Rudin: Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The next morning Rudin had only just finished dressing when a servant
came to him with an invitation from Darya Mihailovna to come to her
boudoir and drink tea with her. Rudin found her alone. She greeted him
very cordially, inquired whether he had passed a good night, poured
him out a cup of tea with her own hands, asked him whether there was
sugar enough in it, offered him a cigarette, and twice again repeated
that she was surprised that she had not met him long before. Rudin was
about to take a seat some distance away; but Darya Mihailovna motioned
him to an easy chair, which stood near her lounge, and bending a
little towards him began to question him about his family, his plans
and intentions. Darya Mihailovna spoke carelessly and listened with an
air of indifference; but it was perfectly evident to Rudin that she
was laying herself out to please him, even to flatter him. It was not
for nothing that she had arranged this morning interview, and had
dressed so simply yet elegantly _a la Madame Recamier_! But Darya
Mihailovna soon left off questioning him. She began to tell him about
herself, her youth, and the people she had known. Rudin gave a
sympathetic attention to her lucubrations, though--a curious
fact--whatever personage Darya Mihailovna might be talking about, she
always stood in the foreground, she alone, and the personage seemed to
be effaced, to slink away in the background, and to disappear. But to
make up for that, Rudin learnt in full detail precisely what Darya
Mihailovna had said to a certain distinguished statesman, and what
influence she had had on such and such a celebrated poet. To judge
from Darya Mihailovna's accounts, one might fancy that all the
distinguished men of the last five-and-twenty years had dreamt of
nothing but how they could make her acquaintance, and gain her good
opinion. She spoke of them simply, without particular enthusiasm or
admiration, as though they were her daily associates, calling some of
them queer fellows. As she talked of them, like a rich setting round a
worthless stone, their names ranged themselves in a brilliant circlet
round the principal name--around Darya Mihailovna.

Rudin listened, smoking a cigarette, and said little. He could speak
well and liked speaking; carrying on a conversation was not in his
line, though he was also a good listener. All men--if only they had
not been intimidated by him to begin with--opened their hearts with
confidence in his presence; he followed the thread of another man's
narrative so readily and sympathetically. He had a great deal of
good-nature--that special good-nature of which men are full, who are
accustomed to feel themselves superior to others. In arguments he
seldom allowed his antagonist to express himself fully, he crushed him
by his eager, vehement and passionate dialectic.

Darya Mihailovna expressed herself in Russian. She prided herself on
her knowledge of her own language, though French words and expressions
often escaped her. She intentionally made use of simple popular terms
of speech; but not always successfully. Rudin's ear was not outraged
by the strange medley of language on Darya Mihailovna's lips, indeed
he hardly had an ear for it.

Darya Mihailovna was exhausted at last and letting her head fall on
the cushions of her easy-chair she fixed her eyes on Rudin and was
silent.

'I understand now,' began Rudin, speaking slowly, 'I understand why
you come every summer into the country. This period of rest is
essential for you; the peace of the country after your life in the
capital refreshes and strengthens you. I am convinced that you must be
profoundly sensitive to the beauties of nature.'

Darya Mihailovna gave Rudin a sidelong look.

'Nature--yes--yes--of course. . . . I am passionately fond of it;
but do you know, Dmitri Nikolaitch, even in the country one cannot do
without society. And here there is practically none. Pigasov is the
most intelligent person here.'

'The cross old gentleman who was here last night?' inquired Rudin.

'Yes. . . . In the country though, even he is of use--he sometimes makes
one laugh.'

'He is by no means stupid,' returned Rudin, 'but he is on the wrong
path. I don't know whether you will agree with me, Darya Mihailovna,
but in negation--in complete and universal negation--there is no
salvation to be found? Deny everything and you will easily pass for a
man of ability; it's a well-known trick. Simple-hearted people are
quite ready to conclude that you are worth more than what you deny.
And that's often an error. In the first place, you can pick holes in
anything; and secondly, even if you are right in what you say, it's
the worse for you; your intellect, directed by simple negation, grows
colourless and withers up. While you gratify your vanity, you are
deprived of the true consolations of thought; life--the essence of
life--evades your petty and jaundiced criticism, and you end by
scolding and becoming ridiculous. Only one who loves has the right to
censure and find fault.'

'Voila, Monsieur Pigasov enterre,' observed Darya Mihailovna. 'What a
genius you have for defining a man! But Pigasov certainly would not
have even understood you. He loves nothing but his own individuality.'

'And he finds fault with that so as to have the right to find fault
with others,' Rudin put in.

Darya Mihailovna laughed.

'"He judges the sound," as the saying is, "the sound by the sick." By
the way, what do you think of the baron?'

