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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 Michail 
 Gourakin
 
 MICHAIL GOURAKIN 
 
 The Heart of a Russian 
 
 by 
 LAPPO-DANILEVESKAYA 
 
 NEW VORK 
 
 ROBERT M. McBRIDE £if COMPANY 
 
 1917
 
 COPTBIGHT, 1917. BY 
 
 Robert M. McBridb & Co. 
 
 PUBLISHED 1917
 
 VI 
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 PART ONE 
 
 " Vanity of vanities, all is vanity." 
 
 "Has His Excellency returned from his walk?" 
 
 An austere-looking and grey-haired valet stood at the 
 door of the study. 
 
 "Tell the Prince, Tikhon, that I urgently ask him to 
 receive me directly." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 The valet softly closed the heavy doors behind him and 
 proceeded to the apartments of the Prince through the long 
 suite of rooms. On remaining alone, the very young 
 officer, who had been sitting before his morning cup of 
 coffee, rose hastily, and, lighting a cigarette and nervously 
 shrugging his shoulders, began to walk up and down the 
 room. Without his uniform, in his shirt of finest linen and 
 black tie over his collar, with dark brown hair, splendid 
 blue eyes, and aquiline nose, Michail Gourakin was un- 
 doubtedly the handsomest and most dashing officer in the 
 Guards. A small moustache could not hide the soft con- 
 tour of his mouth. The height, figure, movements — all 
 were impressed with nobility and harmony. After only a 
 couple of pulls at his cigarette he threw it on the floor with 
 an impatient movement, and with a frown took up his 
 uniform coat, which was laid out ready for him, and began 
 putting it on before a looking-glass. 
 
 " Que diable!" he grumbled through his teeth, and pulled 
 at the sleeve, the lining of which had been caught by his 
 
 X
 
 2 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 stud. Having freed his hand, he arranged his tie, passed 
 his hand over his smoothly combed hair, gave a touch to 
 his moustache, and was just going to finish his coflfee when 
 someone knocked at the door. 
 
 "Come in." Michail turned and put his cup of cofifee 
 back without touching it with his hps. 
 
 "You are expected." 
 
 The same valet stood in the doorway with an impene- 
 trable expression on his face. 
 
 " Is the Prince alone ?" asked Gourakin. 
 
 " He is." 
 
 The valet stepped aside to allow Michail to pass. On 
 remaining alone he picked up the still smoking cigarette, 
 shook his head in grave rebuke, felt the carpet on the spot 
 where it had lain, and, moving his lips and whispering to 
 himself, went out. 
 
 With his light youthful step, his spurs clanking, Michail 
 entered the spacious study of his uncle. A General in the 
 suite of the Emperor, he was seated in a deep armchair in 
 undress uniform, his long legs, showing his enormous 
 height, stretched out before him, and was turning over the 
 leaves of a new number of the Journal de St. Petersbourg. 
 
 "A-a, good-morning. What has happened to you?" he 
 asked, not looking up from his paper; and moving his 
 meerschaum mouthpiece with the cigarette towards the 
 corner of his mouth, he slowly inhaled the smoke. Michail 
 was silent. Prince Alexei Vassilievitch raised his eyes with 
 an interrogative look, and smiled. The smile made his face 
 look very much like Michail's : the same blue eyes, the same 
 aquiline nose, the same gentle and light-hearted expression, 
 but the Prince's features were larger, and had more char- 
 acter. A peculiarity of his face was the large, projecting 
 chin. 
 
 "Well, what is the matter? Money?" asked the Prince 
 again, letting out a long curl of smoke. 
 
 Michail, who had sat down in an armchair, rose hastily, 
 and, as if at a loss for words, knitting his eyebrows and 
 closing his eyes, he rubbed his forehead with his fingers. 
 
 "Worse, mon oncle — much worse. ... I have come to
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 3 
 
 ask your advice and support. . . . Help me ... or rathei 
 us." 
 
 " Histoire d e femme f" 
 
 Instead of answering Michail gave an affirmative nod. 
 
 "Who is it?" asked the Prince, following the curls o( 
 smoke with half closed eyes. 
 
 " Nathalie Volynskaia." 
 
 " A dangerous woman ! But I don't see the trouble. It 
 appears that Volynsky is most accommodating, and allows 
 her full liberty." 
 
 " She is enceinte. . . .*' 
 
 "A-a-a! . . . That is imprudent. However, I still do 
 not see any cause for drama. Although up to now 
 Volynsky has not taken care to make her a mother, that 
 does not exclude the possibility. . . ." 
 
 " It is absolutely excluded : Nathalie has never been the 
 wife of her husband." 
 
 " What nonsense ! " interrupted the Prince calmly. " I 
 have known Volynsky for a long time, and I know some- 
 thing of his intimate life outside his family. Absolute 
 nonsense !" 
 
 " Allow me, mon oncle, but I am telling you what I have 
 heard — from Nathalie herself." 
 
 " Hm-m ! . . . We certainly easily believe interesting 
 women, especially if they love us. Please do not be 
 offended with me; you know yourself that I am the first 
 to be a woman's slave; I do not blame her. But what does 
 she want ?" 
 
 " It is not a case of what she wants, but I want to make 
 her my wife." 
 
 " Do not be hasty, my friend. Evidently this is your 
 first love affair with a respectable woman. . , ." 
 
 " Yes, mon oncle, you are right." 
 
 The Prince, as if considering something, began slowly to 
 light another cigarette. 
 
 " The more reason for you not to do anything hastily. 
 Volynskaia, besides being five years older than you, is a 
 capable and not stupid woman. She will know how to 
 deceive her husband, or he will allow himself to be deceived.
 
 4 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 All will pass without any scandal, and, believe me, you will 
 keep her as a very good friend." 
 
 " I cannot consent to that." 
 
 "And she?" 
 
 " Neither can she, I think." 
 
 "That is to say, you think, or you are sure ?" 
 
 "She loves me. . . ." 
 
 "She is not sixteen years old, to be afraid of a liaison. 
 You see, my boy, you are so huffy that I see quite clearly it 
 is she who desires a divorce. And I will tell you quite 
 seriously that she is wrong to prefer to have you as a hus- 
 band, instead of keeping you as a lover. Why this scandal ? 
 Why should you shock all our world, bring the affair to the 
 notice of the Court, and shame on Volynsky, hurry on the 
 divorce at express speed — you say she is expecting a child 
 — grieve vour father and grandmother? ... I do not 
 understand you, and Nathalie Volynskaia still less. She 
 has an excellent position, a clever and high-placed hus- 
 band. . . ." 
 
 " But I, I myself, mon oncle, do not want to play the part 
 of a scoundrel." 
 
 The Prince winced 
 
 " Where does the scoundrel come in ? You are twenty- 
 one, she is twenty-five. . . . What is it you want from me 
 at last ?" 
 
 "I ask you, I implore you, go to Baroness Kern — you 
 know what friends she is with Volynsky — and ask her to 
 persuade him to consent to a divorce. Besides, the Duchess 
 loves the Baroness; if we have her on our side, then the 
 Duchess will also say a word or two where necessary for 
 us." 
 
 " So ... I see, you are all on fire. Well, but tell me, has 
 Nathalie Volynskaia told her husband of her state ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And what does he say ?" i 
 
 " He agrees : he does not want any scandal." 
 
 "And you still desire it! Imprudent. . . . This is what 
 I will tell you, my poor boy : you are aware of what I have 
 been through in my time, so that I can well understand and,
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 5 
 
 if need be, help you, and I ask you to consider your position 
 calmly; talk it over with someone else, and if in a week's 
 time you have not changed your decision, there is nothing 
 to be done : I will go to Baroness Kern. You will have a 
 difficult time with your father. How do you think ?" 
 
 "Yes, father does not understand these things — nor 
 many others," sighed Michail. 
 
 "You probably want money?" asked the Prince, under- 
 standing evidently what Michail meant by "many 
 others." 
 
 "N-no, thank you. ... I did not mean that.** 
 
 " I know that it is not that. Take some, if you want it. 
 There, on the table, near the inkstand. A Guardsman 
 always needs money; your father seems to forget this." 
 
 Michail left the Prince's study soon after, and, passing a 
 long row of reception-rooms, descended a small staircase. 
 Without knocking he entered the private apartments of the 
 young Prince, with whom he had grown up since he was a 
 child of nine years old, and who was now serving in the 
 same regiment. Notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, 
 the young Prince was just getting up and was hurrying to 
 dress, grumbling and scolding. His valet was rushing 
 about from side to side, picking up the different things that 
 the impatient hand of the young Prince was throwing down 
 on the floor, handing him one object and another, trying to 
 guess his wishes, and patiently and meekly submitting to 
 his scoldings and blame, 
 
 "Give me the gold studs. . . . Not those. ... I tell 
 you, not those. What a donkey you are ! You can never 
 understand at once. Cigarettes ! Where are you putting 
 them, d you ! " 
 
 The young Prince's flow of angry words was interrupted 
 by Michail's entrance. 
 
 " The train starts in forty minutes. You are coming to 
 Peterhof, Serguei ?" 
 
 "Certainly. Wait for me. That unlicked bear-cub has 
 no idea of his duties — makes one angry from early 
 morning." 
 
 "What's the use of worrying 1" Michail shrugged his
 
 6 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 shoulders as he stood before a glass and smoothed his 
 small, well cared for moustache. 
 
 Prince Serguei was like his father in figure and somewhat 
 in features. In his temper he resembled his mother : he 
 was often and easily irritated, very despotic, and from his 
 infancy showed a love of authority. 
 
 Soon he was ready, and the two young Guardsmen, ex- 
 changing a few hurried sentences, clanking their spurs and 
 broad swords, ran down the marble staircase, covered with 
 a red velvet carpet, into the hall, where an austere-looking 
 and stately old porter in red livery emblazoned with the 
 arms of the family, respectfully handed them their cloaks 
 and threw open before them the heavy bronze-covered 
 doors. The frosty air filled the young lungs with its 
 quickening breath, and gave an additional colour to the 
 fresh young faces. 
 
 At the same time Princess Anna Valerianovna, the wife 
 of Prince Alexei Vassilievitch, was in her working-room, 
 which was handsomely, though coldly, furnished in Kare- 
 lian birch. Standing before a large round table, she was 
 rapidly overhauling neatly folded parcels of children's 
 underclothing. Her fat white hands with the short fingers 
 were taking up each piece, turning it inside and out, feeling 
 the seams and buttons, and afterwards passing it over to a 
 short, middle-aged lady with tightly folded thin lips and a 
 sharp sly look in her faded eyes, who was standing near 
 her at the same table. 
 
 "How much calico is there remaining from last year?" 
 asked the Princess. 
 
 " Over two hundred arshiiis." 
 
 "Ah, how slowly those girls work! Tell them, Olga 
 Onisimovna, that they must work more diligently." 
 
 " I will tell them, Your Excellency." 
 
 " Are the stoves in good order ?" 
 
 "All have been repaired." 
 
 "About the storehouses — I have already given my in- 
 structions to Peter Semenovitch. The supplies can be 
 transferred to some place for a time. And besides, Olga 
 Oiaisimovna, the reception of relatives must be limited.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 7 
 
 Last time when I was there, there were some women in the 
 hall. What do they want on work days ?" 
 
 "They had arrived from afar, Your Excellency, by 
 special request. . , ." 
 
 " Unnecessary. . . . Quite unnecessary. Let the chil- 
 dren study and work. No relatives on work days. Only 
 spoiling them." 
 
 "Your Excellency, Kishkina is in the hospital again; 
 again eczema and abscesses." 
 
 "Ah, what a bother with her!" The Princess made a 
 grimace of disgust. " She is an unclean, nasty child. What 
 does Karl Edwardovitch say?" 
 
 " He advised that she be sent to the country for a couple 
 of months." 
 
 " Very well. I will write to him. And now take this away 
 and tell the children that if they have not finished the work 
 by the holidays I will be very displeased." 
 
 The Princess was just moving away, but remarking that 
 Olga Onisimovna had something to say, she stopped before 
 her. 
 
 " What is it ? Speak." 
 
 " It is about Dashenka, Your Excellency.'* 
 
 "Again about her?" 
 
 The Princess shrugged her shoulders impatiently, and 
 a contemptuous smile showed itself on her broad vulgar 
 face, with its thick lips and narrow eyes almost without 
 eyelashes. 
 
 " Dashenka has been oflFered a place of lady's maid, Your 
 Excellency — forty-five roubles a month all found, the salary 
 to be increased every year if she will undertake fine sewing." 
 
 " What nonsense ! What lady's maid ! To whom is it ?" 
 
 "To the Golovins" 
 
 " No, no, this is nonsense ! She wants to play the young 
 lady. An orphan without house or home — she has nothing 
 to do in the 'world.' She will only have her head turned 
 there. She must marry. Afanassiy is a good ynoujik, he 
 will not beat her; I will give her a dowry and a separate 
 cottage. Let her superintend the poultry-yard in Slavianka. 
 Tell me, please, what better can one want ?"
 
 8 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 The Princess's small sharp eyes moved rapidly and 
 maliciously, and she tugged nervously at the tie under the 
 starched collar of her blouse. 
 
 "She is so young, Your Excellency, only nineteen; a 
 good girl — the favourite of the vi^hole school," Olga 
 Onisimovna interceded softly. 
 
 " But not too young to go into service to strangers ? 
 Nonsense, nonsense!" 
 
 " She has finished a four-class school, Your Excellency, 
 and to marry a common peasant . . ." 
 
 "Tell me, please, and is she not a common peasant 
 herself ?" the Princess cried angrily, and as if struck with 
 astonishment she dropped into an armchair, and fixing 
 Olga Onisimovna with a severe gaze, which the other bore 
 unflinchingly, she was silent several seconds. 
 
 " I founded the school, not to make young ladies of com- 
 mon peasant girls," she continued, leaning her hands on the 
 arms of the chair and still severely gazing at the head-mistress 
 of the school. " I feed, dress and teach them so that they 
 could return to their homes and be useful there ; and we have 
 too many young ladies without them. Ring the bell, Olga 
 Onisimovna." 
 
 A minute later a slim young girl, with dark eyes and hair 
 and a pretty colour coming and going on her cheeks.entered 
 and stopped near the door in an attitude of respect. 
 
 "Take these things away," the Princess addressed her in 
 a dry and authoritative voice. " Olga Onisimovna has told 
 me of your wish to enter the service of the Golovins. . . ." 
 
 " Your Excellency " the young girl faltered timidly. 
 
 " Silence ! I will not allow that. You are to prepare 
 your trousseau and marry Afanassiy. You may just put 
 all nonsense out of your head." 
 
 "Your Excellency, I implore you . . ." the young girl 
 faltered again, ready to cry, and taking a step into the room. 
 
 "Put these things away I" the Princess repeated without 
 looking at her. The Princess rose from her chair, showing 
 as a stout woman with broad shoulders and smooth fair 
 hair tightly bound up in a knot on the top of her head, and, 
 stepping heavily without turning round, she left the room.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 9 
 
 In her bedroom, on a blue satin sofa, there lay a nun's 
 black dress and head-dress. Having put these on and taken 
 up her beads, the Princess, with an austere and devoted 
 expression on her face, passed her salon and study and 
 entered a small, half dark oratory; there she trimmed the 
 light of a lamp hanging before the ikons, and, sinking down 
 heavily on her knees, remained so, whispering prayers and 
 counting her beads, for over an hour, until a clock striking 
 in the neighbouring room reminded her that it was time to 
 go to lunch.
 
 II 
 
 Mme. Gourakina, Michail's grandmother, a well-pre- 
 served, stately, majestic-looking old lady, with smooth grey 
 hair divided by a broad parting and covered with a cap of 
 Chantilly lace, very straight backed, clad in black, which she 
 always wore since the death of her husband, was sitting in 
 the dark red drawing-room, her feet, encased in slippers 
 with cork soles and high French heels, to add to her low 
 stature, reposing on a footstool. Armed with a long 
 crochet-hook she was busy at her invariable work — knitting 
 woollen scarves for the poor. Opposite to her, at the same 
 table covered with a dark red plush table-cover, sat her 
 daughter Marie, an unmarried lady of thirty-five years, 
 short-sighted and inclined to stoutness, very modestly 
 dressed, her book, " War and Peace," out of which she was 
 reading aloud, lying on the table before her. Without 
 taking her eyes off her book she now and then stretched out 
 her hand and caught the large ball of blue wool which rolled 
 to the edge of the table and threatened to fall. The lamp, 
 under a dark blue shade, threw a bright circle of light on th; 
 table, upon the book lying there, and the rolling ball of 
 wool, leaving the faces of the old lady and her daughter, 
 Marie Gourakina, in a pleasant soft shadow. 
 
 "'Suddenly there was a movement,'" read Marie Goura- 
 kina in her low contralto voice; "'the crowd began to talk, 
 swayed, moved asunder, and between two rows of people, 
 at the sound of music, the Emperor appeared. . . .* " 
 
 "What a fine man he was!" said old Gourakina as if 
 speaking to herself. 
 
 Her daughter stopped her reading respectfully. 
 
 " He was handsomer than Emperor Alexander H. ?" 
 asked Marie in French, as it was the custom to speak in 
 their house. 
 
 xo
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN ii 
 
 "Emperor Alexander I. was charming — c'etait un 
 charmeur; the ladies went mad about him. Emperor 
 Alexander H. fascinates by his kindness, sa bonte divine. 
 He is not understood — many do not understand him," said 
 Gourakina with a kind of reproach and solemn respect in 
 her voice, as she unrolled a skein of wool from her ball 
 and let it fall to the ground. Marie waited another second, 
 and, seeing that her mother was prepared to listen, resumed 
 her reading. In the neighbouring room the clank of spurs 
 was heard, and Michail appeared at the door, his young face 
 reddened by the frost, and bringing with him a stream of 
 cold winter air. Holding his sword with one hand and 
 bending low in respect, he kissed the warm soft hand of his 
 grandmother, and was just going to do the same to his aunt 
 when she as usual kissed him on the lips. A kindly smile 
 shone on her face at the sight of her beloved nephew. 
 
 " Why did not you come to dinner ?" asked Mme. Goura- 
 kina, without taking her eyes off her work. 
 
 " Excuse me, grand' maman. I hope my note was not 
 late? There was a folle journee to-day at the Duchess's, 
 and I foresaw that I would not be able to come." 
 
 " Was it gay ?" 
 
 " Very animated." 
 
 " Who of the interesting ladies were there ?" asked Marie, 
 who had never liked, and now never visited, social gather- 
 ings, although, owing to her mother's position at the Court, 
 she could well have done so. 
 
 "There were many. . . . Mme. Naryshkina was very 
 pretty, Bezobrazova, the daughter of the English Ambas- 
 sador, la petite Niniche Ogareff . . . 
 
 " Was Volynskaia there ?" asked Gourakina, with a 
 momentary sharp glance at her grandson. 
 
 "Yes, she was . . ." Michail blushed suddenly, and, 
 angry with himself, frowned and began twirling his mous- 
 tache. 
 
 " With her husband ?" the old lady continued her interro- 
 gatory. 
 
 " I think so . . . although, no. . . .'* 
 
 Wishing to change the subject, Michail launched into a
 
 12 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 brilliant description of some festivities that had been held 
 in his regiment, carrying away with him Marie, who was 
 always greatly interested and willing to take to heart any- 
 thing that had any relation to the life of her nephew, whom 
 she worshipped for his handsome looks, his kind heart, and 
 unrestrained, generous, expansive nature. Old Gourakina 
 always severely blamed this last quality aloud, but in her 
 heart of hearts she loved her grandson just as he was. 
 
 "I had a letter from your father one of these days," the 
 old lady interrupted her grandson's story. "He complains 
 of his health. He writes that he is tired of life. He has 
 become quite a forest bear. He asks about you; you have 
 been writing much more seldom lately; that is not right." 
 
 The servant came to announce that the tea-urn was 
 served, and Marie rose from her place. 
 
 " You will v/ait for us in the dining-room, Marie ; I have 
 a few words to say to Misha." 
 
 Marie looked at her mother with a slight feeling of 
 anxiety. She knew how spare she was of her words, how 
 seldom she rebuked anyone, and if she had to say "a few 
 words," it generally meant something serious. Grown up 
 under the despotic rule of her mother, whom she deeply 
 respected and loved, but even now slightly feared and most 
 implicitly obeyed, sacrificing all her own inclinations to her 
 mother's will, Marie had become deeply attached to her 
 baby nephew Misha, whom her mother had brought home 
 from his father's after the death of the latter's wife at the 
 child's birth. During nine years the boy grew up under 
 the wing of his kind aunt, who was a merry young girl at 
 the time, going out in society with her eldest sister, but 
 always ready to give up balls and parties for a chance of 
 enjoying a romp with the lively little fellow and putting 
 him to bed herself. 
 
 It was Marie who undertook to conduct the first lessons 
 in reading, writing and music, and they served to attach her 
 still more to the child. 
 
 But quite unexpectedly the father's decision put an end 
 to Marie's joys. Acceding to the prayers of his late wife's 
 kinsman, Prince Alexei Vassilievitch, Michail's father gave
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 13 
 
 him his son, recognizing that to let him grow up under 
 exclusively womanly rule might be prejudicial to him. 
 
 Out of the strictly patriarchal atmosphere surrounding 
 the stately old Mme. Gourakina, and the motherly tender- 
 ness of his Aunt Marie, Michail passed into the sumptuous 
 house of Prince Alexei Vassilievitch, where he found tutors, 
 masters, and a comrade to play with — naughty, nervous, 
 and not always kind little Prince Serguei. The Princess 
 used to be present daily at some of the lessons. She entered 
 into the life of the boys, but she exercised no influence on 
 either of them, whereas the Prince, who saw them much less 
 frequently, at once gained the heart of lively little Machail, 
 full of fun and frolic. As the years rolled by he became the 
 favourite of the whole house, and now Prince Alexei 
 Vassilievitch would not hear of his living anywhere but at 
 his house. Notwithstanding their separation, the relations 
 between the aunt and nephew had remained the same, and 
 no one could sympathize with Michail so thoroughly as his 
 Aunt Marie, whom he loved with a selfish, but nevertheless 
 deep and sincere love. She would never think of criticizing 
 her mother's words or actions; however, in all that con- 
 cerned her nephew she always took his part in her heart; 
 often shed tears on his account, and avoided her mother 
 when the latter was displeased with her grandson. Now, 
 passing into the dining-room, she put some tea into the 
 Chinese teapot and mechanically, her thoughts elsewhere, 
 poured some water on it out of the silver urn. Not a word 
 reached her from the corner drawing-room, which was 
 separated from the dining-room by a salon and a reception- 
 room; and, with an anxious shake of the head, she took a 
 strip of embroidery work out of her pocket, and, bending 
 low over it, commenced to embroider in white the little 
 leaves and circles traced in blue on the linen. 
 
