A Hero of Our Time [68]
folk -- and I rapidly disengaged my hand from her passionate pressure.
"I will tell you the whole truth," I answered. "I will not justify myself, nor explain my ac- tions: I do not love you."
Her lips grew slightly pale.
"Leave me," she said, in a scarcely audible voice.
I shrugged my shoulders, turned round, and walked away.
CHAPTER XVI
25th June.
I SOMETIMES despise myself. . . Is not that the reason why I despise others also? . . . I have grown incapable of noble impulses; I am afraid of appearing ridiculous to myself. In my place, another would have offered Princess Mary son coeur et sa fortune; but over me the word "marry" has a kind of magical power. However passionately I love a woman, if she only gives me to feel that I have to marry her -- then farewell, love! My heart is turned to stone, and nothing will warm it anew. I am prepared for any other sacrifice but that; my life twenty times over, nay, my honour I would stake on the for- tune of a card . . . but my freedom I will never sell. Why do I prize it so highly? What is there in it to me? For what am I preparing myself? What do I hope for from the future? . . . In truth, absolutely nothing. It is a kind of innate dread, an inexplicable prejudice. . . There are people, you know, who have an unaccountable dread of spiders, beetles, mice. . . Shall I con- fess it? When I was but a child, a certain old woman told my fortune to my mother. She pre- dicted for me death from a wicked wife. I was profoundly struck by her words at the time: an irresistible repugnance to marriage was born with- in my soul. . . Meanwhile, something tells me that her prediction will be realized; I will try, at all events, to arrange that it shall be realized as late in life as possible.
CHAPTER XVII
26th June.
YESTERDAY, the conjurer Apfelbaum ar- rived here. A long placard made its appear- ance on the door of the restaurant, informing the most respected public that the above-mentioned marvellous conjurer, acrobat, chemist, and opti- cian would have the honour to give a magnificent performance on the present day at eight o'clock in the evening, in the saloon of the Nobles' Club (in other words, the restaurant); tickets -- two rubles and a half each.
Everyone intends to go and see the marvellous conjurer; even Princess Ligovski has taken a ticket for herself, in spite of her daughter being ill.
After dinner to-day, I walked past Vera's win- dows; she was sitting by herself on the balcony. A note fell at my feet:
"Come to me at ten o'clock this evening by the large staircase. My husband has gone to Pyati- gorsk and will not return before to-morrow morn- ing. My servants and maids will not be at home; I have distributed tickets to all of them, and to the princess's servants as well. I await you; come without fail."
"Aha!" I said to myself, "so then it has turned out at last as I thought it would."
At eight o'clock I went to see the conjurer. The public assembled before the stroke of nine. The performance began. On the back rows of chairs I recognized Vera's and Princess Ligovski's menservants and maids. They were all there, every single one. Grushnitski, with his lorgnette, was sitting in the front row, and the conjurer had recourse to him every time he needed a hand- kerchief, a watch, a ring and so forth.
For some time past, Grushnitski has ceased to bow to me, and to-day he has looked at me rather insolently once or twice. It will all be remem- bered to him when we come to settle our scores.
Before ten o'clock had struck, I stood up and went out.
It was dark outside, pitch dark. Cold, heavy clouds were lying on the summit of the surround- ing mountains, and only at rare intervals did the dying breeze rustle the tops of the poplars which surrounded the restaurant. People were crowd- ing at the windows. I went down the mountain and, turning in under the gate, I hastened my pace. Suddenly it seemed to me that somebody was following my steps. I stopped and looked round. It was impossible to make out anything
"I will tell you the whole truth," I answered. "I will not justify myself, nor explain my ac- tions: I do not love you."
Her lips grew slightly pale.
"Leave me," she said, in a scarcely audible voice.
I shrugged my shoulders, turned round, and walked away.
CHAPTER XVI
25th June.
I SOMETIMES despise myself. . . Is not that the reason why I despise others also? . . . I have grown incapable of noble impulses; I am afraid of appearing ridiculous to myself. In my place, another would have offered Princess Mary son coeur et sa fortune; but over me the word "marry" has a kind of magical power. However passionately I love a woman, if she only gives me to feel that I have to marry her -- then farewell, love! My heart is turned to stone, and nothing will warm it anew. I am prepared for any other sacrifice but that; my life twenty times over, nay, my honour I would stake on the for- tune of a card . . . but my freedom I will never sell. Why do I prize it so highly? What is there in it to me? For what am I preparing myself? What do I hope for from the future? . . . In truth, absolutely nothing. It is a kind of innate dread, an inexplicable prejudice. . . There are people, you know, who have an unaccountable dread of spiders, beetles, mice. . . Shall I con- fess it? When I was but a child, a certain old woman told my fortune to my mother. She pre- dicted for me death from a wicked wife. I was profoundly struck by her words at the time: an irresistible repugnance to marriage was born with- in my soul. . . Meanwhile, something tells me that her prediction will be realized; I will try, at all events, to arrange that it shall be realized as late in life as possible.
CHAPTER XVII
26th June.
YESTERDAY, the conjurer Apfelbaum ar- rived here. A long placard made its appear- ance on the door of the restaurant, informing the most respected public that the above-mentioned marvellous conjurer, acrobat, chemist, and opti- cian would have the honour to give a magnificent performance on the present day at eight o'clock in the evening, in the saloon of the Nobles' Club (in other words, the restaurant); tickets -- two rubles and a half each.
Everyone intends to go and see the marvellous conjurer; even Princess Ligovski has taken a ticket for herself, in spite of her daughter being ill.
After dinner to-day, I walked past Vera's win- dows; she was sitting by herself on the balcony. A note fell at my feet:
"Come to me at ten o'clock this evening by the large staircase. My husband has gone to Pyati- gorsk and will not return before to-morrow morn- ing. My servants and maids will not be at home; I have distributed tickets to all of them, and to the princess's servants as well. I await you; come without fail."
"Aha!" I said to myself, "so then it has turned out at last as I thought it would."
At eight o'clock I went to see the conjurer. The public assembled before the stroke of nine. The performance began. On the back rows of chairs I recognized Vera's and Princess Ligovski's menservants and maids. They were all there, every single one. Grushnitski, with his lorgnette, was sitting in the front row, and the conjurer had recourse to him every time he needed a hand- kerchief, a watch, a ring and so forth.
For some time past, Grushnitski has ceased to bow to me, and to-day he has looked at me rather insolently once or twice. It will all be remem- bered to him when we come to settle our scores.
Before ten o'clock had struck, I stood up and went out.
It was dark outside, pitch dark. Cold, heavy clouds were lying on the summit of the surround- ing mountains, and only at rare intervals did the dying breeze rustle the tops of the poplars which surrounded the restaurant. People were crowd- ing at the windows. I went down the mountain and, turning in under the gate, I hastened my pace. Suddenly it seemed to me that somebody was following my steps. I stopped and looked round. It was impossible to make out anything