On the Eve: Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Anna Vassilyevna, as the reader knows already, liked staying at home;
but at times she manifested, quite unexpectedly, an irresistible
longing for something out of the common, some extraordinary _partie du
plaisir_, and the more troublesome the _partie du plaisir_ was, the more
preparations and arrangements it required, and the greater Anna
Vassilyevna's own agitation over it, the more pleasure it gave her.
If this mood came upon her in winter, she would order two or three
boxes to be taken side by side, and, inviting all her acquaintances,
would set off to the theatre or even to a masquerade; in summer she
would drive for a trip out of town to some spot as far off as
possible. The next day she would complain of a headache, groan and
keep her bed; but within two months the same craving for something
'out of the common' would break out in her again. That was just what
happened now. Some one chanced to refer to the beautiful
scenery of Tsaritsino before her, and Anna Vassilyevna suddenly
announced an intention of driving to Tsaritsino the day after
tomorrow. The household was thrown into a state of bustle; a
messenger galloped off to Moscow for Nikolai Artemyevitch; with him
galloped the butler to buy wines, pies, and all sorts of provisions;
Shubin was commissioned to hire an open carriage--the coach alone was
not enough--and to order relays of horses to be ready; a page was
twice despatched to Bersenyev and Insarov with two different notes of
invitation, written by Zoya, the first in Russian, the second in
French; Anna Vassilyevna herself was busy over the dresses of the
young ladies for the expedition. Meanwhile the _partie du plaisir_ was
very near coming to grief. Nikolai Artemyevitch arrived from Moscow in
a sour, ill-natured, _frondeurish_ frame of mind. He was still sulky
with Augustina Christianovna; and when he heard what the plan was,
he flatly declared that he would not go; that to go trotting from
Kuntsovo to Moscow and from Moscow to Tsaritsino, and then from
Tsaritsino again to Moscow, from Moscow again to Kuntsovo, was a piece
of folly; and, 'in fact,' he added, 'let them first prove to my
satisfaction, that one can be merrier on one spot of the globe than
another spot, and I will go.' This, of course, no one could prove to
his satisfaction, and Anna Vassilyevna was ready to throw up the
_partie du plaisir_ for lack of a solid escort; but she recollected
Uvar Ivanovitch, and in her distress she sent to his room for him,
saying: 'a drowning man catches at straws.' They waked him up; he came
down, listened in silence to Anna Vassilyevna's proposition, and, to
the general astonishment, with a flourish of his fingers, he consented
to go. Anna Vassilyevna kissed him on the cheek, and called him a
darling; Nikolai Artemyevitch smiled contemptuously and said: _quelle
bourde!_ (he liked on occasions to make use of a 'smart' French word);
and the following morning the coach and the open carriage,
well-packed, rolled out of the Stahovs' court-yard. In the coach were
the ladies, a maid, and Bersenyev; Insarov was seated on the box; and
in the open carriage were Uvar Ivanovitch and Shubin. Uvar Ivanovitch
had himself beckoned Shubin to him; he knew that he would tease him
the whole way, but there existed a queer sort of attachment, marked by
abusive candour, between the 'primeval force' and the young artist. On
this occasion, however, Shubin left his fat friend in peace; he was
absent-minded, silent, and gentle.

The sun stood high in a cloudless blue sky when the carriage drove up
to the ruins of Tsaritsino Castle, which looked gloomy and menacing,
even at mid-day. The whole party stepped out on to the grass, and at
once made a move towards the garden. In front went Elena and Zoya with
Insarov; Anna Vassilyevna, with an expression of perfect happiness on
her face, walked behind them, leaning on the arm of Uvar Ivanovitch.
He waddled along panting, his new straw hat cut his forehead, and his
feet twinged in his boots, but he was content; Shubin and Bersenyev
brought up the rear. 'We will form the reserve, my dear boy, like
veterans,' whispered Shubin to Bersenyev. 'Bulgaria's in it now!' he
added, indicating Elena with his eyebrows.