 Meanwhile Gourakina continued to work several minutes 
 in silence. 
 
 This silence, which seemed intentional to Michail, made 
 him feel very uncomfortable ; he knew what his severe old 
 grandmother wanted to talk about. Bracing himself up to 
 be calm and self-assured, he got out his cigarette case, but,
 
 14 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 remembering suddenly that smoking- was not allowed in her 
 presence, he began playing with it, holding it between two 
 fingers and twirling it round. 
 
 " Baroness Kern was here yesterday. . . .** 
 
 At these words something seemed to clutch at Michail's 
 heart. He had not been mistaken : a difficult explanation 
 lay before him. 
 
 " And she repeated to me the conversation which she had 
 had a few days ago with Prince Alexei Vassilievitch. . . . 
 You certainly understand of what I am speaking?" added 
 the old lady, after a short pause, going on with her work 
 and not looking at her grandson. 
 
 Michail, inwardly agitated, but not showing it, except by 
 the aimless removing of his cigarette case from one pocket 
 to another, was trying to gather his thoughts and seeking 
 for the best expressions which would be most efficient in 
 this case. 
 
 " A great misfortune has happened, grand' maman. . . . 
 God has willed it. . . ." 
 
 Gourakina laid her work down on her lap and, raising 
 her eyebrows impressively, gazed with severe eyes full into 
 the youth's confused and changing face. 
 
 " Not a misfortune, my friend, but looseness, depravity. 
 How can you seek to defend yourself by calling it God's 
 will ? You sin doubly. . . . And now, as I hear, you intend 
 to marry her?" The word "her" was pronounced with 
 marked contempt. 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Oh, how self-assured you are in your actions ! You say 
 ' certainly,' not noticing that your decision has not been 
 sufficiently thought out. . . ." 
 
 " I have considered it thoroughly." 
 
 " No, please, do not interrupt me, my friend, and hear me 
 out in what I feel it my duty to tell you. You have both 
 acted against the laws of morality, which I have always 
 tried to instil in you, and against God's commandments. 
 Without excusing your fault I still blame her more. Besides 
 being older than you by five years, she is a married woman, 
 and she had to guard not only her own, but also her hus-
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 15 
 
 band's honour. But even as a girl she was not distinguished 
 by her modesty. What did she expect, what could she 
 count on, when she plunged into such depravity? On the 
 support of the Duchess, who, for all the respect we owe 
 her, has very light views on life ? But believe me, my boy, 
 the families who care for their honour will not receive you. 
 It is depravity and a scandal to society." 
 
 Gourakina, her hands folded on her lap, with a slight 
 trembling of a corner of her mouth — which was a sure sign 
 of agitation with her — her dark broad eyebrows raised high, 
 did not once remove her penetrating gaze from Michail's 
 face. 
 
 " It is all decided now, grand'maman. Nathalie has con- 
 fessed to her husband. . . ." 
 
 "That is not true! It is a lie! It was not she who 
 confessed, but he spoke to her about it. I know this for 
 certain. She was deceiving him silently, and now she is 
 deceiving you, because a freak has taken her to become the 
 wife of a boy-horseguardsman. Her husband is so generous 
 and kind that he is willing to keep her with him, to give his 
 name to the shameful consequences of her depravity 
 and . . ." 
 
 " But that would be dastardly." 
 
 "Well, you are quite, quite a child I You cannot under- 
 stand, evidently, that any other man would have cast her 
 out without a word, after having beaten her half dead. He 
 would have been in the right, and she has deserved it. In 
 my time, my boy, women were horsewhipped for being 
 naughty, and they could complain to no one, because they 
 feared their husbands. She should have gone down before 
 him on her knees, asking his forgiveness, meekly bearing 
 the weight of her shame, praying God — and what is she 
 doing? But will you be allowed to marry? You must 
 think of that first." 
 
 " Nathalie hopes that the Duchess will help us." 
 "Please do not dare to pronounce that woman's name in 
 my house. I forbid it. How were you not ashamed to 
 plunge into such mire ? What have you prepared for your- 
 self ? What a blow you are striking at your father! To
 
 i6 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 marry a woman whom your family refuses to acknowledge ! 
 What a dishonour to your name ! You should think more 
 of the fair fame of your shield, which has always been held 
 spotless. Don't rush on without stopping to think; per- 
 haps she herself may be brought to reason, and will see 
 rightly." 
 
 " But there is no time to wait, grand' maman. She — she 
 is . . ." 
 
 "I know, I know! . . . Don't say it, don't repeat it 
 before me. A scandal, certainly a scandal ! Let her go 
 abroad. Any other woman in her place would be glad to 
 hide herself, and she goes to folles journees! . . . Think 
 better of it, my boy, think better, and do not persuade her to 
 go against the will of her husband; do not strike such a 
 blow to your family." 
 
 The old lady folded her work into a large pompadour 
 bag, and, throwing the cords over her arm, pushed her chair 
 back, and, moving silently with her soft soles on the 
 parquet, holding her head high, her silk dress rustling, pro- 
 ceeded to the dining-room. Behind her came Michail, 
 knitting his brows and biting his moist red lips, with a dis- 
 turbed expression on his face. Marie, after the first glance 
 at her mother and Michail, understood that something 
 serious and unpleasant had passed between them. 
 
 Pouring out the tea and trying to keep up the conversa- 
 tion, she kept throwing encouraging glances at Michail, 
 but he avoided them and sat frowning, biting his underlip 
 and hardly answering when spoken to. The old English- 
 woman, Miss Jones, who had brought up all the Gourakin 
 children, and who had now come down to tea, seemed not 
 to notice anything, and continued to butter a large piece of 
 bread, also keeping up the general conversation. 
 
 Tall, with false hair of a reddish hue, always with a 
 friendly smile for everyone, showing two rows of large 
 white even teeth, she had a habit of constantly putting out 
 and drawing in her lips; she was ever busy, knitting bright 
 yellow, or red, or green woollen scarves for Mme. Goura- 
 kina's poor people. Living at ease, always with the 
 Gourakin family, and concentrating all her energies in the
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 17 
 
 feeding of her own strong and muscular body, she never 
 seemed to notice anything that happened in the house, or 
 perhaps she pretended not to notice it, and only knew and 
 spoke of such things as had been told her. Therefore no 
 one ever minded her presence. 
 
 " Very good butter," she remarked to no one in particular, 
 drawing in her lips and laying a thick piece on her bread. 
 
 " It is from the country, Miss Jones," answered Mme. 
 Gourakina in English. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know . . . ," said the Englishwoman, smiling 
 and showing her false teeth. 
 
 Michail looked at her, and suddenly his frowning face 
 took a merry, mischievous expression. He winked at his 
 aunt and began to move up to Miss Jones all that there was 
 to eat on the table. 
 
 "Thank you, thank you," smiled she, and her lips moved 
 still faster in and out, as her eyes ran over all the good 
 things. 
 
 After tea Marie, under the pretext of some verses that hei 
 nephew had promised to copy for her, called him to her, and 
 as soon as he crossed the threshold of her large, airy, light 
 room, divided by a curtain into a bedroom and a boudoir, 
 she shut the door, and, coming up quite close to him, asked 
 in an agitated whisper, although there was no one to hear 
 them : 
 
 "Misha, what has happened? You must tell me every- 
 thing." 
 
 " Is it possible you do not guess, my aunt ?" 
 
 "No, I don't. . . . Something with your father? 
 Debts ?" 
 
 Michail shrugged his shoulders with impatience. 
 
 "No, no! Nothing of the sort. . , . Nathalie Volyn- 
 skaia." 
 
 " Well, what of Nathalie Yolynskaia ? Do speak at 
 last." 
 
 " I am obliged — obliged, do you understand ? — to marry 
 her." 
 
 " What are you saying, Misha ?" 
 
 Marie caught hold of the sleeve of his uniform, and for
 
 i8 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 several seconds remained silent, with eyes closed in silent 
 despair, shaking her head. 
 
 " My poor, poor boy ! . . . What a dreadful thing, what 
 a scandal! ... Is there no other issue then? Sit down 
 here, by my side." She sank down on a low little sofa 
 covered with a bright chintz. "Tell me all — you must 
 know that I will understand all. Does Volynsky demand 
 this ?" asked Marie, looking with frightened eyes into her 
 nephew's face. 
 
 Michail shook his head. 
 
 "Then what is the matter?" 
 
 " He is willing to keep everything a secret ; it is she who 
 wants a divorce. You must understand, she loves me . . . 
 there will be a child. . . ." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I understand . . . well, but you, Misha, do you 
 also love her?" 
 
 " Certainly, aunt — certainly." 
 
 "And you also insist on a divorce?" 
 
 "I must do as she wants." 
 
 "Yes, yes . . . I understand. . . . Well, and if she would 
 consent to remain with her husband ?" 
 
 Marie looked into her nephew's eyes with a searching 
 gaze. 
 
 " I will have to submit." 
 
 Marie, as if following a certain thought, pressed her hand 
 to her forehead for a second, then drew it back decisively, 
 placed her two palms on her nephew's shoulders, and said 
 slowly : 
 
 " Misha, be prudent, I implore you. You love her less 
 than you think you do. Nathalie is capricious and head- 
 strong; it pleased her to see the Duchess protecting your 
 meetings, evidently not suspecting what would come of 
 them. She will not suit you as a wife. . . . You are so 
 young, so inexperienced. . . ." 
 
 "Ah no. Aunt Marie, you do not know — she loves me 
 so. . . . What else can I do ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, I understand. . . . Yesterday, you see, 
 Baroness Kern came to see mamma. I had just returned 
 from my walk when she was saying good-bye. Now I see
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 19 
 
 what they had been talking about. Mamma was very much 
 troubled, and repeated several times : ' Persuade her not to 
 spoil his career and to avoid a scandal.' Evidently Baroness 
 Kern was asked to talk to Nathalie. Wait a bit ; don't write 
 to your father, give her time to think the matter over," 
 
 " But that would be cowardice, aunt. . . ." 
 
 "Misha, Misha, you must think of those others who love 
 you and whom you may wound mortally. Mamma will not 
 survive this scandal; your father — he also may fall ill, dis- 
 inherit you. . . ." 
 
 A discreet knock was heard at the door. Marie turned 
 round nervously. 
 
 " Who is there ?" 
 
 " Her Excellency asks you to come to the drawing- 
 room," came the voice of the man-servant from behind the 
 door. 
 
 Marie hastily powdered her flushed face and sent her 
 nephew off. 
 
 " Go, go quickly. . . . Say you have been copying some 
 verses. . . ."
 
 in 
 
 "My dear Nathalie, you are at present in a condition when 
 a person cannot discuss logically; you are disturbed, 
 agitated, you have taken the bit between your teeth. . . . 
 Listen to wise advice, pull yourself together." 
 
 Thus spoke Baroness Kern in a low voice. Small, slim, 
 middle-aged, dry, sharp, thin, with a pale sickly face, she 
 was a widow, well received at Court, who, by her coldly 
 correct attitude and rigorously severe censure of anything 
 that was not " comme il faut" had managed to conquer, if 
 not universal sympathy, at least universal respect tempered 
 ft^ith just a little fear. 
 
 " Ah, Baroness, you cannot, you positively cannot under- 
 stand me. You do not know what I am passing through. 
 It is hell, such torments. . . . Will you take some more 
 tea ? Pass me your cup. . . . Oh, how unhappy I am, how 
 I suffer, God alone knows!" replied a young woman, with 
 the flush of agitation on her dark handsome face. She had 
 irregular but very attractive features, bright black eyes, and 
 a hardly perceptible black down on the upper lip of her 
 pretty, capricious mouth. She poured out the boiling 
 water from a silver teapot, served on a low table in a pretty 
 little bonbonniere of a drawing-room. 
 
 " You say," continued the young woman, nervously 
 moving her wedding ring up and down her finger, "that 
 Paul is a generous and noble man. I value very highly his 
 kindness, liis willingness 'to forgive all,' as he says, but 
 what is that to me ? I do not love him, I cannot live with 
 him; and he himself will in time have enough of life under 
 such conditions." 
 
 "And still, my dear child, it would be better than a 
 scandal. You must do all you can to avoid it. You must 
 spare his name." 
 
 "Ah," Nathalie Volynskaia wrung her hands in vexation, 
 
 20
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 2i 
 
 "How can you hide it? What has happened cannot be un- 
 done. Et puis cette position! . . ." Nathalie lowered her 
 eyes expressively. " I have been married eight years, and 
 no children. . . . Paul knew perfectly well that Gourakin 
 was in love with me, that there was never a ball or gather- 
 ing at the Ducliess's but that we met. But what is the use 
 of speaking of it ! ... Let everyone think me mad, or 
 anything they like — I love him and I will be his wife. I will 
 do anything, I will bear anything." 
 
 " Nathalie, to lose your position, to join your life with 
 such a young lightheaded boy ! . . . Think only ! He is 
 spoilt, he is run after for his beauty, his lively nature and 
 brilliant capacities, but to be his wife — oh, that is quite an- 
 other thing ! Believe me, such brilliant men are dangerous 
 husbands. We will persuade him to go abroad for a year; 
 many things may happen during a lifetime. ... Le prin- 
 cipal, c'est de savoir sauver Ics apparences. Besides, chcre 
 enfant, I know his father — an inflexible old man, like his 
 grandmother Mme. Gourakina. Vous aiirez du fil a 
 retordre, believe me." 
 
 " I am ready to bear all, dear Baroness, even prepared 
 that you will perhaps soon not want to know me, but so 
 long as this is not so " — Nathalie smiled her fascinating 
 smile — " I ask you, help us, be our guardian angel, and then 
 I am sure the world's sympathies will be on our side. Some- 
 one must ask the Duchess as soon as possible to intercede 
 on our behalf. I know, chere baronne, that no one will do 
 that so nicely and tactfully as you. I beg of you, my dear, 
 my good friend, speak for us, arrange it. I am afraid she 
 will side with my husband; she likes him so much." 
 
 " She is very fond of you, chcre amie, also. If she will 
 want to take your part, she will know how to persuade 
 anyone that you are right; c'est une charmeitse." 
 
 Both ladies talked for a long time, and the more caressing 
 Nathalie became, the warmer she pressed the Baroness's 
 dry hand, the more she disclosed to her the details of her 
 love for Michail Gourakin, the weaker became the protests 
 and reasonings of the Baroness. Very experienced and 
 far-seeing in matters relating to worldly intrigues, she was
 
 22 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 weighing now in her mind all the reasons for and against 
 the divorce which was so passionately desired by the 
 enamoured Nathalie. It was necessary to have the Duchess 
 on the side of the lovers, and after that the general opinion, 
 always following the force of attraction exercised by the 
 sumptuous palaces on the quay, would take their part also. 
 
 "Go to him, do, chore baronne; speak to him, ask, per- 
 suade him. He always obeys you," said Nathalie, pressing 
 both hands of the Baroness and gazing at her with implor- 
 ing eyes, while she jerked her head towards her husband's 
 apartments at the .word "he." "Ah, chcre baronne, what 
 a life we lead now, silent, avoiding each other, going out 
 separately ! . . . Oh, Lord, when will all this end ?" 
 
 Nathalie pressed a fine lace handkerchief to her eyes, and, 
 not able to contain herself any longer, burst into inaudible 
 weeping. 
 
 At the other end of the flat were the official reception- 
 rooms of Volynsky, who occupied a high post ; and in a 
 spacious study, before a large writing-table, covered with 
 business papers, sat Nathalie's husband, rapidly glancing 
 through and signing the papers handed to him before 
 passing them over to an official standing before him in a 
 respectful attitude. 
 
 " That is all, really all. . . . Take this yourself to the 
 Deputy Minister and show him in what I differ from his 
 opinion." 
 
 The functionary was just going to begin another report, 
 when Volynsky stopped him with a tired frown. 
 
 " Enough for to-day, I am tired. I have other affairs. 
 You will bring me your report to-morrow morning. Au 
 revoir." 
 
 Volynsky, slightly rising, extended his hand, and when 
 the functionary, softly stepping on the carpet, disappeared 
 behind the noiselessly closing door, he leant back in his 
 armchair, passed his hand with a tired gesture across his 
 f orehea 1, and as if caught unawares by a stream of thoughts, 
 remaiiied a long time in an attitude of deep meditation. 
 The first impiession made by him was one of high breeding
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 23 
 
 and culture, which seemed to be exhaled by his lean, very 
 tall figure, with the thin and sharp profile, and shaved chin 
 with the profound dimple in the middle. 
 
 A dark man with hair slightly turning grey, svelte and 
 refined in his movements, speaking excellently well in 
 several languages, and French with the accent of a born 
 Parisian, exquisitely polite — he was the very type of a 
 courtier. He knew how to mask his inner life so skilfully 
 that no one could form an idea as to whether he had a kind 
 or bad heart, nor of his ambition or self-love. All his 
 actions were always a model of tact and good breeding. 
 
 " May I come in ?" a woman's soft voice was heard asking, 
 and without waiting for an answer the handle of the door 
 moved, and Baroness Kern walked in with a languid gait. 
 Volynsky rose to meet her, touched her hand with his lips, 
 moved forward an armchair for her in silence, and sat down 
 himself. His friendly relations with the Baroness were of 
 long date, from their childhood. Although he himself 
 never spoke first of his affairs, he always allowed her to talk 
 freely on whatever subject she liked, and never declined to 
 answer any direct question if the matter concerned himself 
 personally. 
 
 " You are not looking well, Pavlik," said the Baroness, 
 gazing at him through a lorgnon on a short golden handle, 
 which just reached her nose. 
 
 "Tired . . ." drawled Volynsky in a monotonous voice. 
 
 " I have come to you from Nathalie." 
 
 *' What is it ?" asked Volynsky in the monotonous voice. 
 
 "She has taken the bit between her teeth. . . ." 
 
 Volynsky half closed his eyes, shrugged his shoulders, 
 and significantly touched his forehead with his middle 
 finger, on which there was a superb ring with an engraved 
 seal. 
 
 " Psy chose !" said Volynsky, raising his eyebrows and 
 eyeing his carefully tended nails, as if speaking of some- 
 thing of no interest. 
 
 "Just so, a case of psy chose. I do not recognize her at 
 all 1 To fall in love to such a degree with a boy, and at her 
 age — it's ridiculous! . . . However, Pavlik, something
 
 24 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 must be done, and quickly too. . . , She is capable of any- 
 
 thinq^ in her state of mind." 
 
 " That is to say, what must be done ?" 
 
 "A divorce. . . . Divorce her, Pavhk." 
 
 " It seems to me it w^ould be better to speak of that after 
 the birth of the child." 
 
 " But . . ." the Baroness gazed at Volynsky through her 
 lorgnon in perplexed interrogation. 
 
 "Yes, yes, it is so. . . . I understand, chere Olga, your 
 idea; but Nathalie is telling a lie, and doing so exclusively 
 for Gourakin's benefit. He is much too inexperienced, and 
 will believe anything she likes. I tell you, chere Olga, that 
 this child after so many years of marriage — is mine. I 
 know when their first meeting took place, and Nathalie 
 knows it as well as I do." 
 
 " And you have kept silence all this time, Pavlik ?" 
 
 "And to whom would you have me cry out about it?" 
 Volynsky's eyes assumed a cold and contemptuous expres- 
 sion. " If I were as hasty and unrestrained as that boy 
 Gourakin, I would probably have horsewhipped her on the 
 same day. . . ." 
 
 Such a cruel look flashed in Volynsky's eyes that Baroness 
 Kern understood that he had not done so only because he 
 had felt an unutterable contempt both for his wife and her 
 lover, but not for lack of courage. 
 
 "I told her at the time," continued Volynsky, the lire 
 dying out of his eyes and his face resuming its usual cold 
 and calm expression, "that until the birth of her child I will 
 not discuss anything with her." 
 
 Baroness Ke'-n was listening to Volynsky with special 
 attention at pre. ent. Nathalie evidently, while initiating 
 her into her love-story, had hidden the most essential point, 
 and thus confirmed that she was ready to do anything to 
 obtain a divorce and be able to marry the spoilt darling, 
 the dashing young Michail Gourakin. 
 
 " Nathalie has completely lost her wits," continued 
 Volynsky, looking at the Baroness with calm eyes and 
 playing with a large ivory paper-cutter. " Gnurakin is 
 violent and unrestrained; I assure you he will beat lier,"
 
 j THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 25 
 
 **Oh, Pavlik, what are you saying? He is well brought 
 up, although there is certainly something of the untamed 
 nature in him." 
 
 " I maintain what I have said." 
 
 "How unpleasant and how unnecessary all this is!" said 
 the Baroness with sort of disgust, as she rose from her 
 chair. 
 
 " It is dull and stupid. . . ." 
 
 Volynsky rose also with the Baroness, and, conducting 
 her through the long salon and drawing-rooms, spoke in 
 his usual calm tone of voice of the social gathering that was 
 to take place that evening at the French Ambassador's, 
 where he had to show himself for certain reasons. 
 
 On the next day Volynsky was just preparing to pass 
 into his study after an almost silent luncheon with his wife, 
 during which he had exchanged with her short, insigni- 
 ficant phrases in the presence of the servants, when a valet 
 handed him a narrow envelope on a silver tray. Volynsky 
 silently read the few lines, written in French in a delicate 
 feminine handwriting, and, ordering the carriage to be 
 brought round, passed into his dressing-room instead of 
 his study to change his velvet suit for an official costume. 
 After carefully brushing his whiskers and passing the nail- 
 brush over his irreproachable nails, Volynsky drew on a 
 pair of pale yellow gloves and, impressively solemn in his 
 cold beauty, entered the carriage and told the coachman 
 to drive to one of the magnificent palaces. Silent servants 
 with shoulder knots and gaiters conducted him with re- 
 spectful bows through a long suite of reception-rooms to 
 the last one. Almost simultaneously from the opposite 
 side a tall, splendidly built woman entered with an extra- 
 ordinarily animated face and dressed with Parisian elegance ; 
 she extended her hand with a friendly smile to Volynsky 
 and asked him to follow her. 
 
 " Come into a quiet corner, cher monsieur, and then we 
 shall not be interrupted." 
 
