Read Ebook: George Borrow and His Circle Wherein May Be Found Many Hitherto Unpublished Letters of Borrow and His Friends by Shorter Clement King

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Ebook has 1414 lines and 179487 words, and 29 pages

"There is a path leading round,--you should have gone round," she said. "I came long ago, ever so long."

He went up to her and, looking her over, touched her.

A quarter of an hour later they separated; he found his pince-nez, called in to see Daniel, and in reply to his question: "Are you satisfied, master?" gave him a ruble and went home.

He was satisfied. Only at first had he felt ashamed, then it had passed off. And it had all gone well. The best thing was that he now felt at ease, tranquil and vigorous. As for her, he had not even seen her thoroughly. He remembered that she was clean, fresh, not bad-looking, and simple, without any pretence. "Whose wife is she?" said he to himself. "Pechnikov's, Daniel said. What Pechnikov is that? There are two households of that name. Probably she is old Michael's daughter-in-law. Yes, that must be it. His son does live in Moscow. I'll ask Daniel about it some time."

From then onward that previously important drawback to country life--enforced self-restraint--was eliminated. Eugene's freedom of mind was no longer disturbed and he was able to attend freely to his affairs.

And the matter Eugene had undertaken was far from easy: it sometimes seemed to him that he would not be able to go through with it, and that it would end in his having to sell the estate after all, so that all his efforts would be wasted and it would turn out that he had failed, and been unable to accomplish what he had undertaken. That prospect disturbed him most of all. Before he had time to stop up one hole a new one would unexpectedly show itself.

All this time more and more debts of his father's, which he had not expected, came to light. It was evident that his father had latterly borrowed right and left. At the time of the settlement in May, Eugene had thought he at last knew everything, but suddenly, in the middle of the summer, he received a letter from which it appeared that there was still a debt of 12,000 rubles to the widow Esipova. There was no promissory note, but only an ordinary receipt, which his lawyer told him could be disputed. But it did not enter Eugene's head to refuse to pay a debt of his father's merely because the document could be challenged. He only wanted to know for certain whether there had been such a debt.

"Mamma! Who is Kaleriya Vladimirovna Esipova?" he asked his mother, when they met as usual for dinner.

"Esipova? She was brought up by your grandfather. Why?"

Eugene told his mother about the letter.

"I wonder she is not ashamed to ask for it. Your father gave her so much!"

"But do we owe her this?"

"Well now, how shall I say? It is not a debt. Papa, out of his unbounded kindness . . ."

"Yes, but did Papa consider it a debt?"

"I cannot say. I don't know. I only know it is hard enough for you without that."

Eugene saw that Mary Pavlovna did not know what to say, and was as it were sounding him.

"I see from what you say, that it must be paid," said the son. "I will go to see her to-morrow and have a chat, and see if it cannot be deferred."

"Ah, how sorry I am for you, but, you know, that will be best. Tell her she must wait," said Mary Pavlovna, evidently tranquillized and proud of her son's decision.

Eugene's position was particularly hard because his mother, who was living with him, did not at all realize his position. She had been so accustomed all her life long to live extravagantly that she could not even imagine to herself the position her son was in, that is to say, that to-day or to-morrow matters might shape themselves so that they would have nothing left, and he would have to sell everything, and live and support his mother on what salary he could earn, which at the very most would be 2,000 rubles. She did not understand that they could only save themselves from that position by cutting down expense in everything, and so she could not understand why Eugene was so careful about trifles, in expenditure on gardeners, coachmen, servants--even on food. Also, like most widows, she nourished feelings of devotion to the memory of her departed spouse quite different from those she had felt for him while he lived, and she did not admit the thought that what the departed had done, or had arranged, could be wrong or could be altered.

Eugene by great efforts managed to keep up the garden and the conservatory with two gardeners, and the stables with two coachmen. And Mary Pavlovna na?vely thought that she was sacrificing herself for her son and doing all a mother could do, by not complaining of the food which the old man-cook prepared, of the fact that the paths in the park were not all swept clean, and that instead of footmen they had only a boy.

So, too, concerning this new debt, in which Eugene saw an almost crushing blow to all his undertakings, Mary Pavlovna only saw an incident displaying Eugene's noble nature.

Mary Pavlovna moreover did not feel much anxiety about Eugene's position, because she was confident that he would make a brilliant marriage which would put everything right. And he could make a very brilliant marriage: she knew a dozen families who would be glad to give their daughters to him. And she wished to arrange the matter as soon as possible.

Eugene himself dreamt of marriage, but not in the same way as his mother. The idea of using marriage as a means of putting his affairs in order was repulsive to him. He wished to marry honourably, for love. He observed the girls whom he met and those he knew, and compared himself with them, but no decision had yet been taken. Meanwhile contrary to his expectations his relations with Stepanida continued, and even acquired the character of a settled affair. Eugene was so far from debauchery, it was so hard for him secretly to do this thing which he felt to be bad, that he could not arrange these meetings himself, and even after the first one hoped not to see Stepanida again; but it turned out that after some time the same restlessness again overcame him. And his restlessness this time was no longer impersonal, but suggested just those same bright, black eyes, and that deep voice, saying, "ever so long," that same scent of something fresh and strong, and that same full bread lifting the bib of her apron, and all this in that hazel and maple thicket, bathed in bright sunlight.

Though he felt ashamed, he again approached Daniel. And again a rendezvous was fixed for midday, in the wood. This time Eugene looked her over more carefully, and everything about her seemed attractive. He tried talking to her, and asked about her husband. He really was Michael's son, and lived as a coachman in Moscow.

