I am very glad; I love enemies, though not in
the Christian sense. They amuse me, stir my
blood. To be always on one's guard, to catch
every glance, the meaning of every word, to guess
intentions, to crush conspiracies, to
pretend to be
deceived and suddenly with one blow to over-
throw the whole
immense and laboriously con-
structed
edifice of
cunning and design -- that is
what I call life.
During supper Grushnitski kept whispering
and exchanging winks with the captain of
dragoons.
CHAPTER XI
14th June.
VERA and her husband left this morning for
Kislovodsk. I met their
carriage as I was
walking to Princess Ligovski's. Vera nodded to
me:
reproach was in her glance.
Who is to blame, then? Why will she not give
me an opportunity of
seeing her alone? Love is
like fire -- if not fed it dies out. Perchance,
jealousy will accomplish what my entreaties have
failed to do.
I stayed a whole hour at Princess Ligovski's.
Mary has not been out, she is ill. In the evening
she was not on the
boulevard. The newly formed
gang, armed with lorgnettes, has in very fact
assumed a menacing
aspect. I am glad that
Princess Mary is ill; they might be
guilty of
some impertinence towards her. Grushnitski
goes about with dishevelled locks, and wears an
appearance of
despair: he is
evidently afflicted,
as a matter of fact; his
vanity especially
has been injured. But, you see, there are
some people in whom even
despair is divert-
ing! . . .
On my way home I noticed that something was
lacking. I have not seen her! She is ill! Surely
I have not fallen in love with her in real
earnest? . . . What nonsense!
CHAPTER XII
15th June.
AT eleven o'clock in the morning -- the hour at
which Princess Ligovski is usually perspiring
in the Ermolov baths -- I walked past her house.
Princess Mary was sitting pensively at the window;
on
seeing me she
sprang up.
I entered the ante-room, there was nobody
there, and, availing myself of the freedom afforded
by the local customs, I made my way, unan-
nounced, into the drawing-room.
Princess Mary's
charmingcountenance was
shrouded with a dull pallor. She was standing
by the pianoforte, leaning one hand on the back
of an arm-chair; her hand was very faintly
trembling. I went up to her
softly and
said:
"You are angry with me?" . . .
She lifted a deep,
languid glance upon me and
shook her head. Her lips were about to utter
something, but failed; her eyes filled with tears;
she sank into the arm-chair and buried her face in
her hands.
"What is the matter with you?" I said,
takingher hand.
"You do not respect me! . . . Oh, leave me!" . . .
I took a few steps. . . She drew herself up in
the chair, her eyes sparkled.
I stopped still, took hold of the handle of the
door, and said:
"Forgive me, Princess. I have acted like a
madman. . . It will not happen another time;
I shall see to that. . . But how can you know
what has been
taking place
hitherto within my
soul? That you will never learn, and so much
the better for you. Farewell."
As I was going out, I seemed to hear her
weeping.
I wandered on foot about the environs of
Mount Mashuk till evening, fatigued myself
terribly and, on arriving home, flung myself on
my bed, utterly exhausted.
Werner came to see me.
"Is it true," he asked, "that you are going to
marry Princess Mary?"
"What?"
"The whole town is
saying so. All my
patients are occupied with that important piece
of news; but you know what these patients are:
they know everything."
"This is one of Grushnitski's tricks," I said to
myself.
"To prove the falsity of these rumours, doctor,
I may mention, as a secret, that I am moving to
Kislovodsk to-morrow" . . .
"And Princess Mary, too?"
"No, she remains here another week" . . .
"So you are not going to get married?" . . .
"Doctor, doctor! Look at me! Am I in the
least like a
bridegroom, or any such thing?"
"I am not
saying so. . . But you know there
are occasions . . ." he added, with a crafty
smile -- "in which an
honourable man is obliged
to marry, and there are mothers who, to say the
least, do not prevent such occasions. . . And so,
as a friend, I should
advise you to be more
cautious. The air of these parts is very dangerous.
How many handsome young men,
worthy of a
better fate, have I not seen departing from here
straight to the altar! . . . Would you believe
me, they were even going to find a wife for me!
That is to say, one person was -- a lady belonging to
this district, who had a very pale daughter. I had
the
misfortune to tell her that the latter's colour
would be restored after wedlock, and then with
tears of
gratitude she offered me her daughter's
hand and the whole of her own fortune -- fifty souls,[1] I think.
But I replied that I was unfit for such an honour."
[1] i.e. serfs.
Werner left, fully convinced that he had put
me on my guard.
I gathered from his words that various ugly
rumours were already being spread about the
town on the subject of Princess Mary and myself:
Grushnitski shall smart for this!
CHAPTER XIII
18th June.
I HAVE been in Kislovodsk three days now.
Every day I see Vera at the well and out
walking. In the morning, when I awake, I sit
by my window and direct my lorgnette at her
balcony. She has already been dressed long ago,
and is
waiting for the signal agreed upon.
We meet, as though
unexpectedly, in the garden
which slopes down from our houses to the well.
The life-giving mountain air has brought back
her colour and her strength. Not for nothing is
Narzan called the "Spring of Heroes." The
inhabitants aver that the air of Kislovodsk pre-
disposes the heart to love and that all the romances
which have had their
beginning at the foot of
Mount Mashuk find their consummation here.
And, in very fact, everything here breathes of
solitude; everything has an air of
secrecy -- the
thick shadows of the
linden avenues, bending over
the
torrent which falls, noisy and foaming, from
flag to flag and cleaves itself a way between the
mountains now becoming clad with verdure --
the mist-filled, silent
ravines, with their rami-
fications straggling away in all directions -- the
freshness of the
aromatic air, laden with the
fragrance of the tall southern grasses and the
white acacia -- the never-ceasing, sweetly-slumber-
ous
babble of the cool brooks, which, meeting at
the end of the
valley, flow along in friendly
emulation, and finally fling themselves into the
Podkumok. On this side, the
ravine is wider
and becomes converted into a verdant dell,
through which winds the dusty road. Every
time I look at it, I seem to see a
carriage coming
along and a rosy little face looking out of the
carriage-window. Many
carriages have already
driven by -- but still there is no sign of that
particular one. The village which lies behind the
fortress has become
populous. In the restaurant,
built upon a hill a few paces distant from my
lodgings, lights are
beginning to flash in the
evening through the double row of poplars;
noise and the jingling of glasses
resound till late
at night.
In no place are such quantities of Kakhetian
wine and
mineral waters drunk as here.
"And many are
willing to mix the two,
But that is a thing I never do."
Every day Grushnitski and his gang are to be
found brawling in the inn, and he has almost
ceased to greet me.
He only arrived
yesterday, and has already
succeeded in quarrelling with three old men who
were going to take their places in the baths before
him.
Decidedly, his
misfortunes are developing a
warlike spirit within him.
CHAPTER XIV
22nd June.
AT last they have arrived. I was sitting by
the window when I heard the clattering of
their
carriage. My heart throbbed. . . What does
it mean? Can it be that I am in love? . . .
I am so stupidly constituted that such a thing
might be expected of me.
I dined at their house. Princess Ligovski
looked at me with much
tenderness, and did
not leave her daughter's side . . . a bad sign!
On the other hand, Vera is
jealous of me in re-
gard to Princess Mary -- however, I have been
striving for that good fortune. What will not a
woman do in order to
chagrin her rival? I re-
member that once a woman loved me simply
because I was in love with another woman.
There is nothing more paradoxical than the fe-