‘‘No, it’s impossible. Even if Ivan Andreich were to beg me on his knees, even then I would refuse.’’
Marya Konstantinovna sat silently on the sofa for a moment, sad, serious, looking at a single point, then got up and said coldly:
‘‘Good-bye, my dear! Excuse me for having troubled you. Though it’s not easy for me, I must tell you that from this day on, everything is over between us, and despite my deepest respect for Ivan Andreich, the door of my house is closed to you.’’
She uttered it with solemnity and was crushed herself by her solemn tone; her face trembled again, took on a soft almond-butter expression; she held out both hands to the frightened and abashed Nadezhda Fyodorovna and said imploringly:
‘‘My dear, allow me at least for one minute to be your mother or an older sister! I’ll be open with you, like a mother.’’
Nadezhda Fyodorovna felt such warmth, joy, and compassion for herself in her breast, as though it really was her mother, risen from the dead, who stood before her. She embraced Marya Konstantinovna impulsively and pressed her face to her shoulder. They both wept. They sat down on the sofa and sobbed for a few minutes, not looking at each other and unable to utter a single word.
‘‘My dear, my child,’’ Marya Konstantinovna began, ‘‘I shall tell you some stern truths, without sparing you.’’
‘‘Do, do, for God’s sake!’’
‘‘Trust me, my dear. You remember, of all the local ladies, I was the only one to receive you. You horrified me from the very first day, but I was unable to treat you with scorn, like everyone else. I suffered for dear, kind Ivan Andreich as for a son. A young man in a strange land, inexperienced, weak, with no mother, and I was tormented, tormented... My husband was against making his acquaintance, but I talked him into it... I persuaded him... We began to receive Ivan Andreich, and you with him, of course, otherwise he would have been insulted. I have a daughter, a son... You understand, the tender mind of a child, the pure heart ... and whosoever shall offend one of these little ones25 ... I received you and trembled for my children. Oh, when you’re a mother, you’ll understand my fear. And everyone was surprised that I received you, forgive me, as a respectable woman, people hinted to me ... well, of course, there was gossip, speculation... Deep in my soul, I condemned you, but you were unhappy, pathetic, extravagant, and I suffered out of pity.’’
‘‘But why? Why?’’ asked Nadezhda Fyodorovna, trembling all over. ‘‘What have I done to anyone?’’
‘‘You’re a terrible sinner. You broke the vow you gave your husband at the altar. You seduced an excellent young man who, if he hadn’t met you, might have taken himself a lawful life’s companion from a good family of his circle, and he would now be like everybody else. You’ve ruined his youth. Don’t speak, don’t speak, my dear! I will not believe that a man can be to blame for our sins. The women are always to blame. In everyday domestic life, men are frivolous, they live by their minds, not their hearts, there’s much they don’t understand, but a woman understands everything. Everything depends on her. Much is given her, and much will be asked of her. Oh, my dear, if she were stupider or weaker than man in this respect, God wouldn’t have entrusted her with the upbringing of little boys and girls. And then, dearest, you entered upon the path of vice, forgetting all shame; another woman in your position would have hidden herself from people, would have sat locked up at home, and people would have seen her only in God’s church, pale, dressed all in black, weeping, and each would say with sincere contrition: ‘God, this is a sinful angel returning to you again...’ But you, my dear, forgot all modesty, you lived openly, extravagantly, as if you were proud of your sin, you frolicked, you laughed, and looking at you, I trembled with horror, fearing lest a thunderbolt from heaven strike our house while you were sitting with us. My dear, don’t speak, don’t speak!’’ Marya Konstantinovna cried, noticing that Nadezhda Fyodorovna was about to speak. ‘‘Trust me, I won’t deceive you, and I won’t conceal a single truth from the eyes of your soul. Listen to me, then, dearest... God marks great sinners, and you have been marked. Remember, your dresses have always been awful!’’
Nadezhda Fyodorovna, who had always had the highest opinion of her dresses, stopped crying and looked at her in astonishment.
‘‘Yes, awful!’’ Marya Konstantinovna went on. ‘‘Anyone could judge your behavior by the refinement and showiness of your clothes. Everyone chuckled and shrugged, looking at you, but I suffered, suffered... And forgive me, my dear, but you are slovenly! When I met you in the bathing cabin, you made me tremble. Your dress was still so-so, but the petticoat, the chemise ... my dear, I blush! Poor Ivan Andreich has no one to tie his necktie properly, and by the poor man’s linen and boots, one can see that no one looks after him at home. And you always keep him hungry, my darling, and indeed, if there’s no one at home to see to the coffee and the samovar, willy-nilly, one spends half one’s salary in the pavilion. And your home is simply terrible, terrible! Nobody in the whole town has flies, but you can’t get rid of them, the plates and saucers are black. On the windows and tables, just look—dust, dead flies, glasses... What are the glasses doing here? And my dear, your table still hasn’t been cleared yet. It’s a shame to go into your bedroom: underwear lying about, those various rubber things of yours hanging on the walls, certain vessels standing about... My dear! A husband should know nothing, and a wife should be as pure as a little angel before him! I wake up every morning at the first light and wash my face with cold water, so that my Nikodim Alexandrych won’t see me looking sleepy.’’
‘‘That’s all trifles,’’ Nadezhda Fyodorovna burst into sobs. ‘‘If only I were happy, but I’m so unhappy!’’
‘‘Yes, yes, you’re very unhappy!’’ Marya Konstantinovna sighed, barely keeping herself from crying. ‘‘And awful grief awaits you in the future! A lonely old age, illnesses, and then your answer before the dread Judgment Seat26... Terrible, terrible! Now fate itself is offering you a helping hand, and you senselessly push it aside. Get married, get married quickly!’’
‘‘Yes, I must, I must,’’ said Nadezhda Fyodorovna, ‘‘but it’s impossible!’’
‘‘Why so?’’
‘‘Impossible! Oh, if you only knew!’’
Nadezhda Fyodorovna was going to tell her about Kirilin, and about how she had met the young, handsome Atchmianov on the pier the previous evening, and how the crazy, funny thought had come into her head of getting rid of her three-hundred-rouble debt, she had found it very funny, and had returned home late at night, feeling irretrievably fallen and sold. She did not know how it happened herself. And now she was about to swear before Marya Konstantinovna that she would repay the debt without fail, but sobs and shame prevented her from speaking.
‘‘I’ll go away,’’ she said. ‘‘Ivan Andreich can stay, and I’ll go away.’’
‘‘Where?’’
‘‘To Russia.’’
