Part 9
“But if his wife is very rich, they say she’s the daughter of some sort of a contractor, won’t she buy my estate? Though he does say he doesn’t interfere in any of his wife’s affairs, that passes belief, really! Besides, I will name a moderate, reasonable price! Why not try? Perhaps, it’s all my lucky star…. Resolved! I’ll have a try!”
Polozov led Sanin to one of the best hotels in Frankfort, in which he was, of course, occupying the best apartments. On the tables and chairs lay piles of packages, cardboard boxes, and parcels. “All purchases, my boy, for Maria Nikolaevna!” (that was the name of the wife of Ippolit Sidorovitch). Polozov dropped into an arm-chair, groaned, “Oh, the heat!” and loosened his cravat. Then he rang up the head-waiter, and ordered with intense care a very lavish luncheon. “And at one, the carriage is to be ready! Do you hear, at one o’clock sharp!”
The head-waiter obsequiously bowed, and cringingly withdrew.
Polozov unbuttoned his waistcoat. From the very way in which he raised his eyebrows, gasped, and wrinkled up his nose, one could see that talking would be a great labour to him, and that he was waiting in some trepidation to see whether Sanin was going to oblige him to use his tongue, or whether he would take the task of keeping up the conversation on himself.
Sanin understood his companion’s disposition of mind, and so he did not burden him with questions; he restricted himself to the most essential. He learnt that he had been for two years in the service (in the Uhlans! how nice he must have looked in the short uniform jacket!) that he had married three years before, and had now been for two years abroad with his wife, “who is now undergoing some sort of cure at Wiesbaden,” and was then going to Paris. On his side too, Sanin did not enlarge much on his past life and his plans; he went straight to the principal point—that is, he began talking of his intention of selling his estate.
Polozov listened to him in silence, his eyes straying from time to time to the door, by which the luncheon was to appear. The luncheon did appear at last. The head-waiter, accompanied by two other attendants, brought in several dishes under silver covers.
“Is the property in the Tula province?” said Polozov, seating himself at the table, and tucking a napkin into his shirt collar.
“Yes.”
“In the Efremovsky district … I know it.”
“Do you know my place, Aleksyevka?” Sanin asked, sitting down too at the table.
“Yes, I know it.” Polozov thrust in his mouth a piece of omelette with truffles. “Maria Nikolaevna, my wife, has an estate in that neighbourhood…. Uncork that bottle, waiter! You’ve a good piece of land, only your peasants have cut down the timber. Why are you selling it?”
“I want the money, my friend. I would sell it cheap. Come, you might as well buy it … by the way.”
Polozov gulped down a glass of wine, wiped his lips with the napkin, and again set to work chewing slowly and noisily.
“Oh,” he enunciated at last…. “I don’t go in for buying estates; I’ve no capital. Pass the butter. Perhaps my wife now would buy it. You talk to her about it. If you don’t ask too much, she’s not above thinking of that…. What asses these Germans are, really! They can’t cook fish. What could be simpler, one wonders? And yet they go on about ‘uniting the Fatherland.’ Waiter, take away that beastly stuff!”
“Does your wife really manage … business matters herself?” Sanin inquired.
“Yes. Try the cutlets—they’re good. I can recommend them. I’ve told you already, Dimitri Pavlovitch, I don’t interfere in any of my wife’s concerns, and I tell you so again.”
Polozov went on munching.
“H’m…. But how can I have a talk with her, Ippolit Sidorovitch?”
“It’s very simple, Dimitri Pavlovitch. Go to Wiesbaden. It’s not far from here. Waiter, haven’t you any English mustard? No? Brutes! Only don’t lose any time. We’re starting the day after to-morrow. Let me pour you out a glass of wine; it’s wine with a bouquet—no vinegary stuff.”
Polozov’s face was flushed and animated; it was never animated but when he was eating—or drinking.
“Really, I don’t know, how that could be managed,” Sanin muttered.
