A Hero of Our Time [56]
for myself -- that you know very well! . . . Oh! I beseech you: do not torture me, as before, with idle doubts and feigned coldness! It may be that I shall die soon; I feel that I am growing weaker from day to day. . . And, yet, I cannot think of the future life, I think only of you. . . You men do not understand the delights of a glance, of a pressure of the hand . . . but as for me, I swear to you that, when I listen to your voice, I feel such a deep, strange bliss that the most passionate kisses could not take its place."
Meanwhile, Princess Mary had finished her song. Murmurs of praise were to be heard all around. I went up to her after all the other guests, and said something rather carelessly to her on the subject of her voice.
She made a little grimace, pouting her lower lip, and dropped a very sarcastic curtsey.
"That is all the more flattering," she said, "because you have not been listening to me at all; but perhaps you do not like music?" . . .
"On the contrary, I do . . . After dinner, especially."
"Grushnitski is right in saying that you have very prosaic tastes . . . and I see that you like music in a gastronomic respect."
"You are mistaken again: I am by no means an epicure. I have a most wretched digestion. But music after dinner puts one to sleep, and to sleep after dinner is healthful; consequently I like music in a medicinal respect. In the evening, on the contrary, it excites my nerves too much: I become either too melancholy or too gay. Both are fatiguing, where there is no positive reason for being either sorrowful or glad. And, more- over, melancholy in society is ridiculous, and too great gaiety is unbecoming" . . .
She did not hear me to the end, but went away and sat beside Grushnitski, and they entered into a sort of sentimental conversation. Ap- parently the Princess answered his sage phrases rather absent-mindedly and inconsequently, although endeavouring to show that she was listening to him with attention, because sometimes he looked at her in astonishment, trying to divine the cause of the inward agitation which was expressed at times in her restless glance . . .
But I have found you out, my dear Princess! Have a care! You want to pay me back in the same coin, to wound my vanity -- you will not succeed! And if you declare war on me, I will be merciless!
In the course of the evening, I purposely tried a few times to join in their conversation, but she met my remarks rather coldly, and, at last, I retired in pretended vexation. Princess Mary was triumphant, Grushnitski likewise. Triumph, my friends, and be quick about it! . . . You will not have long to triumph! . . . It cannot be otherwise. I have a presentiment. . . On making a woman's acquaintance I have always unerringly guessed whether she would fall in love with me or not.
The remaining part of the evening I spent at Vera's side, and talked to the full about the old days. . . Why does she love me so much? In truth, I am unable to say, all the more so because she is the only woman who has understood me perfectly, with all my petty weaknesses and evil passions. . . Can it be that wickedness is so attractive? . . .
Grushnitski and I left the house together. In the street he took my arm, and, after a long silence, said:
"Well?"
"You are a fool," I should have liked to answer. But I restrained myself and only shrugged my shoulders.
CHAPTER VII
6th June.
ALL these days I have not once departed from my system. Princess Mary has come to like talking to me; I have told her a few of the strange events of my life, and she is beginning to look on me as an extraordinary man. I mock at everything in the world, especially feelings; and she is taking alarm. When I am present, she does not dare to embark upon sentimental discussions with Grushnitski, and already, on a few occasions, she has answered his sallies with a mocking smile. But every time that Grushnitski comes up to her I assume an air of meekness and leave the two of them together. On the first occasion, she was
Meanwhile, Princess Mary had finished her song. Murmurs of praise were to be heard all around. I went up to her after all the other guests, and said something rather carelessly to her on the subject of her voice.
She made a little grimace, pouting her lower lip, and dropped a very sarcastic curtsey.
"That is all the more flattering," she said, "because you have not been listening to me at all; but perhaps you do not like music?" . . .
"On the contrary, I do . . . After dinner, especially."
"Grushnitski is right in saying that you have very prosaic tastes . . . and I see that you like music in a gastronomic respect."
"You are mistaken again: I am by no means an epicure. I have a most wretched digestion. But music after dinner puts one to sleep, and to sleep after dinner is healthful; consequently I like music in a medicinal respect. In the evening, on the contrary, it excites my nerves too much: I become either too melancholy or too gay. Both are fatiguing, where there is no positive reason for being either sorrowful or glad. And, more- over, melancholy in society is ridiculous, and too great gaiety is unbecoming" . . .
She did not hear me to the end, but went away and sat beside Grushnitski, and they entered into a sort of sentimental conversation. Ap- parently the Princess answered his sage phrases rather absent-mindedly and inconsequently, although endeavouring to show that she was listening to him with attention, because sometimes he looked at her in astonishment, trying to divine the cause of the inward agitation which was expressed at times in her restless glance . . .
But I have found you out, my dear Princess! Have a care! You want to pay me back in the same coin, to wound my vanity -- you will not succeed! And if you declare war on me, I will be merciless!
In the course of the evening, I purposely tried a few times to join in their conversation, but she met my remarks rather coldly, and, at last, I retired in pretended vexation. Princess Mary was triumphant, Grushnitski likewise. Triumph, my friends, and be quick about it! . . . You will not have long to triumph! . . . It cannot be otherwise. I have a presentiment. . . On making a woman's acquaintance I have always unerringly guessed whether she would fall in love with me or not.
The remaining part of the evening I spent at Vera's side, and talked to the full about the old days. . . Why does she love me so much? In truth, I am unable to say, all the more so because she is the only woman who has understood me perfectly, with all my petty weaknesses and evil passions. . . Can it be that wickedness is so attractive? . . .
Grushnitski and I left the house together. In the street he took my arm, and, after a long silence, said:
"Well?"
"You are a fool," I should have liked to answer. But I restrained myself and only shrugged my shoulders.
CHAPTER VII
6th June.
ALL these days I have not once departed from my system. Princess Mary has come to like talking to me; I have told her a few of the strange events of my life, and she is beginning to look on me as an extraordinary man. I mock at everything in the world, especially feelings; and she is taking alarm. When I am present, she does not dare to embark upon sentimental discussions with Grushnitski, and already, on a few occasions, she has answered his sallies with a mocking smile. But every time that Grushnitski comes up to her I assume an air of meekness and leave the two of them together. On the first occasion, she was