No More Learning

"

She could not go on.

"Calm yourself, calm yourself! Sit here, Nastenka," I said, making her
sit down on the seat.

"I am calm. Don't trouble. It's nothing! It's only tears, they will soon
dry. Why, do you imagine I shall do away with myself, that I shall throw
myself into the river? "

My heart was full: I tried to speak, but I could not.

"Listen," she said taking my hand. "Tell me: you wouldn't have behaved
like this, would you? You would not have abandoned a girl who had come
to you of herself, you would not have thrown into her face a shameless
taunt at her weak foolish heart? You would have taken care of her? You
would have realized that she was alone, that she did not know how to
look after herself, that she could not guard herself from loving you,
that it was not her fault, not her fault--that she had done nothing. . . .
Oh dear, oh dear! "

"Nastenka! " I cried at last, unable to control my emotion. "Nastenka,
you torture me! You wound my heart, you are killing me, Nastenka! I
cannot be silent! I must speak at last, give utterance to what is
surging in my heart! "

As I said this I got up from the seat. She took my hand and looked at me
in surprise.

"What is the matter with you? " she said at last.

"Listen," I said resolutely. "Listen to me, Nastenka! What I am going to
say to you now is all nonsense, all impossible, all stupid! I know that
this can never be, but I cannot be silent. For the sake of what you are
suffering now, I beg you beforehand to forgive me! "

"What is it? What is it? " she said drying her tears and looking at me
intently, while a strange curiosity gleamed in her astonished eyes.
"What is the matter? "

"It's impossible, but I love you, Nastenka! There it is! Now everything
is told," I said with a wave of my hand. "Now you will see whether you
can go on talking to me as you did just now, whether you can listen to
what I am going to say to you. ". . .

"Well, what then? " Nastenka interrupted me. "What of it? I knew you
loved me long ago, only I always thought that you simply liked me very
much. . . . Oh dear, oh dear! "

"At first it was simply liking, Nastenka, but now, now! I am just in the
same position as you were when you went to him with your bundle. In a
worse position than you, Nastenka, because he cared for no one else as
you do. "

"What are you saying to me! I don't understand you in the least. But
tell me, what's this for; I don't mean what for, but why are you . . . so
suddenly. . . . Oh dear, I am talking nonsense! But you. . . . "

And Nastenka broke off in confusion. Her cheeks flamed; she dropped her
eyes.

"What's to be done, Nastenka, what am I to do? I am to blame. I have
abused your. . . . But no, no, I am not to blame, Nastenka; I feel that, I
know that, because my heart tells me I am right, for I cannot hurt you
in any way, I cannot wound you! I was your friend, but I am still your
friend, I have betrayed no trust. Here my tears are falling, Nastenka.
Let them flow, let them flow--they don't hurt anybody. They will dry,
Nastenka. "

"Sit down, sit down," she said, making me sit down on the seat. "Oh, my
God! "

"No, Nastenka, I won't sit down; I cannot stay here any longer, you
cannot see me again; I will tell you everything and go away. I only want
to say that you would never have found out that I loved you. I should
have kept my secret. I would not have worried you at such a moment with
my egoism. No! But I could not resist it now; you spoke of it yourself,
it is your fault, your fault and not mine. You cannot drive me away from
you. ". . .

"No, no, I don't drive you away, no! " said Nastenka, concealing her
confusion as best she could, poor child.

"You don't drive me away? No! But I meant to run from you myself. I will
go away, but first I will tell you all, for when you were crying here I
could not sit unmoved, when you wept, when you were in torture at
being--at being--I will speak of it, Nastenka--at being forsaken, at
your love being repulsed, I felt that in my heart there was so much love
for you, Nastenka, so much love! And it seemed so bitter that I could
not help you with my love, that my heart was breaking and I . . . I could
not be silent, I had to speak, Nastenka, I had to speak! "

"Yes, yes! tell me, talk to me," said Nastenka with an indescribable
gesture. "Perhaps you think it strange that I talk to you like this, but
. . . speak! I will tell you afterwards! I will tell you everything. "

