No More Learning

' just like a silly school-boy who hides behind his
grandmother's arm-chair and then shouts 'oof' into her ear suddenly at
the top of his voice, meaning to frighten her. Yes . . . yes, I feel quite
ashamed to talk about it, gentlemen! No, I won't tell you. "

"Nonsense! What happened then? "

"Nonsense, nonsense! Tell us! Yes, do," rose on all sides.

"There was an outcry and a hullabaloo, my dear friends! Such
exclamations of surprise! And 'you mischievous fellow, you naughty man,'
and what a fright I had given them--and all so sweet that I felt ashamed
and wondered how such a holy place could be profaned by a sinner like
me.

"'Well, my dear boy,' piped the mamma, 'you gave me such a fright that
my legs are all of a tremble still, I can hardly stand on my feet! I ran
to Masha as though I were crazy: "Mashenka," I said, "what will become
of us! See how _your_ friend has turned out! " and I was unjust to you,
my dear boy. You must forgive an old woman like me, I was taken in!
Well, I thought, when he got home last night, he got home late, he began
thinking and perhaps he fancied that we sent for him on purpose,
yesterday, that we wanted to get hold of him. I turned cold at the
thought! Give over, Mashenka, don't go on winking at me--Osip Mihalitch
isn't a stranger! I am your mother, I am not likely to say any harm!
Thank God, I am not twenty, but turned forty-five. '

"Well, gentlemen, I almost flopped at her feet on the spot. Again there
were tears, again there were kisses. Jokes began. Fedosey Nikolaitch,
too, thought he would make April fools of us. He told us the fiery bird
had flown up with a letter in her diamond beak! He tried to take us in,
too--didn't we laugh? weren't we touched? Foo! I feel ashamed to talk
about it.

"Well, my good friends, the end is not far off now. One day
passed, two, three, a week; I was regularly engaged to her. I should
think so! The wedding rings were ordered, the day was fixed, only they
did not want to make it public for a time--they wanted to wait for the
Inspector's visit to be over. I was all impatience for the Inspector's
arrival--my happiness depended upon him. I was in a hurry to get his
visit over. And in the excitement and rejoicing Fedosey Nikolaitch threw
all the work upon me: writing up the accounts, making up the reports,
checking the books, balancing the totals. I found things in terrible
disorder--everything had been neglected, there were muddles and
irregularities everywhere. Well, I thought, I must do my best for my
father-in-law! And he was ailing all the time, he was taken ill, it
appears; he seemed to get worse day by day. And, indeed, I grew as thin
as a rake myself, I was afraid I would break down. However, I finished
the work grandly. I got things straight for him in time.

"Suddenly they sent a messenger for me. I ran headlong--what could it
be? I saw my Fedosey Nikolaitch, his head bandaged up in a vinegar
compress, frowning, sighing, and moaning.

"'My dear boy, my son,' he said, 'if I die, to whom shall I leave you,
my darlings? '

"His wife trailed in with all his children; Mashenka was in tears and I
blubbered, too.

"'Oh no,' he said. 'God will be merciful, He will not visit my
transgressions on you. '

"Then he dismissed them all, told me to shut the door after them, and we
were left alone, _tête-à-tête_.

"'I have a favour to ask of you. '

"'What favour? '

"'Well, my dear boy, there is no rest for me even on my deathbed. I am
in want. '

"'How so? ' I positively flushed crimson, I could hardly speak.

"'Why, I had to pay some of my own money into the Treasury. I grudge
nothing for the public weal, my boy! I don't grudge my life. Don't you
imagine any ill. I am sad to think that slanderers have blackened my
name to you. . . . You were mistaken, my hair has gone white from grief.
The Inspector is coming down upon us and Matveyev is seven thousand
roubles short, and I shall have to answer for it. . . . Who else? It will
be visited upon me, my boy: where were my eyes? And how can we get it
from Matveyev? He has had trouble enough already: why should I bring the
poor fellow to ruin? '

"'Holy saints! ' I thought, 'what a just man! What a heart! '

