Rudin: Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The next day was Sunday, and Natalya got up late. The day before she
had been very silent all day; she was secretly ashamed of her tears,
and she slept very badly. Sitting half-dressed at her little piano,
at times she played some chords, hardly audibly for fear of waking
Mlle. Boncourt, and then let her forehead fall on the cold keys and
remained a long while motionless. She kept thinking, not of Rudin
himself, but of some word he had uttered, and she was wholly buried in
her own thought. Sometimes she recollected Volintsev. She knew that he
loved her. But her mind did not dwell on him more than an instant. . . .
She felt a strange agitation. In the morning she dressed hurriedly
and went down, and after saying good-morning to her mother, seized an
opportunity and went out alone into the garden. . . . It was a hot day,
bright and sunny in spite of occasional showers of rain. Slight
vapoury clouds sailed smoothly over the clear sky, scarcely obscuring
the sun, and at times a downpour of rain fell suddenly in sheets, and
was as quickly over. The thickly falling drops, flashing like
diamonds, fell swiftly with a kind of dull thud; the sunshine
glistened through their sparkling drops; the grass, that had been
rustling in the wind, was still, thirstily drinking in the moisture;
the drenched trees were languidly shaking all their leaves; the birds
were busily singing, and it was pleasant to hear their twittering
chatter mingling with the fresh gurgle and murmur of the running
rain-water. The dusty roads were steaming and slightly spotted by the
smart strokes of the thick drops. Then the clouds passed over, a
slight breeze began to stir, and the grass began to take tints of
emerald and gold. The trees seemed more transparent with their wet
leaves clinging together. A strong scent arose from all around.

The sky was almost cloudless again when Natalya came into the garden.
It was full of sweetness and peace--that soothing, blissful peace in
which the heart of man is stirred by a sweet languor of undefined
desire and secret emotion.

Natalya walked along a long line of silver poplars beside the pond;
suddenly, as if he had sprung out of the earth, Rudin stood before
her. She was confused. He looked her in the face.

'You are alone?' he inquired.

'Yes, I am alone,' replied Natalya, 'but I was going back directly. It
is time I was home.'

'I will go with you.'

And he walked along beside her.

'You seem melancholy,' he said.

'I--I was just going to say that I thought you were out of spirits.'

'Very likely--it is often so with me. It is more excusable in me than
in you.'

'Why? Do you suppose I have nothing to be melancholy about?'

'At your age you ought to find happiness in life.'

Natalya walked some steps in silence.

'Dmitri Nikolaitch!' she said.

'Well?'

'Do you remember--the comparison you made yesterday--do you
remember--of the oak?'

'Yes, I remember. Well?'

Natalya stole a look at Rudin.

'Why did you--what did you mean by that comparison?'

Rudin bent his head and fastened his eyes on the distance.

'Natalya Alexyevna!' he began with the intense and pregnant
intonation peculiar to him, which always made the listener believe
that Rudin was not expressing even the tenth part of what he held
locked in his heart--'Natalya Alexyevna! you may have noticed that
I speak little of my own past. There are some chords which I do not
touch upon at all. My heart--who need know what has passed in it? To
expose that to view has always seemed sacrilege to me. But with you I
cast aside reserve; you win my confidence. . . . I cannot conceal from
you that I too have loved and have suffered like all men. . . . When
and how? it's useless to speak of that; but my heart has known much
bliss and much pain. . . .'

Rudin made a brief pause.

'What I said to you yesterday,' he went on, 'might be applied in a
degree to me in my present position. But again it is useless to speak
of this. That side of life is over for me now. What remains for me is
a tedious and fatiguing journey along the parched and dusty road from
point to point . . . When I shall arrive--whether I arrive at all--God
knows. . . . Let us rather talk of you.'

'Can it be, Dmitri Nikolaitch,' Natalya interrupted him, 'you expect
nothing from life?'

