Zinaida Fyodorovna, who was just going out to a dressmaker's or to the shops, was sitting, listening to him with a smile. I don't know how their conversation began, but when I took Orlov his gloves, he was standing2 before her with a capricious, beseeching3 face, saying:
"For God's sake, in the name of everything that's holy, don't talk of things that everybody knows! What an unfortunate gift our intellectual thoughtful ladies have for talking with enthusiasm and an air of profundity4 of things that every schoolboy is sick to death of! Ah, if only you would exclude from our conjugal5 programme all these serious questions! How grateful I should be to you!"
"We women may not dare, it seems, to have views of our own."
"I give you full liberty to be as liberal as you like, and quote from any authors you choose, but make me one concession6: don't hold forth7 in my presence on either of two subjects: the corruption8 of the upper classes and the evils of the marriage system. Do understand me, at last. The upper class is always abused in contrast with the world of tradesmen, priests, workmen and peasants, Sidors and Nikitas of all sorts. I detest9 both classes, but if I had honestly to choose between the two, I should without hesitation10, prefer the upper class, and there would be no falsity or affectation about it, since all my tastes are in that direction. Our world is trivial and empty, but at any rate we speak French decently, read something, and don't punch each other in the ribs11 even in our most violent quarrels, while the Sidors and the Nikitas and their worships in trade talk about 'being quite agreeable,' 'in a jiffy,' 'blast your eyes,' and display the utmost license12 of pothouse manners and the most degrading superstition13."
"The peasant and the tradesman feed you."
"Yes, but what of it? That's not only to my discredit14, but to theirs too. They feed me and take off their caps to me, so it seems they have not the intelligence and honesty to do otherwise. I don't blame or praise any one: I only mean that the upper class and the lower are as bad as one another. My feelings and my intelligence are opposed to both, but my tastes lie more in the direction of the former. Well, now for the evils of marriage," Orlov went on, glancing at his watch. "It's high time for you to understand that there are no evils in the system itself; what is the matter is that you don't know yourselves what you want from marriage. What is it you want? In legal and illegal cohabitation, in every sort of union and cohabitation, good or bad, the underlying15 reality is the same. You ladies live for that underlying reality alone: for you it's everything; your existence would have no meaning for you without it. You want nothing but that, and you get it; but since you've taken to reading novels you are ashamed of it: you rush from pillar to post, you recklessly change your men, and to justify16 this turmoil17 you have begun talking of the evils of marriage. So long as you can't and won't renounce18 what underlies19 it all, your chief foe20, your devil—so long as you serve that slavishly, what use is there in discussing the matter seriously? Everything you may say to me will be falsity and affectation. I shall not believe you."
I went to find out from the hall porter whether the sledge21 was at the door, and when I came back I found it had become a quarrel. As sailors say, a squall had blown up.
"I see you want to shock me by your cynicism today," said Zinaida Fyodorovna, walking about the drawing-room in great emotion. "It revolts me to listen to you. I am pure before God and man, and have nothing to repent22 of. I left my husband and came to you, and am proud of it. I swear, on my honour, I am proud of it!"
"Well, that's all right, then!"
"If you are a decent, honest man, you, too, ought to be proud of what I did. It raises you and me above thousands of people who would like to do as we have done, but do not venture through cowardice23 or petty prudence24. But you are not a decent man. You are afraid of freedom, and you mock the promptings of genuine feeling, from fear that some ignoramus may suspect you of being sincere. You are afraid to show me to your friends; there's no greater infliction25 for you than to go about with me in the street.... Isn't that true? Why haven't you introduced me to your father or your cousin all this time? Why is it? No, I am sick of it at last," cried Zinaida Fyodorovna, stamping. "I demand what is mine by right. You must present me to your father."
"If you want to know him, go and present yourself. He receives visitors every morning from ten till half-past."
"How base you are!" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, wringing26 her hands in despair. "Even if you are not sincere, and are not saying what you think, I might hate you for your cruelty. Oh, how base you are!"
"We keep going round and round and never reach the real point. The real point is that you made a mistake, and you won't acknowledge it aloud. You imagined that I was a hero, and that I had some extraordinary ideas and ideals, and it has turned out that I am a most ordinary official, a cardplayer, and have no partiality for ideas of any sort. I am a worthy27 representative of the rotten world from which you have run away because you were revolted with its triviality and emptiness. Recognise it and be just: don't be indignant with me, but with yourself, as it is your mistake, and not mine."
"Yes, I admit I was mistaken."
"Well, that's all right, then. We've reached that point at last, thank God. Now hear something more, if you please: I can't rise to your level—I am too depraved; you can't descend28 to my level, either, for you are too exalted29. So there is only one thing left to do...."
