The Torrents of Spring
princess’s son, a cadet of twelve years old, had come from Petersburg
for his holidays; Zinaïda at once handed her brother over to me.
“Here,” she said, “my dear Volodya,”—it was the first time she had used
this pet-name to me—“is a companion for you. His name is Volodya, too.
Please, like him; he is still shy, but he has a good heart. Show him
Neskutchny gardens, go walks with him, take him under your protection.
You’ll do that, won’t you? you’re so good, too!” She laid both her
hands affectionately on my shoulders, and I was utterly bewildered. The
presence of this boy transformed me, too, into a boy. I looked in
silence at the cadet, who stared as silently at me. Zinaïda laughed,
and pushed us towards each other. “Embrace each other, children!” We
embraced each other. “Would you like me to show you the garden?” I
inquired of the cadet. “If you please,” he replied, in the regular
cadet’s hoarse voice. Zinaïda laughed again…. I had time to notice that
she had never had such an exquisite colour in her face before. I set
off with the cadet. There was an old-fashioned swing in our garden. I
sat him down on the narrow plank seat, and began swinging him. He sat
rigid in his new little uniform of stout cloth, with its broad gold
braiding, and kept tight hold of the cords. “You’d better unbutton your
collar,” I said to him. “It’s all right; we’re used to it,” he said,
and cleared his throat. He was like his sister. The eyes especially
recalled her, I liked being nice to him; and at the same time an aching
sadness was gnawing at my heart. “Now I certainly am a child,” I
thought; “but yesterday….” I remembered where I had dropped my knife
the night before, and looked for it. The cadet asked me for it, picked
a thick stalk of wild parsley, cut a pipe out of it, and began
whistling. Othello whistled too.
But in the evening how he wept, this Othello, in Zinaïda’s arms, when,
seeking him out in a corner of the garden, she asked him why he was so
depressed. My tears flowed with such violence that she was frightened.
“What is wrong with you? What is it, Volodya?” she repeated; and seeing
I made no answer, and did not cease weeping, she was about to kiss my
wet cheek. But I turned away from her, and whispered through my sobs,
“I know all. Why did you play with me?… What need had you of my love?”
“I am to blame, Volodya …” said Zinaïda. “I am very much to blame …”
she added, wringing her hands. “How much there is bad and black and
sinful in me!… But I am not playing with you now. I love you; you don’t
even suspect why and how…. But what is it you know?”
What could I say to her? She stood facing me, and looked at me; and I
belonged to her altogether from head to foot directly she looked at
me…. A quarter of an hour later I was running races with the cadet and
Zinaïda. I was not crying, I was laughing, though my swollen eyelids
dropped a tear or two as I laughed. I had Zinaïda’s ribbon round my
neck for a cravat, and I shouted with delight whenever I succeeded in
catching her round the waist. She did just as she liked with me.
XIX
I should be in a great difficulty, if I were forced to describe exactly
what passed within me in the course of the week after my unsuccessful
midnight expedition. It was a strange feverish time, a sort of chaos,
in which the most violently opposed feelings, thoughts, suspicions,
hopes, joys, and sufferings, whirled together in a kind of hurricane. I
was afraid to look into myself, if a boy of sixteen ever can look into
himself; I was afraid to take stock of anything; I simply hastened to
live through every day till evening; and at night I slept … the
light-heartedness of childhood came to my aid. I did not want to know
whether I was loved, and I did not want to acknowledge to myself that I
was not loved; my father I avoided—but Zinaïda I could not avoid…. I
burnt as in a fire in her presence … but what did I care to know what
the fire was in which I burned and melted—it was enough that it was
sweet to burn and melt. I gave myself up to all my passing sensations,
and cheated myself, turning away from memories, and shutting my eyes to
what I foreboded before me…. This weakness would not most likely have
lasted long in any case … a thunderbolt cut it all short in a moment,
and flung me into a new track altogether.
Coming in one day to dinner from a rather long walk, I learnt with
amazement that I was to dine alone, that my father had gone away and my
mother was unwell, did not want any dinner, and had shut herself up in
her bedroom. From the faces of the footmen, I surmised that something
extraordinary had taken place…. I did not dare to cross-examine them,
but I had a friend in the young waiter Philip, who was passionately
fond of poetry, and a performer on the guitar. I addressed myself to
him. From him I learned that a terrible scene had taken place between
my father and mother (and every word had been overheard in the maids’
room; much of it had been in French, but Masha the lady’s-maid had
lived five years’ with a dressmaker from Paris, and she understood it
all); that my mother had reproached my father with infidelity, with an
intimacy with the young lady next door, that my father at first had
defended himself, but afterwards had lost his temper, and he too had
said something cruel, “reflecting on her age,” which had made my mother
cry; that my mother too had alluded to some loan which it seemed had
been made to the old princess, and had spoken very ill of her and of
the young lady too, and that then my father had threatened her. “And
all the mischief,” continued Philip, “came from an anonymous letter;
and who wrote it, no one knows, or else there’d have been no reason
whatever for the matter to have come out at all.”
