Kitabı oku: «Annouchka: A Tale», sayfa 2
III
The next morning, being awake, but not yet up, I heard the sound of a walking-stick echoing under my window, and a voice that I recognized as that of Gaguine, pouring forth the following song: —
I hastened to open the door to him.
"Good-morning," said he, entering, "I disturb you very early, but the weather is so fine. See what a delicious freshness, the dew, the singing of the larks" —
And, indeed, he, with his rosy cheeks, his curly hair, and his half-bare neck, had all the freshness of morning.
I dressed myself; we went into my little garden and took a seat upon a bench; they brought our coffee there, and we began to talk.
Gaguine told of some of his future plans; having a fine fortune and dependent upon no one, he wished to devote himself to painting, and regretted only that he had taken it up so late, he had lost so much valuable time. I in turn confided to him the plans that I had formed, and took advantage of the opportunity to make him the confidant of my unhappy love affair. He listened patiently, but I could see that the sufferings of my heart had but little interest for him. After having listened to my story for politeness' sake, with two or three sighs, he proposed that we should go and see his sketches. I immediately consented. We started. Annouchka was not at home. The landlady informed us that she must be at the ruins. They so called the remains of an old feudal castle, which was situated a mile or so from the town. Gaguine opened all his portfolios. I found that his sketches had much life and truth, something broad and bold; but none were finished, and the drawing appeared to me incorrect and careless.
I frankly expressed my opinion.
"Yes, yes," he replied, sighing, "you are right; all that is bad, and it is not matured by reflection. What am I to do? I have not worked enough; our cursed Slavic indolence always ends in getting the better of me! Whilst the work is still but an idea, like an eagle soaring in the air, we believe ourselves able to move the world; then at the moment of execution come weaknesses, and then – weariness."
I offered him some words of encouragement, but he interrupted me with a wave of the hand, picked up his sketches, and threw them in a heap upon the sofa.
"If perseverance does not fail me, I shall succeed," said he, between his teeth; "otherwise, I shall vegetate as a country squire, never amounting to anything.
"Let us go and look for Annouchka!"
IV
The road that led to the ruins ran along the side of a narrow and wooded dell. At the bottom a rapid stream rushed noisily over the stones, as if in a hurry to lose itself in the great river, which was seen in the distance behind the dark rampart of steep mountains. Gaguine called my attention to several very harmonious effects of color, and his words revealed to me, if not a painter of talent, at least a true artist. The ruin was soon before us. It was at the top of a barren rock, a square tower, entirely blackened, quite intact, but nearly split from top to bottom by a deep crack. Walls covered with moss were attached to the tower. Ivy clung here and there; stunted shrubbery sprang out of grayish embrasures and caved-in vaults; a stony path led to an entrance door standing upright. We were not far from it when a woman's figure appeared suddenly before us, leaped lightly upon a heap of rubbish, and stood erect upon the projection of a wall at the edge of a precipice.
"I am not mistaken!" exclaimed Gaguine; "it is Annouchka. How foolish of her!"
We passed through the door, and found ourselves in a small court almost entirely filled with nettles and wild apple trees. It was, indeed, Annouchka, sitting upon the projection of the wall. She turned her head towards us and began to laugh, not moving from her place; Gaguine shook his finger at her, and raising my voice, I reproached her for her imprudence.
"Be quiet," Gaguine said, in my ear; "let her do it; you have no idea of what she is capable when provoked; she would climb to the top of the tower. Admire rather the industrious spirit of the people of the country."
I turned and saw in a corner a booth of boards, on the floor of which was squatting an old woman knitting stockings, looking at us from under her spectacles. She had for sale beer, cakes, and seltzer water, for the use of tourists.
We seated ourselves upon a bench and began to drink foamy beer from heavy tin goblets. Annouchka still remained seated in the same place, her feet curled under her, her head enveloped in her muslin scarf; her charming profile outlined clearly against the blue sky; but I looked at her with some irritation. I believed the evening before that her manners were affected and unnatural. She wishes to astonish us, I thought; but why? what a childish whim. You would say that she had divined my thought, for, throwing upon me a quick penetrating glance, she began to laugh, descended from the wall in two jumps, then, approaching the old woman, she asked her for a glass of water.
"You think I wish to drink?" she said to her brother; "no, I wish to water the flowers upon the wall yonder that are dying and dried up by the sun."
Gaguine did not reply; she left us, her glass in her hand, and climbed once more upon the ruins. Stopping at intervals she stooped and poured out with a comic gravity some drops of water that sparkled in the sun. Her movements were very graceful; but I still watched her with disapproval, admiring, however, her nimbleness and activity. Coming to a dangerous place she purposely alarmed us by giving a little cry and then began to laugh. That was the finishing stroke to my impatience.
"She is a regular goat," muttered the old woman, who had stopped working.
Having emptied the last drop of water from her glass, Annouchka at length arose to rejoin us, approaching with a defiant manner. A strange smile for a moment contracted her lips and her eyebrows and dilated her nostrils; she half closed her black eyes with a provoking air of mockery.
"You think my conduct unbecoming," her face seemed to say; "no matter, I know that you admire me."
"Perfect! charming! Annouchka," said Gaguine.
Suddenly the young girl appeared to feel a sense of shame, and lowering her eyes, she came and sat by us like a culprit. For the first time I examined her features closely; and I have rarely seen more mobile ones. A few moments had scarcely elapsed before her face lost all color and took an expression approaching almost to sadness; it even seemed to me that her features assumed grandeur, artlessness. She appeared entirely absorbed.
We explored the ruins minutely. Annouchka kept behind us, and we began to admire the view. When the dinner hour arrived, Gaguine paid the old woman, and asked from her a last jug of beer; then turning to me, he said with a shy smile: —
"To the lady of your thoughts!"
