The next day, Lavretzky went to the morning service. Liza was already in the church when he arrived. She observed him, although she did not turn toward him. She prayed devoutly; her eyes sparkled softly, her head bent and rose softly. He felt that she was praying for him also,--and a wonderful emotion filled his soul. He felt happy, and somewhat conscience-stricken. The decorously-standing congregation, the familiar faces, the melodious chanting, the odour of the incense, the long, slanting rays of light from the windows, the very gloom of the walls and vaulted roof,--all spoke to his ear. He had not been in a church for a long time, he had not appealed to G.o.d for a long time: and even now, he did not utter any words of prayer,--he did not even pray without words, but for a moment, at least, if not in body, certainly with all his mind, he prostrated himself and bowed humbly to the very earth. He recalled how, in his childhood, he had prayed in church on every occasion until he became conscious of some one's cool touch on his brow; "this," he had been accustomed to say to himself at that time, "is my guardian-angel accepting me, laying upon me the seal of the chosen." He cast a glance at Liza.... "Thou hast brought me hither," he thought:--"do thou also touch me, touch my soul." She continued to pray in the same calm manner as before; her face seemed to him joyful, and he was profoundly moved once more; he entreated for that other soul--peace, for his own--pardon....

They met in the porch; she greeted him with cheerful and amiable dignity.

The sun brilliantly illuminated the young gra.s.s in the churchyard, and the motley-hued gowns and kerchiefs of the women; the bells of the neighbouring churches were booming aloft; the sparrows were chirping in the hedgerows. Lavretzky stood with head uncovered, and smiled; a light breeze lifted his hair, and the tips of the ribbons on Liza's hat. He put Liza into her carriage, distributed all his small change to the poor, and softly wended his way homeward.

x.x.xII

Difficult days arrived for Feodor Ivanitch. He found himself in a constant fever. Every morning he went to the post-office, with excitement broke the seals of his letters and newspapers,--and nowhere did he find anything which might have confirmed or refuted the fateful rumour.

Sometimes he became repulsive even to himself: "Why am I thus waiting,"--he said to himself, "like a crow for blood, for the sure news of my wife's death?" He went to the Kalitins' every day; but even there he was no more at his ease: the mistress of the house openly sulked at him, received him with condescension; Panshin treated him with exaggerated courtesy; Lemm had become misanthropic, and hardly even bowed to him,--and, chief of all, Liza seemed to avoid him. But when she chanced to be left alone with him, in place of her previous trustfulness, confusion manifested itself in her: she did not know what to say to him, and he himself felt agitation. In the course of a few days, Liza had become quite different from herself as he had previously known her: in her movements, her voice, in her very laugh, a secret trepidation was perceptible, an unevenness which had not heretofore existed. Marya Dmitrievna, like the genuine egoist she was, suspected nothing; but Marfa Timofeevna began to watch her favourite. Lavretzky more than once reproached himself with having shown to Liza the copy of the newspaper which he had received: he could not fail to recognise the fact, that in his spiritual condition there was an element which was perturbing to pure feeling. He also a.s.sumed that the change in Liza had been brought about by her conflict with herself, by her doubts: what answer should she give to Panshin? One day she brought him a book, one of Walter Scott's novels, which she herself had asked of him.

"Have you read this book?"--he asked.

"No; I do not feel in a mood for books now,"--she replied, and turned to go.

"Wait a minute: I have not been alone with you for a long time. You seem to be afraid of me."

"Yes."

"Why so, pray?"

"I do not know."

Lavretzky said nothing for a while.

"Tell me,"--he began:--"you have not yet made up your mind?"

"What do you mean by that?"--she said, without raising her eyes.

"You understand me...."

Liza suddenly flushed up.

"Ask me no questions about anything,"--she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, with vivacity:--"I know nothing, I do not even know myself...." And she immediately beat a retreat.

On the following day, Lavretzky arrived at the Kalitins' after dinner, and found all preparations made to have the All-Night Vigil service held there. In one corner of the dining-room, on a square table, covered with a clean cloth, small holy pictures in gold settings, with tiny, dull brilliants in their halos, were already placed, leaning against the wall.