 They entered a si.. all drawing-room, in the style of 
 Louis XV., with precious Aubusson rugs on the walls and 
 a beautifully stuccoed ceiling. The Duchess, when she
 
 26 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 wanted, could be enchantin.(^, and, knowin^^ this, she used 
 her powers of fascination whenever she deemed necessary. 
 Her court was not only one of the most sumptuous, but 
 the gayest as well, thanks to the irrepressible vivacity of 
 the hostess and also of the host himself, a fme connoiseur 
 and admirer of women and wine. Notwithstanding her 
 foreign origin, the Duchess had assimilated herself very 
 easily, and acquired the special manner which made friend- 
 ship with her possible and easy of attainment. She was 
 surrounded by a crowd of sincere admirers; many envied 
 her, and therefore maligned and accused her in whispers of 
 lightly treating the dignity of her position. At the grand 
 receptions at Court, with her stately bearing and figure of 
 a classic goddess, she assumed a severe and inaccessible 
 expression, which, however, never misled her friends, and 
 the same evening, her beautiful shoulders bare, she used to 
 be laughing merrily and lightheartedly, surrounded by an 
 admiring and devoted crowd, dancing indefatigably, drink- 
 ing champagne, and giving herself up to the joy of living 
 with the careless lightheartedness of a spoilt beauty. It 
 used to be said of her, " Elle n'est pas belle, mais elle est 
 pirer 
 
 Volynsky did not know that an hour before his arrival 
 Baroness Kern had been sitting in the same room, begging 
 the Duchess to arrange the affair of the divorce, to avoid 
 a possible catastrophe in Volynsky's family, as, she assured, 
 Nathalie had lost her head completely, and would be 
 capable of suicide. The Duchess had promised full sup- 
 port for two reasons : firstly, she herself had helped to 
 bring about the love affair between Nathalie and Gourakin, 
 supporting his courtship and teasing Nathalie about it; 
 and secondly, she was a great admirer of Volynsky, and 
 now decided that this would be a most favourable moment 
 to win him for herself, after persuading him to give his wife 
 her freedom, and she resolved to bring into play all her 
 feline grace and irresistible fascination. Like all the others, 
 she could not understand Volynsky, and this circumstance 
 only attracted and urged her on the more. 
 
 More than an hour Volynsky remained with the Duchess,
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 27 
 
 When he came out, and with deep respect, in the most 
 perfect courtier-like manner he bent down over the hand 
 extended to him, the eyes of the Duchess ghttered with a 
 glad, provoking fire, like those of a bird of prey in ex- 
 pectation of its victim. Volynsky's face was as before, 
 of a clear pallor, his eyes half closed, either from exhaus- 
 tion or agitation. For one scarcely perceptible moment 
 he retained in his own the hot little hand extended to him 
 to kiss.
 
 IVi 
 
 Some time passed, and all the near friends of Michail 
 Gourakin were concerned by the news, wiiich had spread 
 in "society," that Volynsky had acceded to his wife's 
 prayers and consented to a divorce, and that a higher 
 authority had ordered his marriage to be immediately 
 dissolved. The young Guardsman obtained permission to 
 marry, but under the condition that he was to leave the 
 regiment and go away from Petersburg for a while. At the 
 same time as this news was being spread, Michail's rela- 
 tions were very much grieved by his extraordinary conduct. 
 He took to revelling and drinking, and for more than a 
 fortnight no one could obtain an interview with him. 
 
 Old Mme. Gourakina kept a persistent silence, and only 
 her raised eyebrows and the nervous tic in the corner of 
 her mouth betrayed her secret agitation. Marie sent little 
 notes daily to her nephew at his regiment, urging him to 
 come to them, to talk over important matters, but she 
 received no answer, and hiding her tears, and not daring to 
 speak to her mother about Michail's fate, which was sorely 
 troubling them both, she also kept silence and awaited 
 vainly each succeeding day. She did not know that her 
 proud and authoritative mother suffered no less than she. 
 Mme. Gourakina had given to her only grandson all the 
 force of love that her nature was capable of, although she 
 remained true to herself and never allowed it to appear out- 
 wardly. No one knew that on retiring late at night to her 
 bedroom and lighting with her own hands the little lamp 
 before the ikon-case with the old family ikons, divesting 
 herself of her Chantilly cap, and putting on a dark woollen 
 dressing-gown (old Gourakina looking quite small in her 
 soft felt slippers without heels) and casting aside her air of 
 proud inaccessibility, she used to bend her knees on the 
 
 28
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 29 
 
 embroidered cushion — the work of Marie — and remain 
 thus a long time whispering prayers, making the sign of 
 the cross, and calHng to the Mother of God to protect her 
 grandson. Tears, the inconsolable tears of old age, 
 would run down the wrinkles of the sorrowing face, which 
 in those moments seemed so kind, so simple, so unlike the 
 one with which she appeared next morning at nine o'clock 
 precisely in the dining-room, where Marie had to await 
 her coming by the side of the steaming coffee-pot. 
 
 Mme. Gourakina had a particularly strong and hardy 
 constitution. In the old days she used to accompany her 
 husband in the sleigh on his long voyages of revision 
 among the deep snows of Siberia, and not only did not 
 claim any care or help, but it was she who always under- 
 took the ordering, most energetically and independent!}^, 
 of the unpacking of the travelling hampers, the arrange- 
 ments for the night halts, and the changing of the horses. 
 Her authoritative manner never admitted of any delay or 
 demur; everyone seemed to understand this at once, and 
 most of all her own husband, who prized most highly and 
 greatly respected his "Lady Commander." Having at- 
 tained, thanks to her unfailing energy, the highest degree 
 in the Civil Service, the old man suddenly fell ill, and after 
 a short malady died while reclining on a Turkish sofa. 
 From that very day Mme. Gourakina had the old broad 
 bed carried out of her bedroom, and she slept on the 
 Turkish sofa. Her force of will and energy were inherited 
 by her son, Michail's father; her daughters resembled their 
 father. The eldest one married quickly and well, but the 
 youngest one, Marie, she kept with her, with the egoism 
 of old age, not wanting to deprive herself of a meek and 
 utterly faithful attendant. Marie always accompanied her 
 mother everywhere, carefully wrapped her up in rugs in 
 the carriage, wrote her letters under dictation, read to her 
 during the long winter evenings, did all her shopping, and, 
 refusing all invitations, gave herself up utterly to her 
 mother, as in the olden days she had given up her pleasures 
 for the sake of her little nephew. Mme. Gourakina bore 
 herself towards her daughter with the kindly but strictly
 
 30 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 reserved attitude with which a good regimental commander 
 treats his subordinates. She still continued to see in Marie 
 the meek, obedient little girl, not noticing that Marie knew 
 much of life already, that she had learnt its disillusions and 
 disappointments, and that the heart of the thirty-five-year- 
 old maiden, who had inherited her mother's intelligence 
 and penetration, was the heart of a woman who had pene- 
 trated into the depths of life's substance and meaning. Mane 
 loved her mother and deeply respected her at first by inertia, 
 but as the years rolled on she retained these feehngs more 
 consciously. Her mother's unbending will was always 
 directed towards good objects and in the way of duty, both 
 in respect to herself and others. She was never afraid to 
 speak the truth, to stand up for anyone suffering a wrong; 
 she never cringed before anyone or blamed anyone behind 
 his back — if she blamed it was always openly, with the 
 evident desire that her opinion would be transmitted to the 
 person whom it concerned. Very severe in questions of 
 morality, she herself led an irreproachable life. She 
 neither visited nor would allow Marie to visit the houses 
 where all was not quite right and above board on the part 
 of the women. She was very farseeing, and there where 
 others often did not notice anything, she either saw much 
 that was good or bad. For some time she had discon- 
 tinued her visits to the house of Prince Alexei Vassilie- 
 vitch, and when in her presence people blamed him for his 
 too open liaison with a ballet-dancer, she spoke of him with 
 pity, calling him a weak but kind man. When people 
 praised the virtuous and pious life of Princess Anna 
 Valerianovna, old Gourakina kept silence or else changed 
 the conversation. 
 
 On receiving a telegram from her son Vladimir that he 
 was coming to Petersburg with the early morning train, 
 she told Marie to go to the station to meet her brother and 
 to see that his room was prepared for him. Marie under- 
 stood by the tone of her mother's voice that her brother's 
 arrival was expected and that evidently her mother had 
 called him up to speak of his son. Vladimir was older than 
 Marie by several years, and ther'='. was very little in com-
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 31 
 
 mon between them. In face and character he resembled 
 his mother. After the Turkish campaign, in which he had 
 been severely wounded and obliged to leave the service, he 
 had retired to the country, giving up his life to books and 
 the writing of memoirs. Although Marie feared the arrival 
 of her nephew's strict father, on the other hand she hoped 
 that the latter would be able to put an end to Michail's 
 disorderly life, and perhaps bring about a favourable result 
 in the question of his son's marriage, which the whole 
 family disliked so much. 
 
 The train arrived in the early morning; the lamps were 
 still burning on the station platform. The wintry air was 
 full of the smoke of the engines, and one had the uncom- 
 fortable and sleepy feeling known to all those who rise at 
 an unusually early hour to meet a morning train. Vladimir 
 kissed his sister, and, not seeing anyone else, asked for his 
 son. 
 
 " Mamma did not let him know of your arrival; the tele- 
 gram came very late." 
 
 He asked no more of his son. On the way home he 
 spoke to his sister of life in the country, of the severe frosts, 
 and complained of his health, although he looked quite 
 well. Mme. Gourakina entered the dining-room at nine 
 o'clock as usual, and her son, having changed after his 
 journey, joined her there. At table the conversation ran 
 on from one subject to another, but the principal theme for 
 which he had been sent for seemed to be avoided by mutual 
 consent. Marie understood that in her presence her 
 mother and brother would not consider it right to discuss 
 such a scandalous story, of which, however, poor Marie 
 had heard from her nephew in details that her mother 
 did not even suspect. On leaving the table Vladimir fol- 
 lowed his mother to her apartments, and there they had a 
 long talk. Like herself, the more angry or agitated he 
 became, the more silent he was; in serious questions he was 
 spare of his words, and never departed from a decision 
 once taken. 
 
 In a couple of hours he left his mother's room with the 
 corners of his mouth drawn down still more, changed his
 
 32 iTHE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 dress, and drove "off to Prince Alexei Vassilievitch, whom 
 he did not find at home. Princess Anna Valerianovna was 
 in and he went to her rooms. As usual she wore a tailor 
 costume with a high starched collar which made her face 
 look still more like a man's. 
 
 "How are you, cher Vladimir? Since when have you 
 arrived ? I have been expecting you. Sit down, and let's 
 have a talk. Is mamma well ? Troubled, I suppose ? . . . 
 What has happened to 'him'? Such a change in 
 'him'! . . ." began the Princess, lowering her voice and 
 shaking her head with an expression of rebuke and sym- 
 pathy. "I hardly ever see 'him,' and my influence, dear 
 Vladimir, is totally paralyzed by his surroundings." 
 
 Gourakin listened attentively to the Princess's words and 
 continued to be silent. 
 
 " You know my ideas and way of life," said the Princess 
 as if in a hurry to give vent to an irritation which she was 
 feeling against someone. " I am occupied with my affairs, 
 with prayer, and do not go out into the world except on 
 official occasions. So much has been gone through, and 
 we are going through so much even now, and still, you see, 
 there are people who can amuse themselves, and think of 
 dresses and pleasure. Your Michail got caught in the 
 whirlwind, and it has borne him along. How often have 
 I warned him and told my husband ! . . . However," the 
 Princess sighed hopelessly, "my words do not count for 
 much with Prince Alexei Vassilievitch. I am accustomed to 
 this, and little by little I am retiring from the world. I do 
 not complain; let God's will be done. But what moral 
 support can Michail obtain from Prince Alexei when he 
 himself ... as everyone knows ... is an eyesore for 
 everyone ?'* 
 
 Although her husband's infidelity was now a thing of 
 several years* standing, the Princess could not grow used 
 to her position of abandoned wife, and was always glad of 
 an occasion to complain of her fate and persuade others 
 and herself that she did not mind it any more. 
 
 "Your mother is right; the Duchess has quite con- 
 curred in the misfortune which has overtaken Michail."
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 33 
 
 "Your expression is much too soft, Princess : it is not a 
 misfortune, it is immorality." 
 
 "Certainly, it is immoral; but I am speaking of the 
 marriage that they are trying to arrange. I wonder at 
 Volynsky. In his place, I would never consent to a divorce; 
 I would have her sent to a conveni, would have her shriven. 
 But this seems a sort of connivance. And believe me, 
 Voldemar, Michail is drinking because he understands that 
 he has got his neck into a noose. He has created for 
 himself an impossible position." 
 
 At this moment Prince Alexei Vassilievitch entered the 
 drawing-room. At the sight of his friend and quondam 
 chief on the battlefield a friendly smile illumined for one 
 moment the stern face of Gourakin. 
 
 "Yes, our Michail has got himself into a mess," said the 
 Prince, seating himself and extending his long legs on the 
 carpet. "Nothing can be done now; he will have to 
 marry. . . ." 
 
 From the tone of the Prince's voice it was impossible to 
 judge whether he blamed or justified his young kinsman 
 in the whole story. The good-natured and slightly mock- 
 ing tone which he always used in his wife's presence in all 
 cases which he called " histoire de femme " irritated the 
 Princess, who felt that he did not want to blame in others 
 the faults of which he was guilty himself. 
 
 "What is to be done, however?" asked the Princess, 
 throwing her husband an unfriendly glance. 
 
 "Await events." The Prince shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 She seemed to want to raise an objection, but restrained 
 herself. 
 
 The Prince rose. In his tall stately figure there was an 
 expression of vigour and pride, notwithstanding the good- 
 natured look of his eyes and smile. 
 
 " Come to my rooms," said he to Gourakin. 
 
 " I would like to see my son." 
 
 "He must be sent for. He has been living fast, the 
 naughty fellow, for more than a week. From noon they 
 are playing c^rds and drinking at that madcap Davidofif's." 
 
 " Give me his address. I will give my orders.'* 
 
 3
 
 34 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 While passing the long suite of rooms the Prince related 
 to his friend with evident concern all the details of the 
 scandalous story. As soon as they entered the study he 
 passed on into his bedroom and came out holding carefully 
 between the palms of his hands something which he was 
 pressing to his lips, and said to Gourakin : 
 
 "Just look only, what a darling, what a beauty!" 
 
 The Prince moved his palms asunder; the small head of 
 a tiny, trembling, shaggy puppy peeped out. It was 
 strange to see the enormously tall figure of the Prince, with 
 his manly features, which were at the moment wearing an 
 expression of almost childlike tenderness towards the tiny 
 creature held so safely between the strong muscular hands. 
 
 " So you are still fond of your pups ?" said Gourakin with 
 a smile and an indifferent glance at the Prince's hands. " I 
 would have thought the war would have hardened you. . . . 
 And there was reason therefor. . . ." 
 
 " On the contrary, my friend. After all the horrors and 
 groans and curses of death I have learnt to value more 
 highly love. . , ." 
 
 "For puppies?" Gourakin laughed, his face becoming 
 at once softer and kinder. 
 
 " For puppies also," said the Prince with a smile and an 
 emphasis on the word "also." 
 
 " That means, all is as it used to be ?" asked Gourakin, 
 drawing in the smoke of his cigarette and looking around 
 him at the well-known portraits on the wall. 
 
 "Que veux-tii, mon vicux ! Dans la vie il rCy a que la 
 femmc. She will get you into her toils, charm and fascin- 
 ate you, and do what you like, struggle as much as you 
 can, there is no escape. And at our age it is worse still, if 
 you are caught: loss of self-respect, jealousy, you have to 
 suffer all." The Prince's face wore a look of hidden pain. 
 "Yes, yes," he continued, after having returned from bear- 
 ing away his doggie, and laying his hand on his friend's 
 shoulder, "there is no such thing as complete happiness 
 and peace; we suffer ourselves and make others suffer too." 
 
 "I do not agree with you. If you must suffer yourself, 
 then do so, but we have no right to torture others,"
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 35 
 
 The Prince frowned painfully. 
 
 "Listen, Voldemar; there are some sides of human weak- 
 nesses that are absolutely inaccessible to you; you are built 
 out of a single and strong block." 
 
 " But I do not blame — you must know me. . . .** 
 
 " I know that you do not blame, but you do not under 
 stand either; admit that you do not understand." 
 
 " I do not understand." Gourakin smiled again, and the 
 smile softened the meaning of his words. 
 
 They were evidently speaking of something that had been 
 a subject of discussion between them before and which 
 they both understood. 
 
 " Now, in respect to your Michail : I pity him very much 
 in all this stupidly managed business. I do not approve of 
 Volynskaia, but I cannot blame him." 
 
 " Well, I do blame him, and very severely too. He has 
 entered into man's estate and already he has marred his 
 reputation by impure relations with a woman. And then 
 his whole behaviour — this unceasing drinking. ... I tell 
 you frankly, I am deeply grieved. He is my only one." 
 
 The conversation ran on on the same subject. Gourakin 
 blamed his son very harshly; the Prince tried in vain to 
 soften the irate and grieved father. After remaining with 
 his friend for some time Gourakin departed, outwardly 
 calm, but inwardly deeply concerned by, what he had heard 
 of his son in that house.
 
 It was just four p.m., but the revelling and drinking which 
 had been going on at the bachelor quarters of DavidofiF, 
 almost without stopping since the preceding day, were at 
 their height. After a lunch with bliny and plenty of wine 
 some of the guests passed into the study of the host, and 
 there surrounded a card-table, where a tall staid Guards- 
 man, his face pale from wine and exhaustion, with red 
 whiskers and rapacious mouth, was keeping a bank. It 
 seemed that it did not concern him personally what his 
 white and carefully tended hands were throwing out right 
 and left. His face kept its expression of steady self- 
 possession. 
 
 " Gentlemen, not so loud, we can't play so," he reminded 
 from time to time his comrades, who crowded round him, 
 laughing, arguing, and pushing. And again his hands 
 threw out the cards as if mechanically. Near him lay a 
 heap of bank notes. 
 
 "Again lost! The devil! H'm, h'm! , . ." hummed 
 and sniffed a small, dark, lively officer, with unbuttoned 
 uniform, bright black eyes, and a face excited by wine ard 
 play, fidgeting on his chair. 
 
 " Mishka, lay your stake on the Jack, I tell you. You 
 will be sure to win. . . ." Quite a young officer with a face 
 like a boy and a suspicion of down on his upper lip kept 
 plying Mishka Kovalevsky with his advice. 
 
 "Shut up, old devil! How you do bother! Take him 
 away, or else, by God, I'll thrash him!" The good-natured 
 and merry Kovalevsky suddenly lost his temper. 
 
 A burst of laughter was the answer. And really, the 
 small figure of Mishka Kovalevsky, with ruffled hair, and 
 wide open angry eyes, was most comical. Even the banker 
 lost his look of Olympian calm for one moment and smiled, 
 
 36
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 37 
 
 though his eyes still retained their cold and calm expres- 
 sion; the smile touched only on the greedy, rapacious 
 mouth. 
 
 " Gentlemen, it is impossible to play so," he repeated, 
 calling them to order. 
 
 " Well, now, help me out, old witch ! " cried Mishka 
 Kovalevsky, thumping with his fist the queen of hearts, so 
 that the candles shook on the table. 
 
 "Kovalevsky, you will break the table," said the banker 
 without stopping in his dealing of the cards. 
 
 Mishka was a desperate gambler, and either won 
 furiously or else lost all that he had. At present he was in 
 a losing vein, and his comrades were excitedly following 
 the course of the game. 
 
 "Lost! . . . Lost! . . . again lost!" was heard on all 
 sides. 
 
 " Hand over the stake," said the banker to Mishka. 
 
 "Hand over! . . . Certainly I'll hand over the money; 
 you need not remind me. . . . Sale bobine!" 
 
 " What did you say, Kovalevsky ?" asked the banker, 
 gazing significantly into Mishka's eyes. 
 
 " Nothing at all. . . . Don't tease. . . You see that 
 I am in a rage." 
 
 "Mishka, Mishenka, my friend, leave the cards. . . . 
 Come here. . . ." Baron Inks called to him in a half 
 drunken voice, lying near on a sofa, in shirt and trousers, 
 with a cigar in his mouth. " Have you heard Demidoff's 
 last bon mot about Mme. Bezpaloff? Gentlemen, have 
 you heard ? . . ." Inks went on, although no one was 
 listening to him. " Elle est cherc, et elle a heaiicoup de 
 chair. Well said ! And they say her husband was present. 
 Cleverly said ! . . . I saw Nellie and Fifiche to-day, and 
 told them to be here for sure," continued the Baron with 
 heavy tongue. 
 
 At this moment a burst of laughter was heard in a neigh- 
 bouring room, together with the fall of a heavy body and 
 of broken crockery. A young officer ran up to the card- 
 table. He had a pink and white face, blue eyes, a lively 
 manner, and ever-moving legs.
 
 38 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 It was the host — the jolly madcap Davidoff, always with- 
 out a care in the world and a kind-hearted comrade. 
 
 "Mishka, come quicker. We are laying a wager on you. 
 Stop playing- — you have lost for sure," said Davidofif, 
 pulling Kovalevsky's sleeve and continuing to laugh at 
 what must have taken place in the dining-room. 
 
 "I'll come directly. A last stake and to the devil with 
 them all ! . . ." 
 
 Davidoff placed himself near Kovalevsky, both hands in 
 the pockets of his trousers, swinging his legs and biting 
 his lips. 
 
 " Queen I . . . Queen ! Bravo, Mishka ! And now 
 basta. Come to us. We have laid a wager with Evers for 
 a dozen of champagne. . . . Come, brother, don't forsake 
 me. . . ." 
 
 "Well, tell me plainly, what is the matter?" asked 
 Kovalevsky, pocketing the banknotes that he had won and 
 trying not to look pleased at his good fortune. 
 
 " Say, my friend, you are too drunk ! " 
 
 " Fool ! Am I ever drunk ? . . . But what must I do ?" 
 
 They passed the hall, in which lay in a heap cloaks, empty 
 bottles and unopened chests of wine, and entered a long 
 narrow room, in the middle of which stood a table with the 
 remains of the feast, and a whole array of glasses, wine- 
 glasses and bottles. Several officers, with flushed or pale 
 faces, mostly without their uniforms, in shirt sleeves, were 
 trying, with loud laughter and jokes, to lift from the floor 
 a totally drunk Frenchman in evening dress. 
 
 " Attention, attention . . . messieurs. . . . Mon gilet, 
 ma cravate," muttered he with thick unsteady tongue, and 
 notwithstanding the united efforts to get him up, he re- 
 sisted and again fell on his side. Near him lay an upturned 
 table with three legs and broken bits of some plates and 
 glass. 
 
 " Leave him alone, boys, to the devil. . . . Let him lie 
 there," ordered Davidoff, and all turned towards him. 
 " Here is Mishka — I wager that he will jump over. . . . 
 Mishka, you will clear this table with all that is on it with 
 a run of three paces ?" he asked his comrade, merrily 
 slapping him on the shoulder.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 39 
 
 Kovalevsky instantly threw off his uniform. 
 
 " Take away that tipsy pig with his table . . ." he pointed 
 with an authoritative gesture to the muttering Frenchman 
 — " and now, out of my way. . . ." 
 
 The Frenchman was pulled aside, and Kovalevsky, small, 
 strong, and extraordinarily muscular, retreating, stopped at 
 three paces opposite the laid dinner-table. . . . 
 
