possession—but of her intelligence, her will, and must make
her tastes, her disposition subject to your own, so that she
may look at things with your eyes, think with your brain.'
' That means, make her a doll, or the silent slave of her
_ husband !' interposed Alexandr.
' Why ? You must manage so that she shall lose nothing of her character and dignity as a woman. Allow her liberty of action in her own sphere, but let your shrewd wit keep watch over her every action, every breath, every step, so that the husband's eye, ever wakeful—however outwardly indifferent—may note every passing emotion, every whim, every germ of feeling, everywhere and always. Establish— without her observing it—a perpetual control over her without any kind of tyrannising, and lead her into the ways you
desire Oh, a wonderful and difficult training is wanted,
and the best training is—a husband of intelligence and experience—that's where it all is!'
He coughed significantly and tossed off a glass at one draught.
' Then,' he continued, ' a husband can sleep in peace when his wife is not beside him, or can sit with his mind at rest in his study while she is asleep/'
' Since I see, uncle,' continued Alexandr, ' that you sit with mind at rest in your study while my aunt is asleep, I surmise that the husband is '
' Sh, sh ! be quiet,' 7 his uncle began to say, lifting his hand; ' it's a good thing my wife's asleep, but '
At this moment the door of the study began very quietly to open, but no one was visible.
' But the wife,' said a woman's voice in the corridor, i ' must not show that she understands her husband's grand •. system of training and must set up a little system of her , own, without chattering about it over a bottle of wine.'
Both the Adouevs rushed to the door, but a sound of quick steps, of fluttering skirts came from the corridor, and all was still again.
The uncle and nephew looked at one another.
'What do you say now, uncle? ' asked the nephew, after a pause.
'What, nothing!' said Piotr Ivanitch, knitting his brows. ' I have chosen a bad time to boast! Learn, Alexandr, that it's better not to marry, or else choose a fool; you'll not be a match for a clever woman: it's a difficult task to train her!'
He fell into thought, then clapped his hand to his brow.
' How came I not to consider that she would know of your visit so late ? ' he said with annoyance, ' that a woman will never sleep when there's a secret between two men in the next room, that she'd be certain either to send her maid or come herself .... not to have foreseen it! stupidity ! and it's all your doing, and this cursed glass of Lafitte! I've been blabbing! What a lesson from a girl of twenty . . . .'
' You're uneasy, uncle!'
' What is there to be uneasy about ? not much ! I have
made a mistake, I must not lose my self-possession, but must extricate myself skilfully.'
He grew thoughtful again.
' She was boasting,' he began again, ' what sort of training could she use ? no, that could not be in her power; she is young ! she only said that .... from irritation; but now she has discovered this magic circle, she too will begin to play a part .... oh, I know a woman's nature ! But we shall see.''
He smiled confidently and cheerfully, and his brow grew smooth again.
'What were we talking of? oh yes, I think you were wanting to murder your—what's-her-name ? '
' I despise her from the depths of my soul,' said Alexandr, with a heavy sigh.
' There, you see ! you're already halfway to recovery. But is that the truth ? you are still angry, I fancy; you will very likely go back there again.'
'What an idea! after this.'
u Men do go back after more than that! your word of honour now—not to go ? '
' On my word of honour then.'
' Well, then.'
' If we '
' I will tell you then there's nothing to despise her for.'
'Nothing to despise her for! no, uncle, that's beyond everything ! The Count, he did not know! but she ! Who is to blame then ? I ? '
' Well, almost so, but in reality no one is to blame. Tell me, why do you despise her?'
' For her base conduct.'
'In what does it consist?'
'In repaying with ingratitude a lofty, an unbounded passion.'
'What has gratitude to do with it? did you love her for her sake, to oblige her ? did you want to do her a service, eh ? According to that you should have loved your mother a little better.'
Alexandr looked at him and did not know what to say.
' You ought not to have displayed your feeling in its full strength before her; a woman begins to grow cool when a man comes out altogether. You ought to have found out
A
her character and behaved in accordance with it, and not have lain down at her feet like a dog. How is one to get on without understanding the companion with whom you have to do in any relation ? You would have seen then that you must not expect more from her. She had played her romance with you to the end, just as she is playing it with the Count, and as she very likely will play it again with some one else; she cannot go deeper or further! that's not in such a nature; and God only knows what you are expecting.'
' But why did she love another?' interposed Alexandr with bitterness.
' What a crime you have discovered ! what a sensible question ! Ah, you primitive creature ! Why did you love her ? Come, get over loving her as easily!'
' Does it depend on me ? '
'Well, then, did her loving the Count depend on her? You maintained yourself that the impulses of the heart ought not to be held in check, but as soon as you are touched by it yourself then you ask why did she love him ! Why did so-and-so die ? Why did what's-her-name go out of her mind ? how is one to answer such questions? Love must end some time; it can't last for ever.'
' .Oh, I will be revenged on her!' said Alexandr.
' You are ungrateful,' continued Piotr Ivanitch, ' it's too bad ! Remember that for a year and a half you have been ready to fall on every one's neck with joy, and haven't known what to do for happiness ! a year and a half of unbroken pleasure ! Whatever you say—you are ungrateful!'
' Ah, uncle, for me there was nothing in the world so sacred as love—life without her is not life!'
'Ah!' Piotr Ivanitch,. broken with vexation, ' I am sick of listening to such nonsense !'
'I could have worshipped Nadinka,' continued Alexandr, ' and I would not have grudged her any happiness in the world; I had dreamed of spending my whole life with Nadinka—and what has happened ? What has become of that sublime, immense passion of which I dreamed ? it has been transformed into a stupid petty comedy of sighs and scenes—jealousy, lying, and hypocrisy — oh, my God!'
' Why did you imagine what does not happen ? Didn't I
^
A COMMON STORY 141
tell you plainly that up to now you have been trying to live a kind of life that's never possible ? According to you a man's only business was to be a lover, a husband, father . . . . and of anything else you won't even hear. Man is something beyond this; he is a citizen as well, and has a calling, an occupation of some kind—he's an author, a landowner, a soldier, an official, or a manufacturer. You have read novels, and listened to your auntie out there in the wilds, and have come up here full of these ideas. You still imagined— a sublime passion.
' Yes, sublime !'
' Oh, please, stop ! is a sublime passion possible ? '
