Rudin: Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The Avduhin pond, near which Natalya had fixed the place of meeting,
had long ceased to be a pond. Thirty years before it had burst through
its banks and it had been given up since then. Only by the smooth flat
surface of the hollow, once covered with slimy mud, and the traces of
the banks, could one guess that it had been a pond. A farm-house had
stood near it. It had long ago passed away. Two huge pine-trees
preserved its memory; the wind was for ever droning and sullenly
murmuring in their high gaunt green tops. There were mysterious tales
among the people of a fearful crime supposed to have been committed
under them; they used to tell, too, that not one of them would fall
without bringing death to some one; that a third had once stood there,
which had fallen in a storm and crushed a girl.

The whole place near the old pond was supposed to be haunted; it was a
barren wilderness, dark and gloomy, even on a sunny day--it seemed
darker and gloomier still from the old, old forest of dead and
withered oak-trees which was near it. A few huge trees lifted their
grey heads above the low undergrowth of bushes like weary giants. They
were a sinister sight; it seemed as though wicked old men had met
together bent on some evil design. A narrow path almost
indistinguishable wandered beside it. No one went near the Avduhin
pond without some urgent reason. Natalya intentionally chose this
solitary place. It was not more than half-a-mile from Darya
Mihailovna's house.

The sun had already risen some time when Rudin reached the Avduhin
pond, but it was not a bright morning. Thick clouds of the colour of
milk covered the whole sky, and were driven flying before the
whistling, shrieking wind. Rudin began to walk up and down along the
bank, which was covered with clinging burdocks and blackened nettles.
He was not easy in his mind. These interviews, these new emotions had
a charm for him, but they also troubled him, especially after the note
of the night before. He felt that the end was drawing near, and was in
secret perplexity of spirit, though none would have imagined it,
seeing with what concentrated determination he folded his arms across
his chest and looked around him. Pigasov had once said truly of him,
that he was like a Chinese idol, his head was constantly overbalancing
him. But with the head alone, however strong it may be, it is hard for
a man to know even what is passing in himself. . . . Rudin, the
clever, penetrating Rudin, was not capable of saying certainly whether
he loved Natalya, whether he was suffering, and whether he would
suffer at parting from her. Why then, since he had not the least
disposition to play the Lovelace--one must do him that credit--had he
turned the poor girl's head? Why was he awaiting her with a secret
tremor? To this the only answer is that there are none so easily
carried away as those who are without passion.

He walked on the bank, while Natalya was hurrying to him straight
across country through the wet grass.

'Natalya Alexyevna, you'll get your feet wet!' said her maid Masha,
scarcely able to keep up with her.

Natalya did not hear and ran on without looking round.

'Ah, supposing they've seen us!' cried Masha; 'indeed it's
surprising how we got out of the house . . . and ma'mselle may wake
up. . . It's a mercy it's not far. . . . Ah, the gentleman's
waiting already,' she added, suddenly catching sight of Rudin's
majestic figure, standing out picturesquely on the bank; 'but what
does he want to stand on that mound for--he ought to have kept in
the hollow.'

Natalya stopped.

'Wait here, Masha, by the pines,' she said, and went on to the pond.

Rudin went up to her; he stopped short in amazement. He had never seen
such an expression on her face before. Her brows were contracted, her
lips set, her eyes looked sternly straight before her.

'Dmitri Nikolaitch,' she began, 'we have no time to lose. I have come
for five minutes. I must tell you that my mother knows everything. Mr.
Pandalevsky saw us the day before yesterday, and he told her of our
meeting. He was always mamma's spy. She called me in to her
yesterday.'

'Good God!' cried Rudin, 'this is terrible . . . . What did your mother
say?'

'She was not angry with me, she did not scold me, but she reproached
me for my want of discretion.'

'That was all?'

'Yes, and she declared she would sooner see me dead than your wife!'

'Is it possible she said that?'

'Yes; and she said too that you yourself did not want to marry me at
all, that you had only been flirting with me because you were bored,
and that she had not expected this of you; but that she herself was to
blame for having allowed me to see so much of you . . . that she
relied on my good sense, that I had very much surprised her . . . and
I don't remember now all she said to me.'

Natalya uttered all this in an even, almost expressionless voice.

