coachman bringing Grushenka the message that she was to take the carriage and meet him at a certain place to which he would ride on horseback. Grushenka had been sitting under a big chestnut tree in the garden, busy with some embroidery. She got into the carriage in her simple house dress without bothering to change or to take a hat. The destination named by the coachman was on the estate and not very far off. The coach drove with great' speed over the rough country ways. A few times the coachman turned his round, kind face back to her with a look in his eyes which she understood only afterwards. After covering a few miles they met a huge traveling coach. The coachman stopped, so did the traveling coach. Two men stepped quickly out, jumped at Grushenka, bound her and gagged her, threw her into the traveling coach and went off with her.
Grushenka was in a daze. Her own coachman, who naturally should have defended his mistress, had not even looked around. There was no doubt about it, this was a plot. Her abductors had put a kerchief over her head and resistance was impossible. The coach drove on for miles and miles. When the carriage stopped she was forced out, made to go up some stairs, bound to a chair, and then the kerchief was removed from her face. She sat in a well- furnished room, apparently a room of an expensive inn. Her abductors left immediately and she heard them report in the next room that she was safely delivered. Two elderly gentlemen, well-dressed aristocrats, one with snow white hair, entered. They looked sternly at her, especially the older one, who scrutinized her with hard, unkind looks. “So this is the vixen who has bewitched him,” the first broke the silence. “Well, we'll attend to her”-and such anger was in his tone that the other interfered. “We won't make any headway that way,” he said. “Leave her to me and everything will come out all right.” Then he addressed Grushenka, who sat anxious and fearful. “Are you the wife of Baron Mihail Stieven? When and where did you marry him?” “Who are you?” responded Grushenka. “What right have you to ask me-and I am not his wife anyway.'' She added this because she felt fear. “Not his wife?” began the man again. “Well, aren't you living with him?”
“I love him and he loves me and we can do what we want, can't we?” “Now look here, young woman, this is a matter of grave concern. This man is Mihail's father. Rumors have come to him that his son married secretly. Of course, he was interested in who his daughter-in-law was. Information came to us easily from the serfs of the estate. It's not Mihail's estate, remember, but his father's, and that is why the coachman abducted you today. We have also checked up on your past. That was not hard either. The Countess suspected that it was you who had eloped with Mihail. The girls told us that you had been bought through Madame Laura, who in turn brought us in touch with Marta. She knew all about you. You are nothing but a run-away serf from the Sokolov estate. You've tricked the unsuspecting Mihail, who is only a boy. He would not have lived with you as his wife if he had known that you were only a runaway serf whom we shall turn over to the police. Now confess: when and where did he marry you and what priest performed the ceremony? We have means to make you speak,” he added threateningly. Grushenka felt her hands get numb. She straightened herself up as well as she could and answered with dignity. She had never deceived her beloved Mihail; she had never married him, not even thought of it. He himself had given her a lift when she had fled from Madame Sophia. She loved him dearly and knew very well that he was much too aristocratic and good for her. She was willing to become the serf of Mihail's father of her own free will, if only he would allow her to live near her lover. Her words came unexpectedly to the elderly gentlemen. They seemed to be true and her arguments had weight. The two men had a lengthy discussion in French, which Grushenka did not understand. Mihail's father still seemed incensed, but the other man was more friendly. He proved this by cutting the strings with which she was tied without warning her not to run away. Finally Mihail's father spoke to her. “I have other plans for my son and I will not allow you ever to see him again. That is final and he will acquiesce to it, because he does what I say. You can choose your own fate. If you are willing to make a sacrifice and stay away from him, I'll take care of you. If not, I'll turn you over to the authorities, to Mihail's and your own ruin. For his mistress and bed-fellow will be whipped naked in a public place. She will be branded with an iron and sent to Siberia, as is becoming to a serf who deserts his rightful master. Take your choice.”
Grushenka cried. She cried for her lover. The men left her alone and locked the door. When the friend of Mihail's father came back to persuade her, he found that she had made her resolution. Of course she could not spoil the future career of Mihail. She was willing to give him up, and, when she was told that she could not even say goodbye to him, she acquiesced to that also. She was allowed to write him a letter, and she put into her awkward handwriting all the love and good wishes she had in her heart, telling him at the end that he should obey his father. Whether he ever received this letter is a question. The men had supper with her in her room. She was unable to eat, but she managed to sit with them and to speak a little. They looked at her now with other eyes; they found her beautiful and enticing and the friend of Mihail's father remarked that he was punishing his son severely by taking such a lovely companion from him.
But the old man remained firm and announced what her fate would be. She had to leave Russia immediately. Traveling clothes would be provided for her, also her passport. Trusted servants would accompany her to the frontier. The Baron advised her to open a hairdressing salon or a gownshop with the ample money which he would give her. Also that if she ever tried to get in touch with his son again, he would see to it that she'd die under the knout. This was spoken by a man who had the power to do what he said and whose vengeance would surely follow her if she broke faith. Grushenka understood only too well.
Fate had taken happiness from her. She had been born a serf; the mighty decided her fate and her tears were not a weapon with which to fight against their will.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Grushenka's trip through Europe is a history in itself, and cannot be retold here. She was young and beautiful, but sad. She had an abundant amount of money, or so at least it seemed to herself. She gave the impression of one of those travelling Russians so well known at that time for their unlimited orgies. Instead of settling down somewhere, she moved restlessly on until she came to Rome. This city impressed her greatly with its splendor and gaiety.
With the Russian ability for languages, she learned to speak Italian easily. She mixed with all kinds of company; with artists and students; with kept women, and, now and then, even with society.
After she had gotten over the blow which had struck her, she plunged into countless love-intrigues. But she always was dissatisfied with the men or women with whom she went to bed because her Russian strength and vigor surpassed the ability and appetites of her bed-fellows. She indulged in utter sentimentality or brutal orgies.
More than once she came into conflict with the police when she had aroused the neighborhood in a drunken frenzy or beaten up her maids in true Russian style. The whip was at that time in use all over the civilized world, but the Italian girls who now served her had a finer constitution than the Russian farmer girls and often fainted under her reckless tortures. Her good rubles, however, got her out of every scrape, and the “wild Russian girl” soon was a familiar figure in the by-ways of old Rome. Drinking and gambling and whoring soon exhausted her purse. She took the ancient way out taken by all Eves; she became a kept woman, ruining her lovers in a short time with her recklessness. Working for a procurer who catered to strangers of the upper class, she again came into conflict with the authorities. As a result she fled to Nuremberg, which at that time had a flourishing Italian colony. But there she could find neither the customers nor the money which she had been accustomed to in Rome. She therefore married a humble German master-baker, but ran away from him without a divorce when his love-shaft became exhausted after the honeymoon.
Meanwhile her longing to return to Russia had never ceased, and now-she was twenty-seven years of age- she made up her mind to go back.
Her affair with Mihail, whom she still carried in her heart, would certainly be forgotten by both him and his father. She resolved to open up a modiste shop in Moscow -one like Madame Laura had. She was adventurous enough now not to care where the money came from to start such an enterprise. Thus she stole what she could from her German husband, fitted herself out with an elegant traveling dress and, made up as a woman of the world, soon crossed the Russian border.
To give herself a good front, she carried many a big trunk, although they were filled only with stones. When she reached the gates of Moscow in a public stage coach, she got out and kissed the walls of the huge gateway. So happy was she to be back home.
