Having an extremely high opinion of her charms, she thought that if a great assembly ofpeople could see what her figure and complexion were like, she would vanquish all Italy and indeed the entire globe. This talk about her 'figure' and 'complexion' shocked me. She noticed this, and when angry she tried to annoy me with all sorts of vulgar taunts. It reached the point where, losing her temper once at some woman's villa, she told me, 'If you don't stop boring me with your sermons, I'll take off all my clothes this instant and lie do^n naked on those flowers!'
When I watched her sleeping, eating or trying to look innocent, I often wondered why God had given her such outstanding beauty, grace and intelligence. Could it really be just for lolling in bed, eating and telling lies, lies, lies? Indeed, was she really intelligent ? She thought the number thirteen unlucky—three candles too. She was terrified of the evil eye and nightmares. She spoke of free love—and freedom in general—like some pions old granny, and maintained that Boleslav Markevich was a better writer than Turgenev! But she was diabolically sharp and cunning, and in company she had the knack of passing as educated and progressive.
Even when she was in a good mood she thought nothing of insulting a servant or killing an insect. She liked bullfights and reading about murders, and was angry when accused people were acquitted in court.
For the kind of life that we were leading, Ariadne and I needed plenty of money. Poor Father sent me his pension and all his odds and ends of income, and borrowed for me where he could. Once when he answered that he had no money left, I sent a frantic telegram begging him to mortgage the estate. A little later I asked him to raise funds on a second mortgage. He did both without a murmur and sent me the money down to the last copeck. Ariadne despised the practical side of life and took no interest in any of this. While I squandered thousands of francs to gratify her mad whims and groaned like an old tree in the wind, she just gaily hummed, 'Addio, bella NapoW.
I gradually cooled towards her and grew ashamed of our liaison. I dislike pregnancy and childbirth, but now I sometimes longed for a child, if only as some formal justification of our way of life. To retain some shreds of self-respect, I began visiting museums and galleries and reading books, ate little, and gave up drinking. If you keep yourself on the go like that from mor^ng to night it does seem to help a little.
Ariadne tired of me too. It was only mediocrities, by the way, who were so taken with her, and her ambassadors and salon were still as far away as ever. Money was short and that upset her and made her cry. In the end she announced that perhaps after all she wouldn't mind going back to Russia. So here we arc on our way back. In the last few months before our departure she has been very busy corresponding with her brodier. She is obviously up to something, but what, God only knows. I'm tired ofpuzzling over her tricks. But we aren't going to the country—it's to be Yalta and then the Caucasus.
She can only live in holiday resorts these days. If you did but know how I loathe al such places—they make me feel I'm choking, they embarrass me so. I want to go to the country! I want to work and earn my bread by the sweat of my brow and make good my mistakes. I'm so ful of energy just now. And I feel that if I really put my back into it I could clear the estate of debt in five years. But there's a snag, you see. We're not abroad now, this is dear old mother Russia and there's the question of holy wedlock. Of course my infatuation's over, my love has gone beyond recall, but be that as it may, I'm in honour bound to marry her.
Shamokhin was excited by telling his story and we went below, still tal^^g about women. It was late. We were sharing a cabin as it turned out.
'Nowadays it's only in the viilages that women keep up with men,' said Shamokhin. 'There women think and feel like men. They grapple with nature, they fight for civilization just as hard as men. But the urban, bourgeois, educated woman long ago dropped out. She's reverting to her primeval condition, she's already half animal and, thanks to her, many triumphs ofthe human spirit have just been thrown away. Woman is gradually disappearing and her place is being taken by an archetypal female. This backwardness of the educated woman is a real menace to civilization. Retreating, she tries to drag man back with her and arrest his progress, no doubt about it.'
'Why generalize ?' I asked. 'Why judge all women by Ariadne ? Women's urge towards education and the equality ofthe sexes, which I take to be an urge forjustice, simply can't be reconciled with any idea of retreat.'
But Shamokhin was hardly listening. He smiled suspiciously. By now he was a fanatical misogynist and was not going to change.
'Oh, get away with you!' he interrupted. 'Once a woman sees me, not as a man and her equal, but as a male animal, and is bent solely on attracting me—possessing me, that is—her whole life through, the question of equal rights doesn't arise. Don't you believe them, they're very, very cu^kg! We men make a great fuss about their freedom, but they don't want to be free at all, they're only pretending. They're up to al sorts of dirty tricks.'
Tired of arguing and wanting to sleep, I turned my face to the wall.
'Yes indeed,' I heard as sleep came over me. 'Indeed yes. It's all the fault of our upbringing, man. What does the upbringing and training of an urban woman boil down to? To turning her into a human animal so she can attract a male and conquer him. Yes indeed.'
Shamokhin sighed. 'Our girls and boys should be brought up together and never be separated. A woman should be trained to know when she's wrong, like a man. As it is she always thinks she knows best. Impress on a little girl from the cradle that a man is not first and foremost her escort and suitor, but her comrade and equal. Teach her to think logically and to generalize, and don't keep telling her that her brain weighs less than a man's and so she needn't bother with learning, the arts or cultural matters. A boy—a cobbler's or house- painter's apprentice—also has a smaller brain than a grown man's, but he takes part in the general struggle for existence, he works and suffers. We must also give up this trick of putting it all down to physiology, pregnancy and childbirth. And why? Firstly, a woman doesn't give birth every month. Secondly, not all women have children anyway. And thirdly, a normal village woman works in the fields the day before she has her baby and is none the worse for that. Then there should be complete equality in everyday life. If a man gives up his seat to a lady or picks up her handkerchief, let her do as much for him. I don't mind a girl of good family helping me on with my coat or giving me a glass of water '
I fell asleep, so that was the last I heard.
As we approached Sevastopol next morning the weather was wet and unpleasant and the sea was a little rough. Shamokhin sat with me in the deck-house. thoughtful and silent. When the beU rang for tea, men with turned-up coat collars and pale, sleepy-looking ladies began going below. A young, very pretty woman—the one who had been angry with the customs officers at Volochisk—stopped in front of Shamokhin and spoke to him, looking like a naughty, spoilt child.
'Ivan dear, poor little Ariadne's been sick!'
Later on, while staying in Yalta, I saw this lovely creature dashing about on horseback followed by two officers who could hardly keep up with her. Then I saw her one morning wearing a Phrygian cap and a small apron, sitting on the sea-front and sketching while a large crowd stood a little way off admiring her. I was introduced to her. She shook me heartily by the hand, gave me an enraptured look and thanked me in a sickly drawl for the enjoyment that my writings gave her.
'Don't you believe it,' Shaiiinkhin whispered. 'SIk hasn't read a word of yours.'