'And you, Natalya Alexyevna, what did you answer?' asked Rudin.

'What did I answer?' repeated Natalya. . . . 'What do you intend to
do now?'

'Good God, good God!' replied Rudin, 'it is cruel! So soon . . . such
a sudden blow! . . . And is your mother in such indignation?'

'Yes, yes, she will not hear of you.'

'It is terrible! You mean there is no hope?

'None.'

'Why should we be so unhappy! That abominable Pandalevsky! . . . You
ask me, Natalya Alexyevna, what I intend to do? My head is going
round--I cannot take in anything . . . I can feel nothing but my
unhappiness . . . I am amazed that you can preserve such
self-possession!'

'Do you think it is easy for me?' said Natalya.

Rudin began to walk along the bank. Natalya did not take her eyes off
him.

'Your mother did not question you?' he said at last.

'She asked me whether I love you.'

'Well. . . and you?'

Natalya was silent a moment. 'I told the truth.'

Rudin took her hand.

'Always, in all things generous, noble-hearted! Oh, the heart of a
girl--it's pure gold! But did your mother really declare her decision
so absolutely on the impossibility of our marriage?'

'Yes, absolutely. I have told you already; she is convinced that you
yourself don't think of marrying me.'

'Then she regards me as a traitor! What have I done to deserve it?'
And Rudin clutched his head in his hands.

'Dmitri Nikolaitch!' said Natalya, 'we are losing our time. Remember I
am seeing you for the last time. I came here not to weep and
lament--you see I am not crying--I came for advice.'

'And what advice can I give you, Natalya Alexyevna?'

'What advice? You are a man; I am used to trusting to you, I shall
trust you to the end. Tell me, what are your plans?'

'My plans. . . . Your mother certainly will turn me out of the house.'

'Perhaps. She told me yesterday that she must break off all
acquaintance with you. . . . But you do not answer my question?'

'What question?'

'What do you think we must do now?'

'What we must do?' replied Rudin; 'of course submit.'

'Submit,' repeated Natalya slowly, and her lips turned white.

'Submit to destiny,' continued Rudin. 'What is to be done? I know
very well how bitter it is, how painful, how unendurable. But consider
yourself, Natalya Alexyevna; I am poor. It is true I could work; but
even if I were a rich man, could you bear a violent separation from
your family, your mother's anger? . . . No, Natalya Alexyevna; it is
useless even to think of it. It is clear it was not fated for us to
live together, and the happiness of which I dreamed is not for me!'

All at once Natalya hid her face in her hands and began to weep. Rudin
went up to her.

'Natalya Alexyevna! dear Natalya!' he said with warmth, 'do not cry,
for God's sake, do not torture me, be comforted.'

Natalya raised her head.

'You tell me to be comforted,' she began, and her eyes blazed through
her tears; 'I am not weeping for what you suppose--I am not sad for
that; I am sad because I have been deceived in you. . . . What! I come
to you for counsel, and at such a moment!--and your first word is,
submit! submit! So this is how you translate your talk of
independence, of sacrifice, which . . .'

Her voice broke down.

'But, Natalya Alexyevna,' began Rudin in confusion, 'remember--I do
not disown my words--only----'

'You asked me,' she continued with new force, 'what I answered my
mother, when she declared she would sooner agree to my death than my
marriage to you; I answered that I would sooner die than marry any
other man . . . And you say, "Submit!" It must be that she is right;
you must, through having nothing to do, through being bored, have been
playing with me.'

'I swear to you, Natalya Alexyevna--I assure you,' maintained Rudin.

But she did not listen to him.

'Why did you not stop me? Why did you yourself--or did you not reckon
upon obstacles? I am ashamed to speak of this--but I see it is all
over now.'

'You must be calm, Natalya Alexyevna,' Rudin was beginning; 'we must
think together what means----'

'You have so often talked of self-sacrifice,' she broke in, 'but do
you know, if you had said to me to-day at once, "I love you, but I
cannot marry you, I will not answer for the future, give me your hand
and come with me"--do you know, I would have come with you; do you
know, I would have risked everything? But there's all the difference
between word and deed, and you were afraid now, just as you were
afraid the day before yesterday at dinner of Volintsev.'

