Kitabı oku: «Annouchka: A Tale», sayfa 5
X
Nothing could have been more delightful than that day. We amused ourselves like children. Annouchka was pleasing and artless. Gaguine regarded her with pleasure. I left them a little later. When I reached the middle of the Rhine I begged the boatman to let his boat drift down the river. The old man rested on his oars, and the majestic river carried us along. I looked about me, listened, and dreamed. Suddenly I felt a weight at my heart. Astonished, I raised my eyes to the heavens, but found no quiet there. Studded with stars, the entire heavens seemed to be moving, palpitating, trembling; I leaned towards the river, but down there in those cold and dark depths, there, too, were the stars trembling and moving. Everything appeared incited by a restless agitation, and my own trouble only increased it. I leaned upon the edge of the boat. The sighing of the wind in my ears, the rippling of the water, which made a wake behind the stern, irritated me, and the cold air from over the water did not refresh me. A nightingale began to sing near the river bank, and the sweetness of the melodious voice ran through me like a delicious and burning poison. But they were not tears from an excitement without cause; what I felt was not the confused emotion of vague desires, – it was not that effervescence of the soul which wished to clasp everything in its embrace, because it could understand and love everything that exists; no, the thirst for happiness was kindled in me. I did not yet venture to put it into words – but happiness, happiness to satiety – that was what I wished, what I longed for. Meanwhile, the boat kept on down the stream, and the old boatman dozed on his oars.
XI
While going the next morning to Gaguine's, I did not ask myself if I was in love with Annouchka, but did not cease to dream of her, to ponder on her fate; I rejoiced in our unforeseen reconciliation. I felt that I had not understood her until the previous evening; up to that time she was an enigma. Now, at length, she was revealed to me; in what an entrancing light was her image enshrouded, how new she was to me, and what did she not promise!
I followed deliberately the road that I had gone over so many times, glancing at every step at the little white house that was seen in the distance. I thought not of the far-off future; I did not even give a thought to the next day; I was happy.
When I entered the room Annouchka blushed. I noticed that she had again dressed herself with care, but by the expression of her face she was not entirely at her ease, and I – I was happy. I even thought I noticed a movement to run away, as usual, but, making an effort, she remained. Gaguine was in that particular state of excitement which, like a fit of madness, suddenly takes hold of the dilettanti, when they imagine that they have caught Nature in the act and can hold her.
He was standing, quite dishevelled and covered with paint, before his canvas, bestowing upon it, right and left, great strokes of his brush.
He greeted me with a nod that had something quite fierce about it, going back a few steps, half closing his eyes, then again dashing at his picture. I did not disturb him, but went and sat by Annouchka. Her dark eyes turned slowly towards me.
"You are not the same to-day as you were yesterday," I said, after vainly trying to smile.
"It is true, I am not the same," she replied in a slow and dull voice; "but that's nothing. I have not slept well. I was thinking all night long."
"Upon what?"
"Ah, mon Dieu, upon a great many things. It is a habit of my childhood, of the time that I still lived with my mother."
She spoke this last word with an effort, but repeated it again: —
"When I lived with my mother I often asked myself why no one knew what would happen to them, and why, when foreseeing a misfortune, one cannot avoid it. And why also can one not tell the whole truth. I was thinking moreover last night that I ought to study, that I know nothing; I need a new education. I have been badly brought up. I have neither learned to draw nor to play upon the piano; I hardly know how to sew. I have no talent, people must be very much bored with me."
"You are unjust to yourself," I replied to her; "you have read a great deal, and with your intelligence" —
"And I am intelligent?" she asked, with such a curious naïve air that I could hardly keep from laughing.
"Am I intelligent, brother?" she asked of Gaguine.
He did not reply, but kept on painting assiduously, changing his brush over and over again, and raising his hand very high at every stroke.
"Really at times I have no idea what I have in my head," replied Annouchka, still thoughtful. "Sometimes, I assure you, I am afraid of myself. Ah! I would like – Is it true that women should not read a great many things?"
"A great many things are not necessary, but" —
"Tell me what I should read, what I should do. I will follow your advice in everything," added she, turning towards me with a burst of confidence.
I could not think immediately of what I ought to tell her.
"Come, would you not be afraid that I should weary you?"
"What a strange idea!"
"Well, thanks for that," said she, "I was afraid that you might be wearied in my society," and with her small burning hand clasped mine.
