Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) (301 page)

When I had fallen out of favour, and Michel did not think it necessary to disguise his contempt for Mr. Ratsch and his sympathy with me, the latter suddenly redoubled his severity with me; he was continually following me about, as though I were capable of any crime, and must be sharply looked after. ‘You mind what I say,’ he shouted, bursting without knocking into my room, in muddy boots and with his cap on his head; ‘I won’t put up with such goings on! I won’t stand your stuck - up airs! You’re not going to impose on me. I’ll break your proud spirit.’

And accordingly, one morning he informed me that the decree had gone forth from Semyon Matveitch that I was not to appear at the dinner - table for the future without special invitation.... I don’t know how all this would have ended if it had not been for an event which was the final turning - point of my destiny....

Michel was passionately fond of horses. He took it into his head to break in a young horse, which went well for a while, then began kicking and flung him out of the sledge.... He was brought home unconscious, with a broken arm and bruises on his chest. His father was panic - stricken; he sent for the best doctors from the town. They did a great deal for Michel; but he had to lie down for a month. He did not play cards, the doctor forbade him to talk, and it was awkward for him to read, holding the book up in one hand all the while. It ended by Semyon Matveitch sending me in to his son, in my old capacity of reader.

Then followed hours I can never forget! I used to go in to Michel directly after dinner, and sit at a little round table in the half - darkened window. He used to be lying down in a little room out of the drawing - room, at the further end, on a broad leather sofa in the Empire style, with a gold bas - relief on its high, straight back. The bas - relief represented a marriage procession among the ancients. Michel’s head, thrown a little back on the pillow, always moved at once, and his pale face turned towards me: he smiled, his whole face brightened, he flung back his soft, damp curls, and said to me softly, ‘Good - morning, my kind sweet girl.’ I took up the book — Walter Scott’s novels were at the height of their fame in those days — the reading of Ivanhoe has left a particularly vivid recollection in my mind.... I could not help my voice thrilling and quivering as I gave utterance to Rebecca’s speeches. I, too, had Jewish blood, and was not my lot like hers? Was I not, like Rebecca, waiting on a sick man, dear to me? Every time I removed my eyes from the page and lifted them to him, I met his eyes with the same soft, bright smile over all his face. We talked very little; the door into the drawing - room was invariably open and some one was always sitting there; but whenever it was quiet there, I used, I don’t know why, to cease reading and look intently at Michel, and he looked at me, and we both felt happy then and, as it were, glad and shamefaced, and everything, everything we told each other then without a gesture or a word! Alas! our hearts came together, ran to meet each other, as underground streams flow together, unseen, unheard... and irresistibly.

‘Can you play chess or draughts?’ he asked me one day.

‘I can play chess a little,’ I answered.

‘That’s good. Tell them to bring a chess - board and push up the table.’

I sat down beside the sofa, my heart was throbbing, I did not dare glance at Michel,... Yet from the window, across the room, how freely I had gazed at him!

I began to set the chessmen... My fingers shook.

‘I suggested it... not for the game,’... Michel said in an undertone, also setting the pieces, ‘but to have you nearer me.’

I made no answer, but, without asking which should begin, moved a pawn... Michel did not move in reply... I looked at him. His head was stretched a little forward; pale all over, with imploring eyes he signed towards my hand...

Whether I understood him... I don’t remember, but something instantaneously whirled into my head.... Hesitating, scarcely breathing, I took up the knight and moved it right across the board. Michel bent down swiftly, and catching my fingers with his lips, and pressing them against the board, he began noiselessly and passionately kissing them.... I had no power, I had no wish to draw them back; with my other hand I hid my face, and tears, as I remember now, cold but blissful... oh, what blissful tears!... dropped one by one on the table. Ah, I knew, with my whole heart I felt at that moment, all that he was who held my hand in his power! I knew that he was not a boy, carried away by a momentary impulse, not a Don Juan, not a military Lovelace, but one of the noblest, the best of men... and he loved me!

‘Oh, my Susanna!’ I heard Michel whisper, ‘I will never make you shed other tears than these.’

He was wrong... he did.

But what use is there in dwelling on such memories... especially, especially now?

Michel and I swore to belong to each other. He knew that Semyon Matveitch would never let him marry me, and he did not conceal it from me. I had no doubt about it myself and I rejoiced, not that he did not deceive me — he
could not
deceive — but that he did not try to delude himself. For myself I asked for nothing, and would have followed where and how he chose. ‘You shall be my wife,’ he repeated to me. ‘I am not Ivanhoe; I know that happiness is not with Lady Rowena.’

Michel soon regained his health. I could not continue going to see him, but everything was decided between us. I was already entirely absorbed in the future; I saw nothing of what was passing around me, as though I were floating on a glorious, calm, but rushing river, hidden in mist. But we were watched, we were being spied upon. Once or twice I noticed my stepfather’s malignant eyes, and heard his loathsome laugh.... But that laugh, those eyes as it were emerged for an instant from the mist... I shuddered, but forgot it directly, and surrendered myself again to the glorious, swift river...

On the day before the departure of Michel — we had planned together that he was to turn back secretly on the way and fetch me — I received from him through his trusted valet a note, in which he asked me to meet him at half - past nine in the summer billiard - room, a large, low - pitched room, built on to the big house in the garden. He wrote to me that he absolutely must speak with me and arrange things. I had twice already met Michel in the billiard - room... I had the key of the outer door. As soon as it struck half - past nine I threw a warm wrap over my shoulders, stepped quietly out of the lodge, and made my way successfully over the crackling snow to the billiard - room. The moon, wrapped in vapour, stood a dim blur just over the ridge of the roof, and the wind whistled shrilly round the corner of the wall. A shiver passed over me, but I put the key into the lock, went into the room, closed the door behind me, turned round... A dark figure became visible against one of the walls, took a couple of steps forward, stopped...