"'And I don't want to take my daughter's money, which has been set aside
for her dowry: that sum is sacred. I have money of my own, it's true,
but I have lent it all to friends--how is one to collect it all in a
minute? '

"I simply fell on my knees before him. 'My benefactor! ' I cried, 'I've
wronged you, I have injured you; it was slanderers who wrote against
you; don't break my heart, take back your money! '

"He looked at me and there were tears in his eyes. 'That was just what I
expected from you, my son. Get up! I forgave you at the time for the
sake of my daughter's tears--now my heart forgives you freely! You have
healed my wounds. I bless you for all time! '

"Well, when he blessed me, gentlemen, I scurried home as soon as I
could. I got the money:

"'Here, father, here's the money. I've only spent fifty roubles. '

"'Well, that's all right,' he said. 'But now every trifle may count; the
time is short, write a report dated some days ago that you were short of
money and had taken fifty roubles on account. I'll tell the authorities
you had it in advance. '

"Well, gentlemen, what do you think? I did write that report, too! "

"Well, what then? What happened? How did it end? "

"As soon as I had written the report, gentlemen, this is how it ended.
The next day, in the early morning, an envelope with a government seal
arrived. I looked at it and what had I got? The sack! That is,
instructions to hand over my work, to deliver the accounts--and to go
about my business! "

"How so? "

"That's just what I cried at the top of my voice, 'How so? ' Gentlemen,
there was a ringing in my ears. I thought there was no special reason
for it--but no, the Inspector had arrived in the town. My heart sank.
'It's not for nothing,' I thought. And just as I was I rushed off to
Fedosey Nikolaitch.

"'How is this? ' I said.

"'What do you mean? ' he said.

"'Why, I am dismissed. '

"'Dismissed? how? '

"'Why, look at this! '

"'Well, what of it? '

"'Why, but I didn't ask for it! '

"'Yes, you did--you sent in your papers on the first of--April. ' (I had
never taken that letter back! )

"'Fedosey Nikolaitch! I can't believe my ears, I can't believe my eyes!
Is this you? '

"'It is me, why? '

"'My God! '

"'I am sorry, sir. I am very sorry that you made up your mind to retire
from the service so early. A young man ought to be in the service, and
you've begun to be a little light-headed of late. And as for your
character, set your mind at rest: I'll see to that! Your behaviour has
always been so exemplary! '

"'But that was a little joke, Fedosey Nikolaitch! I didn't mean it, I
just gave you the letter for your fatherly . . . that's all. '

"'That's all? A queer joke, sir! Does one jest with documents like that?
Why, you are sometimes sent to Siberia for such jokes. Now, good-bye. I
am busy. We have the Inspector here--the duties of the service before
everything; you can kick up your heels, but we have to sit here at work.
But I'll get you a character---- Oh, another thing: I've just bought a
house from Matveyev. We are moving in in a day or two. So I expect I
shall not have the pleasure of seeing you at our new residence. _Bon
voyage! _'

"I ran home.

"'We are lost, granny! '

"She wailed, poor dear, and then I saw the page from Fedosey
Nikolaitch's running up with a note and a bird-cage, and in the cage
there was a starling. In the fullness of my heart I had given her the
starling. And in the note there were the words: 'April 1st,' and nothing
more. What do you think of that, gentlemen? "

"What happened then? What happened then? "

"What then! I met Fedosey Nikolaitch once, I meant to tell him to his
face he was a scoundrel. "

"Well? "

"But somehow I couldn't bring myself to it, gentlemen. "




A LITTLE HERO

A STORY


At that time I was nearly eleven, I had been sent in July to spend the
holiday in a village near Moscow with a relation of mine called T. ,
whose house was full of guests, fifty, or perhaps more. . . . I don't
remember, I didn't count. The house was full of noise and gaiety. It
seemed as though it were a continual holiday, which would never end. It
seemed as though our host had taken a vow to squander all his vast
fortune as rapidly as possible, and he did indeed succeed, not long ago,
in justifying this surmise, that is, in making a clean sweep of it all
to the last stick.