'Oh, no! I expect much, but not for myself. . . . Usefulness, the
content that comes from activity, I shall never renounce; but I have
renounced happiness. My hopes, my dreams, and my own happiness have
nothing in common. Love'--(at this word he shrugged his
shoulders)--'love is not for me; I am not worthy of it; a woman who
loves has a right to demand the whole of a man, and I can never now
give the whole of myself. Besides, it is for youth to win love; I am
too old. How could I turn any one's head? God grant I keep my own head
on my shoulders.'

'I understand,' said Natalya, 'that one who is bent on a lofty aim
must not think of himself; but cannot a woman be capable of
appreciating such a man? I should have thought, on the contrary, that
a woman would be sooner repelled by an egoist. . . . All young
men--the youth you speak of--all are egoists, they are all occupied
only with themselves, even when they love. Believe me, a woman is not
only able to value self-sacrifice; she can sacrifice herself.'

Natalya's cheeks were slightly flushed and her eyes shining. Before
her friendship with Rudin she would never have succeeded in uttering
such a long and ardent speech.

'You have heard my views on woman's mission more than once,' replied
Rudin with a condescending smile. 'You know that I consider that
Joan of Arc alone could have saved France. . . . but that's not the
point. I wanted to speak of you. You are standing on the threshold
of life. . . . To dwell on your future is both pleasant and not
unprofitable. . . . Listen: you know I am your friend; I take almost
a brother's interest in you. And so I hope you will not think my
question indiscreet; tell me, is your heart so far quite untouched?'

Natalya grew hot all over and said nothing, Rudin stopped, and she
stopped too.

'You are not angry with me?' he asked.

'No,' she answered, 'but I did not expect----'

'However,' he went on, 'you need not answer me. I know your secret.'

Natalya looked at him almost with dismay.

'Yes, yes, I know who has won your heart. And I must say that you
could not have made a better choice. He is a splendid man; he knows
how to value you; he has not been crushed by life--he is simple and
pure-hearted in soul . . . he will make your happiness.'

'Of whom are you speaking, Dmitri Niklaitch?'

'Is it possible you don't understand? Of Volintsev, of course. What?
isn't it true?'

Natalya turned a little away from Rudin. She was completely
overwhelmed.

'Do you imagine he doesn't love you? Nonsense! he does not take his
eyes off you, and follows every movement of yours; indeed, can love
ever be concealed? And do not you yourself look on him with favour? So
far as I can observe, your mother, too, likes him. . . . Your
choice----'

'Dmitri Nikolaitch,' Natalya broke in, stretching out her hand in her
confusion towards a bush near her, 'it is so difficult, really, for me
to speak of this; but I assure you . . . you are mistaken.'

'I am mistaken!' repeated Rudin. 'I think not. I have not known you
very long, but I already know you well. What is the meaning of the
change I see in you? I see it clearly. Are you just the same as when I
met you first, six weeks ago? No, Natalya Alexyevna, your heart is not
free.'

'Perhaps not,' answered Natalya, hardly audibly, 'but all the same you
are mistaken.'

'How is that?' asked Rudin.

'Let me go! don't question me!' replied Natalya, and with swift steps
she turned towards the house.

She was frightened herself by the feelings of which she was suddenly
conscious in herself.

Rudin overtook her and stopped her.

'Natalya Alexyevna,' he said, 'this conversation cannot end like
this; it is too important for me too. . . . How am I to understand you?'

'Let me go!' repeated Natalya.

'Natalya Alexyevna, for mercy's sake!'

Rudin's face showed his agitation. He grew pale.

'You understand everything, you must understand me too!' said Natalya;
she snatched away her hand and went on, not looking round.

'Only one word!' cried Rudin after her

She stood still, but did not turn round.

'You asked me what I meant by that comparison yesterday. Let me tell
you, I don't want to deceive you. I spoke of myself, of my past,--and
of you.'

'How? of me?'

'Yes, of you; I repeat, I will not deceive you. You know now what was
the feeling, the new feeling I spoke of then. . . . Till to-day I
should not have ventured . . .'

Natalya suddenly hid her face in her hands, and ran towards the house.

