Part 23

"But other times are coming, indeed have come. Yes, tremendous surprises and changes are about to take place. You remember my saying on one occasion that for a thousand years there has existed a genius of humanity that seldom reveals itself, but whose laws are as inexorable as they are ruthless; but the wiser men become, so much more deeply do they penetrate the spirit of those laws. And I am convinced that, sooner or later, everything in this world must be brought into equilibrium in accordance with these immutable laws. Justice will then be dispensed. The longer and more cruel the slavery has been, so much more terrible will be the day of reckoning for tyrants. The greater the violence, injustice, and brutality, so much more bloody will be the retribution. Oh, I am firmly convinced that the day will dawn when we 'superior officers,' we 'almighty swells,' darlings of the women, drones and brainless swaggerers, will have our ears boxed with impunity in streets and lanes, in vestibules and corridors, when women will turn their backs on us in contempt, and when our own affectionate soldiers will cease to obey us. And all this will happen, not because we have brutally ill-treated men deprived of every possibility of self-defence; not because we have, for the 'honour' of the uniform, insulted women; not because we have committed, when in a state of intoxication, scandalous acts in public-houses and public places; and not even because we, the privileged lick-spittles of the State, have, in innumerable battlefields and in pretty nearly every country, covered our standards with shame, and been driven by our own soldiers out of the maize-fields in which we had taken shelter. Well, of course, we shall also be punished for that. No, our most monstrous and unpardonable sin consists in our being blind and deaf to everything. For long, long periods past--and, naturally, far away from our polluted garrisons--people have discerned the dawn of a new life resplendent with light and freedom. Far-seeing, high-minded, and noble spirits, free from prejudices and human fear, have arisen to sow among the nations burning words of liberation and enlightenment. These heroes remind one of the last scene in a melodrama, when the dark castles and prison towers of tyranny fall down and are buried, in order, as it were, by magic, to be succeeded by freedom's dazzling light and hailed by exultant throngs. We alone--crass idiots, irredeemable victims of pride and blindness--still stick up our tail-feathers, like angry turkey-cocks, and yell in savage wrath, 'What? Where? Silence! Obey! Shoot!' etc., etc. And it's just this turkey-cock's contempt for the fight for freedom by awakening humanity that shall never, never be forgiven us."

The boat glided gently over the calm, open, mirroring surface of the river, which was garlanded round by the tall, dark green, motionless reeds. The little vessel was, as it were, hidden from the whole world. Over it hovered, now and then uttering a scream, the white gulls, occasionally so closely that, as they almost brushed Romashov with the tips of their wings, they made him feel the breeze arising from their strong, swift flights. Nasanski lay on his back in the stern of the boat and kept staring, for a long time, at the bright sky, where a few golden clouds sailing gently by had already begun to change to rose colour.

Romashov said in a shy tone:

"Are you tired? Oh, keep on talking."

It seemed as if Nasanski continued to think and dream aloud when he once more picked up the threads of his monologue.

"Yes, a new, glorious, and wonderful time is at hand. I venture to say this, for I myself have lived a good deal in the world, read, seen, experienced, and suffered much. When I was a schoolboy, the old crows and jackdaws croaked into our ears: 'Love your neighbour as yourself, and know that gentleness, obedience, and the fear of God are man's fairest adornments.' Then came certain strong, honest, fanatical men who said: 'Come and join us, and we'll throw ourselves into the abyss so that the coming race shall live in light and freedom.' But I never understood a word of this. Who do you suppose is going to show me, in a convincing way, in what manner I am linked to this 'neighbour' of mine--damn him! who, you know, may be a miserable slave, a Hottentot, a leper, or an idiot? Of all the holy legends there is none which I hate and despise with my whole soul so much as that of John the Almoner.[22] The leper says: 'I am shivering with cold; lie beside me in my bed and warm my body with thy limbs. Lay thy lips close to my fetid mouth and breathe on me!' Oh, how disgusting! How I hate this victim of leprosy, and, for the matter of that, also all other similar choice examples of my 'neighbour.' Can any reasonable being tell me why I should crush my head so that the generation in the year 3200 may attain a higher standard of happiness? Be quiet! I, too, once upon a time, sympathized with the silly, babyish cackle about 'the world-soul,' 'man's sacred duty,' etc. But even if these high-falutin phrases did find a place then in my brain, they never forced their way into my heart. Do you follow me, Romashov?"

