A Reckless Character, and Other Stories Part 16

Fabio stared after his servant in perplexity.--"So he was not killed?"--he thought ... and he did not know whether to rejoice or to grieve.--"He is ill?"--But a few hours ago he had beheld him a corpse!

Fabio returned to Valeria. She was awake, and raised her head. The husband and wife exchanged a long, significant look.

"Is he already dead?" said Valeria suddenly.--Fabio shuddered.

"What ... he is not?--Didst thou.... Has he gone away?" she went on.

Fabio's heart was relieved.--"Not yet; but he is going away to-day."

"And I shall never, never see him again?"

"Never."

"And those visions will not be repeated?"

"No."

Valeria heaved another sigh of relief; a blissful smile again made its appearance on her lips. She put out both hands to her husband.

"And we shall never speak of him, never, hearest thou, my dear one. And I shall not leave this room until he is gone. But now do thou send me my serving-women ... and stay: take that thing!"--she pointed to a pearl necklace which lay on the night-stand, the necklace which Muzio had given her,---"and throw it immediately into our deep well. Embrace me--I am thy Valeria--and do not come to me until ... that man is gone."

Fabio took the necklace--its pearls seemed to have grown dim--and fulfilled his wife's behest. Then he began to roam about the garden, gazing from a distance at the pavilion, around which the bustle of packing was already beginning. Men were carrying out chests, lading horses ... but the Malay was not among them. An irresistible feeling drew Fabio to gaze once more on what was going on in the pavilion. He recalled the fact that in its rear facade there was a secret door through which one might penetrate to the interior of the chamber where Muzio had been lying that morning. He stole up to that door, found it unlocked, and pus.h.i.+ng aside the folds of a heavy curtain, darted in an irresolute glance.

XII

Muzio was no longer lying on the rug. Dressed in travelling attire, he was sitting in an arm-chair, but appeared as much of a corpse as at Fabio's first visit. The petrified head had fallen against the back of the chair, the hands lay flat, motionless, and yellow on the knees. His breast did not heave. Round about the chair, on the floor strewn with dried herbs, stood several flat cups filled with a dark liquid which gave off a strong, almost suffocating odour,--the odour of musk. Around each cup was coiled a small, copper-coloured serpent, which gleamed here and there with golden spots; and directly in front of Muzio, a couple of paces distant from him, rose up the tall figure of the Malay, clothed in a motley-hued mantle of brocade, girt about with a tiger's tail, with a tall cap in the form of a horned tiara on his head.

But he was not motionless: now he made devout obeisances and seemed to be praying, again he drew himself up to his full height, even stood on tiptoe; now he threw his hands apart in broad and measured sweep, now he waved them urgently in the direction of Muzio, and seemed to be menacing or commanding with them, as he contracted his brows in a frown and stamped his foot. All these movements evidently cost him great effort, and even caused him suffering: he breathed heavily, the sweat streamed from his face. Suddenly he stood stock-still on one spot, and inhaling the air into his lungs and scowling, he stretched forward, then drew toward him his clenched fists, as though he were holding reins in them ... and to Fabio's indescribable horror, Muzio's head slowly separated itself from the back of the chair and reached out after the Malay's hands.... The Malay dropped his hands, and Muzio's head again sank heavily backward; the Malay repeated his gestures, and the obedient head repeated them after him. The dark liquid in the cups began to seethe with a faint sound; the very cups themselves emitted a faint tinkling, and the copper snakes began to move around each of them in undulating motion. Then the Malay advanced a pace, and elevating his eyebrows very high and opening his eyes until they were of huge size, he nodded his head at Muzio ... and the eyelids of the corpse began to flutter, parted unevenly, and from beneath them the pupils, dull as lead, revealed themselves. With proud triumph and joy--a joy that was almost malicious--beamed the face of the Malay; he opened his lips widely, and from the very depths of his throat a prolonged roar wrested itself with an effort.... Muzio's lips parted also, and a faint groan trembled on them in reply to that inhuman sound.

But at this point Fabio could endure it no longer: he fancied that he was witnessing some devilish incantations! He also uttered a shriek and started off at a run homeward, without looking behind him,--homeward as fast as he could go, praying and crossing himself as he ran.

