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Precipice

<h2> CHAPTER VI </h2> In a kibitka covered with bast, drawn by three lean and sleepy nags, Raisky drove slowly to his estate. It was not without agitation that he saw the smoke curling up from the chimneys of his own roof, the fresh, delicate green of the birches and the limes which overshadowed this place of refuge, the gables of the old house and the pale line of the Volga now gleaming between the trees and now hidden from view. He approached nearer and nearer; now he could see the shimmer of the flowers in the garden, the avenues of lime and acacia became visible, the old elm emerged, and there, more to the left, lay the orchard. There were dogs in the yard, cats sunning themselves, on the roof of the new house flocked the pigeon and the swallows flitted around the eaves. Behind the house, on the side towards the village, linen lay out to bleach. One woman was rolling a cask, the coachman was chopping wood, a peasant got into the telega and gathered up the reins—Boris saw only unfamiliar faces. But Yakob was there and looked sleepily round. One familiar face, but how aged! Raisky observed the scene intently. He alighted from the kibitka, and walked along the fence which divided house, yard, garden and park from the road, feasting his eyes on the well-remembered prospect, when suddenly his eye was caught by an unexpected apparition. On the verandah, which led down to the garden and was decorated by lemon and pomegranate trees in tubs, and with cactus and aloe and flowering plants, stood a young girl of about twenty, scattering millet from two plates held by a barefooted child of twelve. At her feet were assembled hens, turkeys, ducks, pigeons, sparrows and daws. She called to the birds to come to breakfast, and cocks, hens and pigeons fell to, looking round every moment as if they feared treason, and then again falling to. As the morning sun shed a fierce light on the busy group of birds and on the young girl herself, Raisky saw her large, dark grey eyes, her round, healthy cheeks, her narrow white teeth, her long light-brown tresses wound twice round her head, and the strong young breasts rising and sinking underneath her white blouse. Her white, slightly tanned neck was innocent of collar or scarf. A hasty movement loosened one plait of hair over her head and back, but she took no notice, but continued to scatter the corn, taking care that all received their share and that sparrows and daws did not obtrude too much, and looking as fresh and happy as the morning itself. “Didn’t you see the goose?” she asked the little girl in a loud clear voice. “No,” answered the child, “it is the cat’s fault. Afimua says it will die.” “I shall look after it myself. Afimua has no pity.” Motionless, Raisky watched the scene without his presence being suspected. This must be his cousin, and how charming! But which one, Veroshka or Marfinka? Without waiting for the kibitka to turn in through the gate, he ran forward, and stood before the young girl. “Cousin,” he cried, extending his arms. In a moment both girls had vanished as if by magic, the sparrows were away on the roof, and the pigeons in flight. The servants in the yard stopped their work. Raisky looked in amazement on the emptiness and at the corn scattered at his feet. Then he heard in the house bustle, murmurs, movement, the clatter of keys, and his aunt’s voice, “Where is he?” Her face lighted up when she saw Raisky and she opened her arms, to press him to her breast. She had aged, but in so even, so healthy a fashion, that there were no unwholesome patches, no deep hanging pockets about the eyes and mouth, no sadness or gloom in her eyes. Life had not conquered her; she conquered life, and only slowly laid down her weapons in the combat. Her voice was not so clear as of old, and she leaned on a stick, but she made no complaint. She still wore no cap on her short hair. Health and kindliness shone from her eyes, and not only from her eyes, from her whole figure. “Borushka, my friend!” Three times she embraced him. Tears stood in her eyes. In her embrace, her voice, in the sudden grip of joy, there was tenderness, affection, and ardour. He felt that he was almost a criminal, that he had been playing with his emotions and seeking forbidden fruit, wandering homelessly in the world, while Nature himself had been preparing for him a nest where sympathy and happiness awaited him. “Marfinka, where are you, come here,” cried her grandmother. “She was so terrified when she saw you, and terrified me too. Let me look at you, Borushka.” She led him to the light and looked at him long and earnestly. “How ill you look,” she said. “But no, you are sunburnt. The moustache suits you, why do you grow a beard? Shave it off, Borushka, I can’t endure it. Ah! grey hairs here and there already. You are