Fresh visitors used to drive up every minute. Moscow was close by, in
sight, so that those who drove away only made room for others, and the
everlasting holiday went on its course. Festivities succeeded one
another, and there was no end in sight to the entertainments. There were
riding parties about the environs; excursions to the forest or the
river; picnics, dinners in the open air; suppers on the great terrace of
the house, bordered with three rows of gorgeous flowers that flooded
with their fragrance the fresh night air, and illuminated the brilliant
lights which made our ladies, who were almost every one of them pretty
at all times, seem still more charming, with their faces excited by the
impressions of the day, with their sparkling eyes, with their
interchange of spritely conversation, their peals of ringing laughter;
dancing, music, singing; if the sky were overcast tableaux vivants,
charades, proverbs were arranged, private theatricals were got up. There
were good talkers, story-tellers, wits.

Certain persons were prominent in the foreground. Of course backbiting
and slander ran their course, as without them the world could not get
on, and millions of persons would perish of boredom, like flies. But as
I was at that time eleven I was absorbed by very different interests,
and either failed to observe these people, or if I noticed anything, did
not see it all. It was only afterwards that some things came back to my
mind. My childish eyes could only see the brilliant side of the picture,
and the general animation, splendour, and bustle--all that, seen and
heard for the first time, made such an impression upon me that for the
first few days, I was completely bewildered and my little head was in a
whirl.

I keep speaking of my age, and of course I was a child, nothing more
than a child. Many of these lovely ladies petted me without dreaming of
considering my age. But strange to say, a sensation which I did not
myself understand already had possession of me; something was already
whispering in my heart, of which till then it had had no knowledge, no
conception, and for some reason it began all at once to burn and throb,
and often my face glowed with a sudden flush. At times I felt as it were
abashed, and even resentful of the various privileges of my childish
years. At other times a sort of wonder overwhelmed me, and I would go
off into some corner where I could sit unseen, as though to take breath
and remember something--something which it seemed to me I had remembered
perfectly till then, and now had suddenly forgotten, something without
which I could not show myself anywhere, and could not exist at all.

At last it seemed to me as though I were hiding something from every
one. But nothing would have induced me to speak of it to any one,
because, small boy that I was, I was ready to weep with shame. Soon in
the midst of the vortex around me I was conscious of a certain
loneliness. There were other children, but all were either much older or
younger than I; besides, I was in no mood for them. Of course nothing
would have happened to me if I had not been in an exceptional position.
In the eyes of those charming ladies I was still the little unformed
creature whom they at once liked to pet, and with whom they could play
as though he were a little doll. One of them particularly, a
fascinating, fair woman, with very thick luxuriant hair, such as I had
never seen before and probably shall never see again, seemed to have
taken a vow never to leave me in peace. I was confused, while she was
amused by the laughter which she continually provoked from all around us
by her wild, giddy pranks with me, and this apparently gave her immense
enjoyment. At school among her schoolfellows she was probably nicknamed
the Tease. She was wonderfully good-looking, and there was something in
her beauty which drew one's eyes from the first moment. And certainly
she had nothing in common with the ordinary modest little fair girls,
white as down and soft as white mice, or pastors' daughters. She was not
very tall, and was rather plump, but had soft, delicate, exquisitely cut
features.
There was something quick as lightning in her face, and indeed
she was like fire all over, light, swift, alive. Her big open eyes
seemed to flash sparks; they glittered like diamonds, and I would never
exchange such blue sparkling eyes for any black ones, were they blacker
than any Andalusian orb. And, indeed, my blonde was fully a match for
the famous brunette whose praises were sung by a great and well-known
poet, who, in a superb poem, vowed by all Castille that he was ready to
break his bones to be permitted only to touch the mantle of his divinity
with the tip of his finger. Add to that, that _my_ charmer was the
merriest in the world, the wildest giggler, playful as a child, although
she had been married for the last five years. There was a continual
laugh upon her lips, fresh as the morning rose that, with the first ray
of sunshine, opens its fragrant crimson bud with the cool dewdrops still
hanging heavy upon it.