The colour rushed to Rudin's face. Natalya's unexpected energy had
astounded him; but her last words wounded his vanity.

'You are too angry now, Natalya Alexyevna,' he began; 'you cannot
realise how bitterly you wound me. I hope that in time you will do me
justice; you will understand what it has cost me to renounce the
happiness which you have said yourself would have laid upon me no
obligations. Your peace is dearer to me than anything in the world,
and I should have been the basest of men, if I could have taken
advantage----'

'Perhaps, perhaps,' interrupted Natalya, 'perhaps you are right; I
don't know what I am saying. But up to this time I believed in you,
believed in every word you said. . . . For the future, pray keep a
watch upon your words, do not fling them about at hazard. When I said
to you, "I love you," I knew what that word meant; I was ready for
everything. . . . Now I have only to thank you for a lesson--and to
say good-bye.'

'Stop, for God's sake, Natalya Alexyevna, I beseech you. I do not
deserve your contempt, I swear to you. Put yourself in my position. I
am responsible for you and for myself. If I did not love you with the
most devoted love--why, good God! I should have at once proposed you
should run away with me. . . . Sooner or later your mother would
forgive us--and then . . . But before thinking of my own happiness----'

He stopped. Natalya's eyes fastened directly upon him put him to
confusion.

'You try to prove to me that you are an honourable man, Dmitri
Nikolaitch,' she said. 'I do not doubt that. You are not capable of
acting from calculation; but did I want to be convinced of that? did I
come here for that?'

'I did not expect, Natalya Alexyevna----'

'Ah! you have said it at last! Yes, you did not expect all this--you
did not know me. Do not be uneasy . . . you do not love me, and I will
never force myself on any one.'

'I love you!' cried Rudin.

Natalya drew herself up.

'Perhaps; but how do you love me? Remember all your words, Dmitri
Nikolaitch. You told me: "Without complete equality there is no
love." . . . You are too exalted for me; I am no match for you. . . . I am
punished as I deserve. There are duties before you more worthy of you.
I shall not forget this day . . . . Good-bye.'

'Natalya Alexyevna, are you going? Is it possible for us to part like
this?'

He stretched out his hand to her. She stopped. His supplicating voice
seemed to make her waver.

'No,' she uttered at last. 'I feel that something in me is broken.
. . . I came here, I have been talking to you as if it were in delirium;
I must try to recollect. It must not be, you yourself said, it will
not be. Good God, when I came out here, I mentally took a farewell of
my home, of my past--and what? whom have I met here?--a coward . . .
and how did you know I was not able to bear a separation from my
family? "Your mother will not consent . . . It is terrible!" That was
all I heard from you, that you, you, Rudin?--No! good-bye. . . . Ah! if
you had loved me, I should have felt it now, at this moment. . . . No,
no, goodbye!'

She turned swiftly and ran towards Masha, who had begun to be uneasy
and had been making signs to her a long while.

'It is _you_ who are afraid, not I!' cried Rudin after Natalya.

She paid no attention to him, and hastened homewards across the
fields. She succeeded in getting back to her bedroom; but she had
scarcely crossed the threshold when her strength failed her, and she
fell senseless into Masha's arms.

But Rudin remained a long while still standing on the bank. At last he
shivered, and with slow steps made his way to the little path and
quietly walked along it. He was deeply ashamed . . . and wounded.
'What a girl!' he thought, 'at seventeen! . . . No, I did not know
her! . . . She is a remarkable girl. What strength of will! . . . She
is right; she deserves another love than what I felt for her. I felt
for her?' he asked himself. 'Can it be I already feel no more love for
her? So this is how it was all to end! What a pitiful wretch I was
beside her!'

The slight rattle of a racing droshky made Rudin raise his head.
Lezhnyov was driving to meet him with his invariable trotting pony.
Rudin bowed to him without speaking, and as though struck with a
sudden thought, turned out of the road and walked quickly in the
direction of Darya Mihailovna's house.

Lezhnyov let him pass, looked after him, and after a moment's thought
he too turned his horse's head round, and drove back to Volintsev's,
where he had spent the night. He found him asleep, and giving orders
he should not be waked, he sat down on the balcony to wait for some
tea and smoked a pipe.

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