The weather was glorious. Everything around was flowering, humming,
singing; in the distance shone the waters of the lakes; a
light-hearted holiday mood took possession of all. 'Oh, how beautiful;
oh, how beautiful!' Anna Vassilyevna repeated incessantly; Uvar
Ivanovitch kept nodding his head approvingly in response to her
enthusiastic exclamations, and once even articulated: 'To be sure! to
be sure!' From time to time Elena exchanged a few words with Insarov;
Zoya held the brim of her large hat with two fingers while her little
feet, shod in light grey shoes with rounded toes, peeped coquettishly
out from under her pink barege dress; she kept looking to each side
and then behind her. 'Hey!' cried Shubin suddenly in a low voice,
'Zoya Nikitishna is on the lookout, it seems. I will go to her. Elena
Nikolaevna despises me now, while you, Andrei Petrovitch, she esteems,
which comes to the same thing. I am going; I'm tired of being glum. I
should advise you, my dear fellow, to do some botanising; that's the
best thing you could hit on in your position; it might be useful, too,
from a scientific point of view. Farewell!' Shubin ran up to Zoya,
offered her his arm, and saying: '_Ihre Hand, Madame_' caught hold of
her hand, and pushed on ahead with her. Elena stopped, called to
Bersenyev, and also took his arm, but continued talking to Insarov.
She asked him the words for lily-of-the-valley, clover, oak, lime, and
so on in his language. . . 'Bulgaria's in it!' thought poor Andrei
Petrovitch.

Suddenly a shriek was heard in front; every one looked up. Shubin's
cigar-case fell into a bush, flung by Zoya's hand. 'Wait a minute, I'll
pay you out!' he shouted, as he crept into the bushes; he found
his cigar-case, and was returning to Zoya; but he had hardly reached
her side when again his cigar-case was sent flying across the road.
Five times this trick was repeated, he kept laughing and threatening
her, but Zoya only smiled slyly and drew herself together, like a
little cat. At last he snatched her fingers, and squeezed them so
tightly that she shrieked, and for a long time afterwards breathed on
her hand, pretending to be angry, while he murmured something in her
ears.

'Mischievous things, young people,' Anna Vassilyevna observed gaily to
Uvar Ivanovitch.

He flourished his fingers in reply.

'What a girl Zoya Nikitishna is!' said Bersenyev to Elena.

'And Shubin? What of him?' she answered.

Meanwhile the whole party went into the arbour, well known as Pleasant
View arbour, and stopped to admire the view of the Tsaritsino lakes.
They stretched one behind the other for several miles, overshadowed by
thick woods. The bright green grass, which covered the hill sloping
down to the largest lake, gave the water itself an extraordinarily
vivid emerald colour. Even at the water's edge not a ripple stirred the
smooth surface. One might fancy it a solid mass of glass lying heavy
and shining in a huge font; the sky seemed to drop into its depths,
while the leafy trees gazed motionless into its transparent bosom. All
were absorbed in long and silent admiration of the view; even Shubin
was still; even Zoya was impressed. At last, all with one mind, began
to wish to go upon the water. Shubin, Insarov, and Bersenyev raced
each other over the grass. They succeeded in finding a large painted
boat and two boatmen, and beckoned to the ladies. The ladies stepped
into the boat; Uvar Ivanovitch cautiously lowered himself into it
after them. Great was the mirth while he got in and took his seat.
'Look out, master, don't drown us,' observed one of the boatmen, a
snubnosed young fellow in a gay print shirt. 'Get along, you swell!'
said Uvar Ivanovitch. The boat pushed off. The young men took up the
oars, but Insarov was the oniy one of them who could row. Shubin
suggested that they should sing some Russian song in chorus, and
struck up: 'Down the river Volga' . . . Bersenyev, Zoya, and even
Anna Vassilyevna, joined in--Insarov could not sing--but they did not
keep together; at the third verse the singers were all wrong. Only
Bersenyev tried to go on in the bass, 'Nothing on the waves is seen,'
but he, too, was soon in difficulties. The boatmen looked at one
another and grinned in silence.

'Eh?' said Shubin, turning to them, 'the gentlefolks can't sing,
you say?' The boy in the print shirt only shook his head. 'Wait a
little snubnose,' retorted Shubin, 'we will show you. Zoya
Nikitishna, sing us _Le lac_ of Niedermeyer. Stop rowing!' The wet
oars stood still, lifted in the air like wings, and their splash died
away with a tuneful drip; the boat drifted on a little, then stood
still, rocking lightly on the water like a swan. Zoya affected to
refuse at first. . . . '_Allons_' said Anna Vassilyevna genially. . . .
Zoya took off her hat and began to sing: '_O lac, l'annee a peine a
fini sa carriere_!'

