V
The next morning I returned to L. I persuaded myself that I should take the greatest pleasure in seeing Gaguine, but the fact is that I was secretly impelled by the desire of knowing how Annouchka would behave, – if she would act as strangely as the night before. I found them both in the parlor; and a singular thing, – but perhaps because I had been dreaming so long of Russia, – Annouchka seemed to me entirely Russian. I found in her the air of a young girl of the people, almost that of one of the servants. She wore quite an old dress, her hair was drawn back behind her ears, and, seated near the window, she was quietly working at her embroidery, as if she had never done anything else in her life. Her eyes fixed upon her work, she scarcely spoke, and her features had an expression so dull, so commonplace, that I was involuntarily reminded of Macha and Katia2 at home. To complete the resemblance she began to hum the air, —
O, ma mère, ma douce Colombe!3
While observing her face, the dreams of the night before came back to mind, and without knowing why, I felt an oppression in my heart. The weather was magnificent.
Gaguine told us he intended to go out to sketch. I asked permission to accompany him if it would not trouble him.
"On the contrary," he said, "you can give me some good advice."
He put on his blouse, donned his round Van Dyck hat, took his portfolio under his arm, and started out. I followed him. Annouchka remained at home. On leaving, Gaguine begged her to see that the soup was not made too thin. She promised to keep her eye on the kitchen.
Leading me into the valley, with which I was already familiar, Gaguine seated himself upon a stone, and began to draw an old tufted oak.
I stretched myself upon the grass and took a book, but read two pages of it at the most. Gaguine, on his side, made but a poor daub. In return we did not fail to discuss very fully, and, in my opinion, not without judgment and justness, the best method to follow to work with profit, the dangers to avoid, the end to be aimed at, and the mission of the true artist in the age in which we live. Gaguine ended by declaring that to-day he did not feel sufficiently in spirits, and came and stretched himself at my side. Then we gave ourselves up to the irresistible temptation of one of those conversations so dear to youth, conversations sometimes enthusiastic, sometimes pensive and melancholy, but always sincere and always vague, in which we Russians love so much to indulge. After having talked to satiety, we took the road to the town, very well satisfied with ourselves, as if we had just accomplished a difficult task, or brought a great enterprise to a good end. We found Annouchka exactly as we left her. I observed her with the utmost attention; I could discover in her neither the slightest shade of coquetry, or indication denoting a studied part; it was impossible this time to find in her any vestiges of oddity.
"Decidedly," said Gaguine, "she is fasting and doing penance."
Towards evening she yawned two or three times without the least affectation, and went to bed early. I took leave of Gaguine soon after, and, going home, I did not allow myself to dream. The day came to an end without my mind suffering the least trouble, only it seemed to me, as I lay down, that I said involuntarily aloud, —
"Oh! that little girl – she is, indeed, an enigma. And yet," added I, after a moment's reflection, "and yet she is not his sister!"
VI
A fortnight elapsed after these events. I went every day to make Gaguine a visit. Annouchka seemed to shun me, and no longer indulged in those head-shakings that had annoyed me so much in the first days of our acquaintance. She seemed to conceal a grief or a secret trouble; she laughed more rarely. I continued to observe her with curiosity.
French and German were quite familiar to her, but a number of things made me divine that she had been without a woman's care in her infancy, that she had received a strange, desultory education, quite different from that of Gaguine. In him, in spite of his blouse and Van Dyck hat, you quickly discovered the Russian gentleman, nonchalant and slightly effeminate; she in no wise resembled a noble lady. All her movements implied a kind of restlessness; she was a seedling newly grafted, a wine that yet fermented. Naturally timid and distrustful of herself, she was vexed at feeling gauche, and sought in spite of it to give herself an unconstrained and bold manner, but not always with success. Several times I led the conversation to her past, and her way of living in Russia; I saw that she replied with a bad grace to my questions. All that I could learn was that at the time she left Russia she was living in the country. One day I found her alone and reading; her head leaning on her hands, her fingers thrust in her hair, she was devouring the book before her with her eyes.
"Bravo!" I cried, approaching. "What, a love of study?"
She raised her head, and, looking at me with a serious and dignified air, "You thought, then, I could do nothing but laugh?" she said, and she rose to leave.
I glanced at the title of the book; it was a bad French novel.
"You might have made a better choice," I said to her.
"What must I read, then?" she cried, and, throwing her book upon the table, she added: "Then, in that case, I am going to amuse myself." And she ran towards the garden.
The same day, in the evening, I read to Gaguine Herrman and Dorothea. As I began to read, Annouchka went to and fro incessantly, then suddenly she stopped, listened, seated herself quietly beside me, and gave me her attention to the end.
The next day I was again surprised in no longer seeing the old Annouchka. I began to comprehend that she had suddenly taken into her head to be a housewife, wrapped up in her duties, like Dorothea. Finally her character seemed inexplicable to me. In spite of the excessive amour propre that I found in her, I felt attracted towards her, even when she made me angry. One thing, at least, appeared certain, and that was that she was not the sister of Gaguine. I did not find in him towards her the conduct of a brother; on her side too much respect and compliance, too little constraint.