"You are sorry for me, Nastenka, you are simply sorry for me, my dear
little friend! What's done can't be mended. What is said cannot be taken
back. Isn't that so? Well, now you know. That's the starting-point. Very
well. Now it's all right, only listen. When you were sitting crying I
thought to myself (oh, let me tell you what I was thinking! ), I thought,
that (of course it cannot be, Nastenka), I thought that you . . . I
thought that you somehow . . . quite apart from me, had ceased to love
him. Then--I thought that yesterday and the day before yesterday,
Nastenka--then I would--I certainly would--have succeeded in making you
love me; you know, you said yourself, Nastenka, that you almost loved
me. Well, what next? Well, that's nearly all I wanted to tell you; all
that is left to say is how it would be if you loved me, only that,
nothing more! Listen, my friend--for any way you are my friend--I am, of
course, a poor, humble man, of no great consequence; but that's not the
point (I don't seem to be able to say what I mean, Nastenka, I am so
confused), only I would love you, I would love you so, that even if you
still loved him, even if you went on loving the man I don't know, you
would never feel that my love was a burden to you. You would only feel
every minute that at your side was beating a grateful, grateful heart, a
warm heart ready for your sake. . . . Oh Nastenka, Nastenka! What have you
done to me? "

"Don't cry; I don't want you to cry," said Nastenka getting up quickly
from the seat. "Come along, get up, come with me, don't cry, don't cry,"
she said, drying her tears with her handkerchief; "let us go now; maybe
I will tell you something. . . . If he has forsaken me now, if he has
forgotten me, though I still love him (I do not want to deceive you) . . .
but listen, answer me. If I were to love you, for instance, that is, if
I only. . . . Oh my friend, my friend! To think, to think how I wounded
you, when I laughed at your love, when I praised you for not falling in
love with me. Oh dear! How was it I did not foresee this, how was it I
did not foresee this, how could I have been so stupid? But. . . . Well, I
have made up my mind, I will tell you. "

"Look here, Nastenka, do you know what? I'll go away, that's what I'll
do. I am simply tormenting you. Here you are remorseful for having
laughed at me, and I won't have you . . . in addition to your sorrow. . . .
Of course it is my fault, Nastenka, but good-bye! "

"Stay, listen to me: can you wait? "

"What for? How? "

"I love him; but I shall get over it, I must get over it, I cannot fail
to get over it; I am getting over it, I feel that. . . . Who knows? Perhaps
it will all end to-day, for I hate him, for he has been laughing at me,
while you have been weeping here with me, for you have not repulsed me
as he has, for you love me while he has never loved me, for in fact, I
love you myself. . . . Yes, I love you! I love you as you love me; I have
told you so before, you heard it yourself--I love you because you are
better than he is, because you are nobler than he is, because, because
he----"

The poor girl's emotion was so violent that she could not say more; she
laid her head upon my shoulder, then upon my bosom, and wept bitterly. I
comforted her, I persuaded her, but she could not stop crying; she kept
pressing my hand, and saying between her sobs: "Wait, wait, it will be
over in a minute! I want to tell you . . . you mustn't think that these
tears--it's nothing, it's weakness, wait till it's over. ". . . At last she
left off crying, dried her eyes and we walked on again. I wanted to
speak, but she still begged me to wait. We were silent. . . . At last she
plucked up courage and began to speak.
"It's like this," she began in a weak and quivering voice, in which,
however, there was a note that pierced my heart with a sweet pang;
"don't think that I am so light and inconstant, don't think that I can
forget and change so quickly. I have loved him for a whole year, and I
swear by God that I have never, never, even in thought, been unfaithful
to him. . . . He has despised me, he has been laughing at me--God forgive
him! But he has insulted me and wounded my heart. I . . . I do not love
him, for I can only love what is magnanimous, what understands me, what
is generous; for I am like that myself and he is not worthy of me--well,
that's enough of him. He has done better than if he had deceived my
expectations later, and shown me later what he was. . . . Well, it's over!
But who knows, my dear friend," she went on pressing my hand, "who
knows, perhaps my whole love was a mistaken feeling, a delusion--perhaps
it began in mischief, in nonsense, because I was kept so strictly by
grandmother? Perhaps I ought to love another man, not him, a different
man, who would have pity on me and . . . and. . . . But don't let us say any
more about that," Nastenka broke off, breathless with emotion, "I only
wanted to tell you . . . I wanted to tell you that if, although I love him
(no, did love him), if, in spite of this you still say. . . . If you feel
that your love is so great that it may at last drive from my heart my
old feeling--if you will have pity on me--if you do not want to leave me
alone to my fate, without hope, without consolation--if you are ready to
love me always as you do now--I swear to you that gratitude . . . that my
love will be at last worthy of your love. . . . Will you take my hand? "