beginning to age too soon.” “It’s not with age, Granny.” “Why then? Are you in good health?” “I’m well enough. Let us talk of something else. You, thank God, are always the same.” “What do you mean?” “You don’t alter a bit, are still as beautiful as ever. I never saw an old lady whose age adorned her so.” “Thanks for the compliment, my child. It would be better for you to spend your admiration on your sisters. I will whisper the truth to you. Two such beauties you will not find in the town, especially the other....” “Where is my other sister?” “On a visit to the pope’s wife on the other side of the Volga. It is a pity. The pope’s wife has been ill and sent for her, of course just now. A messenger shall go.” “No! No! Why should anyone be disturbed on my account?” “And you have come on your Grandmother so suddenly. We waited, waited, in vain. The peasants sat up for you at night, I have just sent Egorka on to the highway to look for you and Savili into the town. Now you must have your breakfast. Why is it so long in coming? The master has come, and there is nothing ready, just as if the house was nothing better than a station. Serve what is ready.” “I need nothing, Granny. I am stuffed with food. At one station I drank tea, milk at another, and at the third there was a wedding, and I was treated to wine, meat and gingerbread.” “You are on your way home to your Grandmother, and are not ashamed to eat and drink all sorts of things. Gingerbread in the morning! Marfinka ought to have been there; she loves weddings and gingerbread. Come in. Marfinka, don’t be so shy. She is ashamed because you caught her in her morning gown. Come here, darling; he is your brother.” Tea and coffee appeared, and finally breakfast. However much he protested Raisky had to eat, for otherwise his aunt’s morning would have been spoiled. “Marfinka, come here and entertain us.” After about five minutes the door opened slowly and quietly, and Marfinka entered, blushing with confusion and with downcast eyes. At her heels followed Vassilissa with a tea-tray full of sweets, preserves, cakes, etc. Marfinka stood still, betraying in her confusion a certain curiosity. She wore lace at her neck and wrists; her hair was plaited firmly around her head and the waist of her barège dress encircled by a blue ribbon. Raisky threw down his napkin, and jumped up, to stand before her in admiration. “How lovely,” he cried. “This is my little sister, Marfa Vassilievna. And is the goose still alive?” Marfinka became still more embarrassed, returned his greeting awkwardly, and retired to a corner. “You have both gone mad,” interrupted their aunt. “Is that the way to greet one another?” “Marfa Vassilievna,” said Raisky, as he sought to kiss Marfinka’s hand. “Vassilievna!” cried Tatiana Markovna. “Don’t you love her any more? Marfinka, not Marfa Vassilievna! You will be addressing me as Tatiana Markovna next! Kiss one another. Are you not brother and sister?” “I won’t, Grandmama. He is teasing me about the goose. It is not polite to spy on people,” she said severely. Everybody laughed. Raisky kissed her on both cheeks, embraced her, and overcame her confusion. She kissed him in return, and her shyness vanished. “Do you remember, Marfinka, how we used to run about and draw, and how you cried?” “No ... but yes. I do remember as if in a dream.” “How should she remember, when she was only five?” interrupted her aunt. “But I do, Grandmama, as in a dream.” Raisky had hardly captured his old memories when Marfinka disappeared. Soon she returned with sketch books, drawings and toys, and sitting down by Raisky in friendly fashion began, “Granny says that I don’t remember. I remember how you used to draw, and how I sat on your knee. Granny has all your drawings, portraits and sketch books. She has kept them all in the dark room where the silver, the diamonds and the lace are. She got them out, and gave them to me a little time ago, when she heard you were coming. Here is my portrait. How funny I looked! And here is Veroshka, and Granny, and Vassilissa. Do you remember how you held me, and Veroshka sat on your shoulder, and you carried us over the water?” “Do you remember that too?” asked her aunt. “Boastful child! Veroshka said the other day....” “This is how I draw now,” said Marfinka, handing him a drawing of a bunch of flowers. “Splendid, little sister! Is it done from nature?” “Yes, from nature. I can make wax-flowers, too.” “And do you play or sing?” “I play the piano.” “And does Veroshka draw and play?” Marfinka shook her head. “Does she like needlework? No? Then is she fond of reading?” “Yes, she reads a great deal. But she does not tell us what she reads, nor show us the book, nor even say where she got it.” “She hides herself from everybody, does my strange child,” sighed Tatiana Markovna. “God only knows what will become of her. Now, Marfinka, don’t