 "Bravo, Mishka, go on!" yelled Davidoff in a perfect 
 ecstasy, jerking and shifting his legs like a cavalry horse. 
 
 "Madcap! He will break all your china," laughed his 
 comrades, in expectation of an unusual sight. All eyes were 
 concentrated on the general favourite and splendid gym- 
 nast. Kovalevsky made a scarcely perceptible elastic and 
 agile movement. In a moment he rose lightly from the 
 floor, flew like a bird over the table without touching any- 
 thing, even with his spur, and alighted on the other side on 
 the tips of his bent feet. 
 
 "Throw him up, throw him up! ... Hurrah! . . . 
 Throw up Mishka ! . . " 
 
 Davidoff shouted and rushed about more than anyone 
 else. Kovalevsky fought, struggled, swearing and puffing, 
 but he was lifted and thrown up into the air several times, 
 feeling very uncomfortable in his position of hero of the 
 general enthusiasm. 
 
 Keeping his eyes tightly closed, with set teeth, he thanked 
 his admirers with a volley of the choicest oaths. 
 
 " Where is Gourakin ? Gourakin, show your trick. . . . 
 Where is he ?" was heard on all sides, when the throwing- 
 up was ended. 
 
 Gourakin was not to be found. It appeared that he had 
 gone to sleep in the host's bedroom. 
 
 He was dragged out by force. After his sleep and 
 coming out of a dark room, he stood in the middle of the 
 room, his eyes blinking at the light, yawning and en- 
 deavouring to smooth his ruffled hair, his shirt unbuttoned 
 at the throat. 
 
 "Too bad! , . . Why did you wake me? . . ." he re- 
 peated in a discontented voice. 
 
 "Your trick . . . show us your trick. . . . Plenty of
 
 40 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 time to sleep. . . . Refresh yourself, brother. There, 
 have a drink." 
 
 Davidoff poured him out some wine, but Michail, still 
 blinking- at the hght, and in a bad temper, roughly pushed 
 away the glass extended to him and spilt the wine on him- 
 self and on Davidoff. 
 
 "Heigho, boys, he is beginning to be turbulent!" cried 
 Davidoff. No one was speaking sensibly now : all were 
 screaming and shouting so that by moments the voices 
 were merged in one drunken hubbub. 
 
 " Michail Gourakin, show your trick and you may go to 
 sleep. . . , Come, be obliging. . . . Many have not seen it." 
 
 "I am to show my trick? Very well, I will show you, 
 but another one this time." 
 
 Slightly staggering, Gourakin clasped his hands at the 
 back of his head, yawned deeply, stretched himself, shifted 
 his shoulders as if casting off sleep, and smiling and show- 
 ing two rows of even white teeth, became quite animated. 
 
 " Only this trick is a very difficult one, comrades. Come, 
 Mishka, let's have some champagne!" said he to Kovalev- 
 sky, who was sitting astride a chair with his back to the 
 table. 
 
 " Drink yourself, I do not want any more." 
 
 " If you won't drink, I won't show my trick." Gourakin 
 seemed inclined to be obstinate, 
 
 " Mishka, drink . . . come now, drink. . . . To our 
 regiment! . . . Hurra-ah ! ... To the women! To 
 Bezoukhova ... do you hear, Mishka? — to Bezoukhova! 
 . . . To Volynskaia! . . . Gourakin, . . ." 
 
 "To Volynskaia! . . . Drink out of the bottle. . . ." 
 
 Michail Gourakin, with legs wide apart and head thrown 
 back, was drinking slowly out of the bottle. The wine was 
 gurgling in the neck of the bottle, and as Michail slightly 
 swayed it spilt behind the unbuttoned shirt collar on to his 
 strong muscular chest. Notwithstanding that he had been 
 drinking for several days and had had very little sleep, 
 Gourakin was still very handsome. An expression of 
 devil-may-care audacity seemed to add to the beauty of his 
 features.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 41 
 
 "Now, look on!" said Gourakin, replacing the empty 
 bottle on the table. "Siand aside, gentlemen, and do not 
 disturb me, or else ... or else what, Mishka ?" 
 
 "Devil knows what!" replied Kovalevsky in an abso- 
 lutely sober voice. 
 
 "Well, here goes. ... I am beginning!" 
 
 As if afraid of touching anything, Gourakin cautiously 
 bent down on one knee at the narrow side of the table, 
 imperceptibly getting his shoulder under the edge and 
 leaning on it. 
 
 " Count ! " he cried. 
 
 "One . . . two . . . three. . . ." 
 
 Suddenly something quite unexpected occurred : Goura- 
 kin, leaning with all his force under the edge of the heavy 
 oaken table, rapidly rose up; with a clatter and crash all the 
 china, bottles and glasses flew to the ground. Gourakin 
 freed his shoulder, and the table, crashing dov/n on its two 
 heavy legs, again stood in its place. A regular hubbub 
 arose. Some blamed Gourakin, some laughed immoder- 
 ately, and the young scamp himself, in a wild and drunken 
 frenzy, stamped about on the broken bits of china, glass, 
 and all that came in his way. 
 
 " Chevaliers garde, prenez garde, 
 La garde a cheval vous regarde . . ," 
 
 he yelled at the top of his voice all the time. 
 
 "Stop him, comrades! He is gone mad. . . . Put him 
 to bed," cried Kovalevsky, outraged by the drunken turbu- 
 lency of his friend. 
 
 Davidoff, both hands in his pockets, swinging his body 
 back and forward, was laughing immoderately over Goura- 
 kin's trick. While the orderlies were picking up the broken 
 bits from the floor and setting the table to rights, no one 
 heard the front-door bell ring several times amid the 
 general laughter and shouting. One of the officers who 
 had been playing cards opened the door and, standing on 
 the threshold of the dining-room, made a trumpet of his 
 hands and called out : 
 
 " A letter for Gourakin I . . . A servant is waiting. . . ."
 
 42 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 " What letter ? . . . Let him bring it in . . ." answered 
 
 Michail. 
 
 In the doorway stood the servant of old Mme. Goura- 
 kina with his long grey whiskers and clean-shaven chin. 
 
 "Davidoff, take the letter from him. . . . Again Aunt 
 Marie, probably. . . ." 
 
 Michail approached, staggering, opened the letter, but 
 could not read it, and passed it on to Davidoff. 
 
 "Read it; I do not understand anything." 
 
 " Phe-w-w-w-w ! " whistled Davidoff, "a bad business, 
 cher Michail. Your father writes that you are to meet him 
 to-night on important business. Ha-ha-ha ! . . . Important 
 business — that's bad, brother. What must we say ?" 
 
 "Tell him, Dementiy, that I will come. I will have a 
 good sleep first and then come. I am only telling you, 
 mind, that I shall sleep; you need tell the General simply 
 that I'm coming. You say that he arrived this morning ? 
 Well, I am very glad. Here — take this. Drink to the 
 General's health. . . . And, brother, do not say anything 
 there. . . . Well, well, I know you — you won't betray me. 
 And in honour of this sad occasion, messieurs et mesdames, 
 I am going to sleep. Tell them to wake me at nine o'clock. 
 A general battle is looming ahead. Ex-x-cellent ! Vive 
 Henri Quatre, vive ce roi des rois !" sang Michail in a 
 mellow though unsteady baritone, disappearing behind the 
 door leading into Davidoff's bedroom. 
 
 "Brukhavetz, did you hear the order?" called Davidoff 
 to the orderly, opening the door into the pantry near the 
 dining-room. 
 
 " Right, y' honour, I heard : I must wake his honour at 
 nine o'clock." 
 
 " Well, do not forget; look after the clock." 
 
 " Right, y' honour. . . ." 
 
 Brukhavetz, the dexterous and capable orderly, together 
 with his assistant Michaltchuk, shared the merry humour 
 of their superiors. All that was not drunk in the dining- 
 room was immediately swallowed up in the pantry and 
 kitchen with the assistance of the cook, a silent man, but 
 steady in his cups.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 43 
 
 " So-so, what a lot of crockery broken ! " giggled the 
 simple-minded and merry Michaltchuk. " My word, a fine 
 fellow! What a push he gave the table! . . . Splendid 
 fellow! I love such ones. . . ." 
 
 "Come, don't chatter; wash up what is yet unbroken. . . . 
 Certainly he is a fine fellow. He is a Guardsman for 
 that . . ." remarked Brukhavetz impressively, upsetting a 
 half filled wine-glass into his mouth and wiping his 
 blackened thick and hard moustache w4th the back of his 
 hand. "And how he sings! Have you heard him? The 
 other day he sang here; when he began a tsigane song, 
 sparks seemed to fly out of one's eyes." 
 
 " He was singing just now. ... I do not know in what 
 language — it sounded like English." 
 
 "No, that was not English" — Brukhavetz shook his 
 head, breathed into a glass, held it up against the light and 
 proceeded to wipe it dry. "I know that song: 'Vive Anry 
 katter, vive se-ra de-rou ! The Devil took a cutter and 
 sailed down the Dnieper too.'" 
 
 Michaltchuk broke into a sonorous laugh, and, slapping 
 his knees with his palms, even squatted down in ecstasy. 
 
 " Brukhavetz, open another box of wine," the master's 
 voice was heard. 
 
 Both orderlies rushed towards the door behind which 
 the drunken merriment of the young officers seemed to 
 increase and never to have an end.
 
 VI 
 
 A LITTLE past nine Michail, after a good sleep, with a vivid 
 consciousness of the forthcoming unpleasant explanation, 
 was entering his grandmother's red drawing-room, which 
 he remembered so well since his childhood. As usual near 
 the round table, lit by the tall lamp, sat the old lady with the 
 unalterable knitting. Her son, Vladimir Gourakin, sat 
 near her on the sofa, with a tired expression on his face; 
 he was carrying on a desultory conversation with his 
 mother. Marie remained in her room. Knowing the 
 inflexible nature of her brother, she w^as in fear for her 
 nephew, and having locked her door, she was walking up 
 and down the room, at one time taking up her embroidery, 
 then laying it aside again after a few stitches ; then, 
 approaching the ikon-case with the holy ikons, she whis- 
 pered a prayer, crossed herself, sighed, and again resumed 
 her walk. 
 
 Hearing the sound of approaching spurs, Vladimir 
 Gourakin broke off the conversation. 
 
 "There he is," he said, glancing towards the door fixedly. 
 
 Michail had quite a fresh and healthy look, notwithstand- 
 ing the disorderly Hfe that he had been leading during 
 many days. His sound, strong constitution could bear any 
 amount of excesses without bad results. 
 
 " I had not hoped to see you to-day," said the elder 
 Gourakin, rising to greet his son. 
 
 His face was unsmiling, and the eyes were very stern. 
 
 "Why? Am I late? It is just half-past nine." Michail 
 looked at his watch. " As you see, I am in time, and had I 
 known that you were coming to-day, I would have been at 
 the station to meet you." 
 
 The old lady raised her eyes to glance at her grandson, 
 and wondered at his calm tone and fresh look. 
 
 44
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 45 
 
 " Pauvre gargon! . . .'* she said to herself, resuming her 
 knitting. 
 
 Vladimir Gourakin at once proceeded to the disagree- 
 able subject. 
 
 " I have come up from the country to have a serious talk 
 with you, Michail. Although you have become addicted to 
 drunkenness in such an unseemly manner, I hope your 
 brains are still in a state to reason logically." 
 
 "To be on a spree occasionally does not necessarily 
 mean to be a drunkard," Michail said with a smile. 
 
 "I do not see any difference," his father interrupted him 
 severely. 
 
 He began to speak in sharp, concise phrases. He spoke 
 long, and anyone listening to him could see clearly that he 
 would not desist from any single word under any circum- 
 stances. 
 
 Michail listened to him without interrupting. From time 
 {o time he extended his hand and caught the soft ball of 
 blue wool when it nearly fell off the edge of the table to the 
 ground. 
 
 Once or twice he wanted to protest against his father's 
 words, but changed his mind at once and continued to be 
 silent, glancing now and then at his grandmother, who sat 
 opposite to him and did not lift her eyes from her work. 
 Her face, like that of her son, looked very stern; but 
 Michail could see that she was greatly agitated; the right 
 corner of her mouth, with the scarcely perceptible grey 
 down over the upper hp, was moving with a nervous tic. 
 A dark and heavy shadow seemed to creep over Michail's 
 heart. The metallic ring of his father's voice began to 
 irritate him much more than the sense of his words. 
 
 "I am well aware," he was saying, "that Mme. Volyn- 
 skaia has no personal fortune until the death of her uncle; 
 if you disobey me and marry her, I will not add a single 
 copeck to the allowance which you receive now, because I 
 shall not recognize the marriage, and for me you remain 
 unmarried. To throw up your regiment, break up all your 
 life at twenty-one years of age, and marry a divorced 
 woman, older than you, is madness. I never expected such
 
 46 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 a lack of good sense in you," he concluded his long 
 ■peech. 
 
 Michail continued to be silent. Gourakina looked at him 
 vith astonishment. 
 
 " Why are you silent ? Share your thoughts with us." 
 
 "What is there for me to say, grand'mainanf Besides 
 t^ood sense, of which father speaks, there are such positions 
 in questions of honour when no hesitation is possible. . . ." 
 
 "Come, my boy," interrupted his father, "if you want to 
 speak of questions of honour, then let me tell you that your 
 'action, which has called forth the necessity of m.arrying, 
 can only be called a dishonourable action." 
 
 " If I had had your grey head on my shoulders and your 
 experience, father, then certainly all this would not have 
 happened." 
 
 "You are talking nonsense, because at your age it was 
 not my experience that restrained me from base actions, 
 but the feeling of duty, which my mother had instilled in 
 me in the same way as she tried to instil it in you, when 
 you were with her. In a word, you know my decision in 
 case of your marriage, and now you are free to do as you 
 like, and to break your neck, if you so desire." 
 
 " Listen to reason, Michail, we beg of you — listen to 
 reason while there is yet time," said Mme. Gourakina very 
 seriously. 
 
 " But, grand' maman, what do you wish me to do ? — to go 
 to Nat . . ." Michail stammered — "to Volynskaia and 
 explain to her that as my father and grandmother do not 
 want her, I also refuse to marry her? And that will be 
 honourable, that will be generous ?" 
 
 Michail had been restraining himself up to that moment, 
 but suddenly he lost his temper; he turned red, his eyes 
 flashed angry fires, the chair on which he had been sitting 
 nearly fell down, pushed back by his impatient hand. 
 
 " Pray, do not shout, and try and keep your temper," his 
 father stopped him. "You are again talking nonsense. 
 No one is asking you to go to Volynskaia to explain mat- 
 ters; if you consent to hear reason, everything will be 
 arranged in such a way that neither your honour nor our
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 47 
 
 name will suffer. Believe me, Volynskaia will only be the 
 gainer. If you do not obtain permission to marry from 
 the authorities, she can remain with her husband, who will 
 be pleased to avoid all this unnecessary scandal, and will 
 keep his wife, for which she will be grateful to him later 
 on." 
 
 "I have given Volynskaia my word of honour, father, to 
 obtain her divorce, whatever it may cost me." 
 
 " Many promises have been given as hastily and thought- 
 lessly, especially by such boys as you." 
 
 " I cannot go back on my promise." 
 
 " Is that your last word ?" 
 
 " Yes, my last. . . ." 
 
 " Fool ! " 
 
 Vladimir Gourakin, thoroughly angry, left the room 
 hastily. When the sound of his footsteps had died away, 
 old Gourakina slowly folded her work without looking up, 
 put it in the silk bag, threw the cords over her arm, took 
 her feet off the footstool, and with a rustle of her black silk 
 dress rose from her armchair. 
 
 " The only son, the only grandson, and instead of joy, 
 you are dealing us such an irreparable, cruel blow. . . .'* 
 
 She looked at her grandson with a sorrowful and stern 
 expression. 
 
 "Believe me, such a marriage cannot be happy. . , , 
 How little you love us ! ... God be with you ! ..." 
 
 Her voice broke, and the corner of her mouth trembled 
 still more. With noiseless slow steps she left the room. 
 
 Michail sank heavily into the armchair which the old lady 
 had occupied, and covering his face with his hands, he leant 
 his elbows on the table and remained for a long time with- 
 out moving. His father's speech, full of threats and re- 
 proaches, had not moved him — he had listened to it with a 
 dull and stubborn feeling — but the words spoken by his 
 grandmother had penetrated into his heart and touched 
 something that he had been trying to drown all the past 
 week. Before the irrevocable event by which he was 
 striking such a cruel blow to his family, his conviction in 
 the strength of his love for Volynskaia began to waver, and
 
 48 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 he understood now that he would be willing to give much 
 to undo the past. . . . 
 
 After incessant drinking, after the excitement of the last 
 days, his nerves were strained, and the return to real life 
 now this painful explanation had taken place, seemed 
 unutterably bitter to happy-go-lucky, spoilt Michail. 
 Tears choked him. 
 
 "Misha! . . . Mishenka, what is the matter?" 
 
 A caressing hand was stroking his hair and lovingly 
 trying to raise his head. He had not heard how his aunt 
 had crept cautiously, so as not to be seen, into the draw- 
 ing-room; he did not see the pity and sorrow shining in 
 her eyes. 
 
 " Mishenka, share your sorrow with me, you will feel 
 better. . , . What did your father say ? Misha . . , you 
 are crying ! Oh, for God's sake, don't cry! My own poor 
 boy! Would you like me to speak to my brother? I'll 
 ask him . . ." 
 
 Marie put her arm round her nephew's shoulder. Tears 
 filled her eyes; she was ready to go and beg her brother, 
 mother, anyone, if only she could console her nephew, and 
 see him again bright and happy. 
 
 " No, auntie, it is not necessary." 
 
 Michail took her hand without raising his head. 
 
 "There is nothing to ask of them. ... I knew it 
 all. ... It is not because of that. . . ." 
 
 "Then what is it, Misha? Your heart is heavy, isn't it?" 
 
 Michail simply nodded in reply, and emitted a low sigh. 
 
 "Ah, Mishenka, I knew it, I felt it. . . . That is why 
 you have been drinking. Listen to me : believe me, there 
 is nothing irrevocable as yet. Do not marry — that must 
 not be; everything and everyone is against your marriage. 
 . . . Little by little all will be i ngotten, and you will not 
 regret it afterwards. . . . Mishenka, your father told 
 mamma that it can be arranged quite simply; you will not 
 obtain permission to marry — that is all." 
 
 " But the child ! Understand — you, at least, auntie — 
 that she will be the mother of my child. I must, must 
 marry her. . . ,"
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 49 
 
 "Mishenka, and what if the child is not yours? I heard 
 something. . . . Baroness Kern knows something. . . ." 
 
 " What can she know ? It is even strange to Hsten to 
 this." Michail raised his tear-stained face. "Certainly 
 she is ready to say any nonsense out of friendship to 
 Volynsky." 
 
 " Mishenka, do not be hasty, and believe me that I in no 
 wise wish to blame Nathalie Volynskaia, but she is so much 
 in love with you, so obstinate in her desires, so unrestrained 
 sometimes, that she may have purposely told you some- 
 thing that is not true." 
 
 "No, auntie, you know her too little; she loves me too 
 much to deceive me. Whatever happens I must marry her, 
 and as soon as possible; the child must bear my name, not 
 Volynsky's." 
 
 Marie did not hear the last words of her nephew. Still 
 continuing to stroke his hair, she stood absorbed in 
 thought. Her tears had stopped. It seemed as if she were 
 making up her mind to something. 
 
 " At least do not drink any more, Mishenka. Mamma is 
 suffering very, very much. I am afraid she will be ill. You 
 know how she can bear up, but I see how she is feeling." 
 
 "All right, auntie, do not worry; I will not drink any 
 more. To-morrow I will be here, and now I must ^o to 
 sleep; I am d d tired after all these worries" 
 
 Michail hugged his aunt with great feeling, and she 
 kissed him and made the sign of the cross over him several 
 times.
 
 VII 
 
 In one of the remote streets of the town a cab drove up to 
 a tall stone house. Volynskaia descended, paid the cab- 
 man and entered the front door. The porter, accustomed 
 to generous tips, bowed respectfully to the lady, whose 
 face, always covered with a thick veil, he had never seen. 
 Nathalie ascended to the first story, hastily opened a door 
 with a latchkey, and gave a sigh of relief when it closed 
 again behind her. 
 
 In the hall no coat was hanging. Nathalie threw off her 
 fur pelisse and entered a small, daintily furnished room, 
 where a tea-table was laid out with biscuits, fruit and wine. 
 She looked at the watch at her waist ; it was just four o'clock, 
 Volynskaia divested herself of her fur cap, went up to the 
 brightly burning fire, and stood thoughtfully gazing into 
 the flames, at the same time listening attentively to the 
 least noise on the staircase. Then she approached a writ- 
 ing-table and suddenly caught sight of an envelope with a 
 well-known and beloved handwriting. For one second 
 while she was opening it a shadow seemed to pass over her 
 face, but after reading a few words a pleased smile broke 
 out. 
 
 " I was here this morning. I may be late, but will be 
 sure to come. Rest assured.- — Yours, IMichail." 
 
 Nathalie read these two lines several times, carefully 
 folded the little note and put it in her purse. Reassured, 
 she sank down into an armchair and again gave herself up 
 to her thoughts. In her simple dark dress, with her ex- 
 tremely smooth black hair the colour of a raven's vvirg, 
 and her bright dark eyes, she resembled very much a tsigane 
 woman. Twice a week during the whole winter, on 
 appointed days and hours, she and Michail Gourakin had 
 
 30
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 51 
 
 been in the habit of meeting in this small apartment which 
 belonged to them. They had furnished it themselves, 
 and every object seemed fraught with happy and loving 
 memories. Often Volynskaia, acceding to Michail's 
 prayers, would leave some grand ball earlier than usual, or 
 the theatre, and come here, in her gorgeous evening dress, 
 full of excitement at her own audacity. All was so well 
 arranged that their little corner remained a secret from 
 everybody. And nevertheless these hidden interviews, the 
 agitation and fear of discovery, exhausted and irritated 
 her. She wanted to be happy openly, not in a hidden way; 
 she desired to be loved before the whole world, not to be 
 separated for one single day from Michail, whom she loved 
 with an unrestrainable, torturing, jealous love. She who 
 had always liked a worldly life, honours, glitter, was now 
 ready to sacrifice all only to become the wife of Michail, 
 to have a right to his love and keep it for herself alone. 
 She feared nothing; neither the society scandal, nor the 
 loss of her brilliant position, nor Michail's youth. The 
 more she was reasoned with, the more convincing were the 
 objections raised before her, the stronger became her 
 desire to overcome all obstacles and conquer her happi- 
 ness. 
 
