Litvinov gave a constrained laugh. "You think so?"
"There"s no escape. Man is weak, woman is strong, opportunity is all-powerful, to make up one"s mind to a joyless life is hard, to forget oneself utterly is impossible ... and on one side is beauty and sympathy and warmth and light,--how is one to resist it? Why, one runs like a child to its nurse. Ah, well, afterwards to be sure comes cold and darkness and emptiness ... in due course. And you end by being strange to everything, by losing comprehension of everything. At first you don"t understand how love is possible; afterwards one won"t understand how life is possible."
Litvinov looked at Potugin, and it struck him that he had never yet met a man more lonely, more desolate ... more unhappy. This time he was not shy, he was not stiff; downcast and pale, his head on his breast, and his hands on his knees, he sat without moving, merely smiling his dejected smile. Litvinov felt sorry for the poor, embittered, eccentric creature.
"Irina Pavlovna mentioned among other things," he began in a low voice, "a very intimate friend of hers, whose name if I remember was Byelsky, or Dolsky...."
Potugin raised his mournful eyes and looked at Litvinov.
"Ah!" he commented thickly.... "She mentioned ... well, what of it? It"s time, though," he added with a rather artificial yawn, "for me to be getting home--to dinner. Good-bye."
He jumped up from the seat and made off quickly before Litvinov had time to utter a word.... His compa.s.sion gave way to annoyance--annoyance with himself, be it understood. Want of consideration of any kind was foreign to his nature; he had wished to express his sympathy for Potugin, and it had resulted in something like a clumsy insinuation. With secret dissatisfaction in his heart, he went back to his hotel.
"Rotten to the marrow of her bones," he thought a little later ... "but proud as the devil! She, that woman who is almost on her knees to me, proud? proud and not capricious?"
Litvinov tried to drive Irina"s image out of his head, but he did not succeed. For this very reason he did not think of his betrothed; he felt to-day this haunting image would not give up its place. He made up his mind to await without further anxiety the solution of all this "strange business"; the solution could not be long in coming, and Litvinov had not the slightest doubt it would turn out to be most innocent and natural. So he fancied, but meanwhile he was not only haunted by Lina"s image--every word she had uttered kept recurring in its turn to his memory.
The waiter brought him a note: it was from the same Irina:
"If you have nothing to do this evening, come to me; I shall not be alone; I shall have guests, and you will get a closer view of our set, our society. I want you very much to see something of them; I fancy they will show themselves in all their brilliance. You ought to know what sort of atmosphere I am breathing. Come; I shall be glad to see you, and you will not be bored. (Irina had spelt the Russian incorrectly here.) Prove to me that our explanation to-day has made any sort of misunderstanding between us impossible for ever.--Yours devotedly, I."
Litvinov put on a frock coat and a white tie, and set off to Irina"s.
"All this is of no importance," he repeated mentally on the way, "as for looking at _them_ ... why shouldn"t I have a look at them? It will be curious." A few days before, these very people had aroused a different sensation in him; they had aroused his indignation.
He walked with quickened steps, his cap pulled down over his eyes, and a constrained smile on his lips, while Bambaev, sitting before Weber"s cafe, and pointing him out from a distance to Voroshilov and Pishtchalkin, cried excitedly: "Do you see that man? He"s a stone! he"s a rock! he"s a flint!!!"