I remember that the day after my arrival private theatricals were being
got up. The drawing-room was, as they say, packed to overflowing; there
was not a seat empty, and as I was somehow late I had to enjoy the
performance standing. But the amusing play attracted me to move
forwarder and forwarder, and unconsciously I made my way to the first
row, where I stood at last leaning my elbows on the back of an armchair,
in which a lady was sitting. It was my blonde divinity, but we had not
yet made acquaintance. And I gazed, as it happened, at her marvellous,
fascinating shoulders, plump and white as milk, though it did not matter
to me in the least whether I stared at a woman's exquisite shoulders or
at the cap with flaming ribbons that covered the grey locks of a
venerable lady in the front row. Near my blonde divinity sat a spinster
lady not in her first youth, one of those who, as I chanced to observe
later, always take refuge in the immediate neighbourhood of young and
pretty women, selecting such as are not fond of cold-shouldering young
men. But that is not the point, only this lady, noting my fixed gaze,
bent down to her neighbour and with a simper whispered something in her
ear. The blonde lady turned at once, and I remember that her glowing
eyes so flashed upon me in the half dark, that, not prepared to meet
them, I started as though I were scalded. The beauty smiled.

"Do you like what they are acting? " she asked, looking into my face with
a shy and mocking expression.

"Yes," I answered, still gazing at her with a sort of wonder that
evidently pleased her.

"But why are you standing? You'll get tired. Can't you find a seat? "

"That's just it, I can't," I answered, more occupied with my grievance
than with the beauty's sparkling eyes, and rejoicing in earnest at
having found a kind heart to whom I could confide my troubles. "I have
looked everywhere, but all the chairs are taken," I added, as though
complaining to her that all the chairs were taken.

"Come here," she said briskly, quick to act on every decision, and,
indeed, on every mad idea that flashed on her giddy brain, "come here,
and sit on my knee. "

"On your knee," I repeated, taken aback. I have mentioned already that I
had begun to resent the privileges of childhood and to be ashamed of
them in earnest. This lady, as though in derision, had gone ever so much
further than the others. Moreover, I had always been a shy and bashful
boy, and of late had begun to be particularly shy with women.

"Why yes, on my knee. Why don't you want to sit on my knee? " she
persisted, beginning to laugh more and more, so that at last she was
simply giggling, goodness knows at what, perhaps at her freak, or
perhaps at my confusion. But that was just what she wanted.

I flushed, and in my confusion looked round trying to find where to
escape; but seeing my intention she managed to catch hold of my hand to
prevent me from going away, and pulling it towards her, suddenly, quite
unexpectedly, to my intense astonishment, squeezed it in her mischievous
warm fingers, and began to pinch my fingers till they hurt so much that
I had to do my very utmost not to cry out, and in my effort to control
myself made the most absurd grimaces. I was, besides, moved to the
greatest amazement, perplexity, and even horror, at the discovery that
there were ladies so absurd and spiteful as to talk nonsense to boys,
and even pinch their fingers, for no earthly reason and before
everybody. Probably my unhappy face reflected my bewilderment, for the
mischievous creature laughed in my face, as though she were crazy, and
meantime she was pinching my fingers more and more vigorously. She was
highly delighted in playing such a mischievous prank and completely
mystifying and embarrassing a poor boy. My position was desperate. In
the first place I was hot with shame, because almost every one near had
turned round to look at us, some in wonder, others with laughter,
grasping at once that the beauty was up to some mischief. I dreadfully
wanted to scream, too, for she was wringing my fingers with positive
fury just because I didn't scream; while I, like a Spartan, made up my
mind to endure the agony, afraid by crying out of causing a general
fuss, which was more than I could face. In utter despair I began at last
struggling with her, trying with all my might to pull away my hand, but
my persecutor was much stronger than I was. At last I could bear it no
longer, and uttered a shriek--that was all she was waiting for!
Instantly she let me go, and turned away as though nothing had happened,
as though it was not she who had played the trick but some one else,
exactly like some schoolboy who, as soon as the master's back is turned,
plays some trick on some one near him, pinches some small weak boy,
gives him a flip, a kick, or a nudge with his elbows, and instantly
turns again, buries himself in his book and begins repeating his lesson,
and so makes a fool of the infuriated teacher who flies down like a hawk
at the noise.