"He has then – you have then a lady of whom you think?" asked Annouchka.
"And who has not?" replied Gaguine.
Annouchka remained thoughtful for some moments, the expression of her face changed again, and a smile of defiance, almost impudent, appeared once more upon her lips.
We again took our way to the house, and Annouchka again began to laugh and frolic with more affectation than before. Breaking a branch from a tree, she shouldered it like a gun, and rolled her scarf about her head. I remember that we then met a large family of English people, with light hair, looking awkward; all, as if obeying a word of command, threw upon Annouchka their blue eyes, in which was depicted a cold look of astonishment; she began to sing in a loud voice, as if to defy them. When we arrived, she immediately went to her room, and did not reappear until dinner, decked out in her finest dress, her hair dressed with care, wearing a tight-fitting bodice, and gloves on her hands. At table she sat with dignity, scarcely tasted anything, and drank only water. It was evident she wished to play a new rôle in my presence: that of a young person, modest and well-bred. Gaguine did not restrain her; you could see that it was his custom to contradict her in nothing. From time to time he contented himself with looking at me, faintly shrugging his shoulders, and his kindly eye seemed to say: "She is but a child; be indulgent." Immediately after dinner she rose, bowed to us, and, putting on her hat, asked of Gaguine if she could go and see Dame Louise.
"How long have you been in need of my permission?" he replied, with his usual smile, which this time, however, was slightly constrained; "you are tired of us, then?"
"No; but yesterday I promised Dame Louise to go and see her; besides, I think you would be more at your ease without me. Monsieur," she added, turning to me, "you will – you will perhaps, have some more confidences."
She left us.
"Dame Louise," said Gaguine, trying to avoid my look, "is the widow of the old burgomaster of the town. She is rather a plain, but an excellent old woman. She has a great liking for Annouchka, who, moreover, has a mania for becoming intimate with people below her; a mania that, as far as I can observe, almost always springs from pride."
"You see," added he, after a moment's silence, "that I treat Annouchka like a spoiled child, and it could not be otherwise; I could not be exacting towards any body, how much less towards her?"
I did not reply. Gaguine began to talk upon another subject. The more I learned to know him the more he inspired me with affection. I soon summed up his character; it was a fine, good Russian nature, straightforward, upright, and unaffected, but unfortunately wanting in energy and earnestness. His youth did not give forth passion and ardor, but shone with a sweet and dim light. He had wit and charming manners, but how difficult to conjecture what would become of him when he became a man! An artist – no! Every art calls for hard work, unceasing efforts; and never, I said to myself, in looking at his calm features, listening to his languid voice, never could he bind himself to constant and well-directed work. And yet it was impossible not to like him; one became attached to him involuntarily. We passed nearly four hours together, sometimes side by side upon the sofa, sometimes walking slowly before the house, and our talk ended by uniting us. The sun went down, and I was thinking about going home.
Annouchka had not yet returned.
"Ah, what a wayward child!" exclaimed Gaguine. "Wait, I will see you home; would you not like to have me? As we go we will stop at Dame Louise's and see if she is yet there; it will not be much out of the way."
We descended into the town, and after following for a short time a narrow and winding street, we stopped before a high, four-storied house, with but two windows in front; the second story projected over the street more than the first, and in the same manner the other two. This strange habitation, with its Gothic arches, placed upon two enormous posts and topped with a pointed tiled roof, and a dormer window, surmounted by an iron crane extended in the form of a beak, had the effect of an enormous bird meditating.
"Annouchka, are you there?" cried Gaguine.
A lighted window opened in the third story, and we perceived the brown head of the young girl. Behind her appeared the toothless face of an old German woman, her eyes weak with age.
"Here I am," said Annouchka, leaning coquettishly on the window-sill. "I like it very well. Wait, take this," added she, throwing to Gaguine a slip of geranium. "Imagine to yourself that I am the lady of your thoughts."
Dame Louise began to laugh.
"He is going away," replied Gaguine; "he wishes to bid you farewell."
"Really?" said Annouchka. "Well, then, as he is going, give him the flower. I will come home very soon."
She quickly closed the window, and I thought I saw her embrace the old German. Gaguine offered me the flower in silence. Without saying a word I put it in my pocket, and returning to the place where they cross the river, I passed over to the other side. I recollect walking towards my house with a singularly sad heart, though thinking of nothing, when a perfume well known to me, but rare enough in Germany, attracted my attention. I stopped, and saw near the road a plot of ground sown with hemp. The perfume that this plant of the steppes gave out suddenly transported me to Russia, and brought forth in my soul a passionate enthusiasm towards my country; I conceived the ardent desire of breathing my native air, and feeling again under my feet the soil of my fatherland. "What am I doing here?" I exclaimed; "What interest have I in wandering in a strange land, among people who are nothing to me?" and the oppression that filled my heart soon gave way to an emotion violent and full of bitterness.
I re-entered my house in a state of mind the opposite to that of the night before; I felt almost vexed, and was long in calming myself. I felt a deep vexation, for which I could not account. I ended by sitting down, and recalling my faithless widow (she came to my recollection officially every evening); I took one of her letters, but did not open it, for my thoughts took wing to the other side of the river. I began to dream, and Annouchka was the subject. I recalled that in the course of our conversation; Gaguine gave me to understand that certain circumstances prevented him from returning to Russia. – "Who knows, indeed, if she is his sister," I asked myself aloud.
I laid down and tried to sleep, but an hour after I was still leaning on my elbow, and thinking again of that capricious little girl with a forced laugh. She has the figure of La Galathée of Raphael of the Farnese palace, I murmured. – It is well that – and she is not his sister. During this time the widow's letter reposed quietly upon the floor, lighted up by a pale ray of the moon.
