“I haven’t even thought of it,” Nadezhda Fyodorovna said, freeing her hands.
“That’s not possible, darling. You’ve thought of it. You’ve thought of it!”
“For God’s sake, I haven’t thought of it,” Nadezhda Fyodorovna said, laughing. “What do we have to get married for? I don’t see any need for it. We’ll go on living, just as we’ve been living.”
“What are you saying!” Maria Konstantinovna was aghast. “For the love of God, what are you saying!”
“Our getting married won’t make things any better. The opposite, it will just make things worse. We’ll lose our freedom.”
“Darling! Darling, what are you saying!” shrieked Maria Konstantinovna, taking a step back and flapping her hands. “You’re being extravagant! Come to your senses! Settle down!”
“That’s just it, how can I settle down? I haven’t yet begun to live, and you would have me—settle down!”
Nadezhda Fyodorovna remembered that in fact she had not yet begun to live. Having completed a course at the institute she’d married a man she did not love and then run off with Laevsky, and all the while that she’d lived with him in this boring wasteland of a coastline she was in anticipation of something better. Was this really life?
It would follow that we marry …, she thought, then, remembering Kirilin and Achmianov, reddened and said:
“No, it’s impossible. Even if Ivan Andreich were to get down on his knee and ask me, I would still refuse him.”
Maria Konstantinovna silently sat on the divan for a minute, saddened, serious and staring at a single focal point, then rose and coldly uttered:
“Farewell, darling! Pardon me for having troubled you. Though it isn’t easy for me, I must tell you that from this day on, everything is over between us and, putting aside my deep respect for Ivan Andreich, the door of my home is closed to you both.”
She’d spoken this with austerity, and she herself felt disheartened by her own austere tone; her face was again aquiver then took on a soft, almond-infused expression, and she extended both her hands to the startled, befuddled Nadezhda Fyodorovna and imploringly said:
“My darling, allow me to act as your mother or older sister for only just one moment! I will be honest with you, as a mother would be.”
Nadezhda Fyodorovna felt such warmth, happiness and solace filling her chest that it was as though her mother had, in actuality, been resurrected and was standing before her. She spastically embraced Maria Konstantinovna and nestled face first into her shoulder. Both of them began to cry. They sat down on the divan and sobbed for several minutes, without looking at one another, neither having the strength to utter a single word.
“Darling, child of mine,” began Maria Konstantinovna, “I’m going to tell you the blistery truth, without sparing you.”
“For God’s sake, for God’s sake!”
“Give credence to what I say, darling. I want you to remember that of all the local ladies, I alone would receive you. You horrified me from day one, but I didn’t have the strength to treat you with scorn as everyone else had. I agonized over gentle, kind Ivan Andreich as I would over my own son. A young man on foreign shores, inexperienced, weak, motherless, and I was tormented, tormented … My husband was against forming an acquaintanceship with him, but I persuaded him … I persevered … We began receiving Ivan Andreich, and with him, of course, came you, otherwise he would have been insulted. I have a daughter, a son … You understand, the impressionable child’s mind, the pure heart … for whosoever shall offend one of these little ones … I received you and trembled for my children. Oh, when you become a mother, you’ll understand my fear. Everyone was astounded that I’d received you, you’ll forgive me for saying as a respectable woman, they looked sideways at me … Well, of course there was gossip, speculation … In the depths of my soul I had condemned you, but you were miserable, pathetic, extravagant, and I was wracked with compassion.”
“But why? Why?” Nadezhda Fyodorovna asked, her whole body trembling. “What have I done to anyone?”
“You are a horrible sinner. You destroyed the vow that you gave your husband at the altar. You seduced a brilliant young man, who could have been something had he not met you, could have taken a lawful partner for life, a girl from a good family, from his own circle, and right now he would be just like everybody else. You’ve ruined his youth. Don’t speak, don’t speak, darling! I wouldn’t believe it, if you told me that our sins are the faults of men. Women are always at fault. Men are empty-headed when it comes to domestic affairs, they are guided by reason, not by the heart, there is much that they don’t understand, but a woman understands everything. Everything depends on her. She is given much, but it comes at a high price. Oh, darling, if she were less intelligent or weaker than man, God would not entrust her with the rearing of little boys and little girls. And what’s more, my dear, you’ve gone down the path of vice, forgetting all sense of decorum; any other woman in your position would hide away from people, would sit at home locked up, and people would only ever see her in the house of God, pale, dressed all in black, teary-eyed, and everyone would say with whole-hearted contrition: ‘God, this fallen angel has returned to you once again …’ But you, darling, have lost all sense of decency, you’ve lived openly, extravagantly, absolutely taking pride in sin, you’ve frolicked, laughed, and I would look at you and shudder from the horror of it all, and fear that heaven’s thunder would strike our house while you were sitting in it. Darling, don’t speak, don’t speak!” exclaimed Maria Konstantinovna, noticing that Nadezhda Fyodorovna wanted to speak. “Trust in me, I won’t mislead you nor would I conceal one bit of truth from the eyes of your soul. You must listen to me, my dear … God takes note of great sinners, and you have been noted. Keep in mind, your outfits have always been horrible!”
Having thus far always held the highest opinion of her own outfits, Nadezhda Fyodorovna stopped crying and looked at her in astonishment.
“Yes, horrible!” continued Maria Fyodorovna. “Based on the preciosity and garishness of your apparel, just about anyone can assess your behavior. Everyone took one look at you, shrugged their shoulders and began to laugh, but I agonized, agonized … And forgive me, darling, but your hygiene is lacking! When we met at the bathhouse, you made me convulse. All right your bodice is neither here nor there, but your skirt, your chemise … Darling, I’m blushing! There’s no one to properly knot poor Ivan Andreich’s tie either, and it’s evident from how well that poor fellow’s garments have been laundered and from his boots that no one cares for him at home. My dove, at home he always goes without food, and the truth of the matter is that if no one sees to the samovar and coffee at home, then you’ll have no choice but to spend half your earnings in a pavilion. Your household is simply a horror, a horror! No one in the entire town has flies, but there’s no place to hide from them at your house, all of your plates and saucers are black. Just look for yourself, there’s dust on the windowsills and on the tables, dead flies, glasses … What are these glasses doing here? And, darling, your table still hasn’t been cleared. And your bedroom, it’s shameful to walk in there: there are undergarments thrown about, all of your various caoutchoucs are hanging off the walls, there is some kind of … standing dish … Darling! A husband is not supposed to know anything, and a wife should be pure before him, like a little angel! I get up at the break of dawn every morning and wash my face with cold water so that my Nikodim Aleksandrich won’t notice that I’m groggy.”