An old man-servant, in a grey frock-coat and slippers, walked the whole length of the room in a deliberate manner, and without making any noise with his heels, and placed two wax tapers in slender candlesticks in front of the holy images, crossed himself, made a reverence, and softly withdrew. The unlighted drawing-room was deserted. Lavretzky walked down the dining-room, and inquired--was it not some one's Name-day? He was answered, in a whisper, that it was not, but that the Vigil service had been ordered at the desire of Lizaveta Mikhailovna and Marfa Timofeevna; that the intention had been to bring thither the wonder-working _ikona_, but it had gone to a sick person, thirty versts distant. There soon arrived, also, in company with the chanters, the priest, a man no longer young, with a small bald spot, who coughed loudly in the anteroom; the ladies all immediately trooped in single file from the boudoir, and approached to receive his blessing; Lavretzky saluted him in silence; and he returned the salute in silence. The priest stood still for a short time, then cleared his throat again, and asked in a low tone, with a ba.s.s voice:

"Do you command me to proceed?"

"Proceed, batiushka,"--replied Marya Dmitrievna.

He began to vest himself; the chanter obsequiously asked for a live coal; the incense began to diffuse its fragrance. The maids and lackeys emerged from the anteroom and halted in a dense throng close to the door. Roska, who never came down-stairs, suddenly made his appearance in the dining-room: they began to drive him out, and he became confused, turned around and sat down; a footman picked him up and carried him away. The Vigil service began. Lavretzky pressed himself into a corner; his sensations were strange, almost melancholy; he himself was not able clearly to make out what he felt. Marya Dmitrievna stood in front of them all, before an arm-chair; she crossed herself with enervated carelessness, in regular lordly fashion,--now glancing around her, again suddenly casting her eyes upward: she was bored. Marfa Timofeevna seemed troubled; Nastasya Karpovna kept prostrating herself, and rising with a sort of modest, soft rustle; Liza took up her stand, and never stirred from her place, never moved; from the concentrated expression of her countenance, it was possible to divine that she was praying a.s.siduously and fervently. When she kissed the cross, at the end of the service, she also kissed the priest's large, red hand. Marya Dmitrievna invited him to drink tea; he took off his stole, a.s.sumed a rather secular air, and pa.s.sed into the drawing-room with the ladies. A not over animated conversation began. The priest drank four cups of tea, incessantly mopping his bald spot with his handkerchief, and narrated, among other things, that merchant Avoshnikoff had contributed seven hundred rubles to gild the "cupola" of the church, and he also imparted a sure cure for freckles. Lavretzky tried to seat himself beside Liza, but she maintained a severe, almost harsh demeanour, and never once glanced at him; she appeared to be deliberately refraining from noticing him; a certain cold, dignified rapture had descended upon her. For some reason or other, Lavretzky felt inclined to smile uninterruptedly, and say something amusing; but there was confusion in his heart, and he went away at last, secretly perplexed.... He felt that there was something in Liza into which he could not penetrate.

On another occasion, Lavretzky, as he sat in the drawing-room, and listened to the insinuating but heavy chatter of Gedeonovsky, suddenly turned round, without himself knowing why he did so, and caught a deep, attentive, questioning gaze in Liza's eyes.... It was riveted on him, that puzzling gaze, afterward. Lavretzky thought about it all night long. He had not fallen in love in boyish fashion, it did not suit him to sigh and languish, neither did Liza arouse that sort of sentiment; but love has its sufferings at every age,--and he underwent them to the full.

[12] This service, consisting (generally) of Vespers and Matins, can be read in private houses, and even by laymen: whereas, the Liturgy, or Ma.s.s, must be celebrated at a duly consecrated altar, by a duly ordained priest.--Translator.

x.x.xIII

One day, according to his custom, Lavretzky was sitting at the Kalitins'. A fatiguingly-hot day had been followed by so fine an evening, that Marya Dmitrievna, despite her aversion to the fresh air, had ordered all the windows and doors into the garden to be opened, and had announced that she would not play cards, that it was a sin to play cards in such weather, and one must enjoy nature. Panshin was the only visitor. Tuned up by the evening, and unwilling to sing before Lavretzky, yet conscious of an influx of artistic emotions, he turned to poetry: he recited well, but with too much self-consciousness, and with unnecessary subtleties, several of Lermontoff's poems (at that time, Pushkin had not yet become fashionable again)--and, all at once, as though ashamed of his expansiveness, he began, apropos of the familiar "Thought," to upbraid and reprove the present generation; in that connection, not missing the opportunity to set forth, how he would turn everything around in his own way, if the power were in his hands.

"Russia," said he,--"has lagged behind Europe; she must catch up with it.

