Only three days afterwards Zinaida Fyodorovna, on coming in, left her purse in the hall. Luckily for me, on that occasion it was not I but Polya who helped her off with her coat. When the purse was missed, it could not be found in the hall.
"Strange," said Zinaida Fyodorovna in bewilderment. "I distinctly remember taking it out of my pocket to pay the cabman ... and then I put it here near the looking-glass. It's very odd!"
I had not stolen it, but I felt as though I had stolen it and had been caught in the theft. Tears actually came into my eyes. When they were seated at dinner, Zinaida Fyodorovna said to Orlov in French:
"There seem to be spirits in the flat. I lost my purse in the hall to-day, and now, lo and behold1, it is on my table. But it's not quite a disinterested2 trick of the spirits. They took out a gold coin and twenty roubles in notes."
"You are always losing something; first it's your watch and then it's your money ..." said Orlov. "Why is it nothing of the sort ever happens to me?"
A minute later Zinaida Fyodorovna had forgotten the trick played by the spirits, and was telling with a laugh how the week before she had ordered some notepaper and had forgotten to give her new address, and the shop had sent the paper to her old home at her husband's, who had to pay twelve roubles for it. And suddenly she turned her eyes on Polya and looked at her intently. She blushed as she did so, and was so confused that she began talking of something else.
When I took in the coffee to the study, Orlov was standing3 with his back to the fire and she was sitting in an arm-chair facing him.
"I am not in a bad temper at all," she was saying in French. "But I have been putting things together, and now I see it clearly. I can give you the day and the hour when she stole my watch. And the purse? There can be no doubt about it. Oh!" she laughed as she took the coffee from me. "Now I understand why I am always losing my handkerchiefs and gloves. Whatever you say, I shall dismiss the magpie4 to-morrow and send Stepan for my Sofya. She is not a thief and has not got such a repulsive5 appearance."
"You are out of humour. To-morrow you will feel differently, and will realise that you can't discharge people simply because you suspect them."
"It's not suspicion; it's certainty," said Zinaida Fyodorovna. "So long as I suspected that unhappy-faced, poor-looking valet of yours, I said nothing. It's too bad of you not to believe me, George."
"If we think differently about anything, it doesn't follow that I don't believe you. You may be right," said Orlov, turning round and flinging his cigarette-end into the fire, "but there is no need to be excited about it, anyway. In fact, I must say, I never expected my humble6 establishment would cause you so much serious worry and agitation7. You've lost a gold coin: never mind—you may have a hundred of mine; but to change my habits, to pick up a new housemaid, to wait till she is used to the place—all that's a tedious, tiring business and does not suit me. Our present maid certainly is fat, and has, perhaps, a weakness for gloves and handkerchiefs, but she is perfectly8 well behaved, well trained, and does not shriek9 when Kukushkin pinches her."
"You mean that you can't part with her?... Why don't you say so?"
"Are you jealous?"
"Yes, I am," said Zinaida Fyodorovna, decidedly.
"Thank you."
"Yes, I am jealous," she repeated, and tears glistened10 in her eyes. "No, it's something worse ... which I find it difficult to find a name for." She pressed her hands on her temples, and went on impulsively11. "You men are so disgusting! It's horrible!"
"I see nothing horrible about it."
"I've not seen it; I don't know; but they say that you men begin with housemaids as boys, and get so used to it that you feel no repugnance12. I don't know, I don't know, but I have actually read.... George, of course you are right," she said, going up to Orlov and changing to a caressing13 and imploring14 tone. "I really am out of humour to-day. But, you must understand, I can't help it. She disgusts me and I am afraid of her. It makes me miserable15 to see her."
"Surely you can rise above such paltriness16?" said Orlov, shrugging his shoulders in perplexity, and walking away from the fire. "Nothing could be simpler: take no notice of her, and then she won't disgust you, and you won't need to make a regular tragedy out of a trifle."
I went out of the study, and I don't know what answer Orlov received. Whatever it was, Polya remained. After that Zinaida Fyodorovna never applied17 to her for anything, and evidently tried to dispense18 with her services. When Polya handed her anything or even passed by her, jingling19 her bangle and rustling20 her skirts, she shuddered21.