But luckily for me the general attention was distracted at the moment by
the masterly acting of our host, who was playing the chief part in the
performance, some comedy of Scribe's. Every one began to applaud; under
cover of the noise I stole away and hurried to the furthest end of the
room, from which, concealed behind a column, I looked with horror
towards the place where the treacherous beauty was sitting. She was
still laughing, holding her handkerchief to her lips. And for a long
time she was continually turning round, looking for me in every
direction, probably regretting that our silly tussle was so soon over,
and hatching some other trick to play on me.

That was the beginning of our acquaintance, and from that evening she
would never let me alone. She persecuted me without consideration or
conscience, she became my tyrant and tormentor. The whole absurdity of
her jokes with me lay in the fact that she pretended to be head over
ears in love with me, and teased me before every one. Of course for a
wild creature as I was all this was so tiresome and vexatious that it
almost reduced me to tears, and I was sometimes put in such a difficult
position that I was on the point of fighting with my treacherous
admirer. My naïve confusion, my desperate distress, seemed to egg her on
to persecute me more; she knew no mercy, while I did not know how to get
away from her. The laughter which always accompanied us, and which she
knew so well how to excite, roused her to fresh pranks. But at last
people began to think that she went a little too far in her jests. And,
indeed, as I remember now, she did take outrageous liberties with a
child such as I was.

But that was her character; she was a spoilt child in every respect. I
heard afterwards that her husband, a very short, very fat, and very
red-faced man, very rich and apparently very much occupied with
business, spoilt her more than any one. Always busy and flying round, he
could not stay two hours in one place. Every day he drove into Moscow,
sometimes twice in the day, and always, as he declared himself, on
business. It would be hard to find a livelier and more good-natured face
than his facetious but always well-bred countenance. He not only loved
his wife to the point of weakness, softness: he simply worshipped her
like an idol.

He did not restrain her in anything. She had masses of friends, male and
female. In the first place, almost everybody liked her; and secondly,
the feather-headed creature was not herself over particular in the
choice of her friends, though there was a much more serious foundation
to her character than might be supposed from what I have just said about
her. But of all her friends she liked best of all one young lady, a
distant relation, who was also of our party now. There existed between
them a tender and subtle affection, one of those attachments which
sometimes spring up at the meeting of two dispositions often the very
opposite of each other, of which one is deeper, purer and more austere,
while the other, with lofty humility, and generous self-criticism,
lovingly gives way to the other, conscious of the friend's superiority
and cherishing the friendship as a happiness. Then begins that tender
and noble subtlety in the relations of such characters, love and
infinite indulgence on the one side, on the other love and respect--a
respect approaching awe, approaching anxiety as to the impression made
on the friend so highly prized, and an eager, jealous desire to get
closer and closer to that friend's heart in every step in life.

These two friends were of the same age, but there was an immense
difference between them in everything--in looks, to begin with. Madame
M. was also very handsome, but there was something special in her beauty
that strikingly distinguished her from the crowd of pretty women; there
was something in her face that at once drew the affection of all to her,
or rather, which aroused a generous and lofty feeling of kindliness in
every one who met her. There are such happy faces. At her side everyone
grew as it were better, freer, more cordial; and yet her big mournful
eyes, full of fire and vigour, had a timid and anxious look, as though
every minute dreading something antagonistic and menacing, and this
strange timidity at times cast so mournful a shade over her mild, gentle
features which recalled the serene faces of Italian Madonnas, that
looking at her one soon became oneself sad, as though for some trouble
of one's own. The pale, thin face, in which, through the irreproachable
beauty of the pure, regular lines and the mournful severity of some mute
hidden grief, there often flitted the clear looks of early childhood,
telling of trustful years and perhaps simple-hearted happiness in the
recent past, the gentle but diffident, hesitating smile, all aroused
such unaccountable sympathy for her that every heart was unconsciously
stirred with a sweet and warm anxiety that powerfully interceded on her
behalf even at a distance, and made even strangers feel akin to her. But
the lovely creature seemed silent and reserved, though no one could have
been more attentive and loving if any one needed sympathy. There are
women who are like sisters of mercy in life. Nothing can be hidden from
them, nothing, at least, that is a sore or wound of the heart. Any one
who is suffering may go boldly and hopefully to them without fear of
being a burden, for few men know the infinite patience of love,
compassion and forgiveness that may be found in some women's hearts.
Perfect treasures of sympathy, consolation and hope are laid up in these
pure hearts, so often full of suffering of their own--for a heart which
loves much grieves much--though their wounds are carefully hidden from
the curious eye, for deep sadness is most often mute and concealed. They
are not dismayed by the depth of the wound, nor by its foulness and its
stench; any one who comes to them is deserving of help; they are, as it
were, born for heroism. . . . Mme. M. was tall, supple and graceful, but
rather thin. All her movements seemed somehow irregular, at times slow,
smooth, and even dignified, at times childishly hasty; and yet, at the
same time, there was a sort of timid humility in her gestures, something
tremulous and defenceless, though it neither desired nor asked for
protection.