Romashov looked at Nasanski with a mixture of gratitude and shame.

"I understand you fully. When I come to 'send in my checks' and die, then the universe dies with me. That's what you meant, eh?"

"Exactly, but listen further. Love of humanity is burnt out and has vanished from the heart of man. In its stead shall come a new creed, a new view of life that shall last to the world's end; and this view of life consists in the individual's love for himself, for his own powerful intelligence and the infinite riches of his feelings and perceptions. Think, Romashov, just this way and in no other. Who is nearer and dearer to me than myself? No one. You, and none other, are the Tsar and autocrat of your own soul, its pride and ornament. You are the god of all that lives. To you alone belongs all that you see, hear, and feel. Take what you want and do what you please. Fear nobody and nothing, for there is no one in the whole universe above you or can even be your rival. Ah, a time will come when the fixed belief in one's own Ego will cast its blessed beams over mankind as did once the fiery tongues of the Holy Ghost over the Apostles' heads. Then there will be no longer slaves and masters; no maimed or cripples; no malice, no vices, no pity, no hate. Men will be gods. How shall I dare to deceive, insult, or ill-treat another man, in whom I see and feel my fellow, who, like myself, is a god? Then, and then only, shall life be rich and beautiful. Over the whole habitable portion of our earth shall tall, airy, lovely buildings be raised. Nothing vulgar, common, low, and impure shall any longer torture the eye. Our daily life shall become a pleasurable toil, an enfranchised science, a wonderful music, an everlasting merry-making. Love, free and sovereign, shall become the world's _religion_. No longer shall it be forced in shame to hide its countenance; no longer shall it be coupled with sin, disgrace, and darkness. And our own bodies shall glow with health, strength, and beauty, and go clad in bright, shimmering robes. Just as certainly as I believe in an eternal sky above me," shouted Nasanski, "so do I just as firmly believe in this paradisaical life to come."

Romashov, agitated and no longer master of himself, whispered with white lips:

"Nasanski, these are dreams, fancies."

Nasanski's smile was silent and compassionate.

"Yes," he at last uttered with a laugh still lingering in his voice, "you may perhaps be right. A professor of Dogmatic Theology or Classical Philology would, with arms and legs extended and head bent on one side in profound thought, say something like this: 'This is merely an outburst of the most unbridled Individualism.' But, my dear fellow, luckily the thing does not depend on more or less categorical phrases and comminations fulminated in a loud voice, but on the fact that there is nothing in the world more real, practical and irrefutable than these so-called 'fancies,' which are certainly only the property of some few people. These fancies will some day more strongly and completely weld together the whole of mankind to a complete homogeneous body. But let us forget now that we are warriors. We are merely defenceless _starar_. Suppose we go up the street; there we see right before us a wonderful, merry-looking, two-headed monster[23] that attacks all who come within its reach, no matter who they be. It has not yet touched me, but the mere thought that this brute might ill-treat me, or insult a woman I loved, or deprive me of my liberty is enough to make me mad. I cannot overpower this creature by myself, but beside me walks another man filled with the same thirst for vengeance as I, and I say to him: 'Come, shall we go and kill the monster, so that he may not be able to dig his claws into any one!' You understand that all I have just been telling you is only a drastic simile, a hyperbole; but the truth is that I see, in this two-headed monster that which holds my soul captive, limits my individual freedom, and robs me of my manhood. And when that day dawns, then no more lamb-like love for one's neighbour, but the divine love to one's own Ego will be preached among men. Then, too, the double-headed monster's reign will be over."