I believe that if Gruzin or Pekarsky had asked Orlov to dismiss Polya he would have done so without the slightest hesitation22, without troubling about any explanations. He was easily persuaded, like all indifferent people. But in his relations with Zinaida Fyodorovna he displayed for some reason, even in trifles, an obstinacy23 which sometimes was almost irrational24. I knew beforehand that if Zinaida Fyodorovna liked anything, it would be certain not to please Orlov. When on coming in from shopping she made haste to show him with pride some new purchase, he would glance at it and say coldly that the more unnecessary objects they had in the flat, the less airy it would be. It sometimes happened that after putting on his dress clothes to go out somewhere, and after saying good-bye to Zinaida Fyodorovna, he would suddenly change his mind and remain at home from sheer perversity25. I used to think that he remained at home then simply in order to feel injured.
"Why are you staying?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, with a show of vexation, though at the same time she was radiant with delight. "Why do you? You are not accustomed to spending your evenings at home, and I don't want you to alter your habits on my account. Do go out as usual, if you don't want me to feel guilty."
"No one is blaming you," said Orlov.
With the air of a victim he stretched himself in his easy-chair in the study, and shading his eyes with his hand, took up a book. But soon the book dropped from his hand, he turned heavily in his chair, and again screened his eyes as though from the sun. Now he felt annoyed that he had not gone out.
"May I come in?" Zinaida Fyodorovna would say, coming irresolutely26 into the study. "Are you reading? I felt dull by myself, and have come just for a minute ... to have a peep at you."
I remember one evening she went in like that, irresolutely and inappropriately, and sank on the rug at Orlov's feet, and from her soft, timid movements one could see that she did not understand his mood and was afraid.
"You are always reading ..." she said cajolingly, evidently wishing to flatter him. "Do you know, George, what is one of the secrets of your success? You are very clever and well-read. What book have you there?"
Orlov answered. A silence followed for some minutes which seemed to me very long. I was standing in the drawing-room, from which I could watch them, and was afraid of coughing.
"There is something I wanted to tell you," said Zinaida Fyodorovna, and she laughed; "shall I? Very likely you'll laugh and say that I flatter myself. You know I want, I want horribly to believe that you are staying at home to-night for my sake ... that we might spend the evening together. Yes? May I think so?"
"Do," he said, screening his eyes. "The really happy man is he who thinks not only of what is, but of what is not."
"That was a long sentence which I did not quite understand. You mean happy people live in their imagination. Yes, that's true. I love to sit in your study in the evening and let my thoughts carry me far, far away.... It's pleasant sometimes to dream. Let us dream aloud, George."
"I've never been at a girls' boarding-school; I never learnt the art."
"You are out of humour?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, taking Orlov's hand. "Tell me why. When you are like that, I'm afraid. I don't know whether your head aches or whether you are angry with me...."
"Why have you changed?" she said softly. "Why are you never so tender or so gay as you used to be at Znamensky Street? I've been with you almost a month, but it seems to me as though we had not yet begun to live, and have not yet talked of anything as we ought to. You always answer me with jokes or else with a long cold lecture like a teacher. And there is something cold in your jokes.... Why have you given up talking to me seriously?"
"I always talk seriously."
"Well, then, let us talk. For God's sake, George.... Shall we?"
"Certainly, but about what?"
"Let us talk of our life, of our future," said Zinaida Fyodorovna dreamily. "I keep making plans for our life, plans and plans—and I enjoy doing it so! George, I'll begin with the question, when are you going to give up your post?"
"What for?" asked Orlov, taking his hand from his forehead.
"With your views you cannot remain in the service. You are out of place there."
"My views?" Orlov repeated. "My views? In conviction and temperament28 I am an ordinary official, one of Shtchedrin's heroes. You take me for something different, I venture to assure you."
"Joking again, George!"
"Not in the least. The service does not satisfy me, perhaps; but, anyway, it is better for me than anything else. I am used to it, and in it I meet men of my own sort; I am in my place there and find it tolerable."
"You hate the service and it revolts you."
"Indeed? If I resign my post, take to dreaming aloud and letting myself be carried away into another world, do you suppose that that world would be less hateful to me than the service?"
"You are ready to libel yourself in order to contradict me." Zinaida Fyodorovna was offended and got up. "I am sorry I began this talk."
"Why are you angry? I am not angry with you for not being an official. Every one lives as he likes best."
"Why, do you live as you like best? Are you free? To spend your life writing documents that are opposed to your own ideas," Zinaida Fyodorovna went on, clasping her hands in despair: "to submit to authority, congratulate your superiors at the New Year, and then cards and nothing but cards: worst of all, to be working for a system which must be distasteful to you—no, George, no! You should not make such horrid29 jokes. It's dreadful. You are a man of ideas, and you ought to be working for your ideas and nothing else."
"You really take me for quite a different person from what I am," sighed Orlov.
"Say simply that you don't want to talk to me. You dislike me, that's all," said Zinaida Fyodorovna through her tears.
