even in the darkness.
“Very well, I consent,” said Sanin with a sigh.
“Ah! You sighed!” Maria Nikolaevna mimicked him. “That means to say, as
you’ve begun, you must go on to the bitter end. But no, no…. You’re
charming, you’re good, and I’ll keep my promise. Here’s my hand,
without a glove on it, the right one, for business. Take it, and have
faith in its pressure. What sort of a woman I am, I don’t know; but I’m
an honest fellow, and one can do business with me.”
Sanin, without knowing very well what he was doing, lifted the hand to
his lips. Maria Nikolaevna softly took it, and was suddenly still, and
did not speak again till the carriage stopped.
She began getting out…. What was it? Sanin’s fancy? or did he really
feel on his cheek a swift burning kiss?
“Till to-morrow!” whispered Maria Nikolaevna on the steps, in the light
of the four tapers of a candelabrum, held up on her appearance by the
gold-laced door-keeper. She kept her eyes cast down. “Till to-morrow!”
When he got back to his room, Sanin found on the table a letter from
Gemma. He felt a momentary dismay, and at once made haste to rejoice
over it to disguise his dismay from himself. It consisted of a few
lines. She was delighted at the “successful opening of negotiations,”
advised him to be patient, and added that all at home were well, and
were already rejoicing at the prospect of seeing him back again. Sanin
felt the letter rather stiff, he took pen and paper, however … and
threw it all aside again. “Why write? I shall be back myself to-morrow
… it’s high time!”
He went to bed immediately, and tried to get to sleep as quickly as
possible. If he had stayed up and remained on his legs, he would
certainly have begun thinking about Gemma, and he was for some reason …
ashamed to think of her. His conscience was stirring within him. But he
consoled himself with the reflection that to-morrow it would all be
over for ever, and he would take leave for good of this feather-brained
lady, and would forget all this rotten idiocy!…
Weak people in their mental colloquies, eagerly make use of strong
expressions.
_Et puis … cela ne tire pas à conséquence!_
XLI
Such were Sanin’s thoughts, as he went to bed; but what he thought next
morning when Maria Nikolaevna knocked impatiently at his door with the
coral handle of her riding-whip, when he saw her in the doorway, with
the train of a dark-blue riding habit over her arm, with a man’s small
hat on her thickly coiled curls, with a veil thrown back over her
shoulder, with a smile of invitation on her lips, in her eyes, over all
her face—what he thought then—history does not record.
“Well? are you ready?” rang out a joyous voice.
Sanin buttoned his coat, and took his hat in silence. Maria Nikolaevna
flung him a bright look, nodded to him, and ran swiftly down the
staircase. And he ran after her.
The horses were already waiting in the street at the steps. There were
three of them, a golden chestnut thorough-bred mare, with a thin-lipped
mouth, that showed the teeth, with black prominent eyes, and legs like
a stag’s, rather thin but beautifully shaped, and full of fire and
spirit, for Maria Nikolaevna; a big, powerful, rather thick-set horse,
raven black all over, for Sanin; the third horse was destined for the
groom. Maria Nikolaevna leaped adroitly on to her mare, who stamped and
wheeled round, lifting her tail, and sinking on to her haunches. But
Maria Nikolaevna, who was a first-rate horse-woman, reined her in; they
had to take leave of Polozov, who in his inevitable fez and in an open
dressing-gown, came out on to the balcony, and from there waved a
_batiste_ handkerchief, without the faintest smile, rather a frown, in
fact, on his face. Sanin too mounted his horse; Maria Nikolaevna
saluted Polozov with her whip, then gave her mare a lash with it on her
arched and flat neck. The mare reared on her hind legs, made a dash
forward, moving with a smart and shortened step, quivering in every
sinew, biting the air and snorting abruptly. Sanin rode behind, and
looked at Maria Nikolaevna; her slender supple figure, moulded by
close-fitting but easy stays, swayed to and fro with self-confident
grace and skill. She turned her head and beckoned him with her eyes
alone. He came alongside of her.
“See now, how delightful it is,” she said. “I tell you at the last,
before parting, you are charming, and you shan’t regret it.”
As she uttered those last words, she nodded her head several times as
if to confirm them and make him feel their full weight.
She seemed so happy that Sanin was simply astonished; her face even
wore at times that sedate expression which children sometimes have when
they are very … very much pleased.
They rode at a walking pace for the short distance to the city walls,
but then started off at a vigorous gallop along the high road. It was
magnificent, real summer weather; the wind blew in their faces, and
sang and whistled sweetly in their ears. They felt very happy; the
sense of youth, health and life, of free eager onward motion, gained
possession of both; it grew stronger every instant.