"Nastenka! " I cried breathless with sobs. "Nastenka, oh Nastenka! "

"Enough, enough! Well, now it's quite enough," she said, hardly able to
control herself. "Well, now all has been said, hasn't it! Hasn't it? You
are happy--I am happy too. Not another word about it, wait; spare me . . .
talk of something else, for God's sake. "

"Yes, Nastenka, yes! Enough about that, now I am happy. I---- Yes,
Nastenka, yes, let us talk of other things, let us make haste and talk.
Yes! I am ready. "

And we did not know what to say: we laughed, we wept, we said thousands
of things meaningless and incoherent; at one moment we walked along the
pavement, then suddenly turned back and crossed the road; then we
stopped and went back again to the embankment; we were like children.

"I am living alone now, Nastenka," I began, "but to-morrow! Of course
you know, Nastenka, I am poor, I have only got twelve hundred roubles,
but that doesn't matter. "

"Of course not, and granny has her pension, so she will be no burden. We
must take granny. "

"Of course we must take granny. But there's Matrona. "

"Yes, and we've got Fyokla too! "

"Matrona is a good woman, but she has one fault: she has no imagination,
Nastenka, absolutely none; but that doesn't matter. "

"That's all right--they can live together; only you must move to us
to-morrow. "

"To you? How so? All right, I am ready. "

"Yes, hire a room from us. We have a top floor, it's empty. We had an
old lady lodging there, but she has gone away; and I know granny would
like to have a young man. I said to her, 'Why a young man? ' And she
said, 'Oh, because I am old; only don't you fancy, Nastenka, that I want
him as a husband for you. ' So I guessed it was with that idea. "

"Oh, Nastenka! "

And we both laughed.

"Come, that's enough, that's enough. But where do you live? I've
forgotten. "

"Over that way, near X bridge, Barannikov's Buildings. "

"It's that big house? "

"Yes, that big house. "

"Oh, I know, a nice house; only you know you had better give it up and
come to us as soon as possible. "

"To-morrow, Nastenka, to-morrow; I owe a little for my rent there but
that doesn't matter. I shall soon get my salary. "

"And do you know I will perhaps give lessons; I will learn something
myself and then give lessons. "

"Capital! And I shall soon get a bonus. "

"So by to-morrow you will be my lodger. "

"And we will go to _The Barber of Seville_, for they are soon going to
give it again. "

"Yes, we'll go," said Nastenka, "but better see something else and not
_The Barber of Seville_. "

"Very well, something else. Of course that will be better, I did not
think----"

As we talked like this we walked along in a sort of delirium, a sort of
intoxication, as though we did not know what was happening to us. At one
moment we stopped and talked for a long time at the same place; then we
went on again, and goodness knows where we went; and again tears and
again laughter. All of a sudden Nastenka would want to go home, and I
would not dare to detain her but would want to see her to the house; we
set off, and in a quarter of an hour found ourselves at the embankment
by our seat. Then she would sigh, and tears would come into her eyes
again; I would turn chill with dismay. . . . But she would press my hand
and force me to walk, to talk, to chatter as before.