Her small, but pure voice, seemed to dart over the surface of the
lake; every word echoed far off in the woods; it sounded as though some
one were singing there, too, in a distinct, but mysterious and
unearthly voice. When Zoya finished, a loud bravo was heard from an
arbour near the bank, from which emerged several red-faced Germans who
were picnicking at Tsaritsino. Several of them had their coats off,
their ties, and even their waistcoats; and they shouted '_bis!_' with
such unmannerly insistence that Anna Vassilyevna told the boatmen to
row as quickly as possible to the other end of the lake. But before
the boat reached the bank, Uvar Ivanovitch once more succeeded in
surprising his friends; having noticed that in one part of the wood
the echo repeated every sound with peculiar distinctness, he suddenly
began to call like a quail. At first every one was startled, but they
listened directly with real pleasure, especially as Uvar Ivanovitch
imitated the quail's cry with great correctness. Spurred on by this,
he tried mewing like a cat; but this did not go off so well; and after
one more quail-call, he looked at them all and stopped. Shubin threw
himself on him to kiss him; he pushed him off. At that instant the
boat touched the bank, and all the party got out and went on shore.

Meanwhile the coachman, with the groom and the maid, had brought the
baskets out of the coach, and made dinner ready on the grass under the
old lime-trees. They sat down round the outspread tablecloth, and fell
upon the pies and other dainties. They all had excellent appetites,
while Anna Vassilyevna, with unflagging hospitality, kept urging the
guests to eat more, assuring them that nothing was more wholesome than
eating in the open air. She even encouraged Uvar Ivanovitch with such
assurances. 'Don't trouble about me!' he grunted with his mouth
full. 'Such a lovely day is a God-send, indeed!' she repeated
constantly. One would not have known her; she seemed fully twenty
years younger. Bersenyev said as much to her. 'Yes, yes.' she said;
'I could hold my own with any one in my day.' Shubin attached himself
to Zoya, and kept pouring her out wine; she refused it, he pressed
her, and finished by drinking the glass himself, and again pressing
her to take another; he also declared that he longed to lay his head
on her knee; she would on no account permit him 'such a liberty.'
Elena seemed the most serious of the party, but in her heart there was
a wonderful sense of peace, such as she had not known for long. She
felt filled with boundless goodwill and kindness, and wanted to keep
not only Insarov, but Bersenyev too, always at her side. . . . Andrei
Petrovitch dimly understood what this meant, and secretly he sighed.

The hours flew by; the evening was coming on. Anna Vassilyevna
suddenly took alarm. 'Ah, my dear friends, how late it is!' she
cried. 'All good things must have an end; it's time to go home.' She
began bustling about, and they all hastened to get up and walk towards
the castle, where the carriages were. As they walked past the lakes,
they stopped to admire Tsaritsino for the last time. The landscape on
all sides was glowing with the vivid hues of early evening; the sky
was red, the leaves were flashing with changing colours as they
stirred in the rising wind; the distant waters shone in liquid gold;
the reddish turrets and arbours scattered about the garden stood out
sharply against the dark green of the trees. 'Farewell, Tsaritsino, we
shall not forget to-day's excursion!' observed Anna Vassilyevna. . . .
But at that instant, and as though in confirmation of her words, a
strange incident occurred, which certainly was not likely to be
forgotten,

This was what happened. Anna Vassilyevna had hardly sent her farewell
greeting to Tsaritsino, when suddenly, a few paces from her, behind a
high bush of lilac, were heard confused exclamations, shouts, and
laughter; and a whole mob of disorderly men, the same devotees of
song who had so energetically applauded Zoya, burst out on the path.
These musical gentlemen seemed excessively elevated. They stopped at
the sight of the ladies; but one of them, a man of immense height,
with a bull neck and a bull's goggle eyes, separated from his
companions, and, bowing clumsily and staggering unsteadily in his
gait, approached Anna Vassilyevna, who was petrified with alarm.

'_Bonzhoor, madame_,' he said thickly, 'how are you?'

Anna Vassilyevna started back.