Nasanski stopped. This violent outburst had evidently been too much for his nerves. After a few minutes, he went on in a hollow voice:

"My dear Georgi Alexievich, there rushes past us incessantly a brawling stream of divinely inspired, lofty, flaming thoughts and new and imperishable ideas which are to crush and bury for ever the bulwarks and golden idols of tyranny and darkness. We, however, keep on stamping in our old stalls and neighing: 'Ah, you poor jades, you ought to have a taste of the whip!'--And once more I say: This will never be forgiven us."

Nasanski got up, wrapped his cloak round him with a slight shiver, and remarked in a weary voice:

"I'm cold--let's go home."

Romashov rowed out of the rushes. The sun was setting behind the roofs of the distant town, the dark outlines of which were sharply defined against the red evening sky. Here and there the sunrays were reflected by a gleaming window-pane. The greater part of the river's surface was as even as a mirror, and faded away in bright, sportive colours; but behind the boat the water was already dark, opaque, and curled by little light waves.

Romashov suddenly exclaimed, as if he were answering his own thoughts:

"You are right. I'll enter the reserves. I do not yet know how I shall do it, but I had thought of it before."

Nasanski shivered with the cold and wrapped his cloak more closely round him.

"Come, come," replied he in a melancholy and tender tone. "There's a certain inward light in you, Georgi Alexievich; I don't know what to call it properly; but in this bear-pit it will soon go out. Yes, they would spit at it and put it out. Then get away from here! Don't be afraid to struggle for your existence. Don't fear life--the warm, wonderful life that's so rich in changes. Let's suppose you cannot hold yourself up; that you sink deep--deep; that you become a victim to crime and poverty. What then? I tell you that the life of a beggar or vagrant is tenfold richer than Captain Sliva's and those of his kidney. You wander round the world here and there, from village to village, from town to town. You make acquaintance with quaint, careless, homeless, humorous specimens of humanity. You see and hear, suffer and enjoy; you sleep on the dewy grass; you shiver with cold in the frosty hours of the morning. But you are as free as a bird; you're afraid of no one, and you worship life with all your soul. Oh, how little men understand after all! What does it matter whether you eat _vobla_[24] or saddle of buck venison with truffles; if you drink vodka or champagne; whether you die in a police-cell or under a canopy? All this is the veriest trifle. I often stand and watch funeral processions. There lies, overshadowed by enormous plumes, in its silver-mounted coffin, a rotting ape accompanied to the grave by a number of other apes, bedizened, behind and before, with orders, stars, keys, and other worthless finery. And afterwards all those visits and announcements! No, my friend, in all the world there is only one thing consistent and worth possessing, viz, an emancipated spirit with imaginative, creative force, and a cheerful temperament. One can have truffles or do without them. All that sort of thing is a matter of luck; it does not signify anything. A common guard, provided he is not an absolute beast, might in six months be trained to act as Tsar, and play his part admirably; but a well-fattened, sluggish, and stupid ape, that throws himself into his carriage with his big belly in the air, will never succeed in grasping what liberty is, will never feel the bliss of inspiration, or shed sweet tears of enthusiasm.

"Travel, Romashov. Go away from here. I advise you to do so, for I myself have tasted freedom, and if I crept into my dirty cage again, whose fault was it? But enough of this. Dive boldly into life. It will not deceive you. Life resembles a huge building with thousands of rooms in which you will find light, joy, singing, wonderful pictures, handsome and talented men and women, games and frolic, dancing, love, and all that is great and mighty in art. Of this castle you have hitherto seen only a dark, narrow, cold, and raw cupboard, full of scourings and spiders' webs, and yet you hesitate to leave it."

Romashov made fast the boat and helped Nasanski to land. It was already dusk when they reached Nasanski's abode. Romashov helped him to bed and spread the cloak and counterpane over him.