'The baron? He is an excellent man, with a good heart and a knowledge
. . . but he has no character . . . and he will remain all his life
half a savant, half a man of the world, that is to say, a dilettante,
that is to say, to speak plainly,--neither one thing nor the other.
. . . But it's a pity!'

'That was my own idea,' observed Darya Mihailovna. 'I read his
article. . . . _Entre nous . . . cela a assez peu de fond!_'

'Who else have you here?' asked Rudin, after a pause.

Darya Mihailovna knocked off the ash of her cigarette with her little
finger.

'Oh, there is hardly any one else. Madame Lipin, Alexandra Pavlovna,
whom you saw yesterday; she is very sweet--but that is all. Her
brother is also a capital fellow--_un parfait honnete homme_. The
Prince Garin you know. Those are all. There are two or three
neighbours besides, but they are really good for nothing. They either
give themselves airs or are unsociable, or else quite unsuitably free
and easy. The ladies, as you know, I see nothing of. There is one
other of our neighbours said to be a very cultivated, even a learned,
man, but a dreadfully queer creature, a whimsical character.
_Alexandrine_, knows him, and I fancy is not indifferent to him. . . .
Come, you ought to talk to her, Dmitri Nikolaitch; she's a sweet
creature. She only wants developing.'

'I liked her very much,' remarked Rudin.

'A perfect child, Dmitri Nikolaitch, an absolute baby. She has been
married, _mais c'est tout comme_. . . . If I were a man, I should only
fall in love with women like that.'

'Really?'

'Certainly. Such women are at least fresh, and freshness cannot be
put on.'

'And can everything else?' Rudin asked, and he laughed--a thing which
rarely happened with him. When he laughed his face assumed a strange,
almost aged appearance, his eyes disappeared, his nose was wrinkled
up.

'And who is this queer creature, as you call him, to whom Madame Lipin
is not indifferent?' he asked.

'A certain Lezhnyov, Mihailo Mihailitch, a landowner here.'

Rudin seemed astonished; he raised his head.

'Lezhnyov--Mihailo Mihailitch?' he questioned. 'Is he a neighbour
of yours?'

'Yes. Do you know him?'

Rudin did not speak for a minute.

'I used to know him long ago. He is a rich man, I suppose?' he added,
pulling the fringe on his chair.

'Yes, he is rich, though he dresses shockingly, and drives in a racing
droshky like a bailiff. I have been anxious to get him to come here;
he is spoken of as clever; I have some business with him. . . . You
know I manage my property myself.'

Rudin bowed assent.

'Yes; I manage it myself,' Darya Mihailovna continued. 'I don't
introduce any foreign crazes, but prefer what is our own, what is
Russian, and, as you see, things don't seem to do badly,' she added,
with a wave of her hand.

'I have always been persuaded,' observed Rudin urbanely, 'of the
absolutely mistaken position of those people who refuse to admit the
practical intelligence of women.'

Darya Mihailovna smiled affably.

'You are very good to us,' was her comment 'But what was I going to
say? What were we speaking of? Oh, yes; Lezhnyov: I have some business
with him about a boundary. I have several times invited him here, and
even to-day I am expecting him; but there's no knowing whether he'll
come . . . he's such a strange creature.'

The curtain before the door was softly moved aside and the steward
came in, a tall man, grey and bald, in a black coat, a white cravat,
and a white waistcoat.

'What is it?' inquired Darya Mihailovna, and, turning a little
towards Rudin, she added in a low voice, '_n'est ce pas, comme il
ressemble a Canning?_'

'Mihailo Mihailitch Lezhnyov is here,' announced the steward. 'Will
you see him?'

'Good Heavens!' exclaimed Darya Mihailovna, 'speak of the
devil----ask him up.'

The steward went away.

'He's such an awkward creature. Now he has come, it's at the wrong
moment; he has interrupted our talk.'

Rudin got up from his seat, but Darya Mihailovna stopped him.

'Where are you going? We can discuss the matter as well before you.
And I want you to analyse him too, as you did Pigasov. When you talk,
_vous gravez comme avec un burin_. Please stay.' Rudin was going to
protest, but after a moment's thought he sat down.

Mihailo Mihailitch, whom the reader already knows, came into the room.
He wore the same grey overcoat, and in his sunburnt hands he carried
the same old foraging cap. He bowed tranquilly to Darya Mihailovna,
and came up to the tea-table.

'At last you have favoured me with a visit, Monsieur Lezhnyov!' began
Darya Mihailovna. 'Pray sit down. You are already acquainted,
I hear,' she continued, with a gesture in Rudin's direction.

Lezhnyov looked at Rudin and smiled rather queerly.

'I know Mr. Rudin,' he assented, with a slight bow.

'We were together at the university,' observed Rudin in a low voice,
dropping his eyes.

'And we met afterwards also,' remarked Lezhnyov coldly.