"What?" Zinaida Fyodorovna asked quickly, holding her breath and turning suddenly as white as a sheet of paper.
"Georgy, why are you torturing me?" Zinaida Fyodorovna said suddenly in Russian in a breaking voice. "What is it for? Think of my misery31...."
Orlov, afraid of tears, went quickly into his study, and I don't know why—whether it was that he wished to cause her extra pain, or whether he remembered it was usually done in such cases—he locked the door after him. She cried out and ran after him with a rustle32 of her skirt.
"What does this mean?" she cried, knocking at his door. "What ... what does this mean?" she repeated in a shrill33 voice breaking with indignation. "Ah, so this is what you do! Then let me tell you I hate you, I despise you! Everything is over between us now."
I heard hysterical34 weeping mingled35 with laughter. Something small in the drawing-room fell off the table and was broken. Orlov went out into the hall by another door, and, looking round him nervously36, he hurriedly put on his great-coat and went out.
Half an hour passed, an hour, and she was still weeping. I remembered that she had no father or mother, no relations, and here she was living between a man who hated her and Polya, who robbed her—and how desolate37 her life seemed to me! I do not know why, but I went into the drawing-room to her. Weak and helpless, looking with her lovely hair like an embodiment of tenderness and grace, she was in anguish38, as though she were ill; she was lying on a couch, hiding her face, and quivering all over.
"Madam, shouldn't I fetch a doctor?" I asked gently.
"No, there's no need ... it's nothing," she said, and she looked at me with her tear-stained eyes. "I have a little headache.... Thank you."
I went out, and in the evening she was writing letter after letter, and sent me out first to Pekarsky, then to Gruzin, then to Kukushkin, and finally anywhere I chose, if only I could find Orlov and give him the letter. Every time I came back with the letter she scolded me, entreated39 me, thrust money into my hand—as though she were in a fever. And all the night she did not sleep, but sat in the drawing-room, talking to herself.
Orlov returned to dinner next day, and they were reconciled.
The first Thursday afterwards Orlov complained to his friends of the intolerable life he led; he smoked a great deal, and said with irritation40:
"It is no life at all; it's the rack. Tears, wailing41, intellectual conversations, begging for forgiveness, again tears and wailing; and the long and the short of it is that I have no flat of my own now. I am wretched, and I make her wretched. Surely I haven't to live another month or two like this? How can I? But yet I may have to."
"Why don't you speak, then?" said Pekarsky.
"I've tried, but I can't. One can boldly tell the truth, whatever it may be, to an independent, rational man; but in this case one has to do with a creature who has no will, no strength of character, and no logic. I cannot endure tears; they disarm42 me. When she cries, I am ready to swear eternal love and cry myself."
Pekarsky did not understand; he scratched his broad forehead in perplexity and said:
"You really had better take another flat for her. It's so simple!"
"She wants me, not the flat. But what's the good of talking?" sighed Orlov. "I only hear endless conversations, but no way out of my position. It certainly is a case of 'being guilty without guilt43.' I don't claim to be a mushroom, but it seems I've got to go into the basket. The last thing I've ever set out to be is a hero. I never could endure Turgenev's novels; and now, all of a sudden, as though to spite me, I've heroism44 forced upon me. I assure her on my honour that I'm not a hero at all, I adduce irrefutable proofs of the same, but she doesn't believe me. Why doesn't she believe me? I suppose I really must have something of the appearance of a hero."
"You go off on a tour of inspection45 in the provinces," said Kukushkin, laughing.
"Yes, that's the only thing left for me."
A week after this conversation Orlov announced that he was again ordered to attend the senator, and the same evening he went off with his portmanteaus to Pekarsky.
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1
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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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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3
beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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profundity
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| n.渊博；深奥，深刻 | |
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conjugal
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| adj.婚姻的，婚姻性的 | |
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concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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7
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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8
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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9
detest
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| vt.痛恨，憎恶 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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12
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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13
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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14
discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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15
underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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16
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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18
renounce
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| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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19
underlies
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| v.位于或存在于（某物）之下( underlie的第三人称单数 )；构成…的基础（或起因），引起 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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sledge
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| n.雪橇，大锤；v.用雪橇搬运，坐雪橇往 | |
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repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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24
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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infliction
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| n.（强加于人身的）痛苦，刑罚 | |
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26
wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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28
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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29
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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30
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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31
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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32
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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33
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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34
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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35
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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36
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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37
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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38
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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39
entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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41
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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42
disarm
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| v.解除武装，回复平常的编制，缓和 | |
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43
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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44
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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45
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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