waste your brother’s time any longer with your chatter about trifles. We will talk about serious matters, about the estate.” The old lady had worn a serious expression while she watched Boris as he talked to Marfinka. She recognised his mother’s features, but the changes in his face did not escape her—the indications of vanishing youth, the premature furrows; and she was baffled by the original expression of his eyes. Formerly she had always been able to read his face, but now there was much inscribed on it that was undecipherable for her. Yet his temperament was open and affectionate and his words frankly interpreted his thoughts. Now his aunt stood before him wearing a most business-like expression; in her hand were accounts and a ledger. “Are you not weary with your journey?” she said. “You are yawning and perhaps you would like a little sleep. Business can wait till to-morrow.” “I slept a good deal on the journey. But you are giving yourself useless trouble, Grandmother, for I am not going to look at your accounts.” “What? You have surely come to take over the estate and to ask for an account of my stewardship. The accounts and statements that I sent you—” “I have never even read, Grandmother.” “You haven’t read them. I have sent you precise information about your income and you don’t even know how your money is spent.” “And I don’t want to know,” answered Raisky, looking out of the window away towards the banks of the Volga. “Imagine, Marfinka,” he said, “I remember a verse I learnt as a child— “‘Oh Volga, proudest of rivers, Stem thy hurrying flood; Oh Volga, hearken, hearken, To the ringing song of the poet, The unknown, whose life thou hast spared.’” “Don’t be vexed with me, Borushka,” cried Tatiana Markovna, “but I think you are mad. What have you done with the papers I sent you? Have you brought them?” “Where are they?” she continued, as he shook his head. “Granny, I tore up all the accounts, and I swear I will do the same with these if you worry me with them.” He seized the paper, but she snatched them away, exclaiming, “You dare to tear up my accounts.” He laughed, suddenly embraced her, and kissed her lips as he had done when he was a child. She shook herself free and wiped her mouth. “I toil till midnight, adding up and writing down every kopek, and he tears up my work. That is why you never wrote about money matters, gave any orders, made any preparations, or did anything of the kind. Did you never think of your estate?” “Not at all, Granny. I forgot all about it. If I thought at all I thought of these rooms in which lives the only woman who loves me and is loved by me, you alone in the whole world. And now,” he said, turning to Marfinka, “I want to win my sisters too.” His aunt took off her spectacles and gazed at him. “In all my days I have never seen anything like it,” she said. “Here the only person with no roots like that is Markushka.” “What sort of person is this Markushka. Leonti Koslov writes about him. How is Leonti, Granny? I must look him up.” “How should he be? He crouches in one spot with a book, and his wife in another. But he does not even see what goes on under his nose, and can any good come from his friendship with this Markushka. Only the other day your friend came here to complain that that Markushka was destroying books from your library. You know, don’t you, that the library from the old house has been installed in Koslov’s house?” Raisky hummed an air from “Il Barbiere.” “You are an extraordinary man,” cried his aunt angrily. “Why did you come at all? Do talk sensibly.” “I came to see you, Granny, to live here for a little while, to breathe freely, to look out over the Volga, to write, to draw....” “But the estate? If you are not tired we will drive out into the field, to look at the sowing of the winter-corn.” “Later on, Granny.” “Will you take over the management of the estate?” “No, Granny, I will not.” “Who then is to look after it? I am old and can no longer do all the work. Do you wish me to put the estate into strange hands?” “Farm it yourself, Granny, so long as you take any pleasure in it.” “And if I die?” “Then leave everything as it is.” Tatiana Markovna looked at the portrait of Raisky’s mother, for a long time she looked at the languishing eyes, the melancholy smile. “Yes,” she whispered. “I honour the memory of the departed, but hers is the fault. She kept you by her side, talked to you, played the piano, read out of books and wept as she did so. And this is the result. Singing and painting. Now tell me, Borushka,” she went on in her ordinary tone, “what is to become of the house, of the linen, the silver, the diamonds? Shall you order them to be given to the peasants?” “Do I possess diamonds and silver?” “How often have I told you so? From your mother you have inherited all these things; what is to be done with them. I