“But what makes you in such a hurry about it all of a sudden?”
“There is a reason for being in a hurry, brother.”
“And do you need a lot of money?”
“Yes, a lot. I … how can I tell you? I propose … getting married.”
Polozov set the glass he had been lifting to his lips on the table.
“Getting married!” he articulated in a voice thick with astonishment, and he folded his podgy hands on his stomach. “So suddenly?”
“Yes … soon.”
“Your intended is in Russia, of course?”
“No, not in Russia.”
“Where then?”
“Here in Frankfort.”
“And who is she?”
“A German; that is, no—an Italian. A resident here.”
“With a fortune?”
“No, without a fortune.”
“Then I suppose your love is very ardent?”
“How absurd you are! Yes, very ardent.”
“And it’s for that you must have money?”
“Well, yes … yes, yes.”
Polozov gulped down his wine, rinsed his mouth, and washed his hands, carefully wiped them on the napkin, took out and lighted a cigar. Sanin watched him in silence.
“There’s one means,” Polozov grunted at last, throwing his head back, and blowing out the smoke in a thin ring. “Go to my wife. If she likes, she can take all the bother off your hands.”
“But how can I see your wife? You say you are starting the day after to-morrow?”
Polozov closed his eyes.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said at last, rolling the cigar in his lips, and sighing. “Go home, get ready as quick as you can, and come here. At one o’clock I am going, there’s plenty of room in my carriage. I’ll take you with me. That’s the best plan. And now I’m going to have a nap. I must always have a nap, brother, after a meal. Nature demands it, and I won’t go against it. And don’t you disturb me.”
Sanin thought and thought, and suddenly raised his head; he had made up his mind.
“Very well, agreed, and thank you. At half-past twelve I’ll be here, and we’ll go together to Wiesbaden. I hope your wife won’t be angry….”
But Polozov was already snoring. He muttered, “Don’t disturb me!” gave a kick, and fell asleep, like a baby.
Sanin once more scanned his clumsy figure, his head, his neck, his upturned chin, round as an apple, and going out of the hotel, set off with rapid strides to the Rosellis’ shop. He had to let Gemma know.
XXXII
He found her in the shop with her mother. Frau Lenore was stooping down, measuring with a big folding foot-rule the space between the windows. On seeing Sanin, she stood up, and greeted him cheerfully, though with a shade of embarrassment.
“What you said yesterday,” she began, “has set my head in a whirl with ideas as to how we could improve our shop. Here, I fancy we might put a couple of cupboards with shelves of looking-glass. You know, that’s the fashion nowadays. And then …”
“Excellent, excellent,” Sanin broke in, “we must think it all over…. But come here, I want to tell you something.” He took Frau Lenore and Gemma by the arm, and led them into the next room. Frau Lenore was alarmed, and the foot-rule slipped out of her hands. Gemma too was almost frightened, but she took an intent look at Sanin, and was reassured. His face, though preoccupied, expressed at the same time keen self-confidence and determination. He asked both the women to sit down, while he remained standing before them, and gesticulating with his hands and ruffling up his hair, he told them all his story; his meeting with Polozov, his proposed expedition to Wiesbaden, the chance of selling the estate. “Imagine my happiness,” he cried in conclusion: “things have taken such a turn that I may even, perhaps, not have to go to Russia! And we can have our wedding much sooner than I had anticipated!”
“When must you go?” asked Gemma.
“To-day, in an hour’s time; my friend has ordered a carriage—he will take me.”
“You will write to us?”
“At once! directly I have had a talk with this lady, I will write.”
“This lady, you say, is very rich?” queried the practical Frau Lenore.
“Exceedingly rich! her father was a millionaire, and he left everything to her.”
“Everything—to her alone? Well, that’s so much the better for you. Only mind, don’t let your property go too cheap! Be sensible and firm. Don’t let yourself be carried away! I understand your wishing to be Gemma’s husband as soon as possible … but prudence before everything! Don’t forget: the better price you get for your estate, the more there will be for you two, and for your children.”