She was so distracted by the unexpected conclusion of her conversation
with Rudin, that she ran past Volintsev without even noticing him. He
was standing motionless with his back against a tree. He had arrived
at the house a quarter of an hour before, and found Darya Mihailovna
in the drawing-room; and after exchanging a few words got away
unobserved and went in search of Natalya. Led by a lover's instinct,
he went straight into the garden and came upon her and Rudin at the
very instant when she snatched her hand away from him. Darkness seemed
to fall upon his eyes. Gazing after Natalya, he left the tree and took
two strides, not knowing whither or wherefore. Rudin saw him as he
came up to him. Both looked each other in the face, bowed, and
separated in silence.

'This won't be the end of it,' both were thinking.

Volintsev went to the very end of the garden. He felt sad and sick; a
load lay on his heart, and his blood throbbed in sudden stabs at
intervals. The rain began to fall a little again. Rudin turned into
his own room. He, too, was disturbed; his thoughts were in a whirl.
The trustful, unexpected contact of a young true heart is agitating
for any one.

At table everything went somehow wrong. Natalya, pale all over, could
scarcely sit in her place and did not raise her eyes. Volintsev sat as
usual next her, and from time to time began to talk in a constrained
way to her. It happened that Pigasov was dining at Darya Mihailovna's
that day. He talked more than any one at table. Among other things he
began to maintain that men, like dogs, can be divided into the
short-tailed and the long-tailed. People are short-tailed, he said,
either from birth or through their own fault. The short-tailed are in
a sorry plight; nothing succeeds with them--they have no confidence in
themselves. But the man who has a long furry tail is happy. He may be
weaker and inferior to the short-tailed; but he believes in himself;
he displays his tail and every one admires it. And this is a fit
subject for wonder; the tail, of course, is a perfectly useless part
of the body, you admit; of what use can a tail be? but all judge of
their abilities by their tail. 'I myself,' he concluded with a sigh,
'belong to the number of the short-tailed, and what is most annoying,
I cropped my tail myself.'

'By which you mean to say,' commented Rudin carelessly, 'what La
Rochefoucauld said long before you: Believe in yourself and others
will believe in you. Why the tail was brought in, I fail to
understand.'

'Let every one,' Volintsev began sharply and with flashing eyes, 'let
every one express himself according to his fancy. Talk of despotism!
. . . I consider there is none worse than the despotism of so-called
clever men; confound them!'

Everyone was astonished at this outbreak from Volintsev; it was
received in silence. Rudin tried to look at him, but he could not
control his eyes, and turned away smiling without opening his lips.

'Aha! so you too have lost your tail!' thought Pigasov; and Natalya's
heart sank in terror. Darya Mihailovna gave Volintsev a long puzzled
stare and at last was the first to speak; she began to describe an
extraordinary dog belonging to a minister So-and-So.

Volintsev went away soon after dinner. As he bade Natalya good-bye he
could not resist saying to her:

'Why are you confused, as though you had done wrong? You cannot have
done wrong to any one!'

Natalya did not understand at all, and could only gaze after him.
Before tea Rudin went up to her, and bending over the table as though
he were examining the papers, whispered:

'It is all like a dream, isn't it? I absolutely must see you alone--if
only for a minute.' He turned to Mlle, Boncourt 'Here,' he said to
her, 'this is the article you were looking for,' and again bending
towards Natalya, he added in a whisper, 'Try to be near the terrace in
the lilac arbour about ten o'clock; I will wait for you.'

Pigasov was the hero of the evening. Rudin left him in possession of
the field. He afforded Darya Mihailovna much entertainment; first he
told a story of one of his neighbours who, having been henpecked by
his wife for thirty years, had grown so womanish that one day in
crossing a little puddle when Pigasov was present, he put out his hand
and picked up the skirt of his coat, as women do with their
petticoats. Then he turned to another gentleman who to begin with had
been a freemason, then a hypochondriac, and then wanted to be a
banker.