will show you the inventory of them.” “Don’t do that, for Heaven’s sake. I can believe they are mine. And so I can dispose of them as I please?” “Of course; you are the proprietor. We live here as your guests, though we do not eat your bread. See here are my receipts and expenditure,” she said, thrusting towards another big ledger which he waved away. “But I believe all you say, Granny,” he said. “Send for a clerk and tell him to make out a deed, by which I give the house, the land, and all that belongs to it to my dear cousins, Veroshka and Marfinka, as dowry.” The old lady wrinkled her brow, and waited impatiently till he should finish speaking. “So long as you live, dear Granny,” he continued, “the estate naturally remains under your control; the peasants must have their freedom....” “Never,” interrupted his aunt, “Veroshka and Marfinka are not beggars—each of them has her fifty thousand roubles—and after my death three times that sum, perhaps more. All I have is for my little girls, and, thank God, I am not a pauper. I have a corner of my own, a bit of land, and a roof to cover them. One would think you were a millionaire. You make gifts; you will have this, and you won’t have that. Here, Marfinka! where have you hidden yourself?” “Directly!” cried Marfinka’s clear voice from a neighbouring room. Happy, gay, smiling and frank, she fluttered into the room, looked hesitatingly, first at Raisky, then at her aunt, who was nearly beside herself. “Your cousin, Marfinka, is pleased to present you with a house, silver, and lace. You are, he thinks, a beggared, dowerless girl. Make a curtsey, thank your benefactor, kiss his hand—Well?” Marfinka, who did not know what to say, squeezed herself flat against the stove and looked at her two relatives. Her aunt pushed papers and books on one side, crossed her hands over her breast, and looked out of the window, while Raisky sat down beside Marfinka, and took her hand. “Would you like to go away from here, Marfinka, into a strange house, perhaps in an altogether different district?” “God forbid! How could such a thing happen. Who ever imagined such nonsense?” “Granny,” laughed Raisky. Happily “Granny” had not heard the words. Marfinka was embarrassed, and looked out of the window. “Here I have everything I want, the lovely flowers in the garden, the birds. Who would look after the birds? I will never go away from here, never!” “But Granny wants to go and take you with her.” “Granny! Where? Why?” she asked her aunt in her caressing, coaxing way. “Don’t tease me,” said Tatiana Markovna. “Marfinka, you don’t want to leave home?” asked Boris. “Not for anything in the world. How could such a thing be?” “What would Veroshka say about it?” “She would never be separated from the old house.” “She loves the old house?” “Yes. She is only happy when she is here. If she were taken away from it she would die. We both should.” “That matter is settled then, little sister. You two, Veroshka and you, will accept the gift from me, won’t you?” “I will if Veroshka agrees.” “Agreed, dear sister. You are not so proud as Granny,” he said, as he kissed her forehead. “What is agreed?” suddenly grumbled Tatiana Markovna. “You have accepted? Who told you you might accept? Grandmother will never permit you to live at a stranger’s expense. Be so kind, Boris Pavlovich, as to take over books, accounts, inventories and sales. I am not your paid servant.” She pushed papers and books towards him. “Granny!” “Granny! My name is Tatiana Markovna Berezhkov.” She stood up, and opened the door into the servants’ room. “Send Savili here.” A quarter of an hour later, a peasant of almost forty-five years of age opened the door with a casual greeting. He was strongly-built, big boned, and was robust, without being fat. His eyes with their overhanging brows and wide heavy lids, wasted no idle glances; he neither spoke an unnecessary word, nor made a superfluous gesture. “The proprietor is here,” said Tatiana Markovna, indicating Raisky. “You must now make your reports to him. He intends to administer the estate himself.” Savili looked askance at Raisky. “At your orders,” he said stiffly, slowly raising his eyes. “What orders are you pleased to give?” he asked, lowering his eyes again. Raisky thought for a moment before he replied: “Do you know an official who could draw up a document for the transfer of the estate?” “Gavril Ivanov Meshetshnikov draws up the papers we require,” he said. “Send for him.” As Savili bowed, and slowly retired, Raisky followed him with his eyes. “An anxious rascal,” was his comment. “How should he be other than anxious,” said his aunt, “when he is tied to a wife like Marina Antipovna? Do you remember Antip? Well, she is his daughter. But for his marriage he is a treasure. He does my important business, sells the corn, and collects the money. He is honest and practical, but