Gemma turned away, and Sanin gave another wave of his hand. “You can rely on my prudence, Frau Lenore! Indeed, I shan’t do any bargaining with her. I shall tell her the fair price; if she’ll give it—good; if not, let her go.”
“Do you know her—this lady?” asked Gemma.
“I have never seen her.”
“And when will you come back?”
“If our negotiations come to nothing—the day after to-morrow; if they turn out favourably, perhaps I may have to stay a day or two longer. In any case I shall not linger a minute beyond what’s necessary. I am leaving my heart here, you know! But I have said what I had to say to you, and I must run home before setting off too…. Give me your hand for luck, Frau Lenore—that’s what we always do in Russia.”
“The right or the left?”
“The left, it’s nearer the heart. I shall reappear the day after to-morrow with my shield or on it! Something tells me I shall come back in triumph! Good-bye, my good dear ones….”
He embraced and kissed Frau Lenore, but he asked Gemma to follow him into her room—for just a minute—as he must tell her something of great importance. He simply wanted to say good-bye to her alone. Frau Lenore saw that, and felt no curiosity as to the matter of such great importance.
Sanin had never been in Gemma’s room before. All the magic of love, all its fire and rapture and sweet terror, seemed to flame up and burst into his soul, directly he crossed its sacred threshold…. He cast a look of tenderness about him, fell at the sweet girl’s feet and pressed his face against her waist….
“You are mine,” she whispered: “you will be back soon?”
“I am yours. I will come back,” he declared, catching his breath.
“I shall be longing for you back, my dear one!”
A few instants later Sanin was running along the street to his lodging. He did not even notice that Pantaleone, all dishevelled, had darted out of the shop-door after him, and was shouting something to him and was shaking, as though in menace, his lifted hand.
Exactly at a quarter to one Sanin presented himself before Polozov. The carriage with four horses was already standing at the hotel gates. On seeing Sanin, Polozov merely commented, “Oh! you’ve made up your mind?” and putting on his hat, cloak, and over-shoes, and stuffing cotton-wool into his ears, though it was summer-time, went out on to the steps. The waiters, by his directions, disposed all his numerous purchases in the inside of the carriage, lined the place where he was to sit with silk cushions, bags, and bundles, put a hamper of provisions for his feet to rest on, and tied a trunk on to the box. Polozov paid with a liberal hand, and supported by the deferential door-keeper, whose face was still respectful, though he was unseen behind him, he climbed gasping into the carriage, sat down, disarranged everything about him thoroughly, took out and lighted a cigar, and only then extended a finger to Sanin, as though to say, “Get in, you too!” Sanin placed himself beside him. Polozov sent orders by the door-keeper to the postillion to drive carefully—if he wanted drinks; the carriage steps grated, the doors slammed, and the carriage rolled off.
XXXIII
It takes less than an hour in these days by rail from Frankfort to Wiesbaden; at that time the extra post did it in three hours. They changed horses five times. Part of the time Polozov dozed and part of the time he simply shook from side to side, holding a cigar in his teeth; he talked very little; he did not once look out of the window; picturesque views did not interest them; he even announced that “nature was the death of him!” Sanin did not speak either, nor did he admire the scenery; he had no thought for it. He was all absorbed in reflections and memories. At the stations Polozov paid with exactness, took the time by his watch, and tipped the postillions—more or less—according to their zeal. When they had gone half way, he took two oranges out of the hamper of edibles, and choosing out the better, offered the other to Sanin. Sanin looked steadily at his companion, and suddenly burst out laughing.
“What are you laughing at?” the latter inquired, very carefully peeling his orange with his short white nails.
“What at?” repeated Sanin. “Why, at our journey together.”
“What about it?” Polozov inquired again, dropping into his mouth one of the longitudinal sections into which an orange parts.
