Chapter XXIV
He found them all at home, but he did not at once disclose his plan to them; he wanted to discuss it first with Lisa alone. Fortune favoured him; they were left alone in the drawing-room. They had some talk; she had had time by now to grow used to him—and she was not shy as a rule with any one. He listened to her, watched her, and mentally repeated Lemm's words, and agreed with them. It sometimes happens that two people who are acquainted, but not on intimate terms with one another, all of sudden grow rapidly more intimate in a few minutes, and the consciousness of this greater intimacy is at once expressed in their eyes, in their soft and affectionate smiles, and in their very gestures. This was exactly what came to pass with Lavretsky and Lisa. 'So he is like that,' was her thought, as she turned a friendly glance on him; 'so you are like that,' he too was thinking. And so he was not very much surprised when she informed him, not without a little faltering, however, that she had long wished to say something to him, but she was afraid of offending him.
'Don't be afraid; tell me,' he replied, and stood still before her.
Lisa raised her clear eyes to him.
'You are so good,' she began, and at the same time, she thought: 'Yes, I am sure he is good'... 'you will forgive me, I ought not dare to speak of it to you... but—how could you... why did you separate from your wife?'
Lavretsky shuddered: he looked at Lisa, and sat down near her.
'My child,' he began, 'I beg you, do not touch upon that wound; your hands are tender, but it will hurt me all the same.'
'I know,' Lisa went on, as though she did not hear him, 'she has been to blame towards you. I don't want to defend her; but what God has joined, how can you put asunder?'
'Our convictions on that subject are too different, Lisaveta Mihalovna,' Lavretsky observed, rather sharply; 'we cannot understand one another.'
Lisa grew paler: her whole frame was trembling slightly; but she was not silenced.
'You must forgive,' she murmured softly, 'if you wish to be forgiven.'
'Forgive!' broke in Lavretsky. 'Ought you not first to know whom you are interceding for? Forgive that woman, take her back into my home, that empty, heartless creature! And who told you she wants to return to me? She is perfectly contented with her position, I can assure you... But what a subject to discuss here! Her name ought never to be uttered by you. You are too pure, you are not capable of understanding such a creature.
'Why abuse her?' Lisa articulated with an effort. The trembling of her hands was perceptible now. 'You left her yourself, Fedor Ivanitch.'
'But I tell you,' retorted Lavretsky with an involuntary outburst of impatience, 'you don't know what that woman is!'
'Then why did you marry her?' whispered Lisa, and her eyes feel.
Lavretsky got up quickly from his seat.
'Why did I marry her? I was young and inexperienced; I was deceived, I was carried away by a beautiful exterior. I knew no women. I knew nothing. God grant you may make a happier marriage! but let me tell you, you can be sure of nothing.'
'I too might be unhappy,' said Lisa (her voice had begun to be unsteady), 'but then I ought to submit, I don't know how to say it; but if we do not submit'—
Lavretsky clenched his hands and stamped with his foot.
'Don't be angry, forgive me,' Lisa faltered hurriedly.
At that instant Marya Dmitrievna came in. Lisa got up and was going away.
'Stop a minute,' Lavretsky cried after her unexpectedly. 'I have a great favour to beg of your mother and you; to pay me a visit in my new abode. You know, I have had a piano sent over; Lemm is staying with me; the lilac is in flower now; you will get a breath of country air, and you can return the same day—will you consent?' Lisa looked towards her mother; Marya Dmitrievna was assuming an expression of suffering; but Lavretsky did not give her time to open her mouth; he at once kissed both her hands. Marya Dmitrievna, who was always susceptible to demonstrations of feeling, and did not at all anticipate such effusivements from the 'dolt,' was melted and gave her consent. While she was deliberating which day to fix, Lavretsky went up to Lisa, and, still greatly moved, whispered to her aside: 'Thank you, you are a good girl; I was to blame.' And her pale face glowed with a bright, shy smile; her eyes smiled too—up to that instant she had been afraid she had offended him.
'Vladimir Nikolaitch can come with us?' inquired Marya Dmitrievna.
'Yes,' replied Lavretsky, 'but would it not be better to be just a family party?'
'Well, you know, it seems,' began Marya Dmitrievna. 'But as you please,' she added.
It was decided to take Lenotchka and Shurotchka. Marfa Timofyevna refused to join in the expedition.
'It is hard for me, my darling,' she said, 'to give my old bones a shaking; and to be sure there's nowhere for me to sleep at your place: besides, I can't sleep in a strange bed. Let the young folks go frolicking.'
Lavretsky did not succeed in being alone again with Lisa; but he looked at her in such a way that she felt her heart at rest, and a little ashamed, and sorry for him. He pressed her hand warmly at parting; left alone, she fell to musing.
Chapter XXV
When Lavretsky reached home, he was met at the door of the drawing-room by a tall, thin man, in a thread- bare blue coat, with a wrinkled, but lively face, with disheveled grey whiskers, a long straight nose, and small fiery eyes. This was Mihalevitch, who had been his friend at the university. Lavretsky did not at first recognise him, but embraced him warmly directly he told his name.
They had not met since their Moscow days. Torrents of exclamations and questions followed; long-buried recollections were brought to light. Hurriedly smoking pipe after pipe, tossing off tea at a gulp, and gesticulating with his long hands, Mihalevitch related his adventures to Lavretsky; there was nothing very inspiriting in them, he could not boast of success in his undertakings—but he was constantly laughing a hoarse, nervous laugh. A month previously he had received a position in the private counting-house of a spirit-tax contractor, two hundred and fifty miles from the town of O——-, and hearing of Lavretsky returned from abroad he had turned out of his way so as to see his old friend. Mihalevitch and talked as impetuously as in his youth; made as much noise and was as effervescent as of old. Lavretsky was about to acquaint him with his new position, but Mihalevitch interrupted him, muttering hurriedly, 'I have heard, my dear fellow, I have heard—who could have anticipated it?' and at once turned the conversation upon general subjects.
'I must set off to-morrow, my dear fellow,' he observed; 'to-day if you will excuse it, we will sit up late. I want above all to know what you are like, what are your views and convictions, what you have become, what life has taught you.' (Mihalevitch still preserved the phraseology of 1830.) 'As for me, I have changed in much; the waves of life have broken over my breast—who was it said that?—though in what is important, essential I have not changed; I believe as of old in the good, the true: but I do not only believe—I have faith now, yes, I have faith, faith. Listen, you know I write verses; there is no poetry in them, but there is truth. I will read you aloud my last poem; I have expressed my truest convictions in it. Listen.' Mihalevitch fell to reading his poem: it was rather long, and ended with the following lines:
'I gave myself to new feelings with all my heart,
And my soul became as a child's!
And I have burnt all I adored
And now adore all that I burnt.'
As he uttered the two last lines, Mihalevitch all but shed tears; a slight spasm—the sign of deep emotion—