XV
Litvinov found rather many guests at Irina"s. In a corner at a card-table were sitting three of the generals of the picnic: the stout one, the irascible one, and the condescending one. They were playing whist with dummy, and there is no word in the language of man to express the solemnity with which they dealt, took tricks, led clubs and led diamonds ... there was no doubt about their being statesmen now! These gallant generals left to mere commoners, _aux bourgeois_, the little turns and phrases commonly used during play, and uttered only the most indispensable syllables; the stout general however permitted himself to jerk off between two deals: "_Ce satane as de pique!_" Among the visitors Litvinov recognised ladies who had been present at the picnic; but there were others there also whom he had not seen before. There was one so ancient that it seemed every instant as though she would fall to pieces: she shrugged her bare, gruesome, dingy grey shoulders, and, covering her mouth with her fan, leered languishingly with her absolutely death-like eyes upon Ratmirov; he paid her much attention; she was held in great honour in the highest society, as the last of the Maids of Honour of the Empress Catherine. At the window, dressed like a shepherdess, sat Countess S., "the Queen of the Wasps," surrounded by young men. Among them the celebrated millionaire and beau Finikov was conspicuous for his supercilious deportment, his absolutely flat skull, and his expression of soulless brutality, worthy of a Khan of Bucharia, or a Roman Heliogabalus. Another lady, also a countess, known by the pet name of _Lise_, was talking to a long-haired, fair, and pale spiritualistic medium. Beside them was standing a gentleman, also pale and long-haired, who kept laughing in a meaning way. This gentleman also believed in spiritualism, but added to that an interest in prophecy, and, on the basis of the Apocalypse and the Talmud, was in the habit of foretelling all kinds of marvellous events. Not a single one of these events had come to pa.s.s; but he was in no wise disturbed by that fact, and went on prophesying as before. At the piano, the musical genius had installed himself, the rough diamond, who had stirred Potugin to such indignation; he was striking chords with a careless hand, _d"une main distraite_, and kept staring vaguely about him. Irina was sitting on a sofa between Prince Koko and Madame H., once a celebrated beauty and wit, who had long ago become a repulsive old crone, with the odour of sanct.i.ty and evaporated sinfulness about her. On catching sight of Litvinov, Irina blushed and got up, and when he went up to her, she pressed his hand warmly. She was wearing a dress of black crepon, relieved by a few inconspicuous gold ornaments; her shoulders were a dead white, while her face, pale too, under the momentary flood of crimson overspreading it, was breathing with the triumph of beauty, and not of beauty alone; a hidden, almost ironical happiness was shining in her half-closed eyes, and quivering about her lips and nostrils....
Ratmirov approached Litvinov and after exchanging with him his customary civilities, unaccompanied however by his customary playfulness, he presented him to two or three ladies: the ancient ruin, the Queen of the Wasps, Countess Liza ... they gave him a rather gracious reception.
Litvinov did not belong to their set; but he was good-looking, extremely so, indeed, and the expressive features of his youthful face awakened their interest. Only he did not know how to fasten that interest upon himself; he was unaccustomed to society and was conscious of some embarra.s.sment, added to which the stout general stared at him persistently. "Aha! lubberly civilian! free-thinker!" that fixed heavy stare seemed to be saying: "down on your knees to us; crawl to kiss our hands!" Irina came to Litvinov"s aid. She managed so adroitly that he got into a corner near the door, a little behind her. As she addressed him, she had each time to turn round to him, and every time he admired the exquisite curve of her splendid neck, he drank in the subtle fragrance of her hair. An expression of grat.i.tude, deep and calm, never left her face; he could not help seeing that grat.i.tude and nothing else was what those smiles, those glances expressed, and he too was all aglow with the same emotion, and he felt shame, and delight and dread at once ... and at the same time she seemed continually as though she would ask, "Well? what do you think of them?" With special clearness Litvinov heard this unspoken question whenever any one of the party was guilty of some vulgar phrase or act, and that occurred more than once during the evening. Once she did not even conceal her feelings, and laughed aloud.
Countess Liza, a lady of superst.i.tious bent, with an inclination for everything extraordinary, after discoursing to her heart"s content with the spiritualist upon Home, turning tables, self-playing concertinas, and so on, wound up by asking him whether there were animals which could be influenced by mesmerism.
"There is one such animal any way," Prince Koko declared from some way off. "You know Melvanovsky, don"t you? They put him to sleep before me, and didn"t he snore, he, he!"
"You are very naughty, _mon prince_; I am speaking of real animals, _je parle des betes_."
"_Mais moi aussi, madame, je parle d"une bete...._"
"There are such," put in the spiritualist; "for instance--crabs; they are very nervous, and are easily thrown into a cataleptic state."
The countess was astounded. "What? Crabs! Really? Oh, that"s awfully interesting! Now, that I should like to see, M"sieu Luzhin," she added to a young man with a face as stony as a new doll"s, and a stony collar (he prided himself on the fact that he had bedewed the aforesaid face and collar with the sprays of Niagara and the Nubian Nile, though he remembered nothing of all his travels, and cared for nothing but Russian puns...). "M"sieu Luzhin, if you would be so good, do bring us a crab quick."