"Well, then, how is it you . . ." Eugene wanted to ask how it was she was untrue to him.

"What about 'how is it'?" asked she. Evidently she was clever and quick-witted.

"Well, how is it you come to me?"

"There now," said she merrily. "I bet he goes on the spree there. Why shouldn't I?"

Evidently she was putting on an air of sauciness and assurance. And this seemed charming to Eugene. But all the same he did not himself fix a rendezvous with her. Even when she proposed that they should meet without the aid of Daniel, to whom she seemed not very well-disposed, Eugene did not consent. He hoped that this meeting would be the last. He liked her. He thought such intercourse was necessary for him and that there was nothing bad about it, but in the depth of his soul there was a stricter judge, who did not approve of it and hoped that this would be the last time, or if he did not hope that, at any rate did not wish to participate in arrangements to repeat it another time.

So the whole summer passed, during which they met a dozen times and always by Daniel's help. It happened once that she could not be there because her husband had come home, and Daniel proposed another woman, but Eugene refused with disgust. Then the husband went away, and the meetings continued as before, at first through Daniel, but afterwards he simply fixed the time and she came with another woman, Prokhorova--as it would not do for a peasant-woman to go about alone.

Once at the very time fixed for the rendezvous a family came to call on Mary Pavlovna, with the very girl she wished Eugene to marry, and it was impossible for Eugene to get away. As soon as he could do so, he went out as though to the thrashing-floor, and round by the path to their meeting-place in the wood. She was not there, but at the accustomed spot everything within reach of one's hand had been broken--the black alder, the hazel-twigs, and even a young maple the thickness of a stake. She had waited, had become excited and angry, and had skittishly left him a remembrance. He waited, waited, and went to Daniel to ask him to call her for to-morrow. She came, and was just as usual.

So the summer passed. The meetings were always arranged in the wood, and only once, when it grew towards autumn, in the shed that stood in her back-yard.

It did not enter Eugene's head that these relations of his had any importance for him. About her he did not even think. He gave her money and nothing more. At first he did not know and did not think that the affair was known and she was envied throughout the village, or that her relations took money from her and encouraged her, and that her conception of any sin in the matter had been quite obliterated by the influence of the money and her family's approval. It seemed to her that if people envied her, then what she was doing was good.

"It is simply necessary for one's health," thought Eugene. "I grant it is not right, and though no one says anything, everybody, or many people, know of it. The woman who comes with her knows. And once she knows, she is sure to have told others. But what's to be done? I am acting badly," thought Eugene, "but what's one to do? Anyhow it is not for long."

What chiefly disturbed Eugene was the thought of the husband. At first, for some reason, it seemed to him that the husband must be a poor sort, and this, as it were, partly justified his conduct. But he saw the husband and was struck: he was a fine fellow and smartly dressed, in no way a worse man, but surely better, than himself. At their next meeting he told her he had seen her husband and had been surprised to see that he was such a fine fellow.

"There's not such another in the village," said she proudly.

This surprised Eugene. The thought of the husband tormented him still more after that. He happened to be at Daniel's one day and Daniel, having begun chatting, plainly said to him:

"And Michael, the other day, asked me: 'Is it true that the master is living with my wife?' I said I did not know. Anyway, I said, better with the master than with a peasant."

"Well, and what did he say?"

"He said,--'Wait a bit. I'll get to know, and I'll give it her all the same.'"

"Yes, if the husband returned to live here, I would give her up," thought Eugene.

But the husband lived in town and for the present their intercourse continued.

"When necessary, I will break it off, and there will be nothing left of it," thought he.

And this seemed to him certain, especially as during the whole summer many different things occupied him very fully: the erection of the new farm-house, and the harvest, and building, and above all meeting the debts and selling the waste land. All these were affairs that completely absorbed him and on which he spent his thoughts when he lay down and when he rose. All that was, real life. His intercourse--he did not even call it connection--with Stepanida was something quite unnoticed. It is true that when the wish to see her arose, it came with such strength that he could think of nothing else. But this did not last long. A meeting was arranged, and he again forgot her for a week or even for a month.

In autumn Eugene often rode to town, and there became friendly with the Annenskis. They had a daughter who had just finished the Institute. And then, to Mary Pavlovna's great grief, it happened that Eugene, as she expressed it, "cheapened himself,"--by falling in love with Liza Annenskaya and proposing to her.

From that time the relations with Stepanida ceased.

It is impossible to explain why Eugene chose Liza Annenskaya, as it is never possible to explain why a man chooses this and not that woman. There were many reasons--positive and negative. One reason was that she was not a very rich heiress such as his mother sought for him, another that she was na?ve and to be pitied in her relations with her mother, then there was the fact that she was not a beauty who attracted general attention to herself, but yet was not bad looking. The chief reason was that his acquaintance with her began at the time when Eugene was ripe for marriage. He fell in love because he knew that he would marry.

Liza Annenskaya was at first merely pleasing to Eugene, but when he decided to make her his wife, his feelings for her became much stronger. He felt that he was in love.

Liza was tall, slender, and long. Everything about her was long; her face, and her nose--not prominently but downwards--and her fingers, and her feet. The colour of her face was very delicate, yellowish white and delicately pink; her hair was long, light brown, soft, curly, and she had beautiful, clear, mild, confiding eyes. Those eyes especially struck Eugene. And when he thought of Liza he always saw those clear, mild, confiding eyes.

Such was she physically; spiritually he knew nothing of her, but only saw those eyes. And those eyes seemed to tell him all he needed to know. The meaning of those eyes was this:

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