“But was there really any ground,” I brought out with difficulty, while
my hands and feet went cold, and a sort of shudder ran through my
inmost being.
Philip winked meaningly. “There was. There’s no hiding those things;
for all that your father was careful this time—but there, you see,
he’d, for instance, to hire a carriage or something … no getting on
without servants, either.”
I dismissed Philip, and fell on to my bed. I did not sob, I did not
give myself up to despair; I did not ask myself when and how this had
happened; I did not wonder how it was I had not guessed it before, long
ago; I did not even upbraid my father…. What I had learnt was more than
I could take in; this sudden revelation stunned me…. All was at an end.
All the fair blossoms of my heart were roughly plucked at once, and lay
about me, flung on the ground, and trampled underfoot.
XX
My mother next day announced her intention of returning to the town. In
the morning my father had gone into her bedroom, and stayed there a
long while alone with her. No one had overheard what he said to her;
but my mother wept no more; she regained her composure, and asked for
food, but did not make her appearance nor change her plans. I remember
I wandered about the whole day, but did not go into the garden, and
never once glanced at the lodge, and in the evening I was the spectator
of an amazing occurrence: my father conducted Count Malevsky by the arm
through the dining-room into the hall, and, in the presence of a
footman, said icily to him: “A few days ago your excellency was shown
the door in our house; and now I am not going to enter into any kind of
explanation with you, but I have the honour to announce to you that if
you ever visit me again, I shall throw you out of window. I don’t like
your handwriting.” The count bowed, bit his lips, shrank away, and
vanished.
Preparations were beginning for our removal to town, to Arbaty Street,
where we had a house. My father himself probably no longer cared to
remain at the country house; but clearly he had succeeded in persuading
my mother not to make a public scandal. Everything was done quietly,
without hurry; my mother even sent her compliments to the old princess,
and expressed her regret that she was prevented by indisposition from
seeing her again before her departure. I wandered about like one
possessed, and only longed for one thing, for it all to be over as soon
as possible. One thought I could not get out of my head: how could she,
a young girl, and a princess too, after all, bring herself to such a
step, knowing that my father was not a free man, and having an
opportunity of marrying, for instance, Byelovzorov? What did she hope
for? How was it she was not afraid of ruining her whole future? Yes, I
thought, this is love, this is passion, this is devotion … and Lushin’s
words came back to me: to sacrifice oneself for some people is sweet. I
chanced somehow to catch sight of something white in one of the windows
of the lodge…. “Can it be Zinaïda’s face?” I thought … yes, it really
was her face. I could not restrain myself. I could not part from her
without saying a last good-bye to her. I seized a favourable instant,
and went into the lodge.
In the drawing-room the old princess met me with her usual slovenly and
careless greetings.
“How’s this, my good man, your folks are off in such a hurry?” she
observed, thrusting snuff into her nose. I looked at her, and a load
was taken off my heart. The word “loan,” dropped by Philip, had been
torturing me. She had no suspicion … at least I thought so then.
Zinaïda came in from the next room, pale, and dressed in black, with
her hair hanging loose; she took me by the hand without a word, and
drew me away with her.
“I heard your voice,” she began, “and came out at once. Is it so easy
for you to leave us, bad boy?”
“I have come to say good-bye to you, princess,” I answered, “probably
for ever. You have heard, perhaps, we are going away.”
Zinaïda looked intently at me.
“Yes, I have heard. Thanks for coming. I was beginning to think I
should not see you again. Don’t remember evil against me. I have
sometimes tormented you, but all the same I am not what you imagine
me.” She turned away, and leaned against the window.
“Really, I am not like that. I know you have a bad opinion of me.”
“I?”
“Yes, you … you.”
“I?” I repeated mournfully, and my heart throbbed as of old under the
influence of her overpowering, indescribable fascination. “I? Believe
me, Zinaïda Alexandrovna, whatever you did, however you tormented me, I
should love and adore you to the end of my days.”
She turned with a rapid motion to me, and flinging wide her arms,
embraced my head, and gave me a warm and passionate kiss. God knows
whom that long farewell kiss was seeking, but I eagerly tasted its
sweetness. I knew that it would never be repeated. “Good-bye,
good-bye,” I kept saying …
She tore herself away, and went out. And I went away. I cannot describe
the emotion with which I went away. I should not wish it ever to come
again; but I should think myself unfortunate had I never experienced
such an emotion.
We went back to town. I did not quickly shake off the past; I did not
quickly get to work. My wound slowly began to heal; but I had no
ill-feeling against my father. On the contrary he had, as it were,
gained in my eyes … let psychologists explain the contradiction as best
they can. One day I was walking along a boulevard, and to my
indescribable delight, I came across Lushin. I liked him for his
straightforward and unaffected character, and besides he was dear to me
for the sake of the memories he aroused in me. I rushed up to him.
“Aha!” he said, knitting his brows,” so it’s you, young man. Let me
have a look at you. You’re still as yellow as ever, but yet there’s not
the same nonsense in your eyes. You look like a man, not a lap-dog.
That’s good. Well, what are you doing? working?”
I gave a sigh. I did not like to tell a lie, while I was ashamed to
tell the truth.