XIII

Three hours later Antonio presented himself before him with the report that everything was ready, all the things were packed, and Signor Muzio was preparing to depart. Without uttering a word in answer to his servant, Fabio stepped out on the terrace, whence the pavilion was visible. Several pack-horses were grouped in front of it; at the porch itself a powerful black stallion, with a roomy saddle adapted for two riders, was drawn up. There also stood the servants with bared heads and the armed escort. The door of the pavilion opened and, supported by the Malay, Muzio made his appearance. His face was deathlike, and his arms hung down like those of a corpse,--but he walked ... yes! he put one foot before the other, and once mounted on the horse, he held himself upright, and got hold of the reins by fumbling. The Malay thrust his feet into the stirrups, sprang up behind him on the saddle, encircled his waist with his arm,--and the whole procession set out. The horses proceeded at a walk, and when they made the turn in front of the house, Fabio fancied that on Muzio's dark countenance two small white patches gleamed.... Could it be that he had turned his eyes that way?--The Malay alone saluted him ... mockingly, but as usual.

Did Valeria see all this? The shutters of her windows were closed ...

but perhaps she was standing behind them.

XIV

At dinner-time she entered the dining-room, and was very quiet and affectionate; but she still complained of being weary. Yet there was no agitation about her, nor any of her former constant surprise and secret fear; and when, on the day after Muzio's departure, Fabio again set about her portrait, he found in her features that pure expression, the temporary eclipse of which had so disturbed him ... and his brush flew lightly and confidently over the canvas.

Husband and wife began to live their life as of yore. Muzio had vanished for them as though he had never existed. And both Fabio and Valeria seemed to have entered into a compact not to recall him by a single sound, not to inquire about his further fate; and it remained a mystery for all others as well. Muzio really did vanish, as though he had sunk through the earth. One day Fabio thought himself bound to relate to Valeria precisely what had occurred on that fateful night ... but she, probably divining his intention, held her breath, and her eyes narrowed as though she were antic.i.p.ating a blow.... And Fabio understood her: he did not deal her that blow.

One fine autumnal day Fabio was putting the finis.h.i.+ng touches to the picture of his Cecilia; Valeria was sitting at the organ, and her fingers were wandering over the keys.... Suddenly, contrary to her own volition, from beneath her fingers rang out that Song of Love Triumphant which Muzio had once played,--and at that same instant, for the first time since her marriage, she felt within her the palpitation of a new, germinating life.... Valeria started and stopped short....

What was the meaning of this? Could it be....

With this word the ma.n.u.script came to an end.

CLARA MiLITCH

A TALE

(1882)

I

In the spring of 1878 there lived in Moscow, in a small wooden house on Shabolovka Street, a young man five-and-twenty years of age, Yakoff Aratoff by name. With him lived his aunt, an old maid, over fifty years of age, his father's sister, Platonida Ivanovna. She managed his housekeeping and took charge of his expenditures, of which Aratoff was utterly incapable. He had no other relations. Several years before, his father, a petty and not wealthy n.o.ble of the T---- government, had removed to Moscow, together with him and Platonida Ivanovna who, by the way, was always called Platosha; and her nephew called her so too. When he quitted the country where all of them had constantly dwelt hitherto, old Aratoff had settled in the capital with the object of placing his son in the university, for which he had himself prepared him; he purchased for a trifling sum a small house on one of the remote streets, and installed himself therein with all his books and "preparations." And of books and preparations he had many, for he was a man not devoid of learning ... "a supernatural eccentric," according to the words of his neighbours. He even bore among them the reputation of a magician: he had even received the nickname of "the insect-observer." He busied himself with chemistry, mineralogy, entomology, botany, and medicine; he treated voluntary patients with herbs and metallic powders of his own concoction, after the method of Paracelsus. With those same powders he had sent into the grave his young, pretty, but already too delicate wife, whom he had pa.s.sionately loved, and by whom he had had an only son. With those same metallic powders he had wrought considerable havoc with the health of his son also, which, on the contrary, he had wished to reinforce, as he detected in his organisation anaemia and a tendency to consumption inherited from his mother. The t.i.tle of "magician" he had acquired, among other things, from the fact that he considered himself a great-grandson--not in the direct line, of course--of the famous Bruce, in whose honour he had named his son Yakoff.[51] He was the sort of man who is called "very good-natured," but of a melancholy temperament, fussy, and timid, with a predilection for everything that was mysterious or mystical.... "Ah!" uttered in a half-whisper was his customary exclamation; and he died with that exclamation on his lips, two years after his removal to Moscow.