 A young girl of twenty, impetuous, self-willed, and 
 hungry for love, she had married Volynsky. He was many 
 years older than she, but he enjoyed such indisputable 
 success in society that even for capricious Nathalie he 
 seemed an unattainable idol. Out of a crowd of drawing- 
 room beauties he had distinguished her by his attention, 
 and the flattered self-love of the young girl soon turned 
 into love for the brilliant courtier. But after h-^r marriage 
 Nathalie's love for her husband soon waned His perfectly 
 calm, sarcastic attitude, and the disdainful indifference 
 which he displayed in answer to her capriciousness and 
 unrestrained fits of anger, were perfectly foreign to her 
 passionate nature, and she withdrew her heart more and 
 more from her cold self-possessed husband and plunged into 
 the vortex of a worldly life. The longer they lived together, 
 the more estranged they became. Volynsky, a widely edu-
 
 52 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 cated man, deeply interested in all that was going on, always 
 found time, even amid the whirl of social duties and 
 pleasures, to keep in touch with the course of intellectual 
 life, and he wondered at his wife's frivolity and blamed her 
 complete indifference towards all that did not pertain to 
 dress, balls, picnics, and social conquests. They had no 
 children, and Volynsky left his wife completely free, quite 
 assured that she would know how to use her freedom within 
 the limits due to her position. All went smoothly. Nathalie 
 had a crowd of admirers, and Volynsky continued to fas- 
 cinate the ladies, and, enigmatic in his reserve and refined, 
 correct bearing, was considered, as formerly, the most 
 interesting and brilliant cavalier. Before strangers, instead 
 of his usual sang-froid, he showed a respectful deference 
 towards his wife, and no one could guess how completely 
 indifferent he felt towards her. Volynsky was very well 
 acquainted with the morals of society, and he soon per- 
 ceived the dangerous game into which the frivolous and 
 giddy ladies were drawing his wife and the dashing spoilt 
 darlmg, young Gourakin. They found pleasure in whisper- 
 ing to the handsome boy that the wife of the proud states- 
 man, so mocking to others and spoilt by adulation, was 
 charmed by him; they urged him on, persuading him to 
 be more daring, arranging their meetings and generally 
 teasing him. 
 
 Volynsky had noticed the dangerous game during the 
 last winter, and had slightly warned his wife, but as the 
 lively-minded young Duchess had been the ringleader in the 
 game, the husband's remark was met with a mocking and 
 displeased smile. 
 
 Nathalie, very much interested in Gourakin, did not know 
 that their frequent meetings were not sought by him, but 
 were arranged by others. The youthful, pleasure-loving 
 Guardsm^an did not care much about conquering women's 
 hearts; he gave himself up to amusements, dancing, gay 
 company, and drinking. The best dancer and conductor 
 of cotillons at balls, an excellent performer of tsigane songs, 
 a rather good poet, sometimes a successful composer of 
 light romances and valses, he was a favourite in the best
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 53 
 
 social circles. Too much occupied with himself, he had not 
 yet felt the desire for woman's love and caress, and not- 
 withstanding his twenty years he had retained towards 
 women the chivalrous feeling of a heart still untouched by 
 the world's mire. The oftener Nathalie met him, the more 
 she felt herself attracted towards him, the more her heart, 
 which had become frozen under the cold indifference of her 
 haughty husband, yearned for him. At one of the merry 
 gatherings in the Duchess's palace, the company was play- 
 ing at petits jeux. 
 
 " What must this forfeit do ?" asked one of the merry 
 conspirators of the oracle, who was represented by the 
 Duchess. She sat in an armchair with a bandage over her 
 eyes, and around her, laughing and joking, crowded the 
 merry company, men, women and girls. 
 
 "Yes, yes; what shall this forfeit have to do?" was asked 
 all around. 
 
 The forfeit, a glove, belonged to Gourakin, and all were 
 very much interested to know what the oracle would order 
 him to do. The young lady who held the glove touched the 
 tip of the Duchess's slipper with her foot imperceptibly and 
 pressed it with emphasis. 
 
 " Proferez quclqiie chose de grave," said she, looking at 
 Gourakin mischievously. 
 
 The Duchess instantly guessed what it meant. 
 
 "The owner of the forfeit must confess Mme. Volynskaia, 
 and for this purpose they must be conducted to the blue 
 drawing-room and left there for fifteen minutes," the oracle 
 announced in a serio-comic voice. 
 
 A burst of applause followed, and the pair was imme- 
 diately carried off. Notwithstanding Nathalie's protests 
 and objections, the doors were closed behind them, and after 
 being told that they would not be let out before a quarter 
 of an hour had passed, they were left alone. Nathalie was 
 50 confused at first that she did not know what to say. 
 Gourakin, excited by wine and the dancing, was bolder and 
 more ready-witted. 
 
 "I miust confess you," said he with a laugh, and looking 
 down at her, as she stood before him.
 
 54 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 He was very tall, and beside him she seemed quite a 
 child. 
 
 " I beg yon, sinner, to confess your faults sincerely. Tell 
 me your principal sin." 
 
 " I love . . ." began Nathalie mischievously and provok- 
 ingly. 
 
 "That is no sin. ... I love also," laughed Gourakin. 
 "Whom or what do you love, sinner?" 
 
 " Guess, holy father. . . ." 
 
 " I am afraid to . . ." said Gourakin in a tragic whisper, 
 and then laughed merrily. 
 
 " And whom do you love ?" asked Nathalie, and became 
 confused. 
 
 Gourakin understood her confusion and suddenly stopped 
 jesting. She stood before him, so winning, so charming 
 and provocative. For the first time in his life he felt himself 
 passionately attracted towards a woman. He turned pale, 
 and forgetting what they had been talking about he gazed 
 at her with burning eyes. Both were silent. Nathalie's lips 
 trembled nervously, her breath came in gasps. 
 
 " Whom do you love ?" she repeated, hardly knowing 
 what she was saying. 
 
 " I love you . . ," he answered in a whisper, and at the 
 instant losing his head and self-possession, he made a step 
 towards her, and catching her up in his arms like a child, 
 he carried her to the sofa and covered with hot passionate 
 kisses her face, neck, shoulders, arms. Gourakin was very 
 strong, and Nathalie did not even attempt to resist him. . . . 
 
 Meanwhile in the drawing-room where the game was 
 going on and the general merriment, heightened by cham- 
 pagne, was steadily increasing, they had forgotten all about 
 the two absent ones, and a full half hour passed before they 
 let them out with malicious jokes and laughter. Nathalie 
 and Gourakin had regained their self-possession by that 
 time, and when the door was opened they were sitting 
 quietly conversing, but Nathalie was pale, and soon left. 
 
 From that evening she gave Michail her love; all her life 
 seemed to hold only one thought — of him — jealous and tor- 
 turing. Michail gave himself up to his first love with all
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 55 
 
 the ardour of his nature, but at the same time he enjoyed 
 to the full also the amusements and pleasures of a worldly 
 life, and the demands upon his time, the fits of jealousy, 
 and in general the uneven character of Volynskaia some- 
 times rather oppressed him. She did not know how to be 
 prudent, and their liaison soon ceased to be a secret. 
 Gourakin's comrades, who loved him for his sunny nature, 
 slightly envied him his good fortune, and this flattered his 
 self-love. 
 
 From the day that Volynskaia knew that she was to be a 
 mother, she decided to leave her husband and become the 
 wife of Gourakin. 
 
 This decision cost her many sleepless nights and struggles 
 with her conscience, as she very well knew that the baby's 
 father was Volynsky, and not Gourakin. She knew it, and 
 yet she went on with her deceit in her endeavour to conquer 
 happiness. With a woman's unfailing instinct she felt that 
 Michail would consider it his duty to marry her on learning 
 that he was the father of the expected child. And she had 
 not been mistaken in her calculations : he submitted to her 
 wishes without a murmur. 
 
 Volynsky had astonished her by his extraordinary reserve 
 and sang-froid when he had listened to her confession. He 
 made no reproach, but he categorically refused to consent 
 to a divorce, and declared the expected child to be his own. 
 During the summer Volynskaia had not seen Gourakin for 
 two months, as he had gone to his father's estate. Volyn- 
 sky, as well as Nathalie, knew qnite well that he was the 
 father of the coming child. From that day Nathalie had 
 suffered torments. A feeling of aversion had been added 
 to the unfriendliness which she nurtured towards her hus- 
 band. He became physically loathsome to her, since by the 
 very fact of her position she seemed to have acknowledged 
 his rights over her, which at that time could only belong 
 to the man whom she loved. She was fighting desperately 
 for her happiness, but everything seemed to be against her. 
 When, after a long struggle, her husband had consented to 
 the divorce, obstacles began to be raised by Michail's rela- 
 tives, and he himself had become irritable, hot-tempered,
 
 56 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 and was drinking deeply. Nathalie was losing strength in 
 the struggle. It seemed to her that Gourakin's love was 
 growing colder, that he would not be able to vanquish the 
 obstacles, and in the end would cease to love her. . . . 
 
 Nathalie started; the latchkey had turned, the sound of 
 spurs was heard. 
 
 "Misha! ... At last! . . ." 
 
 Nathalie rushed to the door and threw her arms round 
 Gourakin's neck. 
 
 " It was well that you left a note, or else I would have 
 tormented myself as I did last time. Naughty! . . . Bad 
 boy ! . . . I do not sleep at night through you. Why did 
 you not come last time, and not even send a note ? I 
 waited until six o'clock. ... I got such a nervous head- 
 ache that I could not go to the ballet. Why are you silent ? 
 Speak : why did you not come ?" 
 
 " How can I speak when you are talking all the time ? 
 Wait a bit, Nathalie, let me go, and sit quiet a little while. 
 I have just come from grand' maman. My father arrived 
 yesterday." 
 
 "Yes, I know." 
 
 " From where do you know it ?" 
 
 *' I'll tell you afterwards. Well, and how did your con- 
 ference end ?" 
 
 Gourakin shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Each one of us kept to his own decision. My father is 
 leaving to-night. He is terribly angry with me, and for my 
 disobedience he is punishing me through my pocket : over 
 and above the monthly allowance that I am receiving at 
 present he will rot add a single copeck. The old man is 
 very, very angry. . . . Well, God bless him, only . . ." 
 
 " What — only ?" asked Nathalie ; her face had been chang- 
 ing colour from paleness to the dark red of anger while 
 Gourakin was speaking. 
 
 " But it is damned little ! Not a month passes but I have 
 to borrow money from my uncle; it is scarcely sufficient for 
 me alone, and what shall it be for two ? . . . You are 
 accustomed to a good life. I fear for you. . . ." 
 
 " Misha, I am prepared for anything, I will consent to
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 57 
 
 anything, only not to be separated from you. I am sure 
 my uncle will not discontinue my allowance of two thou- 
 sand a year which he is paying me since my marriage. 
 One can live on seven thousand roubles, especially as you 
 will be receiving something for your service." 
 
 Gourakin smiled contemptuously. 
 
 " A pittance, which shall not even suffice for cabs." 
 
 "Certainly it will not be easy for us at first, but, my 
 dearest, is this temporary sacrifice so very great for our 
 happiness ? My uncle is very old, we will not have long to 
 wait. After his death we will have several millions." 
 
 " You are talking like a schoolgirl, Nathalie : 'There will 
 be this, there will be that.' . . . The thing is that at present 
 there is nothing, and not what there will be in future." 
 
 Gourakin suddenly lost his temper; he pushed the chair 
 with his foot, his spur caught the corner of the carpet, and 
 he got still angrier. 
 
 "What is it, Misha? I scarcely seem to recognize you 
 these last days. I might think you are repenting, and that 
 you do not desire our marriage." 
 
 " Stop talking nonsense. You know very well that 
 our position is atrocious, and enough to make anyone 
 angry." 
 
 " No, I do not see it at all. There will be very little 
 money, but that will not be for long. . . ." 
 
 "And to throw up one's regiment, to leave Petersburg 
 for devil knows where, to have to live on a pittance, when 
 
 we both have been accustomed to live almost in palaces 
 
 Is all that nothing?" 
 
 " Oh, I see that your love has really grown cold. I see 
 that the idea of marriage is weighing on you, that I may 
 please you only as a mistress, that the child is not a joy, 
 but a burden to you, . . . You are like all the others . . . 
 you . . ." 
 
 " Stop ! . . . Do you hear me, Nathalie ? — enough ! . . . 
 Again scenes, again caprices ! What do you want from 
 me at last ? I am doing all I can, even more than I can : 
 I am sacrificing my old father's peace of mind and quar- 
 relling with him, grieving grand'maman, who is ill through
 
 58 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 me, giving- up my beloved regiment, and you still find that 
 it is too little. What other proofs of my love do you 
 want ?" 
 
 After his fast life and the unpleasant conversations with 
 his father Gourakin was in that nervous, excitable state 
 of mind when the least pretext for a misunderstanding may 
 easily grow into a quarrel, to give vent to the feeling of 
 irritation. 
 
 "You may rest assured: I do not want anything at all. 
 I have been lowering myself too much as it is, listening to 
 your complaints, or to the stupid exhortations of that old 
 maid, your aunt. , . ." 
 
 " What did you say ? What aunt ?...** 
 
 Gourakin turned quickly towards Nathalie. 
 
 "Marie, of course. . . . Only she alone could be capable 
 of creating out of her old maid's love a sort of melodrama. 
 She came to me this morning and implored me to give you 
 up. If I had ordered her to do it, she would have gone 
 down on her knees before me. Such idiocy ! Why are 
 they all so mad ? J e ne snis pas une detni-mondaine. . . . 
 She is an old maid, and therefore . . ." 
 
 " Nathalie ! Not a word more. . . . Not a word . . . 
 or else I . . . Do you hear! . . . Aunt Marie is a saint; 
 I reverence her as if she were my mother; either do not 
 pronounce her name before me, or, if you do, then only 
 with the utmost respect. I do not see anything extra- 
 ordinary in that she came to you. She loves me, and my 
 happiness is dearer to her than anything else." 
 
 " Allow me : from what you say it is clear that to marry 
 me will be a great misfortune for you. . . . This is too 
 much! Perhaps Mademoiselle Gourakina came to me with 
 your consent ? . . ." 
 
 " Devil knows what you are saying ! Enough of scenes for 
 me. I am going. . . ." 
 
 Mad with rage, Gourakin took up his cap. Nathalie felt 
 a spasm at her throat. She would like to throw herself at 
 his feet and ask his pardon with tears of repentance, but 
 instead she laughed cruelly. 
 
 " Welcome. You evidently wish me to ask you not r-
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 59 
 
 return any more. Your wish is fulfilled — you are free. 
 You may go. . . ." 
 
 While Nathalie by a kind of malevolent inertia was say- 
 ing just the contrary to what she was feeling, Gourakin, 
 biting his lips and hardly able to contain his wrath, threw 
 his cloak over his shoulders and, banging the door, left the 
 house. Nathalie made a step towards the hall as if to 
 follow him, then turned slowly to the sofa, sank down on it, 
 and, laying her head on the silken cushion, burst into 
 hysterical sobbing. It seemed as if with Michail's de- 
 parture all had crumbled in ruins around her, and she 
 remained alone among enemies to continue her sad life. 
 
 Two days later Marie Gourakina had just dressed, and 
 was going to bend her knees in morning prayer, when the 
 maid, after knocking at the door, handed her a letter, whis- 
 pering mysteriously that an answer was expected, and as 
 soon as possible. On perceiving Volynskaia's signature, 
 Marie turned pale. 
 
 Nathalie wrote : "Forgive me! I am losing my reason, 
 I am going mad. Misha says you are a saint, and I am 
 ready to beg you on my knees — help me. Misha has 
 quarrelled with me; for two days I have been writing to 
 him, begging him to return to me and forgive me, but he 
 does not answer. If he abandons me, I will not survive it. 
 I will die. I will kill myself. . . . You exhorted me to 
 give him up; now I am imploring you to give him back 
 to me. You, of course, will understand, dear Marie, that 
 I must have reached the utmost limits of despair to dare 
 to write to you. If you turn from me, then I will under- 
 stand that all is at an end. Misha adores you, and will 
 obey all you say. . . . Do not push me down into the 
 abyss. You are a Christian; you have a meek, all-forgiv- 
 ing heart. . . . Once more I ask you to forgive and save 
 me. 
 
 After reading this letter Marie stood for several minutes 
 in deep thought; then she went down on her knees before 
 the ikons and began to pray. Her simple kindly face re- 
 flected the warmth and depth of the faith which filled her 
 soul.
 
 6o THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 "Lord, guide me . . . Lord Almighty, teach me . . . ," 
 her lips whispered. When she rose, her face had a peaceful 
 and sorrowful expression. Going up to her old-fashioned 
 mahogany writing-table, on which lay several English 
 books, a volume of "Imitation de Jesus Christ," an open 
 copy-book in which she kept her diary, and some photo- 
 graphs of her father, m.other, and Michail, she wrote on a 
 sheet of notepaper : 
 
 "I promise you to speak to Misha to-day. Pray with all 
 your heart; do not give way to despair. I will also pray 
 for you." 
 
 On dispatching this note, Marie wrote another one to her 
 nephew, urgently asking him to come to her the same day. 
 Then she passed into the dining-room and prepared the 
 coffee with her own hands. Nine o'clock struck, and the 
 rustle of silk was heard in the neighbouring room. With 
 noiseless footsteps old Mme. Gourakina entered, and 
 behind her came Miss Jones, smiling and drawing her lips 
 in and out. 
 
 In the evening Michail called on his aunt. He seemed 
 very low-spirited, and Marie could see that he was passing 
 through a heavy and hard struggle. In talking to her he 
 neither gave way to temper nor uttered any complaints, as 
 if comprehending that from that moment it was for him, 
 alone and independently, to lead his life along a certain 
 course. On reading Nathalie's letter which his aunt had 
 received in the morning, he sighed heavily. 
 
 " Yes, I foresaw this. ... Of course, I will make it up 
 with her, but" — he frowned and rubbed his hand across his 
 forehead — " but if you only knew, auntie, how insufferable 
 these scenes are, how they estrange one, and how I foresee 
 that there will be no end to them." 
 
 He left Marie early, and instead of going to the theatre, 
 where his friends were awaiting him, he went home. The 
 porter told him that the Prince had gone out, and the 
 Princess had visitors. Michail passed into his room and 
 gave orders to say that he was not at home if he were 
 asked for. He was feeling sick at heart, and a desire for 
 solitude came over him to think out some things and to
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 6i 
 
 take a final decision. The footman lighted the lamps and 
 two candles on the writing-table and stopped near the door, 
 awaiting orders; he was not accustomed to see Michail at 
 home so early; he generally did not come in before the 
 morning. 
 
 " You may go. If I want you, I shall ring," said Goura- 
 kin, seating himself at his writing-table and opening a letter 
 in Nathalie's well-known handwriting, which he found lying 
 there. On a perfumed sheet with a monogram some lines 
 ran, the letters blurred in places where the tears had fallen 
 on them. The servant had closed the heavy door noise- 
 lessly, and the room was quite quiet. Michail read the 
 letter, laid it aside, and, leaning his head on his hand, he 
 sat absorbed in thought. During the last two days since 
 he had quarrelled with Nathalie, he had become convinced 
 that his love for her had grown much colder, and that in 
 the depths of his heart he had been nurturing a hope that 
 she had seen this and that her pride would not allow her 
 to seek a reconciliation. Their liaison had seemed beauti- 
 ful and enticing, but Nathalie as a wife appeared in another 
 and dimmer light. Faithful to the severe traditions of the 
 families of the old nobility, Michail looked on marriage 
 with great respect, and although not fearing it, he neverthe- 
 less acknowledged to himself that he was unprepared for 
 the serious and responsible duties of a married man; and 
 the idea of losing his freedom so early in life weighed on 
 him and oppressed him. The material prospect of the 
 impending step also helped to increase his dejection. He 
 saw clearly that by his marriage with Nathalie he was giving 
 up a merry, easy and brilliant life. The passionate love 
 which she hau killed with scenes of jealousy and exhibi- 
 tions of a small-minded capricious nature could never be 
 revived. 
 
 "I am putting my neck into a noose. Father is quite 
 right, all are right, but what am I to do ? . . ." thought 
 Michail, walking up and down the room with his hands 
 behind his back and head bent low. " She desires it. . . . 
 It was I who thrust myself into her life . . . but especially 
 — the child . . . the child . . . our child ! . . . I must. I
 
 62 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 have no right. ... It would be dishonourable and base. 
 . . She loves and trusts me, she believes in my honour. . . , 
 Oh, the money, the horrid money ! ..." IMichail frowned, 
 on the one hand reconciling himself with the necessity of 
 marrying, and on the other suddenly remembering how 
 completely his life would be changed owing to lack of 
 funds. 
 
 Besides the financial aspect, he was greatly grieved by 
 the necessity of leaving his regiment, which he loved with 
 a special and sincere love. He had merged his life with that 
 of his regiment; he was so proud of it, and so fond of his 
 comrades, from whom his marriage would now inevitably 
 separate him. He stopped before his writing-table, on 
 which stood a large photograph of Nathalie. He remembered 
 clearly their first meeting at a party given by a high official, 
 and the impression of inaccessibility that she had made on 
 him when he saw her in her gorgeous toilet, with her beau- 
 tiful ba''e shoulders and gay, slightly mocking smile. She 
 had entered with her husband; he looked very handsome in 
 his court dress embroidered with gold. Michail was pre- 
 sented to her; with a respectful bow he had kissed the tips 
 of her fingers, which she had extended to him with the 
 coquettish and condescending smile of a woman accus- 
 tomed to adulation. Could he have thought then ! . . . 
 And how quickly and unexpectedly had it all occurred after- 
 wards ! And now this proud woman, so much above him, 
 as it then seemed to him, was to bear a child, his child ! . . . 
 A complicated wave of pride and warm feeling overflowed 
 his heart. She was going to be the mother of his child ! 
 . . . Yes, he must marry her, he must call the child his own. 
 
 With a feeling of emotion, which he experienced every 
 time that he thought of Nathalie as the mother of liis child, 
 he sat down to the table and wrote her a conciliating letter 
 appointing a rendezvous on the following day.
 
 VIII 
 
 Prince Alexei Vassilievitch had just finished dinner. 
 Having drunk his wine and smoked his cigar, he passed 
 from the dining-room into his own apartments, and ring- 
 ing up his valet, a faithful, ever silent man, he proceeded to 
 change his dress. 
 
 " Have you delivered the flowers and fruit all right, 
 Tikhon ?" asked the Prince, smoothing his whiskers before 
 a large mirror which reflected his gigantic figure and oval, 
 high-bred face with the prominent broad chin. 
 
 "Just so. Your Excellency, I delivered them myself. I 
 was ordered to say that you are in disgrace, because you 
 were not there yesterday." 
 
