" On my word of honour then."
" Well, then."
" If we "
" I will tell you then there's nothing to despise her for."
"Nothing to despise her for! no, uncle, that's beyond everything ! The Count, he did not know! but she ! Who is to blame then ? I ? "
" Well, almost so, but in reality no one is to blame. Tell me, why do you despise her?"
" For her base conduct."
"In what does it consist?"
"In repaying with ingratitude a lofty, an unbounded passion."
"What has gratitude to do with it? did you love her for her sake, to oblige her ? did you want to do her a service, eh ? According to that you should have loved your mother a little better."
Alexandr looked at him and did not know what to say.
" You ought not to have displayed your feeling in its full strength before her; a woman begins to grow cool when a man comes out altogether. You ought to have found out
A
her character and behaved in accordance with it, and not have lain down at her feet like a dog. How is one to get on without understanding the companion with whom you have to do in any relation ? You would have seen then that you must not expect more from her. She had played her romance with you to the end, just as she is playing it with the Count, and as she very likely will play it again with some one else; she cannot go deeper or further! that's not in such a nature; and God only knows what you are expecting."
" But why did she love another?" interposed Alexandr with bitterness.
" What a crime you have discovered ! what a sensible question ! Ah, you primitive creature ! Why did you love her ? Come, get over loving her as easily!"
" Does it depend on me ? "
"Well, then, did her loving the Count depend on her? You maintained yourself that the impulses of the heart ought not to be held in check, but as soon as you are touched by it yourself then you ask why did she love him ! Why did so-and-so die ? Why did what's-her-name go out of her mind ? how is one to answer such questions? Love must end some time; it can't last for ever."
" .Oh, I will be revenged on her!" said Alexandr.
" You are ungrateful," continued Piotr Ivanitch, " it's too bad ! Remember that for a year and a half you have been ready to fall on every one's neck with joy, and haven't known what to do for happiness ! a year and a half of unbroken pleasure ! Whatever you say—you are ungrateful!"
" Ah, uncle, for me there was nothing in the world so sacred as love—life without her is not life!"
"Ah!" Piotr Ivanitch,. broken with vexation, " I am sick of listening to such nonsense !"
"I could have worshipped Nadinka," continued Alexandr, " and I would not have grudged her any happiness in the world; I had dreamed of spending my whole life with Nadinka—and what has happened ? What has become of that sublime, immense passion of which I dreamed ? it has been transformed into a stupid petty comedy of sighs and scenes—jealousy, lying, and hypocrisy — oh, my God!"
" Why did you imagine what does not happen ? Didn't I
^
A COMMON STORY 141
tell you plainly that up to now you have been trying to live a kind of life that's never possible ? According to you a man's only business was to be a lover, a husband, father . . . . and of anything else you won't even hear. Man is something beyond this; he is a citizen as well, and has a calling, an occupation of some kind—he's an author, a landowner, a soldier, an official, or a manufacturer. You have read novels, and listened to your auntie out there in the wilds, and have come up here full of these ideas. You still imagined— a sublime passion.
" Yes, sublime !"
" Oh, please, stop ! is a sublime passion possible ? "
" What ? "
" Why this. By a passion we mean, I suppose, when feeling, inclination, attraction has reached such a pitch that it ceases to be guided by reason? Well, what is there sublime in that ? I don't understand it; it's only a madness—the man falls below the dignity of man. And why do you present only one side of the medal ? I am speaking of love—turn the other side and you will see that love was not such a bad thing. Remember your moments of happiness; you keep buzzing into my ears "
" Oh, don't remind me, don't remind me!" said Alexandr, with a gesture of his hand, " it's very well for you to reason so, because you believe in the woman you love; I should like to see what you would have done in my place."
" What should I have done? I should have sought distraction .... at the factory. Won't you like to try tomorrow ? "
" No, I can't feel at one with you in anything," Alexandr exclaimed mournfully; " your views do not reconcile me to life, but make me more averse to it. It makes me miserable, it is a chill breath in my soul. Hitherto love has saved me from this chill; it is no more—and now there is torture in my heart—I am frightened, I am weary."
41 Turn to work."
" It is all true, uncle, you and those like you can reason so. You are a cold man by nature. You think, feel, and speak just as a steam-engine rolls along a railway line— evenly, smoothly, easily."
" I hope there's no harm in that; it's better than dashing
off the track, pitching into the ditch, as you are now, and not knowing how to keep upright."
Piotr Ivanitch looked at his nephew and stopped short at once.
" What is it ? I do believe you're crying !" he said, and his face grew dark ; that is to say, he blushed. Alexandr did not answer. He remembered his lost happiness, and all that was now so different. And the tears streamed down his cheeks.
" Oh, oh ! for shame !" said Piotr Ivanitch; " are you a man ? Don't cry, for goodness' sake, before me ! "
" Uncle! remember the years of your youth," said Alexandr sobbing; " could you have calmly and indifferently endured the bitterest injury which Fate ever sends upon a man ? To live for a year and a half such a full life and all to end so suddenly—nothing—emptiness ! If I had the consolation," he went on, "of having lost her through circumstance—if they had forced her against her will—even if she had died—then it would have been easier to bear—but that another!—that's terrible, insufferable! What am I to do ? I am suffocating, I am ill—it's torture, agony! I shall die. I shall shoot
myself." "~ "
"—^fte leaned his elbows on the table, covered his head with his hand, and sobbed aloud.
Piotr Ivanitch's self-possession was gone. He walked up and down the room twice, then stopped opposite Alexandr and scratched his head, not knowing how to begin.
" Drink a little wine, Alexandr," said Piotr Ivanitch, as gently as he could ; " perhaps that "
Alexandr did nothing, but his head and shoulders shook convulsively; he kept on sobbing. Piotr Ivanitch frowned, and with a wave of the hand went out of the room.
" What am I do with Alexandr ?" he said to his wife. " He is sobbing there in my room and has driven me out; I am quite worn out with him."
" And did you leave him like that ? " she said, " poor boy! Let me, I will go to him."
" But you will do no good; he is such a nature—just like his aunt; she was just as lacrymose; I have been arguing with him not a little already."
■v-
" Only arguing ? "
" And convincing him ; he agreed with me."
"Oh, I don't doubt it; you are so clever—and hypocritical !" she added.
" Thank goodness, if I am; that, I should suppose, is all that was wanted."
" Ah, I dare say you would, still he is crying."
" I'm not to blame; I did everything to comfort him."
" What did you do ? "
" What didn't I ? I've been talking a whole hour—my throat's quite sore. I laid down the whole theory of love as plain as possible—and offered him money—and tried him with supper and wine."
u And he's still crying."