'Why wouldn't you,' continued the giant in vile Russian, 'sing
again when our party shouted _bis_, and bravo?'

'Yes, why?' came from the ranks of his comrades.

Insarov was about to step forward, but Shubin stopped him, and himself
screened Anna Vassilyevna.

'Allow me,' he began, 'honoured stranger, to express to you the
heartfelt amazement, into which you have thrown all of us by your
conduct. You belong, as far as I can judge, to the Saxon branch of the
Caucasian race; consequently we are bound to assume your acquaintance
with the customs of society, yet you address a lady to whom you have
not been introduced. I assure you that I individually should be
delighted another time to make your acquaintance, since I observe in
you a phenomenal development of the muscles, biceps, triceps and
deltoid, so that, as a sculptor, I should esteem it a genuine
happiness to have you for a model; but on this occasion kindly leave
us alone.'

The 'honoured stranger' listened to Shubin's speech, his head held
contemptuously on one side and his arms akimbo.

'I don't understand what you say,' he commented at last. 'Do you
suppose I'm a cobbler or a watchmaker? Hey! I'm an officer, an
official, so there.'

'I don't doubt that----' Shubin was beginning.

'What I say is,' continued the stranger, putting him aside with his
powerful arm, like a twig out of the path--'why didn't you sing again
when we shouted _bis_? And I'll go away directly, this minute, only I
tell you what I want, this fraulein, not that madam, no, not her, but
this one or that one (he pointed to Elena and Zoya) must give me _einen
Kuss_, as we say in German, a kiss, in fact; eh? That's not much to
ask.'

'_Einen Kuss_, that's not much,' came again from the ranks of his
companions, '_Ih! der Stakramenter!_' cried one tipsy German, bursting
with laughter.

Zoya clutched at Insarov's arm, but he broke away from her, and stood
directly facing the insolent giant.

'You will please to move off,' he said in a voice not loud but sharp.

The German gave a heavy laugh, 'Move off? Well, I like that. Can't I
walk where I please? Move off? Why should I move off?'

'Because you have dared to annoy a lady,' said Insarov, and suddenly
he turned white, 'because you're drunk.'

'Eh? me drunk? Hear what he says. _Horen Sie das, Herr Provisor_?
I'm an officer, and he dares . . . Now I demand _satisfaction_. _Einen
Kuss will ich_.'

'If you come another step nearer----' began Insarov.

'Well? What then'

'I'll throw you in the water!'

'In the water? _Herr Je_! Is that all? Well, let us see that, that
would be very curious, too.'

The officer lifted his fists and moved forward, but suddenly something
extraordinary happened. He uttered an exclamation, his whole bulky
person staggered, rose from the ground, his legs kicking in the air,
and before the ladies had time to shriek, before any one had time to
realise how it had happened, the officer's massive figure went plop
with a heavy splash, and at once disappeared under the eddying water.

'Oh!' screamed the ladies with one voice. '_Mein Gott_!' was heard
from the other side. An instant passed . . . and a round head, all
plastered over with wet hair, showed above water, it was blowing
bubbles, this head; and floundering with two hands just at its very
lips. 'He will be drowned, save him! save him!' cried Anna Vassilyevna
to Insarov, who was standing with his legs apart on the bank,
breathing heavily.

'He will swim out,' he answered with contemptuous and unsympathetic
indifference. 'Let us go on,' he added, taking Anna Vassilyevna by
the arm. 'Come, Uvar Ivanovitch, Elena Nikolaevna.'

'A--a--o--o' was heard at that instant, the plaint of the hapless
German who had managed to get hold of the rushes on the bank.

They all followed Insarov, and had to pass close by the party. But,
deprived of their leader, the rowdies were subdued and did not utter a
word; but one, the boldest of them, muttered, shaking his head
menacingly: 'All right . . . we shall see though . . . after that';
but one of the others even took his hat off. Insarov struck them as
formidable, and rightly so; something evil, something dangerous could
be seen in his face. The Germans hastened to pull out their comrade,
who, directly he had his feet on dry ground, broke into tearful abuse
and shouted after the 'Russian scoundrels,' that he would make a
complaint, that he would go to Count Von Kizerits himself, and so on.