 " Well, well, I am going now." The Prince hurried to 
 button his coat, and hastily took from Tikhon a perfumed 
 handkerchief and a pair of white chamois-leather gloves. 
 
 " I was not there yestercay . . . and so we have caught 
 it, brother Tikhon, both of us. . . . Tell them to send the 
 carriage there by eleven, and put my medicine in the left 
 pocket — my heart is somewhat wrong again." 
 
 The old valet stifled a sigh; on seeing the Prince out of 
 his apartments, he looked after him with devoted and sor- 
 rowful eyes. 
 
 "Lord Jesus Christ! . . . That is a Prince's life: no 
 peace here, no joy there. . . ." 
 
 Aftei passing by several houses. Prince Alexei entered 
 the door of a small private house. The porter, with a 
 respectful bow, caught the cloak that he threw off in 
 passing. Without waiting to be announced the Prince passed 
 the salon and drawing-room, where sounds of a woman's 
 merry laughter were heard. 
 
 "A-a, the dear Prince! I told Masha that y^u would 
 come to-day, but she is terribly angry with you." A lively 
 
 63
 
 64 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 beautiful blonde woman with grey eyes and arched dark 
 eyebrows ran up to the Prince with a laugh. 
 
 " How are you, my beauty ? Good-evening, Maroussia." 
 
 The Prince went up to a tall large woman who was 
 arranging her flaxen-coloured hair at one of the wall 
 mirrors and stood with her back to him. 
 
 This was the dancer Petrova, the mistress of the Prince. 
 
 " I am angry with you." She extended her hand without 
 looking at him. "What do you mean by not coming when 
 you are asked and expected? God knows when we sat 
 down to supper yesterday through you." 
 
 " I assure you, my dearest, that I could not possibly come. 
 I was at the palace. . . ." 
 
 "I don't care where you were! ... If I call you — you 
 are to be here. , . . Lath-back ! . . ." 
 
 The blonde woman burst into laughter. 
 
 "Now, Masha, you are really without shame to teaze the 
 Prince so. You have spoilt her, dear Prince; that is why 
 she is showing you her temper." 
 
 The Prince, with an indefinite smile, took off the glove 
 from his left hand and, laying it with his cap on a neigh- 
 bouring table, sat down on a low sofa, covered, like all the 
 rest of the furniture, with crimson and black satin; a crim- 
 son plush carpet lay on the floor; a quantity of flowers, 
 pictures, expensive vases and statuettes adorned the room. 
 
 " Why did you leave the ballet so early the day before 
 yesterday, dear Prince ? I was at my best; I danced so that 
 I did not feel the floor under my feet. How they ap- 
 plauded ! They made me repeat the Cracoviak three times. 
 And you were not there," the blonde lady, the well-known 
 ballet-dancer Girard, a favourite of the public and the pride 
 of the ballet, was saying, gazing coquettishly at the Prince, 
 with eyes sparkling with fun and merriment. 
 
 " I had to be at the Countess Oushakoff's ball." 
 
 "Do you not weary of all your countesses and 
 princesses ?" 
 
 " Sometimes I do," answered the Prince with a smile. 
 
 " I don't believe it I " Petrova shrugged her shoulders 
 contemptuously.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 55 
 
 She was vulgar, and could not boast of special beauty, 
 and yet the Prince, a connoisseur in women, well known fon 
 his noble birth and fortune, was in absolute submission 
 before this ballet-dancer, whose childhood had been passed 
 in a laundry. 
 
 " If you were really weary of them, you would not pass 
 the days and nights with them," she continued, taking up 
 and shuffling a pack of cards. " Who was there at the 
 ball ?" 
 
 " The usual lot : the Naryshkins, Sheremetiefifs, the 
 Grand Dukes, the Orloffs. . . . All were there." 
 
 " And the handsomest of all, your nephew — Gourakin ?" 
 asked Girard. 
 
 " Misha ? No, Misha was not there." 
 
 "Probably Volynskaia did not let him go," laughed 
 Petrova. " Ugh ! what a crosspatch she must be ! I think 
 she would be capable of tearing a man to pieces from 
 jealousy. These are the women that you deserve. I love 
 such ones. Tell me. Prince, is it true that a few days ago 
 she boxed his ears either in a hall or when leaving the 
 carriage ?" 
 
 " What nonsense ! From where have you heard that ?" 
 
 "No, it is not nonsense," interrupted Girard. "I also 
 heard of it. She was jealous of someone ; I wouldn't many 
 her for anything in the world, in his place; she will spoil ajl 
 his life. With Volynsky it is different; although he is a 
 silent man, but he would know how to pacify her." 
 
 "Yes, Misha is certainly too young, and it is a pity that 
 he got himself involved in this scandal. . . ." 
 
 " Ah, Mashenka, I quite forgot ! . . . Lay the cards for 
 me, please. I want it so much, so much." 
 
 " And I — must I go away ?" asked the Prince, rising from 
 his chair. 
 
 "No, no, dear Prince" — Girard caught him by the sleeve 
 — "you know all my secrets. Go on, Mashenka." 
 
 "And afterwards, Maroussia, tell me my fortune; jou 
 are a great hand at reading the future." 
 
 " I can tell it you without laying the cards : I'll throw you 
 over some fine day, and you will be left with your lawful 
 
 5
 
 66 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 spouse. You will then serve your Te Deums together, 
 and her priest will make you do penance. . . ." 
 
 " Do stop your teasing, Masha. Do not believe her, dea/ 
 Prince; she'll never throw you over, because she will nevei 
 find so kind a friend as you. Well, go on. Here, I have 
 shuffled and cut." 
 
 Petrova proceeded to lay the cards with her large white 
 hand adorned with valuable rings. A footman brought in 
 the tea on a silver tray. The Prince listened abstractedly 
 to what Petrova was foretelling her friend. Slowly sipping 
 his tea, he followed each gesture, each movement of her 
 white and red face, with the snub nose and full red lips. 
 This face was not distinguished by its beauty, but every- 
 thing in this woman possessed an irresistible and attractive 
 power for the Prince. Gentle and delicate by nature, with 
 her he became completely without a will of his own. Highly 
 refined himself, he meekly submitted to all her rude and 
 cynical remarks, satisfying all her fancies and not noticing 
 her greed and her quarrelsome temper. After the fortune- 
 telling the subject of the talk was the ballet. All the scan- 
 dalous stories were mentioned, in which many names of 
 the grand monde played a part. Without crossing the 
 thresholds of the salons of the high society the ballet- 
 dancers knew all that went on there, because not only the 
 dashing youth of the capital, but also mature old states- 
 men, were well acquainted with the fairies of the choreo- 
 graphic art. 
 
 Often finding the time tedious at the official gatherings 
 of their own circles, they willingly escaped to the salons 
 of the ballet divas, where the gaiety was unconstrained, the 
 masculine element was the same, and the ladies were de- 
 lightful comrades and merry, fascinating women. The 
 Prince listened to the chatter of the two friends, placing a 
 remark here and there, and feeling himself much happier 
 and cosier in this small red boudoir than in the stately 
 apartments of his wife. He was seen there very rarely 
 now, so that they only met at meals. The Prince had long 
 ago transferred all his affections to this house, and his 
 attachment to Petrova increased with the years.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 67 
 
 "We had a fine drive with Ania to-day on the quay." 
 Petrova turned to the Prince, lazily stretching herself and 
 extending her feet in red satin slippers trimmed with fur 
 towards the chair opposite. The Prince moved the chair 
 to a more convenient position, caressingly touching the 
 feet in the pretty slippers w^hich he had lately brought from 
 Paris. " But it is not to my advantage to be seen with 
 her; all eyes are turned to her, and she is very glad," 
 laughed Petrova, gazing at her friend. 
 
 "That is only your fancy, Masha," smiled Girard, show- 
 ing a row of dazzling teeth. 
 
 " My fancy ! And you, smiling right and left and mak- 
 ing eyes ! You are insatiable ; you find one admirer not 
 enough. . . . You'll see, you'll lose your neck some 
 day." 
 
 " How will I lose it ?" Girard looked at her friend in 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Some crazy jealous fellow will fall in love and send a 
 bullet through your forehead." 
 
 * Oh, I am not afraid of that ! " laughed Girard. " By the 
 time it comes to the bullet, I will empty their pockets in 
 such a way that there will be no money left to buy the 
 bullet. Ah, I am in love, dear Prince, madly in love," she 
 said, making a suffering face and laughing at the same time, 
 her head leaning against the back of the chair. 
 
 " May I ask with whom ?" asked the Prince. 
 
 " Your brother." 
 
 " Vladimir ? I will tell him." 
 
 "He knows. He is not free for the time. ... I must 
 wait patiently." 
 
 The Prince looked at his watch and stretched out his 
 hand for his cap. 
 
 "Where to?" asked Petrova with a slight frown. 
 
 " I have to go, my angel : nothing to be done. Mme. 
 Potemkina has a party to-night, and asked me specially to 
 be there — I cannot stay away." 
 
 "That's piggish on your part, to pass almost all the 
 evenings in your hcau-monde. . . ." 
 
 " Maroussia, but it has only happened so this week."
 
 68 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 " Well, then, go, get away with you and welcome, and 
 Ania and I shall directly ring up our company and go to 
 supper at Borel's. We'll do finely without you. Go and 
 turn your French compliments before your trained dolls, 
 while we'll be amusing ourselves." 
 
 " There you are, Maroussia, again angry with me ! But 
 if you knew how willingly I would not go to this party and 
 how I dislike having to be away from you! You know my 
 position : I am obliged to do many things which I do not 
 want to." 
 
 " I have heard that many times ! " Petrova answered with 
 a contemptuous grimace. 
 
 The Prince rose with a grieved expression, bowed in 
 silence before Girard, touched Petrova's forehead with his 
 lips, and left the room. 
 
 "You do tease him too much, Masha," protested Girard 
 as soon as the Prince had gone. " He cannot be tied to 
 your petticoat; his high position obliges him to show 
 himself in society." 
 
 " Ah, shut up, please, with his high position ! " Petrova 
 cried in a temper. " I don't care a fig for it. What have I 
 to do with it ? They are all rascals and scoundrels. Do 
 you think it is pleasant to have an illegitimate child ? A 
 great honour to be a mistress !" 
 
 " But he cannot marry you, Mashenka. . . ." 
 
 " Whereas he can live two lives ! He has a lawful spouse, 
 children; he lives in a palace, the woman he does not love 
 has all the honours and pleasures; and what am I ? — a paid 
 mistress! . . . My child is not worse than his princeling, 
 and what honour does he get ? What is his name ? Why 
 such injustice ? Because the other woman is ugly and a 
 fright, who has long grown indifferent to him, and I — am 
 his love, whom he worships, before whom he grovels on his 
 knees. Therein lies his baseness, that although he kisses 
 my feet, he guards his princely rank, and though I die, he 
 will not pass a certain limit." 
 
 "You are crazy, Masha! But who would allow him to 
 marry you ? And what about his wife ? The laws ? He 
 dares not ever think of it."
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 69 
 
 " If he dares not think of it, then he had no right to tempt 
 me; and, having tempted, let him bear my caprices." 
 
 " Have you forgotten how you nearly jumped up to the 
 ceiling in the green-room v^hen he told you of his love. I 
 remember it well, Mashenka. You have become too much 
 spoilt. What do you lack ? From poverty you have come 
 into luxury; you are spoilt, beloved, he is so good and 
 kind, and still you do not find it enough. What would 
 rank bring you ? Their life is deadly dull. I would not 
 take it at a gift." 
 
 "You are one thing, I am another. You only want to 
 fly about the scene, turning people's heads, and having a 
 new man to kiss every night." 
 
 " O-oh, I see that you are in a regular temper to-night. 
 Good-bye. Shall you be at the rehearsal to-morrow ?" 
 
 " Certainly " 
 
 "Then don't be late, or else 'he' '11 be in no end of a 
 temper again. And after the rehearsal we are going to 
 the Yussoupoff Gardens to the skating rink. Fogelberg 
 promised to come; no one can drive the sleighs down the 
 ice-mountains better than he. A whole party is coming; it 
 will be very gay." 
 
 Girard was putting on her sable cap before the looking- 
 glass and enumerating the names of the young officers of 
 the Life Guards who were to be there.
 
 IX 
 
 Ascending the marble staircase, decorated with palms, 
 statues and bronze figures, with lackeys in livery em- 
 broidered with golden crests, white silk stockings, and 
 black shoes with gold buckles, placed at every five steps, 
 the Prince tried to chase away all sad thoughts and to 
 give to his features a serene and amiable expression. 
 Under such a mask most people hide their inner selves, so 
 as not to differ from the general aspect of well brought up 
 persons. 
 
 Two enormous lustres with candles illuminated the 
 sumptuous white ballroom decorated with gold. From the 
 drawing-rooms came the sound of voices and laughter; 
 the air smelt of flowers and perfumes. The Prince stopped 
 for a moment before a mirror, passed his hand over his hair 
 and moustache, sighed, closed his eyes for a second, and 
 entered a drawing-room. His face now wore an expres- 
 sion of serenity, unconcern and amiability. The hostess, 
 a lady invested with the order of knighthood, of middle 
 height, with a handsome face of the pure Slavonic type, and 
 flaxen hair arranged in a high coiffure, rose to meet him. 
 
 "Late a? usual, my dear Prince. You certainly know 
 how to make yourself eagerly desired," said she, extending 
 her hand and looking at the Prince with her large blue 
 eyes. 
 
 " I was at the Michel Theatre," said Prince Alexei. Mme. 
 Naptal Arno was exquisite in ' Qui femme a, guerre a.'" 
 
 In the spacious drawing-room, decorated in the Louis 
 XVI. style, with exquisite Aubussons on the walls and 
 floor, a beautifully painted ceiling, enormous candelabra 
 of Saxon porcelain and similar lustres, lit up with numbers 
 of candles, a small but select company was assembled. 
 'lie Prince would not take tea, which was served on a large
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 71 
 
 round table, and he sank down in a chair beside the hostess. 
 Footmen in evening dress, black stockings and shoes with 
 golden buckles were serving noiselessly. Separate groups 
 had gathered in conversation. The subjects were the 
 increasing rebellion, the murder of the excellent governor 
 of a province. Prince K., the Empress's illness, the manifesto 
 of the Revolutionary Committee, demanding the amnesty 
 of political criminals, the acquittal of Zasoulitch, which was 
 universally approved of, the unsuccessful attempt on the 
 life of the Chief of the Gendarmes, the still more bold and 
 unsuccessful attempt against the life of the Tsar. These 
 were unruly times, and in the drawing-rooms the chief 
 topic of conversation was the political situation inside the 
 country. 
 
 " I saw our director and innovator to-day," a Minister 
 was saying to the Prince; he was an imposing old man 
 with a slow, slightly affected manner of speaking and an 
 expression of strict pedantry. "His aiming at popularity 
 will result in leading him into extravagancies. I am afraid 
 that he will create a platform for himself out of his post 
 to play an actor's part. We expect good service for the 
 benefit of the State from him, but it appears, in my opinion, 
 to resemble more a play at a fair." 
 
 "Yes" — a Member of the Council of Empire and pos- 
 sessor of a well-known name, an enormous fortune, and a 
 lovely wife, put in his word — " to be a dictator, and in such 
 times as these, is much more complicated than to conduct 
 the siege of Kars." 
 
 "Is it true that il fait des chicanes a Count Tonkoff?" 
 asked the hostess, evidently thinking of something else, 
 for her look was constantly straying to the door leading 
 from the large salon. 
 
 "Chicanes ! — that is not strong enough. He tries to 
 injure him and set traps for him at every step," smiled Prince 
 Alexei. " But the Count is positively invulnerable — il est 
 invulnerable" he repeated in French. 
 
 " Un vrai gentleman," remarked an oldish maid of 
 honour in a severe black silk dress, with a pale and thin face 
 " What breeding, what tact the dear Count has ! I really
 
 ^2 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 cannot understand by whom and how the absurd idea 
 was conceived to give such a responsible post to cei 
 Armenioi! . . ." 
 
 " The pest helped him in this case," said the Prince again 
 with a smile, thinking at the same time whether he would 
 have time to-morrow to see Petrova before dinner. 
 
 *' Well, we do not quite believe in the pest here," remarked 
 tht' Minister. 
 
 At this moment Volynsky entered the room. The 
 hostess's face expressed relief, and her glance flew towards 
 the part of the room where the Duchess was seated sur- 
 rounded by a group of ladies and gentlemen. 
 
 All seemed to have been expecting Volynsky. While he 
 was bending down over the ladies' hands, they all jestingly 
 reproved him for being so late. His appearance brought 
 some animation. The ladies knew him to be a fine con- 
 noisseur and admirer not only of the beauty, but also of the 
 smallest details of their dresses. The news of his consent 
 to the divorce with his wife made him still more interesting 
 in women's eyes. While respectfully kissing the Duchess's 
 hand he f It her fingers press his for one moment nervously 
 and insistently. When he raised his eyes to hers a scarcely 
 perceptible significant smile hovered round her mouth. 
 
 "Sit down here, cher monsieur" she pointed to a chair 
 standing opposite to her seat, " and do not dare to talk 
 politics. J'en ai par dessus la tete. We have just been 
 discussing jealousy. These ladies affirm that there is nothing 
 so terrible as jealous scenes. What will you say to this?" 
 "Pavel Konstantinovitch will of course say nothing. 
 He is too far removed from such displays of human weak- 
 ness to judge of them," exclaimed one of the ladies with a 
 malicious look at Volynsky. 
 
 Volynsky was smiling a slight enigmatic smile; his eyes 
 were slightly narrowed, and he was stroking the fingers of 
 one hand with the other. 
 
 "Madame is mistaken," he said to the lady who had 
 spoken last. "If I do not know the feeling of jealousy, it 
 is only because no woman has ever permitted me to love 
 her to such a degree that I would dare to express my love
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 73 
 
 in outbursts of jealousy; and in respect to myself I do not 
 know jealousy because no woman has ever loved me so 
 much as to be jealous of me." 
 
 Volynsky bowed his head slightly, as if expressing his 
 complete submission to the women who had loved him so 
 poorly. 
 
 " Shall I tell you one thing ?" said the Duchess with smil- 
 ing eyes : " it is that I do not believe you ! ..." 
 
 The filmy white lace on her low-cut dress rose and fell 
 with her breathing. For a few seconds Volynsky let his 
 eyes rest on this place of her beautiful breast and then 
 turned them away, but the Duchess caught the look, and 
 her fine nostrils quivered. 
 
 "And if such a woman could be found and would permit 
 you to be jealous of her?" she asked, negligently tapping 
 her armchair with her fan. 
 
 " I would torment her to death both with my jealousy 
 and my love," answered Volynsky in a completely dispas- 
 sionate voice, and only the Duchess alone caught a meaning 
 in his calm glance. 
 
 "And do you believe him ?" asked Prince Alexei, who had 
 grown tired of politics and been listening to what was 
 going on in the animated groups surrounding the Duchess. 
 " Not the least in the world," laughed she. 
 The Prince joined their group, and the conversation, 
 dealing all the time of questions of love, pleased and occu- 
 pied everyone. An atmosphere of unconstrained merri- 
 ment and warmth seemed always to reign round the 
 Duchess. The Prince added still more to it, because he 
 was always willing to speak of women and love. 
 
 "They say that Volynsky is definitely being divorced 
 from his wife ?" the hostess's neighbour, a Member of the 
 Council of Empire, asked her in a low voice. 
 
 "Yes, I know this. Michail Gourakin is leaving his 
 regiment; he is going to marry Volynskaia and live in 
 Moscow." 
 
 "What idiocy!" The Minister shook his head. "On 
 both sides it is idiotic. I am very sorry for poor old 
 Gourakina. I hear she has fallen ill of grief, and that poor
 
 74 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 Marie is crying all day long, and does not know on whose 
 side she is to be. Old Gourakin has quarrelled with his 
 son, and it seems he means to disinherit him. All this is 
 very sad.'* 
 
 " What do you want ?" the hostess smiled. " Such is the 
 voice of passion. . . ." 
 
 The Minister was silent. The hostess was the widow of 
 a statesman, and had a serious love affair with a personage 
 so highly placed that the Minister did not deem it advisable 
 to speak with blame of feelings of love. 
 
 "Why is the Princess Anna Valerianovna not here, cherc 
 amie f" the maid of honour asked the hostess. 
 
 "She does not go anywhere at present, and does not like 
 to be pressed and begged to come. I pity her very much; 
 she is very unhappy because of that creature . . . you 
 know whom I mean ?" 
 
 "Yes, the ballet is the fashion now," said the maid of 
 honour sarcastically. 
 
 " If it had been Girard, I would not have been surprised, 
 but this one ! . . . How could she win the Prince's heart ? 
 It is wonderful ! " 
 
 The hostess said the last sentence in a whisper, and 
 looked towards the other end of the room where the Prince 
 was sitting. 
 
 " I hear that the Princess has taken to mysticism or 
 spiritism in her disappointment ?" asked the Member of the 
 Council of Empire, and adroitly throwing up his eyeglass 
 into his eye by means of an imperceptible movement of his 
 fingers. 
 
 "Not spiritism; she has given herself up to religion and 
 good works," said the maid of honour impressively. " And 
 with it all she has a really fiendish disposition." 
 
 The Mem])er of the Council of Empire moved his eye- 
 brows slightly, and the eyeglass fell out again. 
 
 "I am entirely on the Prince's side, and I do not wonder 
 at his flight from his hearthstone." 
 
 "It is very difficult to judge in these cases," said the 
 hostess with a smile, and the two dimples on her cheeks 
 made her winning little face still more fascinating.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 75 
 
 A little farther off, beside a table laden with fruit and 
 bonbons, a fatuous aide-de-camp was conversing with a 
 tall shaven statesman in evening- dress, decorated with 
 many orders. 
 
 "There is dancing to-morrow chez les anglais," the aide- 
 de-camp was saying, twirling his moustache with two 
 fingers. "Are you going to be there. Prince?" 
 
 " I have to go," answered the statesman ; " they say all the 
 Court will be there. I dined at Countess Niniche's to-day, 
 and I heard it from her." 
 
 " Ah, there is a delicious woman," said the aide-de-camp 
 with rapture. "And what do you think of her husband, 
 Prince ?" 
 
 " Oh ! I don't think much of him. ... A skilful intriguer, 
 but he will soon break his neck," answered the statesman, 
 with a disdainful gesture, "and it is not I who will mourn 
 his loss. ... A caliph for an hour, believe me." 
 
 By the end of the evening the company had divided into 
 two groups. 
 
 In the group of the Duchess and Volynsky, the animated 
 conversation, interrupted with bursts of laughter, turned 
 without ceasing on light-minded topics. Prince Alexei 
 had forgotten his worries and Petrova's anger, and was 
 exchanging with great pleasure joking, meaning phrases 
 with the beautiful Baroness Shellman, a coquette known 
 for her daring conduct. She was teasing the Prince, whom 
 she had long been attracting by her beauty and provocative 
 manner. But each time, as soon as he left her, the image 
 of the ballet-dancer with the snub nose and authoritative 
 manner instantly cast out all other fancies and impressions. 
 