A strange circumstance seemed, according to all appearances, to strengthen my suspicions. One evening, approaching the hedge which surrounded Gaguine's house, I found the gate closed. Without stopping at this obstacle I reached a place where, some days before, I had noticed that a part of the hedge was destroyed, and I jumped into the enclosure; some distance from there, a few steps from the path, there was a little arbor of acacias; scarcely had I passed it than I distinguished the voice of Annouchka, who cried out with fervor, weeping, —
"No, I shall never love any one but you; no, no, it is you alone whom I wish to love, and forever!"
"Come, calm yourself," replied Gaguine, "you know very well that I believe you." Their voices left the arbor. I could see them through the thin foliage; they did not observe me.
"You, you only," she repeated; and, throwing herself on his neck, she clung to him with convulsive sobs, covering him with kisses.
"Calm yourself, calm yourself," he kept repeating, passing his hand over the hair of the young girl.
I remained quiet for some moments, then I came to my senses. – Should I approach them? "No, not for the world," I immediately said.
I quickly regained the hedge, and, passing it at a stride, I again took the road to my house, running. I smiled, I rubbed my hands, I wondered at the chance that had unexpectedly confirmed my suppositions; the least doubt seemed no longer possible, and at the same time I felt in my heart an intense bitterness.
"I must confess," I said to myself, "that they can dissimulate well! But what is their object? And I – why should they make me their dupe? I should not expect such a thing from him. Then, what a melodramatic scene!"
VII
I passed a bad night. Rising early in the morning, I threw over my shoulders my travelling bag, warned my landlady that I would not return during the day, and walked by the side of the mountains, along the river, upon the borders of which was situated the little town of L. These mountains, whose chain bears the name of Hundsrüch (Dog's Back) are of a very curious formation; especially noticeable were columns of basalt very regular and of great purity of shape, but at the moment I hardly thought of making any geological observations. I could not account for the way I felt, only I was conscious that I no longer wished to persuade even myself that the only cause of the sudden estrangement with which they inspired me was my chagrin at being deceived by them. Nothing obliged them to give themselves out as – brother and sister. Finally I tried to banish the remembrance of them from my mind.
I wandered at leisure over mountains and valleys; I made some long stops in the village inns; engaging in a quiet conversation with the landlord and travellers, or else, lying down upon a flat stone, warmed by the sun, I looked at the clouds floating by. Happily for me the weather was beautiful. It was thus I occupied my leisure for three days, and I found in doing so a certain charm, though at times I felt depressed. The state of my mind was in perfect accord with the tranquil nature of these regions.
I abandoned myself entirely to chance, to all the impressions that happened to strike me. They followed each other slowly and left in the depths of my soul a general sensation, in which mingled harmoniously all that I had seen, felt, and heard for the last three days; yes, everything, without exception, the penetrating odor of rosin in the woods, the cries and the tappings of the woodpecker, the incessant rushing of the clear streams, with speckled trout playing on the sandy bottom, the undulating outlines of the mountains, the towering rocks; the neat little villages, with their respectable old churches; the storks in the meadows, the pretty mills with clattering wheels, the stout figures of the countrymen with their blue waistcoats and gray stockings, the lumbering carts drawn slowly by heavy horses and sometimes by cows, young travellers, with long hair, walking in groups on the smooth streets, bordered with pear and apple trees.
I still find a charm in the remembrance of these impressions.
Hail to you! humble corner of German soil, abode of a modest comfort, where one meets at every step traces of a diligent hand, of a work slow, but full of perseverance, to you my vows and my reverence!
I returned home only on the evening of the third day. I have forgotten to say that, in my chagrin against Annouchka, I attempted to revive in my thoughts the image of my stony-hearted widow, but had my labor for my pains. I remember that as soon as I recalled her, I found myself face to face with a little girl of about five years of age, with a round and innocent face, with eyes animated with a naïve curiosity. She looked at me with such a candid expression that I felt quite ashamed before her glance; it was distasteful for me to lie even to myself in her presence, and my old idol disappeared from my remembrance forever.
Arriving home, I found a letter from Gaguine; he spoke of the astonishment that my sudden disappearance had caused him; reproached me for not having taken him for a companion, and begged me to come and see him as soon as I returned.
This letter caused me a painful impression; nevertheless, I started for L. the next day.
VIII
Gaguine gave me a friendly greeting, and loaded me with affectionate reproaches. As to Annouchka, as if she did it on purpose, as soon as she saw me, she burst out laughing without the slightest cause, and immediately fled, as usual. Gaguine appeared embarrassed, stammered out that she was foolish, and begged me to excuse her. I confess that, being already displeased, I was so much the more wounded by this forced merriment and strange affectation. I feigned, however, to attach no importance to it, and related to Gaguine the details of my little excursion. On his side, he informed me of what he had done during my absence; nevertheless the conversation languished, while Annouchka kept coming in and out of the room. I brought this to an end by pretending unavoidable work, and manifested my intention of leaving. Gaguine attempted at first to detain me; then, bestowing a searching glance at me, offered to accompany me. In the outer room Annouchka came up suddenly and offered me her hand. I just touched the ends of her fingers and scarcely bowed.