Nasanski trembled so much from his chill that his teeth chattered. He rolled himself up like a ball, bored his head right into his pillow, and whimpered helplessly as a child.

"Oh, how frightened I am of my room! What dreams! What dreams!"

"Perhaps you would like me to stay with you?" said Romashov.

"No, no; that's not necessary. But get me, please, some bromide and a little--vodka. I have no money."

Romashov sat by him till eleven. Nasanski's fits of ague gradually subsided. Suddenly he opened his great eyes gleaming with fever, and uttered with some difficulty, but in a determined, abrupt tone:

"Go, now--good-bye."

"Good-bye," replied Romashov sadly. He wanted to say, "Good-bye, my teacher," but was ashamed of the phrase, and he merely added with an attempt at joking:

"Why did you merely say 'good-bye'? Why not say _do svidánia_?"[25]

Nasanski burst into a weird, senseless laugh.

"Why not _do svishvezia_?"[26] he screamed in a wild, mad voice.

Romashov felt that his body was shaken by violent shudders.

XXII

On approaching his abode, Romashov noticed, to his astonishment, that a faint gleam of light poured from the dark window of his room. "What can that be?" he thought, not without a certain uneasiness, whilst he involuntarily quickened his steps. "Perhaps it is my seconds waiting to communicate to me the conditions of the duel?" In the hall he ran into Hainán, but he did not recognize him immediately in the dark, and being startled, cried angrily:

"What the devil----! Oh, it's you, Hainán--and who's in there?"

In spite of the darkness, Romashov realized that Hainán was doing his usual dance.

"It's a lady, your Honour. She's sitting in there."

Romashov opened the door. The lamp, the kerosene of which had long come to an end, was still flickering feebly and was just ready to go out. On the bed was seated a female figure, the outlines of which could scarcely be distinguished in the half-dark room.

"Shurochka!"--Romashov, who for a second was unable to breathe, slowly approached the bed on tip-toe--"Shurochka, you here?"

"S-sh; sit down," she replied in a rapid whisper. "Put out the lamp."

Romashov blew sharply into the chimney of the lamp. The little flickering, blue flame went out, and the room was at once dark and silent, but, in the next moment, the alarum on the table went off loudly. Romashov sat down by Alexandra Petrovna, but could not distinguish her features. A curious feeling of pain, nervousness, and faintness of heart took possession of him. He was unable to speak.

"Who is on the other side of that wall?" asked Shurochka. "Can we be overheard?"

"No, there's no one there, only old furniture. My landlord is a joiner. One can speak out loud."

But both spoke, all the same, in a low voice, and those shyly uttered words acquired, in the darkness, something in addition awful, disquieting, treacherously stealthy. Romashov sat so close to Shurochka that he almost touched her dress. There was a buzzing in his ears, and the blood throbbed in his veins with dull, heavy beats.

"Why, oh, why have you done this?" she asked quietly, but in a passionately reproachful tone. Shurochka laid her hand on his knee. Romashov felt through the cloth this light touch of her feverishly burning finger-tips. He drew a deep breath, his eyes closed, and big black ovals, the sides of which sparkled with a dazzling, bluish gleam, took shape and ran into each other before his eyes, reminding him of the legend of the wonderful lakes. "Did you forget that I told you to keep your self-control when you met _him_? No, no--I don't reproach you. You did not do it on purpose, I know that; but in that moment, when the wild beast within you was aroused, you had not even one thought of me. There was nothing to stay your arm. You never loved me."

"I love you," said Romashov softly, as with a shy movement he put his trembling fingers on her hand. Shurochka withdrew her hand, though not hastily, but at once and slowly, as though she were afraid of hurting him.

"I know that neither you nor he mixed my name up with this scandal; but I can tell you that all this chivalry has been wasted. There's not a house in the town where they are not gossiping about it."