"It's time I was home at last; I think it must be very late," Nastenka
said at last. "We must give over being childish. "

"Yes, Nastenka, only I shan't sleep to-night; I am not going home. "

"I don't think I shall sleep either; only see me home. "

"I should think so! "

"Only this time we really must get to the house. "

"We must, we must. "

"Honour bright? For you know one must go home some time! "

"Honour bright," I answered laughing.

"Well, come along! "

"Come along! Look at the sky, Nastenka. Look! To-morrow it will be a
lovely day; what a blue sky, what a moon! Look; that yellow cloud is
covering it now, look, look! No, it has passed by. Look, look! "

But Nastenka did not look at the cloud; she stood mute as though turned
to stone; a minute later she huddled timidly close up to me. Her hand
trembled in my hand; I looked at her. She pressed still more closely to
me.

At that moment a young man passed by us. He suddenly stopped, looked at
us intently, and then again took a few steps on. My heart began
throbbing.

"Who is it, Nastenka? " I said in an undertone.

"It's he," she answered in a whisper, huddling up to me, still more
closely, still more tremulously. . . . I could hardly stand on my feet.

"Nastenka, Nastenka! It's you! " I heard a voice behind us and at the
same moment the young man took several steps towards us.

My God, how she cried out! How she started! How she tore herself out of
my arms and rushed to meet him! I stood and looked at them, utterly
crushed. But she had hardly given him her hand, had hardly flung herself
into his arms, when she turned to me again, was beside me again in a
flash, and before I knew where I was she threw both arms round my neck
and gave me a warm, tender kiss. Then, without saying a word to me, she
rushed back to him again, took his hand, and drew him after her.

I stood a long time looking after them. At last the two vanished from my
sight.


MORNING

My night ended with the morning. It was a wet day. The rain was falling
and beating disconsolately upon my window pane; it was dark in the room
and grey outside. My head ached and I was giddy; fever was stealing over
my limbs.

"There's a letter for you, sir; the postman brought it," Matrona said
stooping over me.

"A letter? From whom? " I cried jumping up from my chair.

"I don't know, sir, better look--maybe it is written there whom it is
from. "

I broke the seal. It was from her!

* * * * *

"Oh, forgive me, forgive me! I beg you on my knees to forgive me! I
deceived you and myself. It was a dream, a mirage. . . . My heart aches for
you to-day; forgive me, forgive me!

"Don't blame me, for I have not changed to you in the least. I told you
that I would love you, I love you now, I more than love you. Oh, my God!
If only I could love you both at once! Oh, if only you were he! "

["Oh, if only he were you," echoed in my mind. I remembered your words,
Nastenka! ]

"God knows what I would do for you now! I know that you are sad and
dreary. I have wounded you, but you know when one loves a wrong is soon
forgotten. And you love me.

"Thank you, yes, thank you for that love! For it will live in my memory
like a sweet dream which lingers long after awakening; for I shall
remember for ever that instant when you opened your heart to me like a
brother and so generously accepted the gift of my shattered heart to
care for it, nurse it, and heal it. . . . If you forgive me, the memory of
you will be exalted by a feeling of everlasting gratitude which will
never be effaced from my soul. . . . I will treasure that memory: I will be
true to it, I will not betray it, I will not betray my heart: it is too
constant. It returned so quickly yesterday to him to whom it has always
belonged.

"We shall meet, you will come to us, you will not leave us, you will be
for ever a friend, a brother to me. And when you see me you will give me
your hand . . . yes? You will give it to me, you have forgiven me, haven't
you? You love me _as before_?

"Oh, love me, do not forsake me, because I love you so at this moment,
because I am worthy of your love, because I will deserve it . . . my dear!
Next week I am to be married to him. He has come back in love, he has
never forgotten me. You will not be angry at my writing about him. But I
want to come and see you with him; you will like him, won't you?

"Forgive me, remember and love your
"NASTENKA. "

* * * * *

I read that letter over and over again for a long time; tears gushed to
my eyes.