I have mentioned already that the outrageous teasing of the treacherous
fair lady abashed me, flabbergasted me, and wounded me to the quick. But
there was for that another secret, strange and foolish reason, which I
concealed, at which I shuddered as at a skeleton. At the very thought of
it, brooding, utterly alone and overwhelmed, in some dark mysterious
corner to which the inquisitorial mocking eye of the blue-eyed rogue
could not penetrate, I almost gasped with confusion, shame and fear--in
short, I was in love; that perhaps is nonsense, that could hardly have
been. But why was it, of all the faces surrounding me, only her face
caught my attention? Why was it that it was only she whom I cared to
follow with my eyes, though I certainly had no inclination in those days
to watch ladies and seek their acquaintance? This happened most
frequently on the evenings when we were all kept indoors by bad weather,
and when, lonely, hiding in some corner of the big drawing-room, I
stared about me aimlessly, unable to find anything to do, for except my
teasing ladies, few people ever addressed me, and I was insufferably
bored on such evenings. Then I stared at the people round me, listened
to the conversation, of which I often did not understand one word, and
at that time the mild eyes, the gentle smile and lovely face of Mme. M.
(for she was the object of my passion) for some reason caught my
fascinated attention; and the strange vague, but unutterably sweet
impression remained with me. Often for hours together I could not tear
myself away from her; I studied every gesture, every movement she made,
listened to every vibration of her rich, silvery, but rather muffled
voice; but strange to say, as the result of all my observations, I felt,
mixed with a sweet and timid impression, a feeling of intense curiosity.
It seemed as though I were on the verge of some mystery.

Nothing distressed me so much as being mocked at in the presence of Mme.
M. This mockery and humorous persecution, as I thought, humiliated me.
And when there was a general burst of laughter at my expense, in which
Mme. M. sometimes could not help joining, in despair, beside myself with
misery, I used to tear myself from my tormentor and run away upstairs,
where I remained in solitude the rest of the day, not daring to show my
face in the drawing-room. I did not yet, however, understand my shame
nor my agitation; the whole process went on in me unconsciously. I had
hardly said two words to Mme. M. , and indeed I should not have dared to.
But one evening after an unbearable day I turned back from an expedition
with the rest of the company. I was horribly tired and made my way home
across the garden. On a seat in a secluded avenue I saw Mme. M. She was
sitting quite alone, as though she had purposely chosen this solitary
spot, her head was drooping and she was mechanically twisting her
handkerchief. She was so lost in thought that she did not hear me till I
reached her.

Noticing me, she got up quickly from her seat, turned round, and I saw
her hurriedly wipe her eyes with her handkerchief. She was crying.
Drying her eyes, she smiled to me and walked back with me to the house.
I don't remember what we talked about; but she frequently sent me off on
one pretext or another, to pick a flower, or to see who was riding in
the next avenue. And when I walked away from her, she at once put her
handkerchief to her eyes again and wiped away rebellious tears, which
would persist in rising again and again from her heart and dropping from
her poor eyes. I realized that I was very much in her way when she sent
me off so often, and, indeed, she saw herself that I noticed it all, but
yet could not control herself, and that made my heart ache more and more
for her. I raged at myself at that moment and was almost in despair;
cursed myself for my awkwardness and lack of resource, and at the same
time did not know how to leave her tactfully, without betraying that I
had noticed her distress, but walked beside her in mournful
bewilderment, almost in alarm, utterly at a loss and unable to find a
single word to keep up our scanty conversation.