“It’s so very strange. Yesterday I must confess I thought no more of you than of the Emperor of China, and to-day I’m driving with you to sell my estate to your wife, of whom, too, I have not the slightest idea.”
“Anything may happen,” responded Polozov. “When you’ve lived a bit longer, you won’t be surprised at anything. For instance, can you fancy me riding as an orderly officer? But I did, and the Grand Duke Mihail Pavlovitch gave the order, “Trot! let him trot, that fat cornet! Trot now! Look sharp!”
Sanin scratched behind his ear.
“Tell me, please, Ippolit Sidorovitch, what is your wife like? What is her character? It’s very necessary for me to know that, you see.”
“It was very well for him to shout, ‘Trot!’” Polozov went on with sudden vehemence, “But me! how about me? I thought to myself, ‘You can take your honours and epaulettes—and leave me in peace!’ But … you asked about my wife? What my wife is? A person like any one else. Don’t wear your heart upon your sleeve with her—she doesn’t like that. The great thing is to talk a lot to her … something for her to laugh at. Tell her about your love, or something … but make it more amusing, you know.”
“How more amusing?”
“Oh, you told me, you know, that you were in love, wanting to get married. Well, then, describe that.”
Sanin was offended. “What do you find laughable in that?”
Polozov only rolled his eyes. The juice from the orange was trickling down his chin.
“Was it your wife sent you to Frankfort to shop for her?” asked Sanin after a short time.
“Yes, it was she.”
“What are the purchases?”
“Toys, of course.”
“Toys? have you any children?”
Polozov positively moved away from Sanin.
“That’s likely! What do I want with children? Feminine fallals … finery. For the toilet.”
“Do you mean to say you understand such things?”
“To be sure I do.”
“But didn’t you tell me you didn’t interfere in any of your wife’s affairs?”
“I don’t in any other. But this … is no consequence. To pass the time—one may do it. And my wife has confidence in my taste. And I’m a first-rate hand at bargaining.”
Polozov began to speak by jerks; he was exhausted already. “And is your wife very rich?”
“Rich; yes, rather! Only she keeps the most of it for herself.”
“But I expect you can’t complain either?”
“Well, I’m her husband. I’m hardly likely not to get some benefit from it! And I’m of use to her. With me she can do just as she likes! I’m easy-going!”
Polozov wiped his face with a silk handkerchief and puffed painfully, as though to say, “Have mercy on me; don’t force me to utter another word. You see how hard it is for me.”
Sanin left him in peace, and again sank into meditation.
The hotel in Wiesbaden, before which the carriage stopped, was exactly like a palace. Bells were promptly set ringing in its inmost recesses; a fuss and bustle arose; men of good appearance in black frock-coats skipped out at the principal entrance; a door-keeper who was a blaze of gold opened the carriage doors with a flourish.
Like some triumphant general Polozov alighted and began to ascend a staircase strewn with rugs and smelling of agreeable perfumes. To him flew up another man, also very well dressed but with a Russian face—his valet. Polozov observed to him that for the future he should always take him everywhere with him, for the night before at Frankfort, he, Polozov, had been left for the night without hot water! The valet portrayed his horror on his face, and bending down quickly, took off his master’s goloshes.
“Is Maria Nikolaevna at home?” inquired Polozov.
“Yes, sir. Madam is pleased to be dressing. Madam is pleased to be dining to-night at the Countess Lasunsky’s.”
“Ah! there?… Stay! There are things there in the carriage; get them all yourself and bring them up. And you, Dmitri Pavlovitch,” added Polozov, “take a room for yourself and come in in three-quarters of an hour. We will dine together.”
Polozov waddled off, while Sanin asked for an inexpensive room for himself; and after setting his attire to rights, and resting a little, he repaired to the immense apartment occupied by his Serenity (Durchlaucht) Prince von Polozov.