People a.s.sert, that we are young--that is nonsense; and moreover, that we possess no inventive genius: X ... himself admits that we have not even invented a mouse-trap. Consequently, we are compelled, w.i.l.l.y-nilly, to borrow from others. 'We are ill,'--says Lermontoff,--I agree with him; but we are ill because we have only half converted ourselves into Europeans; that is where we have made our mistake, and that is what we must be cured of." ("_Le cadastre_,"--thought Lavretzky).--"The best heads among us,"--he went on,--"_les meilleurs tetes_--have long since become convinced of this; all nations are, essentially, alike; only introduce good inst.i.tutions, and there's an end of the matter. One may even conform to the existing national life; that is our business, the business of men ..." (he came near saying: "of statesmen") "who are in the service; but, in case of need, be not uneasy: the inst.i.tutions will transform that same existence." Marya Dmitrievna, with emotion, backed up Panshin. "What a clever man this is,"--she thought,--"talking in my house!" Liza said nothing, as she leaned against a window-frame; Lavretzky also maintained silence; Marfa Timofeevna, who was playing cards in the corner with her friend, muttered something to herself.

Panshin strode up and down the room, and talked eloquently, but with a secret spite: he seemed to be scolding not the whole race, but certain individuals of his acquaintance. In the Kalitins' garden, in a large lilac-bush, dwelt a nightingale, whose first evening notes rang forth in the intervals of this eloquent harangue; the first stars lighted up in the rosy sky, above the motionless crests of the lindens. Lavretzky rose, and began to reply to Panshin; an argument ensued. Lavretzky defended the youth and independence of Russia; he surrendered himself, his generation as sacrifice,--but upheld the new men, their convictions, and their desires; Panshin retorted in a sharp and irritating way, declared that clever men must reform everything, and went so far, at last, that, forgetting his rank of Junior Gentleman of the Imperial Bedchamber, and his official career, he called Lavretzky a "laggard conservative," he even hinted,--in a very remote way, it is true,--at his false position in society. Lavretzky did not get angry, did not raise his voice (he remembered that Mikhalevitch also had called him a laggard--only, a Voltairian)--and calmly vanquished Panshin on every point. He demonstrated to him the impossibility of leaps and supercilious reforms, unjustified either by a knowledge of the native land or actual faith in an ideal, even a negative ideal; he cited, as an example, his own education, and demanded, first of all, a recognition of national truth and submission to it,--that submission without which even boldness against falsehood is impossible; he did not evade, in conclusion, the reproach--merited, in his opinion--of frivolous waste of time and strength.

"All that is very fine!"--exclaimed the enraged Panshin, at last:--"Here, you have returned to Russia,--what do you intend to do?"

"Till the soil,"--replied Lavretzky:--"and try to till it as well as possible."

"That is very praiseworthy, there's no disputing that,"--rejoined Panshin:--"and I have been told, that you have already had great success in that direction; but you must admit, that not every one is fitted for that sort of occupation...."

"_Une nature poetique_,"--began Marya Dmitrievna,--"of course, cannot till the soil ... _et puis_, you are called, Vladimir Nikolaitch, to do everything _en grand_."

This was too much even for Panshin: he stopped short, and the conversation stopped short also. He tried to turn it on the beauty of the starry sky, on Schubert's music--but, for some reason, it would not run smoothly; he ended, by suggesting to Marya Dmitrievna, that he should play picquet with her.--"What! on such an evening?"--she replied feebly; but she ordered the cards to be brought.

Panshin, with a crackling noise, tore open the fresh pack, while Liza and Lavretzky, as though in pursuance of an agreement, both rose, and placed themselves beside Marfa Timofeevna. They both, suddenly, felt so very much at ease that they were even afraid to be left alone together,--and, at the same time, both felt that the embarra.s.sment which they had experienced during the last few days had vanished, never more to return. The old woman stealthily patted Lavretzky on the cheek, slyly screwed up her eyes, and shook her head several times, remarking in a whisper: "Thou hast got the best of the clever fellow, thanks."