M"sieu Luzhin smirked. "Quick must it be, or quickly?" he queried.
The countess did not understand him. "_Mais oui_, a crab," she repeated, "_une ecrevisse_."
"Eh? what is it? a crab? a crab?" the Countess S. broke in harshly. The absence of M. Verdier irritated her; she could not imagine why Irina had not invited that most fascinating of Frenchmen. The ancient ruin, who had long since ceased understanding anything--moreover she was completely deaf--only shook her head.
"_Oui, oui, vous allez voir._ M"sieu Luzhin, please...."
The young traveller bowed, went out, and returned quickly. A waiter walked behind him, and grinning from ear to ear, carried in a dish, on which a large black crab was to be seen.
"_Voici, madame_," cried Luzhin; "now we can proceed to the operation on cancer. Ha, ha, ha!" (Russians are always the first to laugh at their own witticisms.)
"He, he, he!" Count Koko did his duty condescendingly as a good patriot, and patron of all national products.
(We beg the reader not to be amazed and indignant; who can say confidently for himself that sitting in the stalls of the Alexander Theatre, and infected by its atmosphere, he has not applauded even worse puns?)
"_Merci, merci_," said the countess. "_Allons, allons, Monsieur Fox, montrez nous ca._"
The waiter put the dish down on a little round table. There was a slight movement among the guests; several heads were craned forward; only the generals at the card-table preserved the serene solemnity of their pose.
The spiritualist ruffled up his hair, frowned, and, approaching the table, began waving his hands in the air; the crab stretched itself, backed, and raised its claws. The spiritualist repeated and quickened his movements; the crab stretched itself as before.
"_Mais que doit-elle donc faire?_" inquired the countess.
"_Elle doa rester immobile et se dresser sur sa quiou_," replied Mr.
Fox, with a strong American accent, and he brandished his fingers with convulsive energy over the dish; but the mesmerism had no effect, the crab continued to move. The spiritualist declared that he was not himself, and retired with an air of displeasure from the table. The countess began to console him, by a.s.suring him that similar failures occurred sometimes even with Mr. Home.... Prince Koko confirmed her words. The authority on the Apocalypse and the Talmud stealthily went up to the table, and making rapid but vigorous thrusts with his fingers in the direction of the crab, he too tried his luck, but without success; no symptom of catalepsy showed itself. Then the waiter was called, and told to take away the crab, which he accordingly did, grinning from ear to ear, as before; he could be heard exploding outside the door....
There was much laughter afterwards in the kitchen _uber diese Russen_.
The self-taught genius, who had gone on striking notes during the experiments with the crab, dwelling on melancholy chords, on the ground that there was no knowing what influence music might have--the self-taught genius played his invariable waltz, and, of course, was deemed worthy of the most flattering applause. p.r.i.c.ked on by rivalry, Count H., our incomparable dilettante (see Chapter I.), gave a little song of his own composition, cribbed wholesale from Offenbach. Its playful refrain to the words: "_Quel uf? quel buf?_" set almost all the ladies" heads swinging to right and to left; one went so far as to hum the tune lightly, and the irrepressible, inevitable word, "_Charmant! charmant!_" was fluttering on every one"s lips. Irina exchanged a glance with Litvinov, and again the same secret, ironical expression quivered about her lips.... But a little later it was still more strongly marked, there was even a shade of malice in it, when Prince Koko, that representative and champion of the interests of the n.o.bility, thought fit to propound his views to the spiritualist, and, of course, gave utterance before long to his famous phrase about the shock to the principle of property, accompanied naturally by an attack on democrats. The spiritualist"s American blood was stirred; he began to argue. The prince, as his habit was, at once fell to shouting at the top of his voice; instead of any kind of argument he repeated incessantly: "_C"est absurde! cela n"a pas le sens commun!_" The millionaire Finikov began saying insulting things, without much heed to whom they referred; the Talmudist"s piping notes and even the Countess S."s jarring voice could be heard.... In fact, almost the same incongruous uproar arose as at Gubaryov"s; the only difference was that here there was no beer nor tobacco-smoke, and every one was better dressed. Ratmirov tried to restore tranquillity (the generals manifested their displeasure, Boris"s exclamation could be heard, "_Encore cette satanee politique!_"), but his efforts were not successful, and at that point, a high official of the stealthily inquisitorial type, who was present, and undertook to present _le resume en peu de mots_, sustained a defeat: in fact he so hummed and hawed, so repeated himself, and was so obviously incapable of listening to or taking in the answers he received, and so unmistakably failed to perceive himself what precisely const.i.tuted _la question_ that no other result could possibly have been antic.i.p.ated. And then too Irina was slily provoking the disputants and setting them against one another, constantly exchanging glances and slight signs with Litvinov as she did so.... But he was sitting like one spell-bound, he was hearing nothing, and waiting for nothing but for those splendid eyes to sparkle again, that pale, tender, mischievous, exquisite face to flash upon him again.... It ended by the ladies growing restive, and requesting that the dispute should cease.... Ratmirov entreated the dilettante to sing his song again, and the self-taught genius once more played his waltz....