"Look here, my dear," said Orlov admonishingly, sitting up in his chair. "You were pleased to observe yourself that I am a clever, well-read man, and to teach one who knows does nothing but harm. I know very well all the ideas, great and small, which you mean when you call me a man of ideas. So if I prefer the service and cards to those ideas, you may be sure I have good grounds for it. That's one thing. Secondly30, you have, so far as I know, never been in the service, and can only have drawn31 your ideas of Government service from anecdotes32 and indifferent novels. So it would not be amiss for us to make a compact, once for all, not to talk of things we know already or of things about which we are not competent to speak."
"Why do you speak to me like that?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, stepping back as though in horror. "What for? George, for God's sake, think what you are saying!"
Her voice quivered and broke; she was evidently trying to restrain her tears, but she suddenly broke into sobs33.
"George, my darling, I am perishing!" she said in French, dropping down before Orlov, and laying her head on his knees. "I am miserable, I am exhausted34. I can't bear it, I can't bear it.... In my childhood my hateful, depraved stepmother, then my husband, now you ... you!... You meet my mad love with coldness and irony35.... And that horrible, insolent36 servant," she went on, sobbing37. "Yes, yes, I see: I am not your wife nor your friend, but a woman you don't respect because she has become your mistress.... I shall kill myself!"
I had not expected that her words and her tears would make such an impression on Orlov. He flushed, moved uneasily in his chair, and instead of irony, his face wore a look of stupid, schoolboyish dismay.
"My darling, you misunderstood me," he muttered helplessly, touching38 her hair and her shoulders. "Forgive me, I entreat39 you. I was unjust and I hate myself."
"I insult you with my whining40 and complaints. You are a true, generous ... rare man—I am conscious of it every minute; but I've been horribly depressed41 for the last few days ..."
Zinaida Fyodorovna impulsively embraced Orlov and kissed him on the cheek.
"Only please don't cry," he said.
"No, no.... I've had my cry, and now I am better."
"As for the servant, she shall be gone to-morrow," he said, still moving uneasily in his chair.
"No, she must stay, George! Do you hear? I am not afraid of her now.... One must rise above trifles and not imagine silly things. You are right! You are a wonderful, rare person!"
She soon left off crying. With tears glistening42 on her eyelashes, sitting on Orlov's knee, she told him in a low voice something touching, something like a reminiscence of childhood and youth. She stroked his face, kissed him, and carefully examined his hands with the rings on them and the charms on his watch-chain. She was carried away by what she was saying, and by being near the man she loved, and probably because her tears had cleared and refreshed her soul, there was a note of wonderful candour and sincerity43 in her voice. And Orlov played with her chestnut44 hair and kissed her hands, noiselessly pressing them to his lips.
Then they had tea in the study, and Zinaida Fyodorovna read aloud some letters. Soon after midnight they went to bed. I had a fearful pain in my side that night, and I could not get warm or go to sleep till morning. I could hear Orlov go from the bedroom into his study. After sitting there about an hour, he rang the bell. In my pain and exhaustion45 I forgot all the rules and conventions, and went to his study in my night attire46, barefooted. Orlov, in his dressing-gown and cap, was standing in the doorway47, waiting for me.
"When you are sent for you should come dressed," he said sternly. "Bring some fresh candles."
I was about to apologise, but suddenly broke into a violent cough, and clutched at the side of the door to save myself from falling.
"Are you ill?" said Orlov.
I believe it was the first time of our acquaintance that he addressed me not in the singular—goodness knows why. Most likely, in my night clothes and with my face distorted by coughing, I played my part poorly, and was very little like a flunkey.
"If you are ill, why do you take a place?" he said.
"That I may not die of starvation," I answered.
"How disgusting it all is, really!" he said softly, going up to his table.
While hurriedly getting into my coat, I put up and lighted fresh candles. He was sitting at the table, with feet stretched out on a low chair, cutting a book.
I left him deeply engrossed48, and the book did not drop out of his hands as it had done in the evening.
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1
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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magpie
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| n.喜欢收藏物品的人，喜鹊，饶舌者 | |
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repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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9
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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10
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11
impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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paltriness
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| n.不足取，无价值 | |
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17
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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dispense
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| vt.分配，分发；配(药)，发(药)；实施 | |
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jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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21
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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22
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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irrational
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| adj.无理性的，失去理性的 | |
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perversity
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| n.任性；刚愎自用 | |
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irresolutely
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| adv.优柔寡断地 | |
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lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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33
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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34
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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38
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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39
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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40
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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42
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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43
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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44
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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45
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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46
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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47
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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48
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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