Everything in the room became still; the only sound was the faint crackling of the wax candles, and, now and then, the tapping of hands on the table, and an exclamation, or the reckoning of the spots,--and the song, mighty, resonant to the verge of daring, of the nightingale, poured in a broad stream through the window, in company with the dewy coolness.

x.x.xIV

Liza had not uttered a single word during the course of the dispute between Lavretzky and Panshin, but had attentively followed it, and had been entirely on Lavretzky's side. Politics possessed very little interest for her; but the self-confident tone of the fashionable official (he had never, hitherto, so completely expressed himself) had repelled her; his scorn of Russia had wounded her. It had never entered Liza's head, that she was a patriot; but she was at her ease with Russian people; the Russian turn of mind gladdened her; without any affectation, for hours at a time, she chatted with the overseer of her mother's estate, when he came to town, and talked with him as with an equal, without any lordly condescension. Lavretzky felt all this: he would not have undertaken to reply to Panshin alone; he had been talking for Liza only. They said nothing to each other, even their eyes met but rarely; but both understood that they had come very close together that evening, understood that they loved and did not love the same things. On only one point did they differ; but Liza secretly hoped to bring him to G.o.d. They sat beside Marfa Timofeevna, and appeared to be watching her play; and they really were watching it,--but, in the meanwhile, their hearts had waxed great in their bosoms, and nothing escaped them: for them the nightingale was singing, the stars were shining, and the trees were softly whispering, lulled both by slumber and by the softness of the summer, and by the warmth. Lavretzky surrendered himself wholly to the billow which was bearing him onward,--and rejoiced; but no word can express that which took place in the young girl's pure soul: it was a secret to herself; so let it remain for all others. No one knows, no one has seen, and no one ever will see, how that which is called into life and blossom pours forth and matures grain in the bosom of the earth.

The clock struck ten. Marfa Timofeevna went off to her rooms up-stairs, with Nastasya Karpovna; Lavretzky and Liza strolled through the room, halted in front of the open door to the garden, gazed into the dark distance, then at each other--and smiled; they would have liked, it appeared, to take each other by the hand, and talk their fill. They returned to Marya Dmitrievna and Panshin, whose picquet had become protracted. The last "king" came to an end at length, and the hostess rose, groaning, and sighing, from the cushion-garnished arm-chair; Panshin took his hat, kissed Marya Dmitrievna's hand, remarked that nothing now prevented other happy mortals from going to bed, or enjoying the night, but that he must sit over stupid papers until the morning dawned, bowed coldly to Liza (he had not expected that in reply to his offer of marriage, she would ask him to wait,--and therefore he was sulking at her)--and went away. Lavretzky followed him. At the gate they parted; Panshin aroused his coachman by poking him with the tip of his cane in the neck, seated himself in his drozhky, and drove off.

Lavretzky did not feel like going home; he walked out beyond the town, into the fields. The night was tranquil and bright, although there was no moon; Lavretzky roamed about on the dewy gra.s.s for a long time; he came by accident upon a narrow path; he walked along it. It led him to a long fence, to a wicket-gate; he tried, without himself knowing why, to push it open: it creaked softly, and opened, as though it had been awaiting the pressure of his hand; Lavretzky found himself in a garden, advanced a few paces along an avenue of lindens, and suddenly stopped short in amazement: he recognised the garden of the Kalitins.

He immediately stepped into a black blot of shadow which was cast by a thick hazel-bush, and stood for a long time motionless, wondering and shrugging his shoulders.

"This has not happened for nothing," he thought.

Everything was silent round about; not a sound was borne to him from the direction of the house. He cautiously advanced. Lo, at the turn in the avenue, the whole house suddenly gazed at him with its dark front; only in two of the upper windows were lights twinkling: in Liza's room, a candle was burning behind a white shade, and in Marfa Timofeevna's bedroom a shrine-lamp was glowing with a red gleam in front of the holy pictures, reflecting itself in an even halo in the golden settings; down-stairs, the door leading out on the balcony yawned broadly, as it stood wide open. Lavretzky seated himself on a wooden bench, propped his head on his hand, and began to gaze at the door and the window. Midnight struck in the town; in the house, the small clocks shrilly rang out twelve; the watchman beat with a riffle of taps on the board. Lavretzky thought of nothing, expected nothing; it was pleasant to him to feel himself near Liza, to sit in her garden on the bench, where she also had sat more than once.... The light disappeared in Liza's room.

"Good night, my dear girl," whispered Lavretzky, as he continued to sit motionless, and without taking his eyes from the darkened window.

Suddenly a light appeared in one of the windows of the lower storey, pa.s.sed to a second, a third.... Some one was walking through the rooms with a candle. "Can it be Liza? Impossible!"... Lavretzky half rose to his feet. A familiar figure flitted past, and Liza made her appearance in the drawing-room. In a white gown, with her hair hanging loosely on her shoulders, she softly approached a table, bent over it, set down the candle, and searched for something; then, turning her face toward the garden, she approached the open door, and, all white, light, graceful, paused on the threshold. A quiver ran through Lavretzky's limbs.

"Liza!"--burst from his lips, in barely audible tones.