Litvinov stayed till after midnight, and went away later than all the rest. The conversation had in the course of the evening touched upon a number of subjects, studiously avoiding anything of the faintest interest; the generals, after finishing their solemn game, solemnly joined in it: the influence of these statesmen was at once apparent. The conversation turned upon notorieties of the Parisian demi-monde, with whose names and talents every one seemed intimately acquainted, on Sardou"s latest play, on a novel of About"s, on Patti in the _Traviata_.
Some one proposed a game of "secretary," _au secretaire_; but it was not a success. The answers given were pointless, and often not free from grammatical mistakes; the stout general related that he had once in answer to the question: _Qu"est-ce que l"amour?_ replied, _Une colique remontee au cur_, and promptly went off into his wooden guffaw; the ancient ruin with a mighty effort struck him with her fan on the arm; a flake of plaster was shaken off her forehead by this rash action. The old crone was beginning a reference to the Slavonic princ.i.p.alities and the necessity of orthodox propaganda on the Danube, but, meeting with no response, she subsided with a hiss. In reality they talked more about Home than anything else; even the "Queen of the Wasps" described how hands had once crept about her, and how she had seen them, and put her own ring on one of them. It was certainly a triumph for Irina: even if Litvinov had paid more attention to what was being said around him, he still could not have gleaned one single sincere saying, one single clever thought, one single new fact from all their disconnected and lifeless babble. Even in their cries and exclamations, there was no note of real feeling, in their slander no real heat. Only at rare intervals under the mask of a.s.sumed patriotic indignation, or of a.s.sumed contempt and indifference, the dread of possible losses could be heard in a plaintive whimper, and a few names, which will not be forgotten by posterity, were p.r.o.nounced with gnashing of teeth ... And not a drop of living water under all this noise and wrangle! What stale, what unprofitable nonsense, what wretched trivialities were absorbing all these heads and hearts, and not for that one evening, not in society only, but at home too, every hour and every day, in all the depth and breadth of their existence! And what ignorance, when all is said! What lack of understanding of all on which human life is built, all by which life is made beautiful!
On parting from Litvinov, Irina again pressed his hand and whispered significantly, "Well? Are you pleased? Have you seen enough? Do you like it?" He made her no reply, but merely bowed low in silence.
Left alone with her husband, Irina was just going to her bedroom.... He stopped her.
"_Je vous ai beaucoup admiree ce soir, madame_," he observed, smoking a cigarette, and leaning against the mantelpiece, "_vous vous etes parfaitement moquee de nous tous_."
"_Pas plus cette fois-ci que les autres_," she answered indifferently.
"How do you mean me to understand you?" asked Ratmirov.
"As you like."
"Hm. _C"est clair._" Ratmirov warily, like a cat, knocked off the ash of the cigarette with the tip of the long nail of his little finger. "Oh, by the way! This new friend of yours--what the d.i.c.kens is his name?--Mr.
Litvinov--doubtless enjoys the reputation of a very clever man."
At the name of Litvinov, Irina turned quickly round.
"What do you mean to say?"