'How were you a freemason, Philip Stepanitch?' Pigasov asked him.

'You know how; I wore the nail of my little finger long.'

But what most diverted Darya Mihailovna was when Pigasov set off on a
dissertation upon love, and maintained that even he had been sighed
for, that one ardent German lady had even given him the nickname of
her 'dainty little African' and her 'hoarse little crow.' Darya
Mihailovna laughed, but Pigasov spoke the truth; he really was in a
position to boast of his conquests. He maintained that nothing could
be easier than to make any woman you chose fall in love with you; you
only need repeat to her for ten days in succession that heaven is on
her lips and bliss in her eyes, and that the rest of womankind are all
simply rag-bags beside her; and on the eleventh day she will be ready
to say herself that there is heaven on her lips and bliss in her eyes,
and will be in love with you. Everything comes to pass in the world;
so who knows, perhaps Pigasov was right?

At half-past nine Rudin was already in the arbour. The stars had come
out in the pale, distant depths of the heaven; there was still a red
glow where the sun had set, and there the horizon seemed brighter and
clearer; a semi-circular moon shone golden through the black network
of the weeping birch-tree. The other trees stood like grim giants,
with thousands of chinks looking like eyes, or fell into compact
masses of darkness. Not a leaf was stirring; the topmost branches of
the lilacs and acacias seemed to stretch upwards into the warm air, as
though listening for something. The house was a dark mass now; patches
of red light showed where the long windows were lighted up. It was a
soft and peaceful evening, but under this peace was felt the secret
breath of passion.

Rudin stood, his arms folded on his breast, and listened with strained
attention. His heart beat violently, and involuntarily he held his
breath. At last he caught the sound of light, hurrying footsteps, and
Natalya came into the arbour.

Rudin rushed up to her, and took her hands. They were cold as ice.

'Natalya Alexyevna!' he began, in an agitated whisper, 'I wanted to
see you. . . . I could not wait till to-morrow. I must tell you what I
did not suspect--what I did not realise even this morning. I love
you!'

Natalya's hands trembled feebly in his.

'I love you!' he repeated, 'and how could I have deceived myself so
long? How was it I did not guess long ago that I love you? And you?
Natalya Alexyevna, tell me!'

Natalya could scarcely draw her breath.

'You see I have come here,' she uttered, at last

'No, say that you love me!'

'I think--yes,' she whispered.

Rudin pressed her hands still more warmly, and tried to draw her to
him.

Natalya looked quickly round.

'Let me go--I am frightened. . . . I think some one is listening to
us. . . . For God's sake, be on your guard. Volintsev suspects.'

'Never mind him! You saw I did not even answer him to-day. . . . Ah,
Natalya Alexyevna, how happy I am! Nothing shall sever us now!'

Natalya looked into his eyes.

'Let me go,' she whispered; 'it's time.'

'One instant,' began Rudin.

'No, let me go, let me go.'

'You seem afraid of me.'

'No, but it's time.'

'Repeat, then, at least once more.' . . .

'You say you are happy?' asked Natalya.

'I? No man in the world is happier than I am! Can you doubt it?'

Natalya lifted up her head. Very beautiful was her pale, noble, young
face, transformed by passion, in the mysterious shadows of the arbour,
in the faint light reflected from the evening sky.

'I tell you then,' she said, 'I will be yours.'

'Oh, my God!' cried Rudin.

But Natalya made her escape, and was gone.

Rudin stood still a little while, then walked slowly out of the
arbour. The moon threw a light on his face; there was a smile on his
lips.

'I am happy,' he uttered in a half whisper. 'Yes, I am happy,' he
repeated, as though he wanted to convince himself.

He straightened his tall figure, shook back his locks, and walked
quickly into the garden, with a happy gesture of his hands.

Meanwhile the bushes of the lilac arbour moved apart, and Pandalevsky
appeared. He looked around warily, shook his head, pursed up his
mouth, and said, significantly, 'So that's how it is. That must be
brought to Darya Mihailovna's knowledge.' And he vanished.

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