He found this “prince” enthroned in a luxurious velvet arm-chair in the middle of a most magnificent drawing-room. Sanin’s phlegmatic friend had already had time to have a bath and to array himself in a most sumptuous satin dressing-gown; he had put a crimson fez on his head. Sanin approached him and scrutinised him for some time. Polozov was sitting rigid as an idol; he did not even turn his face in his direction, did not even move an eyebrow, did not utter a sound. It was truly a sublime spectacle! After having admired him for a couple of minutes, Sanin was on the point of speaking, of breaking this hallowed silence, when suddenly the door from the next room was thrown open, and in the doorway appeared a young and beautiful lady in a white silk dress trimmed with black lace, and with diamonds on her arms and neck—Maria Nikolaevna Polozov. Her thick fair hair fell on both sides of her head, braided, but not fastened up into a knot.
XXXIV
“Ah, I beg your pardon!” she said with a smile half-embarrassed, half-ironical, instantly taking hold of one end of a plait of her hair and fastening on Sanin her large, grey, clear eyes.
“I did not think you had come yet.”
“Sanin, Dmitri Pavlovitch—known him from a boy,” observed Polozov, as before not turning towards him and not getting up, but pointing at him with one finger.
“Yes…. I know…. You told me before. Very glad to make your acquaintance. But I wanted to ask you, Ippolit Sidorovitch…. My maid seems to have lost her senses to-day …”
“To do your hair up?”
“Yes, yes, please. I beg your pardon,” Maria Nikolaevna repeated with the same smile. She nodded to Sanin, and turning swiftly, vanished through the doorway, leaving behind her a fleeting but graceful impression of a charming neck, exquisite shoulders, an exquisite figure.
Polozov got up, and rolling ponderously, went out by the same door.
Sanin did not doubt for a single second that his presence in “Prince Polozov’s” drawing-room was a fact perfectly well known to its mistress; the whole point of her entry had been the display of her hair, which was certainly beautiful. Sanin was inwardly delighted indeed at this freak on the part of Madame Polozov; if, he thought, she is anxious to impress me, to dazzle me, perhaps, who knows, she will be accommodating about the price of the estate. His heart was so full of Gemma that all other women had absolutely no significance for him; he hardly noticed them; and this time he went no further than thinking, “Yes, it was the truth they told me; that lady’s really magnificent to look at!”
But had he not been in such an exceptional state of mind he would most likely have expressed himself differently; Maria Nikolaevna Polozov, by birth Kolishkin, was a very striking personality. And not that she was of a beauty to which no exception could be taken; traces of her plebeian origin were rather clearly apparent in her. Her forehead was low, her nose rather fleshy and turned up; she could boast neither of the delicacy of her skin nor of the elegance of her hands and feet—but what did all that matter? Any one meeting her would not, to use Pushkin’s words, have stood still before “the holy shrine of beauty,” but before the sorcery of a half-Russian, half-Gipsy woman’s body in its full flower and full power … and he would have been nothing loath to stand still!
But Gemma’s image preserved Sanin like the three-fold armour of which the poets sing.
Ten minutes later Maria Nikolaevna appeared again, escorted by her husband. She went up to Sanin … and her walk was such that some eccentrics of that—alas!—already, distant day, were simply crazy over her walk alone. “That woman, when she comes towards one, seems as though she is bringing all the happiness of one’s life to meet one,” one of them used to say. She went up to Sanin, and holding out her hand to him, said in her caressing and, as it were, subdued voice in Russian, “You will wait for me, won’t you? I’ll be back soon.”
Sanin bowed respectfully, while Maria Nikolaevna vanished behind the curtain over the outside door; and as she vanished turned her head back over her shoulder, and smiled again, and again left behind her the same impression of grace.
When she smiled, not one and not two, but three dimples came out on each cheek, and her eyes smiled more than her lips—long, crimson, juicy lips with two tiny moles on the left side of them.
Polozov waddled into the room and again established himself in the arm-chair. He was speechless as before; but from time to time a queer smile puffed out his colourless and already wrinkled cheeks. He looked like an old man, though he was only three years older than Sanin.