But the 'Russian scoundrels' paid no attention to his vociferations,
and hurried on as fast as they could to the castle. They were all
silent, as they walked through the garden, though Anna Vassilyevna
sighed a little. But when they reached the carriages and stood still,
they broke into an irrepressible, irresistible fit of Homeric
laughter. First Shubin exploded, shrieking as if he were mad,
Bersenyev followed with his gurgling guffaw, then Zoya fell into thin
tinkling little trills, Anna Vassilyevna too suddenly broke down,
Elena could not help smiling, and even Insarov at last could not
resist it. But the loudest, longest, most persistent laugh was Uvar
Ivanovitch's; he laughed till his sides ached, till he choked and
panted. He would calm down a little, then would murmur through his
tears: 'I--thought--what's that splash--and there--he--went plop.' And
with the last word, forced out with convulsive effort, his whole frame
was shaking with another burst of laughter. Zoya made him worse. 'I
saw his legs,' she said, 'kicking in the air.' 'Yes, yes,' gasped Uvar
Ivanovitch, 'his legs, his legs--and then splash!--there he plopped
in!'

'And how did Mr. Insarov manage it? why the German was three times
his size?' said Zoya.

'I'll tell you,' answered Uvar Ivanovitch, rubbing his eyes, 'I
saw; with one arm about his waist, he tripped him up, and he went plop!
I heard--a splash--there he went.'

Long after the carriages had started, long after the castle of
Tsaritsino was out of sight, Uvar Ivanovitch was still unable to
regain his composure. Shubin, who was again with him in the carriage,
began to cry shame on him at last.

Insarov felt ashamed. He sat in the coach facing Elena (Bersenyev had
taken his seat on the box), and he said nothing; she too was silent.
He thought that she was condemning his action; but she did not condemn
him. She had been scared at the first minute; then the expression of
his face had impressed her; afterwards she pondered on it all. It was
not quite clear to her what the nature of her reflections was. The
emotion she had felt during the day had passed away; that she
realised; but its place had been taken by another feeling which she
did not yet fully understand. The _partie de plaisir_ had been
prolonged too late; insensibly evening passed into night. The carriage
rolled swiftly along, now beside ripening cornfields, where the air
was heavy and fragrant with the smell of wheat; now beside wide
meadows, from which a sudden wave of freshness blew lightly in the
face. The sky seemed to lie like smoke over the horizon. At last the
moon rose, dark and red. Anna Vassilyevna was dozing; Zoya had poked
her head out of window and was staring at the road. It occurred to
Elena at last that she had not spoken to Insarov for more than an
hour. She turned to him with a trifling question; he at once answered
her, delighted. Dim sounds began stirring indistinctly in the air, as
though thousands of voices were talking in the distance; Moscow was
coming to meet them. Lights twinkled afar off; they grew more and
more frequent; at last there was the grating of the cobbles under
their wheels. Anna Vassilyevna awoke, every one in the carriage began
talking, though no one could hear what was said; everything was
drowned in the rattle of the cobbles under the two carriages, and the
hoofs of the eight horses. Long and wearisome seemed the journey from
Moscow to Kuntsovo; all the party were asleep or silent, leaning with
their heads pressed into their respective corners; Elena did not close
her eyes; she kept them fixed on Insarov's dimly-outlined figure. A
mood of sadness had come upon Shubin; the breeze was blowing into his
eyes and irritating him; he retired into the collar of his cloak and
was on the point of tears. Uvar Ivanovitch was snoring blissfully,
rocking from side to side. The carriages came to a standstill at last.
Two men-servants lifted Anna Vassilyevna out of the carriage; she was
all to pieces, and at parting from her fellow travellers, announced
that she was 'nearly dead'; they began thanking her, but she only
repeated, 'nearly dead.' Elena for the first time pressed Insarov's
hand at parting, and for a long while she sat at her window before
undressing; Shubin seized an opportunity to whisper to Bersenyev:

'There, isn't he a hero; he can pitch drunken Germans into the river!'

'While you didn't even do that,' retorted Bersenyev, and he started
homewards with Insarov.

The dawn was already showing in the sky when the two friends reached
their lodging. The sun had not yet risen, but already the chill of
daybreak was in the air, a grey dew covered the grass, and the first
larks were trilling high, high up in the shadowy infinity of air,
whence like a solitary eye looked out the great, last star.

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