Darya Mihailovna looked at both in some perplexity and asked Lezhnyov
to sit down He sat down.

'You wanted to see me,' he began, 'on the subject of the boundary?'

'Yes; about the boundary. But I also wished to see you in any case. We
are near neighbours, you know, and all but relations.'

'I am much obliged to you,' returned Lezhnyov. 'As regards the
boundary, we have perfectly arranged that matter with your manager; I
have agreed to all his proposals.'

'I knew that. But he told me that the contract could not be signed
without a personal interview with you.'

'Yes; that is my rule. By the way, allow me to ask: all your peasants,
I believe, pay rent?'

'Just so.'

'And you trouble yourself about boundaries! That's very praiseworthy.'

Lezhnyov did not speak for a minute.

'Well, I have come for a personal interview,' he said at last.

Darya Mihailovna smiled.

'I see you have come. You say that in such a tone. . . . You could not
have been very anxious to come to see me.'

'I never go anywhere,' rejoined Lezhnyov phlegmatically.

'Not anywhere? But you go to see Alexandra Pavlovna.'

'I am an old friend of her brother's.'

'Her brother's! However, I never wish to force any one. . . . But
pardon me, Mihailo Mihailitch, I am older than you, and I may be
allowed to give you advice; what charm do you find in such an
unsociable way of living? Or is my house in particular displeasing to
you? You dislike me?'

'I don't know you, Darya Mihailovna, and so I can't dislike you. You
have a splendid house; but I will confess to you frankly I don't like
to have to stand on ceremony. And I haven't a respectable suit, I
haven't any gloves, and I don't belong to your set.'

'By birth, by education, you belong to it, Mihailo Mihailitch! _vous
etes des notres_.'

'Birth and education are all very well, Darya Mihailovna; that's not
the question.'

'A man ought to live with his fellows, Mihailo Mihailitch! What
pleasure is there in sitting like Diogenes in his tub?'

'Well, to begin with, he was very well off there, and besides, how do
you know I don't live with my fellows?'

Darya Mihailovna bit her lip.

'That's a different matter! It only remains for me to express my
regret that I have not the honour of being included in the number of
your friends.'

'Monsieur Lezhnyov,' put in Rudin, 'seems to carry to excess a
laudable sentiment--the love of independence.'

Lezhnyov made no reply, he only looked at Rudin. A short silence
followed.

'And so,' began Lezhnyov, getting up, 'I may consider our business as
concluded, and tell your manager to send me the papers.'

'You may, . . . though I confess you are so uncivil I ought really to
refuse you.'

'But you know this rearrangement of the boundary is far more in your
interest than in mine.'

Darya Mihailovna shrugged her shoulders.

'You will not even have luncheon here?' she asked.

'Thank you; I never take luncheon, and I am in a hurry to get home.'

Darya Mihailovna got up.

'I will not detain you,' she said, going to the window. 'I will not
venture to detain you.'

Lezhnyov began to take leave.

'Good-bye, Monsieur Lezhnyov! Pardon me for having troubled you.'

'Oh, not at all!' said Lezhnyov, and he went away.

'Well, what do you say to that?' Darya Mihailovna asked of Rudin. 'I
had heard he was eccentric, but really that was beyond everything!'

'His is the same disease as Pigasov's,' observed Rudin, 'the desire of
being original. One affects to be a Mephistopheles--the other a
cynic. In all that, there is much egoism, much vanity, but little
truth, little love. Indeed, there is even calculation of a sort in it.
A man puts on a mask of indifference and indolence so that some one
will be sure to think. "Look at that man; what talents he has thrown
away!" But if you come to look at him more attentively, there is no
talent in him whatever.'

'_Et de deux!_' was Darya Mihailovna's comment. 'You are a terrible man
at hitting people off. One can hide nothing from you.'

'Do you think so?' said Rudin. . . . 'However,' he continued, 'I
ought not really to speak about Lezhnyov; I loved him, loved him as a
friend . . . but afterwards, through various misunderstandings . . .'

'You quarrelled?'

'No. But we parted, and parted, it seems, for ever.'

'Ah, I noticed that the whole time of his visit you were not quite
yourself. . . . But I am much indebted to you for this morning. I have
spent my time extremely pleasantly. But one must know where to stop. I
will let you go till lunch time and I will go and look after my
business. My secretary, you saw him--Constantin, _c'est lui qui est
mon secretaire_--must be waiting for me by now. I commend him to you;
he is an excellent, obliging young man, and quite enthusiastic about
you. _Au revoir, cher_ Dmitri Nikolaitch! How grateful I am to the
baron for having made me acquainted with you!'

And Darya Mihailovna held out her hand to Rudin. He first pressed it,
then raised it to his lips and went away to the drawing-room and from
there to the terrace. On the terrace he met Natalya.

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