This meeting made such an impression on me that I stealthily watched
Mme. M. the whole evening with eager curiosity, and never took my eyes
off her. But it happened that she twice caught me unawares watching her,
and on the second occasion, noticing me, she gave me a smile. It was the
only time she smiled that evening. The look of sadness had not left her
face, which was now very pale. She spent the whole evening talking to an
ill-natured and quarrelsome old lady, whom nobody liked owing to her
spying and backbiting habits, but of whom every one was afraid, and
consequently every one felt obliged to be polite to her. . . .

At ten o'clock Mme. M. 's husband arrived. Till that moment I watched her
very attentively, never taking my eyes off her mournful face; now at the
unexpected entrance of her husband I saw her start, and her pale face
turned suddenly as white as a handkerchief. It was so noticeable that
other people observed it. I overheard a fragmentary conversation from
which I guessed that Mme. M. was not quite happy; they said her husband
was as jealous as an Arab, not from love, but from vanity. He was before
all things a European, a modern man, who sampled the newest ideas and
prided himself upon them. In appearance he was a tall, dark-haired,
particularly thick-set man, with European whiskers, with a
self-satisfied, red face, with teeth white as sugar, and with an
irreproachably gentlemanly deportment. He was called a _clever man_.
Such is the name given in certain circles to a peculiar species of
mankind which grows fat at other people's expense, which does absolutely
nothing and has no desire to do anything, and whose heart has turned
into a lump of fat from everlasting slothfulness and idleness. You
continually hear from such men that there is nothing they can do owing
to certain very complicated and hostile circumstances, which "thwart
their genius," and that it was "sad to see the waste of their talents. "
This is a fine phrase of theirs, their _mot d'ordre_, their watchword, a
phrase which these well-fed, fat friends of ours bring out at every
minute, so that it has long ago bored us as an arrant Tartuffism, an
empty form of words. Some, however, of these amusing creatures, who
cannot succeed in finding anything to do--though, indeed, they never
seek it--try to make every one believe that they have not a lump of fat
for a heart, but on the contrary, something _very deep_, though what
precisely the greatest surgeon would hardly venture to decide--from
civility, of course. These gentlemen make their way in the world through
the fact that all their instincts are bent in the direction of coarse
sneering, short-sighted censure and immense conceit. Since they have
nothing else to do but note and emphasize the mistakes and weaknesses of
others, and as they have precisely as much good feeling as an oyster, it
is not difficult for them with such powers of self-preservation to get
on with people fairly successfully. They pride themselves extremely upon
that. They are, for instance, as good as persuaded that almost the whole
world owes them something; that it is theirs, like an oyster which they
keep in reserve; that all are fools except themselves; that every one is
like an orange or a sponge, which they will squeeze as soon as they want
the juice; that they are the masters everywhere, and that all this
acceptable state of affairs is solely due to the fact that they are
people of so much intellect and character. In their measureless conceit
they do not admit any defects in themselves, they are like that species
of practical rogues, innate Tartuffes and Falstaffs, who are such
thorough rogues that at last they have come to believe that that is as
it should be, that is, that they should spend their lives in
knavishness; they have so often assured every one that they are honest
men, that they have come to believe that they are honest men, and that
their roguery is honesty. They are never capable of inner judgment
before their conscience, of generous self-criticism; for some things
they are too fat. Their own priceless personality, their Baal and
Moloch, their magnificent _ego_ is always in their foreground
everywhere. All nature, the whole world for them is no more than a
splendid mirror created for the little god to admire himself continually
in it, and to see no one and nothing behind himself; so it is not
strange that he sees everything in the world in such a hideous light. He
has a phrase in readiness for everything and--the acme of ingenuity on
his part--the most fashionable phrase. It is just these people, indeed,
who help to make the fashion, proclaiming at every cross-road an idea in
which they scent success. A fine nose is just what they have for
sniffing a fashionable phrase and making it their own before other
people get hold of it, so that it seems to have originated with them.
They have a particular store of phrases for proclaiming their profound
sympathy for humanity, for defining what is the most correct and
rational form of philanthropy, and continually attacking romanticism, in
other words, everything fine and true, each atom of which is more
precious than all their mollusc tribe. But they are too coarse to
recognize the truth in an indirect, roundabout and unfinished form, and
they reject everything that is immature, still fermenting and unstable.
The well-nourished man has spent all his life in merry-making, with
everything provided, has done nothing himself and does not know how hard
every sort of work is, and so woe betide you if you jar upon his fat
feelings by any sort of roughness; he'll never forgive you for that, he
will always remember it and will gladly avenge it. The long and short of
it is, that my hero is neither more nor less than a gigantic, incredibly
swollen bag, full of sentences, fashionable phrases, and labels of all
sorts and kinds.

