“Why do you drive me away, Viérotchka? It is pleasant for me here,” and he tries to say these words, and he succeeds in saying these words, in a natural and jocular tone.
“No, go away, my dear; you have done enough for me. Go, and get rested.”
He kisses her, and she forgets her thoughts, and again it is sweet and easy for her to breathe.
“Thank you, dear,” she says.
And Kirsánof is perfectly happy. The struggle has been pretty hard this time, but how much inward satisfaction it afforded him! and this satisfaction will never pass away, though the struggle will soon be over; but it will warm his heart for a long day, till the end of his life. He is honorable. Yes, he has harmonized them; yes, in reality, he has brought them into harmony. Kirsánof is lying on his sofa; he is smoking and thinking, “Be honest, that means be prudent; don’t make any miscalculation; remember the axiom: remember that the whole is greater than any of its parts; that is, that your human nature is stronger, is more important for you than every other individual tendency; and therefore treasure its benefits above those which may come from any separate tendency of thine, if they prove to be anyway inconsistent with the whole, and that’s all; and that means be honest, and all will be well. One rule, and how commonplace it is, and that is the whole result of science; and that completely fills the volume of the laws of a happy life. Yes, happy are those who are born with the capability of understanding this simple rule. In this respect, I am very fortunate. Of course I am very much indebted to training, more probably than to nature. But gradually it will develop into a general rule, which will be the result of the universal training and circumstances of life. Yes, then it will be easy for everybody to live in this world, just as it is for me now. Yes, I am satisfied; yet I must go and call on them. I have not been there for three weeks; it’s time, even though it may be unpleasant for me. I am not drawn there any more at all; but it’s time. Some of these days I will stop in there for half an hour, or would it not be better to postpone it for a month? It seems to me that I can. Yes, my retreat has been well managed; my maneuvers are at an end; I have passed from their sight, and now they will not notice whether it’s three weeks or three months since I have been to call on them. And it is agreeable to think, when you are away, about people towards whom you have acted uprightly. Now I shall rest on my laurels.”
And Lopukhóf in two or three days later still, also after dinner, comes into Viérotchka’s room, takes his wife in his arms and carries her to her ottoman in his room. “Rest here, dear!” And he takes delight in looking at her. She fell asleep smiling; he is sitting and reading; and she opened her eyes and thinks:—
“How his room is decorated! there is nothing in it except what is absolutely necessary. Yet he has his own tastes; there’s a big box of cigars, which I gave him last year; he has not opened it yet; it’s waiting its time. Yes, it’s his only pleasure, his own only luxury—cigars. No, he has no other—the photograph of that old man; what a splendid face that old man has! what a mixture of kindness and vigilance in his eyes and in the whole expression of his face! what trouble Dmitri took to get this photograph! for Owen’s photographs are not to be had. He wrote three letters, two of his letters did not reach the old man; the third one reached him, and how long he tormented him before he succeeded in getting this really superb photograph, and how happy Dmitri was when he got it, together with a letter from the ‘Saintly old man,’ as he calls him, in which Owen, as he says, praised him. And here is still another luxury: my portrait; half a year he laid up money for the sake of getting a good artist, and how he and the young artist bothered me. Two pictures and that’s all. Would it cost much to buy a few engravings and photographs just as I have in my room? And he has no flowers, while I have quantities in my room. Why shouldn’t he like flowers as well as I do? Is it because I am a woman? What nonsense! Or is it because he is a serious and scientific man? But Kirsánof has flowers and engravings, and he too is a serious, scientific man. And why does he hate to give up his time to me? I know that it costs him a real effort! Is it because he is a serious, scientific man? But here’s Kirsánof. No! no! he’s kind, kind! he has done everything for me, he is always ready to do anything to gratify me. Who can love me as he does? And I love him and I am ready for anything for his sake—”
“Viérotchka! you are not sleeping, dear!”
“My mílenki, why haven’t you any flowers in your room?”
“Very well, dearest,41 I will get some tomorrow. It simply did not occur to me that it was a good thing. But it is very nice.”
“And what was it that I wanted to ask you about besides? Oh, yes! do get some photographs; or rather, I’m going to buy you some flowers and photographs.”
“Then they will surely be agreeable to me. I like them for themselves, but then they will be still more delightful to me. But, Viérotchka, you are