fate deals her blows where she will, and every man must bear his own burden. But what idea have you in your head now? Are you beside yourself?” “Something must be done. I am going away, and you will not administer the estate, so some arrangement must be made.” “And is that your reason for going? I thought you were now going to take over the management of your estate. You have done enough gadding about. Why not marry and settle here?” She was visibly struggling with herself. It had never entered her head to give up the administration; she would not have known what to do with herself. Her idea had been to alarm Raisky, and he was taking her seriously. “What is to be done?” she said. “I will see after the estate as long as I have the strength to do so. How else should you live, you strange creature?” “I receive two thousand roubles from my other estate, and that is a sufficient income. I want to work, to draw, to write, to travel for a little; and for that purpose I might mortgage or sell the other estate.” “God bless you, Borushka, what next? Are you so near beggary? You talk of drawing, writing, alienating your land; next it will be giving lessons or school teaching. Instead of arriving with four horses and a travelling carriage you sneak in, without a servant, in a miserable kibitka, you, a Raisky. Look at the old house, at the portraits of your ancestors, and take shame to yourself. Shame, Borushka! How splendid it would have been if you had come epauletted like Sergei Ivanovich, and had married a wife with a dowry of three thousand souls.” Raisky burst out laughing. “Why laugh? I am speaking seriously when I tell you what a joy it would have been for your Grandmother. Then you would have wanted the lace and the silver, and not be flinging it away.” “But as I am not marrying, I don’t need these things. Therefore it is settled that Veroshka and Marfinka shall have them.” “Your decision is final?” “It is final. And it is further settled that if you do not like this arrangement, everything passes into the hands of strangers. You have my word for it.” “Your word for it,” cried his aunt. “You are a lost man. Where have you lived, and what have you done. Tell me, for Heaven’s sake, what your purpose in life is, and what you really are?” “What I am, Grandmother? The unhappiest of men!” He leaned his head back on the cushion as he spoke. “Never say such a thing,” she interrupted. “Fate hears and exacts the penalty, and you will one day be unhappy. Either be content or feign content.” She looked anxiously round, as if Fate were already standing at her shoulder. Raisky rose from the divan. “Let us be reconciled,” he said. “Agree to keep this little corner of God’s earth under your protection.” “It is an estate, not a ‘corner.’” “Resign yourself to my gift of this old stuff to the dear girls. A lonely man like me has no use for it, but they will be mistresses of a house. If you don’t agree, I will present it to the school....” “The school-children! Those rascals who steal our apples, shall not have it.” “Come to the point, Granny! You don’t really want to leave this nest in your old age.” “We’ll see, we’ll see. Give them the lace on their wedding-day. I can do nothing with you; talk to Tiet Nikonich who is coming to dinner.” And she wondered what would come of such strangeness. Raisky took his cap to go out, and Marfinka went with him. She showed him the park, her own garden, the vegetable and flower gardens, and the arbours. When they came to the precipice she looked anxiously over the edge, and drew back with a shudder. Raisky looked down on the Volga, which was in flood, and had overflowed into the meadows. In the distance were ships which appeared to be motionless, and above hung heaped banks of cloud. Marfinka drew closer to Raisky, and looked down indifferently on the familiar picture. “Come down!” he said suddenly, and seized her hand. “No, I am afraid,” she answered trembling, and drew back. “I won’t let you fall. Do you think I can’t take care of you?” “Not at all, but I am afraid. Veroshka has no fear, but goes down alone, even in the dusk. Although a murderer lies buried there, she is not afraid.” “Try, shut your eyes, and give me your hand. You will see how carefully I take you down.” Marfinka half closed her eyes, but she had hardly taken his hand and made one step, when she found herself standing on the edge of the precipice. Shuddering she withdrew her hand. “I would not go down for anything in the world,” she cried as she ran back. “Where are you going to!” No answer reached her. She approached the edge and looked timidly over. She saw how the bushes were bent noisily aside, as Raisky sprang down, step by step. How horrible! she thought as she returned to the house. <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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