M. M. , however, had a speciality and was a very remarkable man; he was a
wit, good talker and story-teller, and there was always a circle round
him in every drawing-room. That evening he was particularly successful
in making an impression. He took possession of the conversation; he was
in his best form, gay, pleased at something, and he compelled the
attention of all; but Mme. M. looked all the time as though she were
ill; her face was so sad that I fancied every minute that tears would
begin quivering on her long eyelashes. All this, as I have said,
impressed me extremely and made me wonder. I went away with a feeling of
strange curiosity, and dreamed all night of M. M. , though till then I
had rarely had dreams.

Next day, early in the morning, I was summoned to a rehearsal of some
tableaux vivants in which I had to take part. The tableaux vivants,
theatricals, and afterwards a dance were all fixed for the same evening,
five days later--the birthday of our host's younger daughter. To this
entertainment, which was almost improvised, another hundred guests were
invited from Moscow and from surrounding villas, so that there was a
great deal of fuss, bustle and commotion. The rehearsal, or rather
review of the costumes, was fixed so early in the morning because our
manager, a well-known artist, a friend of our host's, who had consented
through affection for him to undertake the arrangement of the tableaux
and the training of us for them, was in haste now to get to Moscow to
purchase properties and to make final preparations for the fête, as
there was no time to lose. I took part in one tableau with Mme. M. It
was a scene from mediæval life and was called "The Lady of the Castle
and Her Page. "

I felt unutterably confused on meeting Mme. M. at the rehearsal. I kept
feeling that she would at once read in my eyes all the reflections, the
doubts, the surmises, that had arisen in my mind since the previous day.
I fancied, too, that I was, as it were, to blame in regard to her, for
having come upon her tears the day before and hindered her grieving, so
that she could hardly help looking at me askance, as an unpleasant
witness and unforgiven sharer of her secret. But, thank goodness, it
went off without any great trouble; I was simply not noticed. I think
she had no thoughts to spare for me or for the rehearsal; she was
absent-minded, sad and gloomily thoughtful; it was evident that she was
worried by some great anxiety. As soon as my part was over I ran away to
change my clothes, and ten minutes later came out on the verandah into
the garden. Almost at the same time Mme. M. came out by another door,
and immediately afterwards coming towards us appeared her self-satisfied
husband, who was returning from the garden, after just escorting into it
quite a crowd of ladies and there handing them over to a competent
_cavaliere servente_. The meeting of the husband and wife was evidently
unexpected. Mme. M. , I don't know why, grew suddenly confused, and a
faint trace of vexation was betrayed in her impatient movement. The
husband, who had been carelessly whistling an air and with an air of
profundity stroking his whiskers, now, on meeting his wife, frowned and
scrutinized her, as I remember now, with a markedly inquisitorial stare.

"You are going into the garden? " he asked, noticing the parasol and book
in her hand.

"No, into the copse," she said, with a slight flush.

"Alone? "

"With him," said Mme. M. , pointing to me. "I always go a walk alone in
the morning," she added, speaking in an uncertain, hesitating voice, as
people do when they tell their first lie.

"H'm .