"But why
myand why
inseparable?"
"Where is he now?" Varvara Petrovna went on, sternly and sharply.
"He ... he has boundless respect for you, and has gone to S——k to collect his inheritance from his mother."
"Getting money seems to be the only thing he does. What about Shatov? Same as ever?"
"Irascible, mais bon.”
"I can't bear your Shatov; he's angry and thinks too much of himself!"
"How is Darya Pavlovna's health?"
"You mean Dasha? Why her all of a sudden?" Varvara Petrovna looked at him curiously. "She's well, I left her with the Drozdovs ... I heard something about your son in Switzerland, something bad, not good."
"Oh, c'est une histoire bien bête! Je vous attendais, ma bonne amie, pour vous raconter..." [xxii]
"Enough, Stepan Trofimovich, let me rest; I'm exhausted. We'll have time to talk our fill, especially about bad things. You're beginning to splutter when you laugh—there's decrepitude for you! And how strangely you laugh now... God, you're so full of bad habits! Karmazinov will never come to call on you! And they're gleeful over everything here even without that... You've revealed yourself completely now. Well, enough, enough, I'm tired! You might finally spare a person!"
Stepan Trofimovich "spared a person," but he withdrew in perplexity.
V
Our friend had indeed acquired not a few bad habits, especially of late. He had visibly and rapidly gone to seed, and it was true that he had become slovenly. He drank more, grew more tearful and nervous; became overly sensitive to refinement. His face acquired a strange ability to change remarkably quickly, for instance, from the most solemn expression to the most ridiculous and even silly. He could not endure solitude and constantly longed for someone to entertain him at once. He had an absolute need for gossip, for some local anecdote, and it had to be new each day. If no one came for a long time, he wandered dejectedly about his rooms, went up to the windows, pensively chewed his lips, sighed deeply, and finally all but whimpered. He kept having presentiments of something, being afraid of something unexpected, inevitable; he became timorous; began paying great attention to his dreams.
He spent that whole day and evening in extreme dejection, sent for me, was very agitated, talked for a long time, narrated for a long time, but it was all quite incoherent. Varvara Petrovna had long known that he concealed nothing from me. It seemed to me, finally, that he was concerned about something particular, something that he perhaps could not imagine to himself. As a rule, when we were alone together and he began complaining to me, a little bottle was almost always brought out after a while, and things would become more heartening. This time there was no wine, and he obviously suppressed in himself the recurring desire to send for it.
"Why is she so angry all the time!" he complained every moment, like a child. "Tous les hommes de génie et de progrès en Russie étaient, sont et seront toujours descard players et desdrunkards qui boivent en zapoï [xxiii] ...and I'm not such a card player and drunkard yet... She reproaches me, asks me why I don't write anything. Strange notion! ... And why am I lying down? You must stand 'as an example and a reproach,' she says. Mais, entre nous soit dit, [xxiv]what else can a man destined to be a standing 'reproach' do but lie down—doesn't she see that?"
And finally the main, the particular anguish that was then tormenting him so persistently became clear to me. Many times that evening he went up to the mirror and stood before it for a long while. Finally, he turned from the mirror to me and said with some strange despair:
"Mon cher, je suis unman gone to seed!"
Yes, indeed, until then, until that very day, he had always remained certain of just one thing—namely, that despite all Varvara Petrovna's "new views" and "changes of ideas," he still had charms over her woman's heart, that is, not only as an exile or as a famous scholar, but also as a handsome man. For twenty years this flattering and comforting conviction had been rooted in him, and of all his convictions it was perhaps the hardest to part with. Did he anticipate that evening what a colossal ordeal was being prepared for him in the nearest future?
VI
I will now set out to describe the somewhat amusing incident with which my chronicle really begins.
At the very end of August the Drozdovs finally returned. Their appearance slightly preceded the arrival of their relative, our new governor's wife, long expected by the whole town, and generally made a remarkable impression on society. But I will speak of these curious events later; now I will confine myself to the fact that Praskovya Ivanovna brought Varvara Petrovna, who was expecting her so impatiently, a most worrisome riddle: Nicolas had parted with them in July and, meeting Count K. on the Rhine, had gone to Petersburg with him and his family. (N.B.All three of the count's daughters were of marriageable age.)
"I could get nothing from Lizaveta because of her pride and her testiness," Praskovya Ivanovna concluded, "but I saw with my own eyes that something had happened between her and Nikolai Vsevolodovich. I do not know the reasons, my dear Varvara Petrovna, but it seems you will have to ask your Darya Pavlovna what the reasons were. I think Liza was offended. I'm only too glad to bring you your favorite at last and hand her over to you: to get her off my back."
These venomous words were spoken with extraordinary vexation. It was obvious that the "flaccid woman" had prepared them in advance and had relished their effect beforehand. But Varvara Petrovna was not one to be taken aback by sentimental effects and riddles. She sternly demanded the most precise and satisfactory explanations. Praskovya Ivanovna lowered her tone at once and even ended by bursting into tears and launching into the most friendly effusions. Like Stepan Trofimovich, this irritable but sentimental lady was in constant need of true friendship, and her chief complaint against her daughter Lizaveta Nikolaevna was precisely that "her daughter was not her friend."
But of all her explanations and effusions the only certainty turned out to be that some sort of a falling-out had indeed taken place between Liza and Nicolas, but what sort of falling-out—of this Praskovya Ivanovna was apparently unable to form any definite idea. As for the accusations she had brought against Darya Pavlovna, in the end she not only renounced them altogether, but even asked especially that her previous words not be given any importance because she had spoken them "in irritation." In short, everything was left rather vague, even suspicious. According to her account, the falling-out arose because of Liza's "testy and derisive" character, and "the proud Nikolai Vsevolodovich, though very much in love, could not endure her derision and became derisive himself."
"Shortly afterwards we made the acquaintance of a young man, the nephew of your 'professor,' I believe, and with the same last name..."
"His son, not his nephew," Varvara Petrovna corrected. Praskovya Ivanovna had never been able to remember Stepan Trofimovich's last name and always called him "professor."
"Well, his son, then, and so much the better; it's all the same to me. An ordinary young man, very lively and easygoing, but there's nothing to him. Well, here Liza herself behaved wrongly, she allowed the young man some closeness, intending to make Nikolai Vsevolodovich jealous. I don't condemn that too much: it's a girl's business, quite usual, even charming. Only instead of being jealous, Nikolai Vsevolodovich, on the contrary, became friendly with the young man himself, as if he didn't notice a thing, or as if it made no difference to him. Liza blew up at that. The young man soon left (he was in a great hurry to get somewhere), and Liza started picking on Nikolai Vsevolodovich at every opportunity. She noticed that he sometimes talked with Dasha and she began to get frantic, at which point, dearest, my life became impossible. The doctors forbade me to be irritated, and I was so sick from that much-vaunted lake of theirs, it gave me toothaches, and such rheumatism! They've even published somewhere that Lake Geneva causes toothaches, it has that property. And then Nikolai Vsevolodovich suddenly received a letter from the countess and left us at once, packed up in a day. They parted in a friendly way, and as she was seeing him off, Liza became very gay and carefree and laughed loudly all the time. Only it was all put on. He left, and she became very pensive, stopped mentioning him completely, and wouldn't let me. And I'd advise you, my dear Varvara Petrovna, not to bring up the subject with Liza, you will only make things worse. If you keep silent, she'll start talking with you first; then you'll learn more. I believe they'll get back together, if only Nikolai Vsevolodovich does not put off coming as he promised."