I crossed the Rhine with Gaguine, and when we were near the ash of the little Madonna we seated ourselves upon the bench to admire the view. Then we entered into a conversation I shall never forget.
We at first exchanged some commonplaces, then there was a silence. We fixed our eyes upon the transparent waters of the river.
"I should like to know what you think of Annouchka," said Gaguine suddenly, with his usual smile. "Does she not appear somewhat fantastic?"
"Yes," I replied, much surprised at the question, as I hardly expected him to venture upon such ground.
"That comes from not knowing her; thus you cannot judge her well," said he. "She has an excellent heart, but a very bad head. You must bear a great deal from her! You would not reproach her if you knew her history."
"Her history?" I exclaimed; "is she not then your" —
Gaguine stopped me with a look.
"You are not going to imagine that she is not my sister?" he replied, without paying any attention to my embarrassment. "Yes, she is indeed the daughter of my father. Give me your attention. I have confidence in you and am going to tell you everything.
"My father was an excellent man, having intelligence and a cultivated mind, but whose life was nevertheless very sad. It was not that he was more ill-used by fortune than any one else, but he had not the strength to bear a first misfortune. While still young he had made a love marriage; his wife, who was my mother, did not live long; I was only six months old when she died. My father then took me into the country, and for twelve years did not put foot outside of his domain. He himself began my education, and would never have separated himself from me if his brother, my paternal uncle, had not come to see him on his estate. This uncle lived at Petersburg, and he held an important position there. He succeeded in persuading my father to confide me to his care, so that he would never need to leave his estate; he represented to him that isolation was injurious to a boy already grown, and who in the hands of a preceptor as sad and stern as my father would be far behind children of my own age, and that even my character would suffer.
"My father resisted his attempts for a long time, but finally yielded. I cried on being separated from him, for I loved him, though I had never seen a smile upon his lips. Arrived at Petersburg, I soon forgot the sad, dark place where my infancy was passed. I entered the military school, then a regiment of the Guard. I went every year to pass some weeks in the country. Each time I found my father more morose, more reserved and pensive, until at times he became fierce. He went every day to church, and almost entirely lost the habit of talking.
"During one of these visits (I was about twenty years of age) I perceived for the first time a slight girl with black eyes, about twelve years old; it was Annouchka. My father told me she was an orphan whom he took care of, and I paid but little attention to this child, wild, silent, and active as a young fallow deer. When I entered my father's favorite room, the vast chamber where my mother died, and so dark that they kept it lighted in broad day, Annouchka hid herself behind a large arm-chair or the bookcase. It happened that for three or four days after this last visit I was prevented by my duties from returning to my father's, but every month I received a few lines from his hand, in which he rarely spoke of Annouchka, and always without going into any details of the subject. He was already over fifty, but appeared still a young man. You may imagine the shock when I suddenly received a letter from our steward, in which he announced to me that my father was dangerously ill, and implored me to come as soon as possible if I wished to see him before he died.
"I started immediately, and travelled with the greatest speed, and found my father still living, but just about to breathe his last. He was delighted to see me again, and clasped me in his emaciated arms, fastening his glance upon me, which appeared at once to fathom my thoughts and to address me a mute prayer, and making me promise to fulfil his last wish, he ordered his old valet to bring Annouchka into his room.
"The old man led her in; she could hardly stand, trembling all over.
"'Now,' said my father with an effort, 'I confide to your care my daughter, your sister; Iskof will relate everything to you,' he added, designating his old servant.
"Annouchka began to sob and fell upon the bed, hiding her face. Half an hour after, my father expired.
"This is what I learned: Annouchka was the daughter of my father and of an old waiting maid of my mother, named Tatiana. I recollect Tatiana very well. She was tall, with large, dark eyes, noble, severe, and intelligent features, and passed for a proud girl, rather unapproachable. As far as I could understand by the simple story with respectful omissions that Iskof related, my father did not notice Tatiana until several years after the death of my mother. At that time Tatiana no longer lived in the manor-house, but with one of her married sisters, charged with looking after the courtyard. My father had taken a fancy to her, and when I left the country he even thought of marrying her, but she resisted all his entreaties. 'The dead Tatiana Vlassievna,' said Iskof, standing reverentially near the door, his hands behind his back, 'was a person of great good judgment; she did not wish to bring prejudice against your father,' – 'I become your wife, mistress here, you can't think of it?' she cried, thus addressing your father in my presence." Inflexible upon this point, Tatiana would not even change her abode; she continued to live at her sister's with Annouchka. When I was a child I often remember having seen Tatiana on fête-days at church. A dark handkerchief on her head, a yellow shawl thrown over her shoulder, she stood with the other villagers near a window. Her stern profile stood out clearly against the panes, and she prayed with modest gravity, bowing profoundly after the custom of the old time, and touching the earth with the end of her fingers before touching it with her forehead.