His son Yakoff did not, in outward appearance, resemble his father, who had been homely in person, clumsy and awkward; he reminded one rather of his mother. There were the same delicate, pretty features, the same soft hair of ashblonde hue, the same plump, childish lips, and large, languis.h.i.+ng, greenish-grey eyes, and feathery eyelashes. On the other hand in disposition he resembled his father; and his face, which did not resemble his father's, bore the stamp of his father's expression; and he had angular arms, and a sunken chest, like old Aratoff, who, by the way, should hardly be called an old man, since he did not last to the age of fifty. During the latter's lifetime Yakoff had already entered the university, in the physico-mathematical faculty; but he did not finish his course,--not out of idleness, but because, according to his ideas, a person can learn no more in the university than he can teach himself at home; and he did not aspire to a diploma, as he was not intending to enter the government service. He avoided his comrades, made acquaintance with hardly any one, was especially shy of women, and lived a very isolated life, immersed in his books. He was shy of women, although he had a very tender heart, and was captivated by beauty.... He even acquired the luxury of an English keepsake, and (Oh, for shame!) admired the portraits of divers, bewitching Gulnares and Medoras which "adorned"

it.... But his inborn modesty constantly restrained him. At home he occupied his late father's study, which had also been his bedroom; and his bed was the same on which his father had died.

The great support of his whole existence, his unfailing comrade and friend, was his aunt, that Platosha, with whom he exchanged barely ten words a day, but without whom he could not take a step. She was a long-visaged, long-toothed being, with pale eyes in a pale face, and an unvarying expression partly of sadness, partly of anxious alarm.

Eternally attired in a grey gown, and a grey shawl which was redolent of camphor, she wandered about the house like a shadow, with noiseless footsteps; she sighed, whispered prayers--especially one, her favourite, which consisted of two words: "Lord, help!"--and managed the housekeeping very vigorously, h.o.a.rding every kopek and buying everything herself. She wors.h.i.+pped her nephew; she was constantly fretting about his health, was constantly in a state of alarm, not about herself but about him, and as soon as she thought there was anything the matter with him, she would quietly approach and place on his writing-table a cup of herb-tea, or stroke his back with her hands, which were as soft as wadding.

This coddling did not annoy Yakoff, but he did not drink the herb-tea, and only nodded approvingly. But neither could he boast of his health.

He was extremely sensitive, nervous, suspicious; he suffered from palpitation of the heart, and sometimes from asthma. Like his father, he believed that there existed in nature and in the soul of man secrets, of which glimpses may sometimes be caught, though they cannot be understood; he believed in the presence of certain forces and influences, sometimes well-disposed but more frequently hostile ... and he also believed in science,--in its dignity and worth. Of late he had conceived a pa.s.sion for photography. The odour of the ingredients used in that connection greatly disturbed his old aunt,--again not on her own behalf, but for Yasha's sake, on account of his chest. But with all his gentleness of disposition he possessed no small portion of stubbornness, and he diligently pursued his favourite occupation. "Platosha"

submitted, and merely sighed more frequently than ever, and whispered "Lord, help!" as she gazed at his fingers stained with iodine.

Yakoff, as has already been stated, shunned his comrades; but with one of them he struck up a rather close friends.h.i.+p, and saw him frequently, even after that comrade, on leaving the university, entered the government service, which, however, was not very exacting: to use his own words, he had "tacked himself on" to the building of the Church of the Saviour[52] without, of course, knowing anything whatever about architecture. Strange to say, that solitary friend of Aratoff's, Kupfer by name, a German who was Russified to the extent of not knowing a single word of German, and even used the epithet "German"[53] as a term of opprobrium,--that friend had, to all appearance, nothing in common with him. He was a jolly, rosy-cheeked young fellow with black, curly hair, loquacious, and very fond of that feminine society which Aratoff so shunned. Truth to tell, Kupfer breakfasted and dined with him rather often, and even--as he was not a rich man--borrowed small sums of money from him; but it was not that which made the free-and-easy German so diligently frequent the little house on Shabolovka Street. He had taken a liking to Yakoff's spiritual purity, his "ideality,"--possibly as a contrast to what he daily encountered and beheld;--or, perhaps, in that same attraction toward "ideality" the young man's German blood revealed itself. And Yakoff liked Kupfer's good-natured frankness; and in addition to this, his tales of the theatres, concerts, and b.a.l.l.s which he constantly attended--in general of that alien world into which Yakoff could not bring himself to penetrate--secretly interested and even excited the young recluse, yet without arousing in him a desire to test all this in his own experience. And Platosha liked Kupfer; she sometimes thought him too unceremonious, it is true; but instinctively feeling and understanding that he was sincerely attached to her beloved Yasha, she not only tolerated the noisy visitor, but even felt a kindness for him.

II