"Forgive me; I could not control myself. I was blinded, beside myself with jealousy," stammered Romashov.

Shurochka laughed for a while to herself. At last she answered him:

"You talk about 'jealousy.' Did you really think that my husband, after his fight with you, was high-minded enough to deny himself the pleasure of telling me where you had come from when you returned to the mess? He also told me one or two things about Nasanski."

"Forgive me," repeated Romashov. "It's true I was there--but I did nothing to blush for in your presence. Pardon me."

Shurochka suddenly raised her voice. Her voice acquired an energetic, almost severe accent, when she answered him.

"Listen, Georgi Alexievich, the minutes are precious. I waited here nearly half an hour for you. Let us, therefore, talk briefly and to the point. You know what Volodya is to me--I don't love him, but, for his sake, I killed a part of my soul. I cherish greater ambition than he does. Twice he has failed to pass for the Staff College. This caused me far greater sorrow and disappointment than it did him. All this idea of trying to get on the Staff is mine, only mine. I have literally dragged him, whipped him on, crammed lessons into him, gone over them with him, filed and sharpened him, screwed up his pride and ambition, and cheered him in hours of apathy and depression. I live only for this, and I cannot even bear the thought of these hopes of mine being blighted. Whatever the cost, Volodya must pass his examination."

Romashov sat with his head in his hands. Suddenly he felt Shurochka softly and caressingly drawing her fingers through his hair. Sorrowful and bewildered, he said to her:

"What can I do?"

She laid her arm round his neck and drew his head to her bosom. She was not wearing a corset, and Romashov felt her soft, elastic bosom pressed against his cheek, and inhaled the delicious, aromatic perfume that came from her young, absolutely healthy body. When she spoke he felt in his hair her irregular, nervous breathing.

"You remember, that evening--at the picnic? I told you then the whole truth: I did not love him; but think, now, only think, three years--three whole long years of the most arduous, repulsive work--of fancies, dreams, hopes. You know how I hate and despise this wretched little provincial hole, the odious set of officers. I always wanted to be dressed expensively and elegantly. I love power, flattery--slaves. And then comes this regimental scandal, this stupid fight between two drunken, irresponsible men accidentally brought together. Then all is over--all my dreams and hopes turned to ashes. Isn't this dreadful? I have never been a mother; but I think I can imagine what it would be if I had a son--a son petted, idolized, even madly worshipped. He represents, so to speak, an incarnation or embodiment of my life's dreams, sorrows, tears, sleepless nights, and then, suddenly, occurs a senseless accident. My little son is sitting playing at the window; the nurse turns away for a few minutes, and the child falls out on to the pavement. My dear, my sorrow and indignation can only be compared to this mother's despair. But I am not blaming you."

Romashov was sitting in a very cramped and uncomfortable position, and he was afraid that his heavy head might cause Shurochka pain or discomfort. But he had, however, for hours been used to sitting without moving, and, in a sort of intoxication, listen to the quick and regular beatings of his heart.

"Do you hear what I say?" she asked, stooping down to him.

"Yes, yes--talk, talk. You know I'll do all you wish. Oh, if I could only----"

"No, no; but only listen till I have finished. If you kill him or if they prevent him from sitting for the examination, then it is all, all over. That very day I shall cast him off as a worthless thing, and go my own way--where? No matter where. To St. Petersburg, Odessa, Kiev. Don't imagine this is one of those common, untrue, 'penny-novelette' phrases. Cheap effects I despise, and I will spare you them. But I know I am young, intelligent, and well-educated. I am not pretty, but I know the art of catching men far better than all those famous charmers who, at our official balls, receive the prize for beauty in the form of an elegant card-tray or something between a musical-box and an alarum. I can stand in the background; I can, by coldness and contempt, be bitter to myself and others. But I can flame up into a consuming passion and burn like a firework."

Romashov glanced towards the window. His eyes had now begun to be used to the darkness, and he could distinguish the outlines of the framework of the window.