"I say! N – ," cried Gaguine at this moment, "is not this tone too dark?"
I approached him, and the young girl rose and left the room.
XII
She reappeared in about an hour at the door, and beckoned me to her.
"Listen," said she; "if I should die, would you be sorry?"
"What singular ideas you have to-day," I exclaimed.
"I don't think that I shall live long; it often seems to me that everything about me is bidding me good-by. It is better to die than to live as – Ah! don't look at me so; I assure you that I'm not pretending; otherwise, I shall begin again to be afraid of you."
"Were you afraid of me then?"
"If I am queer, you must not reproach me. See, already I can no longer laugh."
She remained sad and preoccupied until the end of the evening. I could not understand what had come over her. Her eyes often rested upon me; my heart was oppressed under her enigmatic look. She appeared calm; nevertheless, in looking at her, I could not keep from saying something to lessen her trouble. I contemplated her with emotion; I found a touching charm in the pallor spread over her features, in the timidity of her indecisive movements. She all the while imagined that I was in a bad humor.
"Listen," she said to me before I left, "I fear that you do not take me seriously. In future believe all that I tell you; but you, in your turn, be frank with me; be sure that I shall never tell you anything but the truth, – I give you my word of honor!"
This expression, "word of honor," made me smile once more.
"Ah! don't laugh," said she vivaciously, "or I shall repeat what you told me yesterday, 'Why do you laugh?' Do you remember," added she, after a moment's silence, "that yesterday you spoke to me of wings? These wings have sprung forth. I don't know where to fly."
"Come, then," I replied, "all roads are open to you."
She looked at me earnestly for some moments.
"You have a bad opinion of me to-day," she said, frowning slightly.
"I! a bad opinion of you?"
"Why are you standing there, with those dismal faces?" asked Gaguine at that moment. "Do you wish me to play a waltz for you, as I did yesterday?"
"No, no," cried she, clasping her hands; "not for the world to-day!"
"Don't excite yourself; I don't wish to force you."
"Not for the world," repeated she, growing pale.
"Does she love me?" I thought, as I approached the Rhine, whose dark waters rushed rapidly along.
XIII
"Does she love me?" I asked myself the next morning on awakening. I feared to question myself more. I felt that her image – the image of the young girl with the "rire forcé" – was engraved on my mind, and that I could not easily efface it. I returned to L., and remained there the entire day, but I only caught a glimpse of Annouchka. She was indisposed; she had a headache. She only came down for a few moments, a handkerchief wrapped about her forehead. Pale and unsteady, with her eyes half closed, she smiled a little, and said, —
"It will pass away; it is nothing. Everything passes away, doesn't it?" and she went out.
I felt wearied, moved by a sensation of emptiness and sadness, and yet I could not decide to go away. Later on I went home without having seen her again.
I passed all the next morning in a kind of moral somnolence. I tried to lose myself by working; impossible, I could do nothing. I tried to force myself to think of nothing; that succeeded no better. I wandered about the town; I re-entered the house, then came out again.
"Are you not Monsieur N – ?" said suddenly behind me the voice of a little boy.
I turned about, – a child had accosted me.
"From Mademoiselle Anna."
And he handed me a letter.
I opened it and recognized her handwriting, hasty and indistinct: —
"I must see you. Meet me to-day at four o'clock in the stone chapel, on the road that leads to the ruins. – I have been very imprudent. Come, for heaven's sake! You shall know everything. Say to the bearer, Yes."
"Is there any answer?" asked the little boy.
"Say to the young lady, Yes," I replied. And he ran away.
XIV
I went back to my room, and, sitting down, began to reflect. My heart beat quickly. I read Annouchka's letter over several times. I looked at my watch; it was not yet noon.
The door opened and Gaguine entered. He looked gloomy. He took my hand and pressed it fervently. You could see that he was under the influence of a deep emotion.
"What has happened?" I asked him. Gaguine took a chair, and seated himself by my side.
"Three days ago," he said to me, with an uneasy smile and a constrained voice, "I told you some things that surprised you; to-day I am going to astonish you still more. To another than you, I would not speak so frankly; but you are a man of honor, and a friend, I hope; then listen. My sister Annouchka loves you."
I started, and rose quickly.
"Your sister, you tell me – ?"
"Yes," he replied bruskly, "I said so. It is foolish; she will drive me mad. Fortunately, she cannot lie, and confides everything to me. Ah! what a heart that child has; but she will surely ruin herself!"