 " Why are you never seen at the Taurid Gardens on the 
 skating-rink ! It is so very gay there," the Baroness was 
 saying, fanning herself and enveloping the Prince in a 
 whiff of perfume. 
 
 " I have no time, I am busy," answered the Prince, smil- 
 ing into the pretty brown eyes of the Baroness. 
 
 "You are busy? Give me an hour of your busy time, 
 cher Prince, and really you will not repent. Come now, be 
 good, and be on the skating-rink at tb'-ee o'clock to-morrow.
 
 76 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 Fogelberg runs the sleighs down the mountains artistically. 
 If you come, I will promise you , . . Now what do you 
 want me to promise you ?" 
 
 And the Baroness, slightly covering her face with her 
 fan, bent it quite close to the Prince. 
 
 " Well — tell me what you would like. . . .*' 
 
 At the other end of the room the Minister was the centre 
 figure. Methodically, picturesquely and patiently he was 
 relating an episode out of his life. When he talked every- 
 one always listened to him, even when he spoke of quite 
 ordinary things. Possessing the gift of eloquence and a 
 well modulated voice, he held people's attention by means 
 of the latter, as it flowed in distinct, metallic, slowly sound- 
 ing waves. 
 
 Connected with the Court, having played an important 
 political role during the whole time of the Emperor's reign, 
 the Minister carried with him into the drawing-rooms the 
 prestige of an historical personage in the life of Russia, 
 and therefore a special weight was laid on each of his words, 
 as if they could be understood only by the few initiated. 
 
 "... This ikon," the Minister continued his story evoked 
 by the talk on spiritism and mysticism, "was very much 
 revered in my wife's family. It hung in a corner of our 
 bedroom on a strong iron hook, which could easily support 
 a bronze lustre. In my wife's family there was a tradition 
 that this ikon falls down from the hook before the death of 
 a member of the family. As soon as I heard of this tradi- 
 tion from my wife I made the hook fast with my own hands 
 — de mes propres mains j'ai consolide Vintage — and I told 
 her laughingly that we would all die before the holy image 
 would ever fall down again. In 1872 we were passing the 
 autumn in our estate. It was late at night. My wife had 
 retired to bed, but I remained sitting at my writing-table 
 in my study, as I had some pressing work to do. The whole 
 house was plunged into a deep sleep. Suddenly a crash 
 was heard as if something heavy had fallen. I ran out of 
 my study and heard my wife calling to me in a frightened 
 voice. In the bedroom on the floor lay the heavy image, 
 with broken glass and lamp. My wife's mother was very
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 'j'^ 
 
 old, and the womenfolk of the house were sure that the fall 
 of the image forebode her death. However, the old lady 
 lived five years after that, but my wife died suddenly from 
 paralysis of the heart some four days after the fall of the 
 image." 
 
 The Minister, on finishing the story, remained in the 
 same slightly affected attitude; he sat in his armchair, very 
 straight, his back barely touching that of the chair. 
 
 "C'est incroyable r said the maid of honour in the awed 
 voice in which one speaks of incomprehensible and 
 mysterious events. 
 
 The Minister was the first to leave, and after him all the 
 rest began to make their adieux to the hostess and to each 
 other. The Duchess stopped on the threshold of the salon 
 for a few words with the hostess. 
 
 Volynsky, bearing on his arm the ermine cape that the 
 Duchess had given him to carry, was slowly descending the 
 stairs. At the bottom the voices of the departing guests 
 were heard, and the opening and closing of the heavy front 
 door. On hearing the rustle of silk behind him Volynsky 
 stopped, and turned towards the Duchess, who was rapidly 
 approaching him. Adroitly holding up the train of her 
 violet silk dress so that Volynsky standing below could 
 see her slender feet clad in the violet silk stockings, smiling 
 and shrugging her bare shoulders in the cool air, the 
 Duchess was running down tks stairs with light steps. 
 Volynsky carefully covered her shoulders with the cape 
 and offered her his arm. The door closed below, and all 
 was quiet. 
 
 "Shall you be at the concours hyppique to-morrow?" 
 asked the Duchess as the footman in the red livery of the 
 Court was placing her ermine-lined cloak on her shoulders. 
 
 " If yoti command me," answered Volynsky. 
 
 " Certainly, I command it. . . ." The Duchess narrowed 
 her eyes, and her face assumed an expression of intense 
 desire. 
 
 Volynsky bowed his head respectfully as a sign of humble 
 obedience. At the door the Duchess's carriage was wait- 
 ing with a coachman in the same red livery as the footn: .\.
 
 78 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 "Send away your carriage; you can come with me," said 
 the Duchess at the moment when Volynsky was respect- 
 fully touching her hand with his lips, and the footman, 
 holding the door of the carriage, was preparing to close it. 
 
 Volynsky ordered his own coachman to go home and 
 entered the Duchess's carriage. 
 
 " I have been admiring you the whole evening," said the 
 Duchess in French, leaning back in the carriage and plac- 
 ing her feet in the fur bag lying on the floor. " You were 
 wonderfully self-possessed, and looking at you and listen- 
 ing to you, one might think that your path is full of 
 roses. . . ." 
 
 Volynsky was silent. 
 
 "Tell me frankly, as a friend, leaving aside all the dis- 
 agreeable sides of this story, are you very much grieved 
 that she is leaving you ? Do you truly suffer ?" asked the 
 Duchess, lowering her voice and making it sound more 
 sincerely cordial. 
 
 " I am afraid to answer this question, as whatever I may 
 say at this moment may be not quite so as it really is." 
 
 " How well you know how not to answer a question put 
 to you!" laughed the Duchess. "How I would like to 
 break through the enchanted circle in which you stand and 
 through which no mortal is allowed to penetrate. . . . 
 Your Olympian calm. . . ." 
 
 " How if that is only a mask ?" 
 
 " Oh no, I do not believe that ! But if it is so, then for 
 one moment take off the mask which hides your face, that 
 I have been wanting to see for so long." 
 
 In the darkness of the carriage Volynsky could not see 
 how much insistent, stubborn will shone in each feature of 
 this woman who was so spoilt by everyone. He closed his 
 eyes for a second, as if not wishing to confide their expres- 
 sion even to the darkness. 
 
 " Why are you silent ? I want to know what you have to 
 say to this." 
 
 "I will take ofiF this mask only for the woman who will 
 become completely mistress of my will," answered Volyn- 
 sky in his usual calm tone of voice.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 79 
 
 " And whom you will torment to death with your jealousy 
 and your love?" said the Duchess playfully, repeating the 
 phrase that Volynsky had uttered. " And do you think 
 that such a woman can exist for you ?" she continued after 
 a moment's silence. 
 
 Volynsky bit his underlip, and tightly clasping the glove 
 which he held in his right hand, in his endeavour to over- 
 come an irresistibly strong desire, at last succeeded in 
 mastering it. 
 
 " I think that such a woman cannot exist for me." 
 " Why ?" 
 
 "Because I believe in the game of love, but I never 
 believed in love itself." 
 
 " Oh, if that is your attitude . . ." 
 
 "Am I not right? Be sincere, your Highness; do you 
 think otherwise yourself ?" Volynsky turned to the Duchess, 
 approached his face to her, and by the light of a passing 
 lantern she saw two mocking eyes fixed on her. 
 
 " At any rate, I believe that there is and must be real love." 
 " Can it be you who say that, Duchess ? You are jesting, 
 I know that you are jesting. . . ." 
 
 " Don't laugh ! I do not want you to laugh so. I am 
 not jesting; but don't let us speak of it any more." 
 "As you will." 
 
 Volynsky closed his eyes and bowed his head. The car- 
 riage stopped at the palace. The Duchess extended the 
 tips of her fingers to Volynsky, and with the words, "A 
 detnain" disappeared behind the open doors. The same 
 carriage brought Volynsky home. He ascended the dimly 
 lighted staircase, passed on to his own apartments, un- 
 dressed, gave some orders to his sleepy valet, and went to 
 bed. It was late, and he had had to make a great effort of 
 his will to remain outwardly calm all the time. He had 
 consented to a divorce with his wife because he understood 
 that if he did not do it the scandal would be greater still. 
 Knowing and guessing at the frame of mind of society, he 
 had learnt from his conversation with the Duchess that the 
 lighter-minded and larger part of their circle was sym- 
 pathizing with the passionate )ove between his wife and
 
 8o THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 the handsome Gourakin, that their liaison was univer- 
 sally known, and that the sooner she were wedded to 
 Gourakin the less ground would there be for gossip and 
 slanderous tales. But the thought of the child, that he had 
 been hoping for so many years in vain, tortured him and 
 deprived him of his equanimity. He knew that Nathalie 
 was declaring the father of the expected child to be 
 Gourakin; he had heard that Gourakin believed this, and 
 that everyone who was aware of her position believed it 
 also. 
 
 Volynsky, however, knew as surely, as well as his wife 
 did, that the father of th:^ child was he himself. The feeling 
 of paternal love was clamouring in him; this feeling was 
 insulted. He had long ago become indifferent to his wife, 
 and the separation from her did not grieve him, but to 
 renounce the child, to give it up to his unworthy wife and 
 that boy Gourakin, was both painful and insulting to him. 
 However, lately these thoughts had tormented him much 
 less. They were distracted by a new experience which he 
 did not stop to analyze, but to which he was submitting 
 slowly. This experience was the new, as yet not quite 
 clear, attitude of the all-enchanting Duchess towards him- 
 self. He was too great a connoisseur of women not to 
 recognize all her merits, which turned the heads of all those 
 who approached her in any way, b'jt just because she was 
 always surrounded by so many, he with his sensitive 
 self-respect would not consent to swell the ranks of her 
 admirers, and by an intentional exaggerated respect for her 
 rank he created a gulf between them which sh'; could not 
 but notice. From the moment that Volynsky had learnt of 
 his wife's misconduct and had finally estranged himself 
 from her, his attention dwelt with greater frequency on the 
 Duchess's personality. During the last year she had 
 grown more fascinating, and the knowledge of her irre- 
 sistibility made her still more attractive. Very cautiously 
 and by degrees she had striven at each meeting with 
 Volynsky to bridge over the gulf which he created between 
 them, and the more difficult of attainment this was, the more 
 obstinate she became in her desire. The game was begin-
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 81 
 
 ning to tantalize Volynsky. Accustomed to the admiration 
 of women, he admitted as a result of this game not less than 
 the complete surrender of the Duchess's will. From the 
 moment that he had ascertained this, he had felt a great 
 attraction towards the flighty, s^poilt coquette, and he was 
 still more on his guard in respect to each word, each look" 
 which he addressed to her.
 
 X 
 
 Princess A> ^a Valerianovna had been feeling in a bad 
 temper since early morning. Olga Onisimovna, the head 
 mistress of the orphan school, who had many years 
 ago filled the post of attendant to the Princess and 
 was well acquainted with the intimate side of her life, 
 was generally held in strict subordination, and did 
 not dare to open her mouth in the presence of her 
 benefactress; but in respect to gossip and tale-bear- 
 ing she enjoyed full liberty, and from time to time 
 she used to lay out before the Princess a whole collec- 
 tion of tales. The Princess was very much interested in 
 them, because they were always based on truth, and em- 
 * raced all the sides of her life, especially the most sensitive 
 part of it — namely, the liaison between her husband and the 
 ballet-dancer Petrova. Olga Onisimovna's tongue seemed 
 to unroll a series of cinema pictures of the intimate life of 
 the princely husband in the private house so near to their 
 own. Prince Alexei did not even suspect that his wife 
 knew of every step of his. Very loyal, straightforward, 
 and delicate himself, acknowledging the wrong that he 
 was doing to his wife, he, ever since he had left her, avoided 
 penetrating even casually into her private life. No one of 
 those who surrounded him would have thought of spying 
 or tale-bearing to the Prince, and therefore he could not 
 admit that the Princess would stoop to spy and watch his 
 liaison, which he was doing his utmost to keep secret. 
 Petrova always tried to display publicly her conquest over 
 the Prince, whom all the capital knew so well, and she 
 treated him to terrible outbursts of temper when he en- 
 deavoured to mask his relations with her. The Prince did 
 not know that by means of flattery and tips, obtained frorn 
 her benefactress, Olga Onisimovna had managed to pene- 
 trate through the servants' entrance into the small private 
 
 82
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 83 
 
 house, and often came over to take a cup of tea with old 
 Matriona Ivanovna, the mother of the ballet-dancer 
 Petrova, a former laundress, who, now obese and old, was 
 allowed to end her days in the servants' quarters of her 
 daughter's house. Matriona Ivanovna never went farther 
 than the pantry, and only caught occasional glimpses of the 
 rooms in which her " Mashenka " dwelt. She lived at peace 
 with the servants, was very much afraid of her own daugh- 
 ter, but also very much interested in all that she did, and 
 knew of all that went on not only in her dressing-room at 
 the theatre and the drawing-room, but in her bedroom as 
 well. 
 
 Having nothing else to do all day but gossip with the 
 servants, the old woman was very glad to make friends 
 with Olga Onisimovna, and over innumerable cups of tea 
 or coffee to report to her in a mysterious half whisper all 
 that was going on in Mashenka's life. Shaking her grey 
 old head, partly in blame, partly with approval, she used to 
 relate to Olga Onisimovna all the details of how Mashenka 
 was "fooling" the Prince. 
 
 "The money — the money that she just squeezes out of 
 him is something awful!" she would mumble with her 
 toothless mouth, wiping her lips with the palm of her hand 
 and folding her hands on her fat lap, as she sat, hot and 
 flushed, in her broad cotton gown, over her tea with her 
 friend. 
 
 On the morning in question Princess Anna Valerianovna 
 had been worried with one thing and another. As soon as 
 she rose from her bed she had received a note from Father 
 Fedor, informing her that his youngest daughter had fallen 
 ill during the night, and that he would be unable to come 
 to her for their morning talk. Father Fedor was a 
 widower, living in a wing of the house, and fulfilling the 
 functions of Father-confessor to the Princess. The latter, 
 always very much interested in all that concerned the priest, 
 was troubled by his news, and decided to visit him as soon 
 as she was through with her business, which generally 
 occupied her till two or three in the afternoon. Olga 
 Onisimovna had made her angry by importing to her that
 
 84 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 Dashenka had fallen ill from grief, and the wedding with 
 the peasant Afanassiy would have to be put off, in spite of 
 the express desire of the Princess. She was always against 
 all that was young, handsome, and striving for liappiness, 
 even deserving it. The intercession of Olga Onisimovna, 
 and even of the Prince himself, in the case of Dashenka's 
 fate had only succeeded in increasing the unconscious ill- 
 will and envy of the homely, uncouth, and unsympathetic 
 Princess, and she felt that it would be a relief to her when 
 the beauty and grace of the poor orphan that she had 
 brought up wei^e trampled and crushed in the grey, 
 dreary routine of a peasant's life. After handing in the 
 reports of the school, to the accompaniment of cavilling 
 remarks from the Princess, Olga Onisimovna, instead of 
 retiring, coughed slightly, and remained standing in the 
 same place. The Princess knew what the discreetly artificial 
 cough of her quondam attendant meant. With a disagree- 
 able, disdainful expression on her face she turned her head 
 towards Olga Onisimovna. 
 
 "Again something new? Well, go on. . . ." 
 She laid her pen aside, took ofif her pince-nez, and pre- 
 pared to listen. 
 
 " Your Excellency has not heard of the scandal in the 
 theatre ?" asked Olga Onisimovna, folding her hands in 
 a servile manner. 
 
 "Ridiculous question!" The Princess shrugged her 
 shoulders. " From whom could I have heard anything ? 
 But go on quickly — I have no time to lose." 
 
 Notwithstanding her painful curiosity and jealousy, the 
 Princess always experienced a certain shame in listening 
 to the tales of her quondam, attendant, in which her hus- 
 band shone in an unfavourable light. Olga Onisimovna 
 now related to the Princess in all its details the story which 
 had been passing from mouth to mouth among the ballet- 
 dancers, and had penetrated into the society salons, where 
 society, not wishing to blame the Prince, shrugged its 
 shoulders, shook its head, raised its eyebrows, and sum- 
 marized its impressions by expressing its sympathy for the 
 weakness of the Prince, who was so kindly, such a gallant
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 85 
 
 man, who had had the misfortune to fall beneath the in- 
 fluence of a woman so vulgar and unworthy. 
 
 Two days ago the Prince had dined with Petrova and 
 remained with her until it was time for her to go to the 
 theatre, as she was dancing that evening. The Prince had 
 brought her to the artists' entrance of the theatre and after- 
 wards gone on to his box. Patiently awaiting the begin- 
 ning of the play, and examining the arriving public from 
 the depths of his box, the Prince was smoking abstractedly 
 and thinking lovingly of Petrova, with whom he had passed 
 several happy hours that day. Suddenly there was a 
 knock at the door, and he was respectfully told that "Maria 
 Mikhailovna Petrova asks His Excellency to be pleased to 
 come to her immediately." The Prince rose directly and 
 went behind the scenes with a feeling of anxiety. He was 
 just passing into her dressing-room when he heard her 
 laugh among other women's voices on the stage, and went 
 up to her. He was immediately surrounded by the other 
 ballet-dancers with friendly jokes and greetings. Some of 
 them were already in tights, others were still in their 
 ordinary dresses. Petrova, in a blue silk dressing-gown, 
 her face already made up, was standing in the middle of 
 the stage. 
 
 " Where are my tights ?" she asked the Prince in a loud 
 voice. " You must have seen that I went off in my dress- 
 ing-gown." 
 
 " But, Mashenka . . ." said the Prince, slightly confused, 
 " I really did not know that you had not taken them with 
 you." 
 
 "How you did not know? You saw perfectly well that 
 I got into the carriage with empty hands. ... As you like, 
 but you must bring me my tights this minute; I sha.ll be 
 dressing directly. I want my maid, I cannot send her." 
 
 "What is to be done then? ... I really do not 
 know ..." the Prince muttered, looking around him 
 helplessly. 
 
 "There is nothing to know," Petrova shrugged her 
 shoulders. "Tell them to bring round your carriage, and 
 go yourself; the tights are lying in the bedroom. . . /'
 
 86 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 The Prince was quite disconcerted, and began explaining 
 something hesitatingly to Petrova, but she knit her brows 
 into an angry frown and raised her voice : 
 
 " I will be late for my call. Cannot you go for me when 
 you are requested ? One might think I am asking for some 
 enormous service." 
 
 " Very well, very well, my angel, I will go, only please do 
 not be angry. ... I am just going." 
 
 Prince Alexei kissed Petrova's hand and left the scene 
 with rapid steps. He met no one on his way out; the 
 ballet-dancers present at the incident had warned the 
 administration of the theatre in time that "Mashenka 
 Petrova was being rude to the Prince," and everyone had 
 tried to keep away, not wanting to add to the confusion of 
 the disconcerted nobleman. In half an hour^s time Prince 
 Alexei handed the tights himself into Petrova's dressing- 
 room. 
 
 On hearing this story from Olga Onisimovna the 
 Princess rose rapidly from her armchair, and, forgetting 
 her presence, clenched her hands with an expression of 
 anger and despair. 
 
 " What a scandal ! . . . What a humiliation ! ..." she 
 whispered. " And after that, did he leave the theatre or 
 did he remain there?" she asked Onisimovna. 
 
 " He remained until the end of the ballet in his box; then 
 he conducted her home in his carriage, and from there they 
 went together to supper at Borel's." 
 
 " You may go now, Olga Onisimovna, you may go. . . . 
 I have heard enough for to-day. . . ." 
 
 The Princess was greatly agitated, and her face looked 
 more ugly than usual. After her usual prayer she ordered 
 her lunch to be served in her own apartments, not wishing 
 to see the Prince. 
 
 Having completed all that she had to do and received all 
 the reports on the household and estates, the Princess 
 threw a black shav/1 on her head and was proceeding to 
 visit Father Fedor in the wing of the house. While she 
 was approaching the stairs, a footman announced with a 
 respectful solemnity the arrival of her distant kinswoman.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 87 
 
 a high-born lady and well-known benefactress, whom every- 
 body adored and held in great reverence. Princess Anna 
 Valerianovna, still holding the shawl at her chin with her 
 hand, went to the salon, into which a tall pale woman, in a 
 black silk dress trimmed with exquisite lace, was entering 
 from an opposite door. The new-comer was no longer 
 young, and her beautiful blue eyes had an unusually mild 
 and kindly expression. Her movements were simple and 
 at the same time full of a stately majesty. All who became 
 nearer acquainted with this pensive face experienced a 
 desire to gaze without end into the clear and sad blue eyes, 
 which seemicd to conceal a mystery in their depths. Even 
 those who were obliged to hide from their owner the sad 
 reality, and to deceive her for her own peace of mind, were 
 unable to withstand the pure charm of her look, and spoke 
 the truth. . . 
 
 " I fear I come at an inconvenient moment, my dear ?" 
 she said kindly to the Princess, who was coming to meet her 
 with her heavy uncouth steps. " You were just going 
 out ?" 
 
 "Yes, dear Marie, I am on my way to visit the little 
 daughter of poor Father Fedor; the child is ill, and as she 
 has no mother I try to take the place of one," answered the 
 Princess. 
 
 "Then I will withdraw, chere atnie. I do not wish to 
 hinder ni les bons ni les mauvais engouements. Au revoir." 
 
 The visitor extended her hand graciously to the Princess 
 and slowly moved away. Although there had been no one 
 in the drawing-room except the visitor and the Princess, 
 nevertheless in an hour's time the whole house had heard 
 of the tactless behaviour of the Princ ss, who had not 
 wished to put off her visit to Father Fedor for half an hour, 
 but had gone to meet her eminent visitor with a shawl on 
 her head. In the evening Prince Alexei heard of this from 
 his son. Prince Serguei blamed his mother in sharp terms, 
 complaining that she was neglecting not only the ties of 
 kinship, but such as were most necessary to him in his 
 career, and he asked his father to give his attention to the 
 episode of the day. The Prince listened to his son with
 
 ?S THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 weariness, advised him to be more lenient towards his 
 mother, and as soon as the young man left the room he 
 called to Tikhon to change his dress and went off to the 
 small private house, where he spent all his free evenings. 
 
 Meanwhile, at the other end of the princely mansion a 
 simple meal of tea and bread and butter was being served 
 in a small drawing-room. Father Fedor, reassured as to 
 his daughter's health, sat in an armchair, and stroking with 
 his hand his flowing beard, or the curls of hair which fell 
 on his shoulders, was examining sundry estimate sheets. 
 