‘Michel,’ I whispered.

‘Michel is locked up by my orders, and this is I!’ answered a voice, which seemed to rend my heart...

Before me stood Semyon Matveitch!

I was rushing to escape, but he clutched at my arm.

‘Where are you off to, vile hussy?’ he hissed. ‘You ‘re quite equal to stolen interviews with young fools, so you’ll have to be equal to the consequences.’

I was numb with horror, but still struggled towards the door... In vain! Like iron hooks the ringers of Semyon Matveitch held me tight.

‘Let me go, let me go,’ I implored at last.

‘I tell you you shan’t stir!’

Semyon Matveitch forced me to sit down. In the half - darkness I could not distinguish his face. I had turned away from him too, but I heard him breathing hard and grinding his teeth. I felt neither fear nor despair, but a sort of senseless amazement... A captured bird, I suppose, is numb like that in the claws of the kite... and Semyon Matveitch’s hand, which still held me as fast, crushed me like some wild, ferocious claw....

‘Aha!’ he repeated; ‘aha! So this is how it is... so it’s come to this... Ah, wait a bit!’

I tried to get up, but he shook me with such violence that I almost shrieked with pain, and a stream of abuse, insult, and menace burst upon me...

‘Michel, Michel, where are you? save me,’ I moaned.

Semyon Matveitch shook me again... That time I could not control myself... I screamed.

That seemed to have some effect on him. He became a little quieter, let go my arm, but remained where he was, two steps from me, between me and the door.

A few minutes passed... I did not stir; he breathed heavily as before.

‘Sit still,’ he began at last, ‘and answer me. Let me see that your morals are not yet utterly corrupt, and that you are still capable of listening to the voice of reason. Impulsive folly I can overlook, but stubborn obstinacy — never! My son...’ there was a catch in his breath... ‘Mihail Semyonitch has promised to marry you? Hasn’t he? Answer me! Has he promised, eh?’

I answered, of course, nothing. Semyon Matveitch was almost flying into fury again.

‘I take your silence as a sign of assent,’ he went on, after a brief pause. ‘And so you were plotting to be my daughter - in - law? A pretty notion! But you’re not a child of four years old, and you must be fully aware that young boobies are never sparing of the wildest promises, if only they can gain their ends... but to say nothing of that, could you suppose that I — a noble gentleman of ancient family, Semyon Matveitch Koltovsky — would ever give my consent to such a marriage? Or did you mean to dispense with the parental blessing?... Did you mean to run away, get married in secret, and then come back, go through a nice little farce, throw yourself at my feet, in the hope that the old man will be touched.... Answer me, damn you!’

I only bent my head. He could kill me, but to force me to speak — that was not in his power.

He walked up and down a little.

‘Come, listen to me,’ he began in a calmer voice. ‘You mustn’t think... don’t imagine... I see one must talk to you in a different manner. Listen; I understand your position. You are frightened, upset.... Pull yourself together. At this moment I must seem to you a monster... a despot. But put yourself in my position too; how could I help being indignant, saying too much? And for all that I have shown you that I am not a monster, that I too have a heart. Remember how I treated you on my arrival here and afterwards till... till lately... till the illness of Mihail Semyonitch. I don’t wish to boast of my beneficence, but I should have thought simple gratitude ought to have held you back from the slippery path on which you were determined to enter!’

Semyon Matveitch walked to and fro again, and standing still patted me lightly on the arm, on the very arm which still ached from his violence, and was for long after marked with blue bruises.

‘To be sure,’ he began again, ‘we’re headstrong... just a little headstrong! We don’t care to take the trouble to think, we don’t care to consider what our advantage consists in and where we ought to seek it. You ask me: where that advantage lies? You’ve no need to look far.... It’s, maybe, close at hand.... Here am I now. As a father, as head of the family I am bound to be particular.... It’s my duty. But I’m a man at the same time, and you know that very well. Undoubtedly I’m a practical person and of course cannot tolerate any sentimental nonsense; expectations that are quite inconsistent with everything, you must of course dismiss from your mind for really what sense is there in them? — not to speak of the immorality of such a proceeding.... You will assuredly realise all this yourself, when you have thought it over a little. And I say, simply and straightforwardly, I wouldn’t confine myself to what I have done for you. I have always been prepared — and I am still prepared — to put your welfare on a sound footing, to guarantee you a secure position, because I know your value, I do justice to your talents, and your intelligence, and in fact... (here Semyon Matveitch stooped down to me a little)... you have such eyes that, I confess... though I am not a young man, yet to see them quite unmoved... I understand... is not an easy matter, not at all an easy matter.’

These words sent a chill through me. I could scarcely believe my ears. For the first minute I fancied that Semyon Matveitch meant to bribe me to break with Michel, to pay me ‘compensation.’... But what was he saying? My eyes had begun to get used to the darkness and I could make out Semyon Matveitch’s face. It was smiling, that old face, and he was walking to and fro with little steps, fidgeting restlessly before me....

‘Well, what do you say,’ he asked at last, ‘does my offer please you?’

‘Offer?’... I repeated unconsciously,... I simply did not understand a word.