Maria Nikolaevna reined in her mare, and again went at a walking pace;
Sanin followed her example.
“This,” she began with a deep blissful sigh, “this now is the only
thing worth living for. When you succeed in doing what you want to,
what seemed impossible—come, enjoy it, heart and soul, to the last
drop!” She passed her hand across her throat. “And how good and kind
one feels oneself then! I now, at this moment … how good I feel! I feel
as if I could embrace the whole world! No, not the whole world…. That
man now I couldn’t.” She pointed with her whip at a poorly dressed old
man who was stealing along on one side. “But I am ready to make him
happy. Here, take this,” she shouted loudly in German, and she flung a
net purse at his feet. The heavy little bag (leather purses were not
thought of at that time) fell with a ring on to the road. The old man
was astounded, stood still, while Maria Nikolaevna chuckled, and put
her mare into a gallop.
“Do you enjoy riding so much?” Sanin asked, as he overtook her.
Maria Nikolaevna reined her mare in once more: only in this way could
she bring her to a stop.
“I only wanted to get away from thanks. If any one thanks me, he spoils
my pleasure. You see I didn’t do that for his sake, but for my own. How
dare he thank me? I didn’t hear what you asked me.”
“I asked … I wanted to know what makes you so happy to-day.”
“Do you know what,” said Maria Nikolaevna; either she had again not
heard Sanin’s question, or she did not consider it necessary to answer
it. “I’m awfully sick of that groom, who sticks up there behind us, and
most likely does nothing but wonder when we gentlefolks are going home
again. How shall we get rid of him?” She hastily pulled a little
pocket-book out of her pocket. “Send him back to the town with a note?
No … that won’t do. Ah! I have it! What’s that in front of us? Isn’t it
an inn?”
Sanin looked in the direction she pointed. “Yes, I believe it is an
inn.”
“Well, that’s first-rate. I’ll tell him to stop at that inn and drink
beer till we come back.”
“But what will he think?”
“What does it matter to us? Besides, he won’t think at all; he’ll drink
beer—that’s all. Come, Sanin (it was the first time she had used his
surname alone), on, gallop!”
When they reached the inn, Maria Nikolaevna called the groom up and
told him what she wished of him. The groom, a man of English extraction
and English temperament, raised his hand to the beak of his cap without
a word, jumped off his horse, and took him by the bridle.
“Well, now we are free as the birds of the air!” cried Maria
Nikolaevna. “Where shall we go. North, south, east, or west? Look—I’m
like the Hungarian king at his coronation (she pointed her whip in each
direction in turn). All is ours! No, do you know what: see, those
glorious mountains—and that forest! Let’s go there, to the mountains,
to the mountains!”
“_In die Berge wo die Freiheit thront!_”
She turned off the high-road and galloped along a narrow untrodden
track, which certainly seemed to lead straight to the hills. Sanin
galloped after her.
XLII
This track soon changed into a tiny footpath, and at last disappeared
altogether, and was crossed by a stream. Sanin counselled turning back,
but Maria Nikolaevna said, “No! I want to get to the mountains! Let’s
go straight, as the birds fly,” and she made her mare leap the stream.
Sanin leaped it too. Beyond the stream began a wide meadow, at first
dry, then wet, and at last quite boggy; the water oozed up everywhere,
and stood in pools in some places. Maria Nikolaevna rode her mare
straight through these pools on purpose, laughed, and said, “Let’s be
naughty children.”
“Do you know,” she asked Sanin, “what is meant by pool-hunting?”
“Yes,” answered Sanin.
“I had an uncle a huntsman,” she went on.
“I used to go out hunting with him—in the spring. It was delicious!
Here we are now, on the pools with you. Only, I see, you’re a Russian,
and yet mean to marry an Italian. Well, that’s your sorrow. What’s
that? A stream again! Gee up!”
The horse took the leap, but Maria Nikolaevna’s hat fell off her head,
and her curls tumbled loose over her shoulders. Sanin was just going to
get off his horse to pick up the hat, but she shouted to him, “Don’t
touch it, I’ll get it myself,” bent low down from the saddle, hooked
the handle of her whip into the veil, and actually did get the hat. She
put it on her head, but did not fasten up her hair, and again darted
off, positively holloaing. Sanin dashed along beside her, by her side
leaped trenches, fences, brooks, fell in and scrambled out, flew down
hill, flew up hill, and kept watching her face. What a face it was! It
was all, as it were, wide open: wide-open eyes, eager, bright, and
wild; lips, nostrils, open too, and breathing eagerly; she looked
straight before her, and it seemed as though that soul longed to master
everything it saw, the earth, the sky, the sun, the air itself; and