"You are certainly in error," I exclaimed, interrupting him.
"No, I am not mistaken. Yesterday she remained in bed the entire day without taking anything. It is true she did not complain; but she never does complain. I felt no uneasiness, but towards evening she had a little fever. About two in the morning our landlady came and awoke me.
"'Go and see your sister,' she said to me; 'I think she is ill.'
"I ran to Annouchka's room, and found her still dressed, consumed with fever, in tears; her head was on fire; her teeth chattered.
"'What is the matter with you?' I asked.
"She threw herself upon my neck and begged me to take her away, if I valued her life. Without being able to understand anything, I tried to calm her; her sobs redoubled, and, suddenly, in the depth of her grief, she confessed to me, – in a word, I learned that she loves you. – There! You and I are grown men, governed by reason. Well! we will never understand how deep are the sentiments that Annouchka feels, and with what violence they manifest themselves; it is something at once unforeseen and irresistible, like the bursting of a storm. You are, without doubt, a very attractive man," continued Gaguine, "but yet, how have you inspired such a violent passion? I cannot conceive of it, I confess it! She pretends that, as soon as she saw you, she was attracted towards you. That is why she wept so much of late in assuring me that she would never love any one in the world but me. She thinks that you look down upon her, knowing probably her origin. She asked me if I had told you her story. I told her No, as you may imagine, but her penetration frightens me. She had but one thought, that was to go away, and quickly. I stayed with her until morning. She made me promise that we should start to-morrow, and only then was she quieted. After mature reflection, I decided to come and confer with you upon the subject. In my opinion, my sister is right; the best thing is to leave, and I should have taken her away to-day if an idea had not occurred to me, and stopped me. Who knows? Perhaps my sister pleases you; if so, why then should we part? So I decided, and putting aside my pride, relying upon some observations that I had made – yes – I decided to come – to come and ask you" —
Here Gaguine, disconcerted, stopped short.
"Pray excuse me – pardon – I am not accustomed to interviews of this kind."
I took his hand.
"You wish to know if your sister pleases me!" I said to him firmly. "She does please me!"
Gaguine fixed his eyes upon me. "But, in short," replied he, hesitating, – "would you marry her?"
"How can I answer that question. I make you the judge of it. – Can I do it now?"
"I know it, I know it," cried Gaguine; "no, I have no right to expect an answer from you, and the question that I have asked you is unconventional in every particular, but force of circumstances compelled me to do so. It is not safe to play with fire! You don't understand what Annouchka is. She may fall ill, or run away, or even – or even give you a rendezvous. Another would know how to conceal her feelings and wait, but she cannot. It is her first experience, that's the worst of it! If you could have seen to-day the way in which she sobbed at my feet, you would share my fears."
I began to reflect. The words of Gaguine, "Give you a rendezvous," oppressed my heart. It seemed shameful to me not to answer his honest frankness by a loyal confession.
"Yes!" I at length said to him, "you are right. I received, about an hour ago, a letter from your sister; there it is." He took it, ran through it rapidly, and again let his hands fall upon his knees. The astonishment that his features expressed would have been laughable, if I could have laughed at that moment.
"You are a man of honor," he said. "I am not the less embarrassed to know what to do. How! She asks me to fly, and in this letter she reproaches herself for her imprudence! But when, then, did she have the time to write to you? and what are her intentions in regard to you?"
I reassured him, and we applied ourselves, with as much coolness as was possible, to discuss what we should do. This is the plan which we finally determined upon to prevent all unhappiness. It was agreed that I should go to the rendezvous and speak plainly with Annouchka. Gaguine promised to remain at home, without showing that he had read the letter; and it was decided, moreover, that we should meet in the evening.
"I have full confidence in you," he said, pressing my hand; "have consideration for her and for me; but, nevertheless, we will leave to-morrow," added he, rising, "since it is settled that you will not marry her."
"Give me until this evening," I replied.
"So be it! you will not marry her!"
He took his departure; I threw myself upon the divan and closed my eyes. I was dazed; too many thoughts at once crowded into my brain. I was angry with Gaguine for his frankness; I was angry with Annouchka: her love filled me with joy – and yet I was afraid of it.
I could not account for her having made a full confession to her brother. That which above all caused me great pain was the absolute necessity of making a sudden and almost instantaneous decision.
"Marry a girl of seventeen, with a disposition like that; it is impossible!" I cried, rising.
