No More Learning

. . Come, come! "

She tried to smile, to calm herself, but her chin was quivering and her
bosom was still heaving.

"I was thinking about you," she said after a minute's silence. "You are
so kind that I should be a stone if I did not feel it. Do you know what
has occurred to me now? I was comparing you two. Why isn't he you? Why
isn't he like you? He is not as good as you, though I love him more than
you. "

I made no answer. She seemed to expect me to say something.

"Of course, it may be that I don't understand him fully yet. You know I
was always as it were afraid of him; he was always so grave, as it were
so proud. Of course I know it's only that he seems like that, I know
there is more tenderness in his heart than in mine. . . . I remember how he
looked at me when I went in to him--do you remember? --with my bundle;
but yet I respect him too much, and doesn't that show that we are not
equals? "

"No, Nastenka, no," I answered, "it shows that you love him more than
anything in the world, and far more than yourself. "

"Yes, supposing that is so," answered Nastenka naïvely. "But do you know
what strikes me now? Only I am not talking about him now, but speaking
generally; all this came into my mind some time ago. Tell me, how is it
that we can't all be like brothers together? Why is it that even the
best of men always seem to hide something from other people and to keep
something back? Why not say straight out what is in one's heart, when
one knows that one is not speaking idly? As it is every one seems
harsher than he really is, as though all were afraid of doing injustice
to their feelings, by being too quick to express them. "

"Oh, Nastenka, what you say is true; but there are many reasons for
that," I broke in suppressing my own feelings at that moment more than
ever.

"No, no! " she answered with deep feeling. "Here you, for instance, are
not like other people! I really don't know how to tell you what I feel;
but it seems to me that you, for instance . . . at the present moment . . .
it seems to me that you are sacrificing something for me," she added
timidly, with a fleeting glance at me. "Forgive me for saying so, I am a
simple girl you know. I have seen very little of life, and I really
sometimes don't know how to say things," she added in a voice that
quivered with some hidden feeling, while she tried to smile; "but I only
wanted to tell you that I am grateful, that I feel it all too. . . . Oh,
may God give you happiness for it! What you told me about your dreamer
is quite untrue now--that is, I mean, it's not true of you. You are
recovering, you are quite a different man from what you described. If
you ever fall in love with some one, God give you happiness with her! I
won't wish anything for her, for she will be happy with you. I know, I
am a woman myself, so you must believe me when I tell you so. "

She ceased speaking, and pressed my hand warmly. I too could not speak
without emotion. Some minutes passed.

"Yes, it's clear he won't come to-night," she said at last raising her
head. "It's late. "

"He will come to-morrow," I said in the most firm and convincing tone.

"Yes," she added with no sign of her former depression. "I see for
myself now that he could not come till to-morrow. Well, good-bye, till
to-morrow. If it rains perhaps I shall not come. But the day after
to-morrow, I shall come. I shall come for certain, whatever happens; be
sure to be here, I want to see you, I will tell you everything. "

And then when we parted she gave me her hand and said, looking at me
candidly: "We shall always be together, shan't we? "

Oh, Nastenka, Nastenka! If only you knew how lonely I am now!

As soon as it struck nine o'clock I could not stay indoors, but put on
my things, and went out in spite of the weather. I was there, sitting on
our seat. I went to her street, but I felt ashamed, and turned back
without looking at their windows, when I was two steps from her door. I
went home more depressed than I had ever been before. What a damp,
dreary day! If it had been fine I should have walked about all night. . . .

But to-morrow, to-morrow! To-morrow she will tell me everything. The
letter has not come to-day, however. But that was to be expected. They
are together by now. . . .


FOURTH NIGHT

My God, how it has all ended! What it has all ended in! I arrived at
nine o'clock. She was already there. I noticed her a good way off; she
was standing as she had been that first time, with her elbows on the
railing, and she did not hear me coming up to her.

"Nastenka! " I called to her, suppressing my agitation with an effort.

She turned to me quickly.

"Well? " she said. "Well? Make haste! "

I looked at her in perplexity.

"Well, where is the letter? Have you brought the letter? " she repeated
clutching at the railing.

"No, there is no letter," I said at last. "Hasn't he been to you yet? "
She turned fearfully pale and looked at me for a long time without
moving. I had shattered her last hope.

"Well, God be with him," she said at last in a breaking voice; "God be
with him if he leaves me like that. "

She dropped her eyes, then tried to look at me and could not. For
several minutes she was struggling with her emotion. All at once she
turned away, leaning her elbows against the railing and burst into
tears.

"Oh don't, don't! " I began; but looking at her I had not the heart to go
on, and what was I to say to her?

"Don't try and comfort me," she said; "don't talk about him; don't tell
me that he will come, that he has not cast me off so cruelly and so
inhumanly as he has. What for--what for? Can there have been something
in my letter, that unlucky letter? "

At that point sobs stifled her voice; my heart was torn as I looked at
her.

"Oh, how inhumanly cruel it is! " she began again. "And not a line, not a
line! He might at least have written that he does not want me, that he
rejects me--but not a line for three days! How easy it is for him to
wound, to insult a poor, defenceless girl, whose only fault is that she
loves him! Oh, what I've suffered during these three days! Oh, dear!
When I think that I was the first to go to him, that I humbled myself
before him, cried, that I begged of him a little love! . . . and after
that! Listen," she said, turning to me, and her black eyes flashed, "it
isn't so! It can't be so; it isn't natural. Either you are mistaken or
I; perhaps he has not received the letter? Perhaps he still knows
nothing about it? How could any one--judge for yourself, tell me, for
goodness' sake explain it to me, I can't understand it--how could any
one behave with such barbarous coarseness as he has behaved to me? Not
one word! Why, the lowest creature on earth is treated more
compassionately. Perhaps he has heard something, perhaps some one has
told him something about me," she cried, turning to me inquiringly:
"What do you think? "

"Listen, Nastenka, I shall go to him to-morrow in your name. "

"Yes? "

"I will question him about everything; I will tell him everything. "

"Yes, yes? "

"You write a letter. Don't say no, Nastenka, don't say no! I will make
him respect your action, he shall hear all about it, and if----"

"No, my friend, no," she interrupted. "Enough! Not another word, not
another line from me--enough! I don't know him; I don't love him any
more. I will . . . forget him. "

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.