 "Leave those papers, Father Fedor. I am so nervous 
 to-day, I see no outlet for myself; I am so perplexed with 
 thoughts, I feel as if I were in a labyrinth." 
 
 Father Fedor laid the sheets of paper on a neighbouring 
 chair with great deliberation, and glanced at the Princess 
 interrogatively. 
 
 "I am so weary, so weary. Father Fedor; I am tired of 
 life and my struggles." 
 
 " What have you got to struggle against, dear Princess ? 
 I do not see reason for struggle in your life." 
 
 " Do not say so, Father Fedor. You always say the same, 
 because you cannot understand that, living in this house, 
 I cannot separate myself from his life, with which I am 
 bound by my whole past life. . . . Every day brings new 
 insults to our name." 
 
 The Princess moved the milk-pot from one place to 
 another in irritation. 
 
 " What do they want from me ?" she continued, becoming 
 more and more excited. " I have not only retired from the 
 Court and all worldly relations, I have become almost a 
 hermit. . . . And still this is not enough! They wish to 
 hunt me to death." 
 
 The last words were pronounced by the Princess in an 
 unnaturally high pitched voice. 
 
 "However, you are not forgotten, dear Princess; I hear 
 that our gracious benefactress has called on you. . . ." 
 
 " I do not want their attentions," interrupted the Princess 
 sharply; "our family is not in favour, we are being ignored, 
 and I do not need gracious visits. . . ."
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 89 
 
 Father Fedor laid his large muscular hand on that of the 
 Princess. 
 
 "Enough, good moth^'.r! What is the use of agitating 
 yourself? That is all done with and past. They turned 
 away, you have taken yourself from their path, and, I 
 thought, have long ago given up pride. . . ." 
 
 "It is not that. Father Fedor. It was only by the 
 way. . . ." 
 
 " Then what is the matter ? Share it with me ; ease your 
 heart." 
 
 "Again Prince Alexei has made a public display of his 
 weakness ! That shameless hussy is trampling our princely 
 dignity into the mud, bringing shame on the whole family." 
 
 The Princess related to Father Fedor the story that she 
 had heard that morning from Olga Onisimovna. 
 
 " A pest, a real pest, that Petrova ! " said Father Fedor 
 with a smile; " but still I do not see why you. Princess, take 
 to heart in such manner all these worldly sins and nonsense. 
 He is no husband of yours any longer; all know it; all 
 know that you are living a separate godly life, and no 
 actions of his can or should concern you. Yes, it is difficult 
 to be humble for people who have been born in the purple," 
 sighed Father Fedor, sipping his tea slowly. 
 
 " Have I not become humble ?" exclaimed the Princess 
 with sincere bitterness, and her ugly face was convulsed 
 with the effort to restrain her sobs. 
 
 " No, you have not humbled yourself, dear Princess," 
 repeated Father Fedor with insistence. " In humility and 
 submission to God's will peace is obtained, but your soul 
 is like a craft on a stormy sea — tossing about a prey to the 
 waves, which may engulf it." 
 
 " What must I do then. Father Fedor ?" said the Princess 
 with a groan, covering her face with her hands. 
 
 " You must follow my advice as your friend and my com- 
 mand as your Father-confessor. Cease all inquiries into 
 the life of the Prince ; he has become a stranger to you, 
 and it is not for you to concern yourself with his love 
 affairs. Live your own life. Princess, love it, go deeper 
 into it, and in leaving the world you will also leave its
 
 90 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 sorrows. . . . You have given your soul to One, but you 
 are unable to tear your heart from the other, who has 
 forsaken you," said Father Fedor in a low voice, as if 
 talking- to himself. 
 
 " Do not reproach me, I am suffering so much," said the 
 Princess, lower still. 
 
 " I am not reproaching you, my dear Princess. I am sure 
 that you will conquer yourself and live for God alone. And 
 I will remain until the grave your faithful friend, counsellor 
 and comforter." 
 
 " I trust you, Father Fedor — I trust you completely." 
 
 A short silence ensued. The Princess sighed and wiped 
 her tears. Father Fedor, throwing back the broad sleeves 
 of his cassock with an accustomed gesture, drank his tea 
 and ate bread and butter with a good appetite. 
 
 "Have you looked over the estimates attentively?" asked 
 the Princess. 
 
 " I have looked over all of them. Well, in my opinion, 
 with God's blessing, we may proceed to the construction, 
 good mother Princess. It is a good work, and worthy of 
 your name. Your monastery will blossom out of the 
 ground like a gorgeous flower; you will give a shelter 
 within its walls to such as have been tried by fate, and in 
 time you will love your work and give your whole soul to 
 it." 
 
 "Yes, I know; it will be so, I feel that it will be so." 
 
 "If you feel so, then do not hesitate any longer; with 
 God's blessing we will proceed to work in the spring." 
 
 "Yes, I will decide. Father Fedor; the construction must 
 begin as soon as possible. Send the architect to me one of 
 these days; tell him that I will give him my final instruc- 
 tions and appoint the day for laying the foundation stone." 
 
 The Princess's colloquy with Father Fedor continued till 
 late in the night. When he left her she entered her oratory 
 with a comforted heart.
 
 XI 
 
 In a small private house on the quay lived one of the 
 prettiest women of the time — Nellie Ivanovna Carina. 
 Her real name was Matriona, but since ten years ago, when 
 the rich and dashing Life Guardsman Garin carried her off 
 from her husband, a lackey at the Court, and, madly in love 
 with her, made her not his mistress, but his wife, a deep 
 gulf had been dug between the former pert, pretty Matresha, 
 who used to flaunt her cheap finery at the music in 
 Pavlovsk, and the present fascinating, daring beauty, 
 Nellie. Not only her husband, but many of the golden 
 youth of the capital, were at her feet. Garin, a good- 
 natured bon-vivant, left his wife completely free to do what- 
 ever she liked, trusting her that she would be true to him. 
 The dark, black-eyed beauty, lording it over her numerous 
 brilliant cavaliers, made no attempt to shine in the draw- 
 ing-rooms of the ladies of the society; she seldom visited 
 them, and rarely invited them to her house, so that her 
 drawing-rooms were mostly filled with men, towards whom 
 she was either bold or kind, or even cynically brusque. 
 Everything was forgiven on account of her beauty. 
 
 Near midnight Michail Gourakin drove up to Nellie 
 Ivanovna's lit-up entrance gates. The porter met the late 
 visitor with a friendly greeting. 
 
 "You have deigned to come rather late." 
 
 "Yes, brother, I am rather late. Tell my coachman to 
 drive to Odintzoff's; let him say there that I am at Nellie 
 Ivanovna's, and that all are to come over here." 
 
 "Very well, sir, I'll tell him this minute. Walk up, 
 please." 
 
 Michail ran up the stairs two steps at a time. 
 
 " Wretched bad boy, I don't want to know you," said the 
 hostess on perceiving Gourakin, tapping him on the 
 
 91
 
 92 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 shoulder with her fan. "You promised to come at ten, 
 and now you appear after eleven." 
 
 "On my word, I could not come earlier: I was detained, 
 impossible to tear myself away." 
 
 " Why do you tell fibs, my dear ? You were simply drink- 
 ing somewhere." 
 
 " Nellie Ivanovna, croyes moi sur Vhonneur — I was not 
 drinking." 
 
 "Then you have been with a woman." 
 
 " Not with a woman, but with women," remarked Matlin, 
 a slim young Life Hussar, half reclining on a sofa with his 
 uniform unbuttoned, and making notes in his note-book, an 
 occupation which did not prevent him from exchanging 
 jokes and words with his animated comrades. 
 
 "Mon vieux, you are mistaken: I have been with a 
 woman; Nellie Ivanovna guessed rightly." 
 
 " Honi soit qui nial y pense. When an engaged man 
 says that he has been with a woman, there must be no place 
 for indiscreet guesses," said handsome Duke Vladimir, a 
 dashing aide-de-camp of the Emperor, well known in Petro- 
 grad for his beauty, and charming and sunny temper. 
 
 " Your Highness, fen suis desole, mats . . ." 
 
 "Bravo! . . . Je suis toujours pour les 'mais' . . ." 
 exclaimed the Duke merrily, pouring out champagne from 
 a bottle which stood near in a silver barrel filled with ice. 
 Near it stood bottles of Lafitte, sherry and cognac 
 
 " Gourakin, pour me out some wine." 
 
 "... And me. . . ." 
 
 " And me. . . ." 
 
 The gay, slightly excited voices rang out on all sides. 
 
 "You seem to have forgotten me, Duke. Give me some 
 wine too," said the hostess, with a flash of her lovely eyes. 
 
 " With pleasure." 
 
 The Duke, in unbuttoned uniform, like all the rest of the 
 company, handed a glass of champagne to Nellie Ivanovna, 
 and, bending low to her ear, whispered into it : 
 
 " Drink, ma dcesse, but under the condition that in re- 
 spect to me il n'y ait pas de 'mais.' " 
 
 "That depends on you . . ." answered Nellie Ivanovna
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 93 
 
 in Russian, with an exquisite smile, and mischievously 
 screwing up her eyes. 
 
 Notwithstanding all her efforts, she was not an expert 
 at the French language; being sufficiently clever, she 
 avoided speaking it, but on the other hand she knew how 
 to introduce such unusual expressions in her Russian 
 speech, which could only be pardoned to such a beauty as 
 she knew herself to be. 
 
 " Michelinka, come here," she called to Gourakin, leading 
 him aside. " Well, how is it ? You have made it up with 
 your Nathalie ?" 
 
 " Yes, I have made it up again." 
 
 " But, Mishenka, you are a fool, a born fool. Why have 
 you made it up ? She is an Othello in petticoats, a demon 
 of jealousy, not a woman. What makes you insist on 
 putting your neck into a noose ? Remain with her as a 
 lover; you will be sure to leave her in a year as it is. If 
 she could make such a scandal now, what will it be in 
 future ?" 
 
 " If you are my friend, I ask you not to speak to me any 
 more about all this. You know the Russian proverb : 
 'After cutting off the head, it is no use crying over the 
 hair.'" 
 
 " What nonsense ! I will not think of being silent ! It 
 is just the duty of a friend to tell the truth to such crazy 
 boys as you. Tell me now, or else we will quarrel : did 
 she ask your pardon for the box on the ears ?" 
 
 " She never thought of doing so." 
 
 "What does she imagine? That you are my lover?" 
 
 " She fancies that I am in love with you. . . ." 
 
 "And are marrying her, after having made her a baby. 
 . . . One must be either crazy or a fool." 
 
 " Quite unnecessary ; it may be that I am in love with 
 you. . . . Who knows? . . ." Michail- laughed. 
 
 "I am speaking seriously, and you are talking nonsense. 
 
 . . . Get you gone, if so. Wait a bit, though; would you 
 
 like me to go to her to-morrow and tell her that her fiance, 
 
 le beau Michail Gourakin, had just declared his love to me ? 
 
 Would you like it, dear boy? Perhaps, besides a dozen
 
 94 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 boxes on the ear, which she will give you with her own 
 aristocratic little hand, the marriage will be definitely put 
 off, which is just what I want." 
 
 " I see, Nellie Ivanovna, that I must complain of you to 
 the Duke," laughed Michail. 
 
 "Complain of whom?" called out the Duke, interrupting 
 his conversation with the gay and good-natured Prince 
 V^assilkoff, also a Life Hussar. 
 
 "Of me, for wanting to frustrate his idiotic marriage with 
 Volynskaia." 
 
 " No, my goddess, in this business I cannot move, or 
 else my wife will bring down all our house; she has set her 
 heart on seeing this youth play the part of a husband, and 
 besides himself there is no one who can undo the business." 
 
 Meanwhile from the other end of the room a general 
 outburst of laughter was heard. The Hussar Matlin was 
 reading some verses that he had inscribed in his note-book. 
 From the neighbouring room, the library, some Life 
 Hussars, comrades of the host, and the latter himself, had 
 come out, and were listening to Matlin's reading. Each 
 verse was greeted by bursts of laughter and applause. 
 Matlin was made to repeat some of his witty verses, that 
 had already been spoken of in the drawing-rooms. His 
 health was drunk, glasses were raised in his honour, some 
 of the wittiest lines were passing from mouth to mouth. 
 At the same time a caricature was being handed round, 
 drawn by a well-known caricaturist of the regiment, and 
 representing a duel between two Hussars for the right to 
 the heart of the beautiful Nellie. The picture raised a 
 new outburst of merriment. A small, stout Life Hussar, 
 one of the Eastern Princes, with a large hooked nose, was 
 sitting astride on a big gun, and with his hand behmd his 
 back was trying to set fire to the fuse aiming at his rival, 
 an extremely tall thin Hussar, who was holding a gun in 
 his hand and also aiming its mouth at his comrade. The 
 resemblance was so great and the comic element so striking 
 that it was impossible not to laugh. 
 
 Nellie Ivanovna laughed more than all the rest. She 
 threw herself on a low armchair, leaning her head back and
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 95 
 
 laughing unrestrainedly, showing two rows of pearl-white, 
 even teeth. Her hair, black as a raven's wing, was slightly 
 ruffled, and a wavy lock had escaped from the high coiffure 
 shading the pretty flushed face. 
 
 " Darling Baron, come here, I will give you a kiss for the 
 picture," she called to the author of the caricature. " Do 
 give it me for my album ; it will be the best I've got." 
 
 Meantime Michail Gourakin, boisterously gay, as usual 
 giving himself up to the pleasures of the moment, and for- 
 getting in his merriment all the worries of life, went up to 
 the piano, and with great expression began to sing the 
 fashionable romance of the time, in his soft, passionate 
 baritone. Nellie Ivanovna continued to recline in the same 
 armchair, one foot crossed on the other. From under the 
 smart hem of her gown a pair of sm.all slender feet were 
 seen which in nowise betrayed the humble origin of their 
 owner. Prince Vassilkoff lay on a rug of white bear's fur 
 opposite the chair. In one hand he held a bottle of cognac, 
 in the other a wine-glass, which he kept lifting to his lips, 
 slowly sipping at the cognac which it contained. When 
 Michail, turning his laughing eyes towards Nellie Ivanovna, 
 sang the following words of the romance: "And at your 
 baby feet I lay the whole passion of my soul . . ." Prince 
 Vassilkoff rapidly put down the glass and kissed the grace- 
 fully extended feet of the beautiful hostess, one after the 
 other. 
 
 "Ah, what a naughty boy," she cried with a laugh. 
 
 "Vassilkoff, I will wring your neck!" exclaimed the 
 Duke jestingly from the other end of the room, and 
 threatened him with his fist. 
 
 "Do not trouble. Your Highness," replied Vassilkoff 
 phlegmatically. " Our goddess has already taken care to 
 turn my head." 
 
 By an involuntary or intentional movement Nellie 
 Ivanovna's foot caught in the bear's fur, and the white 
 satin slipper dropped from it. At the same moment Vassil- 
 koff picked it up and put it in his pocket. 
 
 " Give it back directly. That's mean 1 " laughed Nellie 
 Ivanovna.
 
 96 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 With one spring the Duke was upon Vassilkoff, and a 
 struggle ensued. 
 
 "Ha-ha-ha! . . . Do leave oflF. ... I cannot laugh 
 any more," Nellie Ivanovna exclaimed, shrieking with 
 laughter. " Do stop; I will have a stitch in my side. . . ." 
 
 " As you will. I return you your slipper, O gracious 
 goddess, but on condition that it be filled with champagne, 
 and that each one of us be allowed to drink from it." 
 
 Prince Vassilkoff's words were universally acclaimed, 
 and in a moment the Duke, holding the slipper by the high 
 heel, filled it with the sparkling wine amid general applause. 
 
 It was quite late when the merry company of young 
 officers took their cloaks from the sleepy porter, and laugh- 
 ing and talking, and making appointments for the next day, 
 left the hospitable house, where the time passed so gaily 
 and the wine flowed so freely. 
 
 "Listen, Duke," said Nellie Ivanovna in a low voice, 
 detaining him at the moment of departure. "I implore 
 you, do something to prevent this idiotic marriage of poor 
 Michail with Volynskaia. You must admit that it is totally 
 unsuitable. I am ready to wager anything you like that 
 he was drawn into this story, and that he is marrying 
 because he is only a boy, and does not know how to ex- 
 tricate himself. You have heard of the box on the ear that 
 she gave him in the carriage when she heard that he was 
 often at my house, and decided that he must be my 
 lover? . . ." 
 
 " Listen, ma belle. I know all this, as well as I know 
 that Gourakin is doing a stupid thing, but permission has 
 already been granted from high quarters, and Volynsky 
 has consented to the divorce d centre coeur. This has all 
 become public property, and it is too late to prevent any- 
 thing. Therefore let us leave them to their follies, and as 
 to ourselves, let us drmk and be merry." 
 
 The Duke kissed both of Nellie Ivanovna's hands several 
 times, and, taking ap his cap, departed.
 
 XII 
 
 After Marie Gourakin had involuntarily become the inter- 
 mediary between her nephew and Volynskaia through her 
 intervention in their relations, Michail used frequently to 
 come to her room, and there, with the doors closed fast, he 
 would frankly share with her all the thoughts that were 
 troubling him. Little by little he confessed to his aunt 
 that the forthcoming marriage was oppressing him, as he 
 had become convinced that the stormy, jealous and capri- 
 cious nature of Volynskaia could only be managed by her 
 authoritative and haughty husband, but that for him life 
 with such a wife would be torture. He acknowledged that 
 there was no retreat for him, especially as Volynskaia was 
 hurrying on the marriage in view of her position, which 
 was becoming impossible to hide. After the wedding they 
 were to leave for Moscow, where Michail had been offered 
 a post with the Governor-General, and where Volynskaia's 
 uncle, the millionaire Dounaisky, was offering his only niece 
 and heiress an apartment of six rooms in the second story 
 of his large gloomy mansion. The idea of living in Moscow 
 oppressed Michail, as he had grown so accustomed to the 
 brilliant surroundings of his present happy, careless life; 
 he was also oppressed by the prospect of having to live 
 with old Dounaisky, who was known for his disagreeable 
 character, of being dependent on him, of having to try to 
 please him so as not to anger him and thus lose his enor- 
 mous fortune. Michail's passionate, open-hearted nature 
 tried to find oblivion in frequent talks with his aunt, and 
 oftener still in mad revels with his comrades. Old Mme. 
 Gourakina buried in her heart her deep sorrow over the fate 
 of her grandson, and after the departure of her son did not 
 resume the subject again with Alichail. All the details of 
 his story and conduct she now heard from Baroness Kern, 
 
 97
 
 98 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 who was very intimate with the Duchess; the dangerous 
 game with which she did not sympathize had been played 
 under her eyes. She Hved a worldly life and knew all that 
 was going on in society. 
 
 "What a pity! — what a pity that your Michail got him- 
 self involved in this fatal story!" she used to say now to 
 Mme. Gourakina. " Little Princess Barbe is madly in love 
 with him. This would be in all respects a very good parti. 
 The old Prince is un gros bonnet, but he has very great 
 influence at Court. Barbe is adorable. They say she is 
 pining for love of him." 
 
 Listening to the Baroness's words old Mme. Gourakina 
 used to shake her head hopelessly, and the nervous tic 
 played at the corner of her mouth. Her aspect was quite 
 as commanding, but it happened now that she was late for 
 her morning coffee, complaining of sleeplessness, that she 
 frequently did not hear questions addressed to herself, and 
 often, in the midst of the evening readings, she would 
 interrupt her daughter with such questions as these : 
 
 " Do not you know, Marie, why Michail has not been here 
 for two days ?" or, " When you will be speaking to Michail, 
 try to find out whether he says his prayers. It is so easy to 
 forget God in the midst of a riotous life." 
 
 Marie used to gaze at her mother's face by stealth, and 
 her heart ached with pain; a shadow of hidden suffering 
 lay on the austere, impassive features. Marie kept silence. 
 Her mother did not remark that Marie had reached the age 
 when she could be her friend, she did not notice that Marie 
 knew life, and was silent only because she waited for the 
 first word to come from her m.other. Thus both suffered in 
 silence and separately, although their suffering was a com- 
 mon one and equally filled their hearts. Mme. Gourakina 
 had forbidden her grandson to mention Volynskaia's name 
 in her house, and she would not hear anything of the 
 wedding; she told her daughter that she was sure that the 
 latter would during her lifetime have no relations with the 
 woman who had insulted their family by entering it through 
 misconduct. Marie, respecting her mother's will, resolved 
 to submit to it, and sorrowfully but firmly told her nephew
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 99 
 
 that she would not be present at his wedding, as she did not 
 want to grieve her mother. Michail did not insist. He 
 knew that he was acting contrary to the pure traditions 
 which for centuries had been rooted in their family. Not- 
 withstanding his youth, he, the last representative of this 
 ancient race, was proud of his name, and now he was feeling 
 deeply his sin against his father and grandmother. But 
 apart from his own will, without any reasoning, and 
 acknowledging that the fault had been only on his own 
 side, he felt an irritation towards Volynskaia, which in- 
 creased daily. He had cooled towards her because for her 
 sake he was setting at naught the traditions of his race, 
 because he had quarrelled with his father and was breaking 
 up his life. By stormy outbursts of unfounded jealousy 
 she, not yet his wife, was already annoying and oppressing 
 him; he sought oblivion in wine and among women, with 
 whom in the first days of his love he had decided to have 
 nothing to do. 
 
 Michail's leaving the regiment was celebrated by a grand 
 fete at the officers' club, at which all his comrades were 
 present. The second Godspeed gathering was held at 
 Dussaux's; all who desired to participate in it were allowed 
 to come. There were over a hundred and fifty persons. 
 So much wine was drunk, so much china broken, and so 
 many young men participated in the revels that next day 
 some details of the feast were related in the salons, in which 
 the name of IMichail Gourakin figured in different versions, 
 which were repeated with discreet laughs in shocked 
 whispers. 
 
 The wedding day was fixed unexpectedly soon. The 
 ceremony took place in a private church belonging to an 
 old aunt of Nathalie Volynskaia. Many members of the 
 highest society attended it, as the Duchess had declared 
 beforehand her intention of being present. The same even- 
 ing the newly married pair left for Moscow, Michail's new 
 post, and the beau-monde of St. Petersburg, seeing that the 
 scandal was exhausted, ceased to interest itself in their 
 fate for a time.
 
 PART TWO 
 
 I 
 
 It was seven o'clock in the morning. The wintry dawn, 
 cold and foggy, was just beginning to show behind the 
 huge windows of a large and gloomy study, heavily and 
 sparsely set with cumbrous, ancient furniture. The wall 
 opposite the door was occupied by tall bookcases reaching 
 almost up to the ceiling. Behind the glass doors the backs 
 of time-worn volumes, small and large, were seen. A port- 
 able four-step ladder stood near a bookcase with open door. 
 An enormous sofa covered with dark green leather and 
 four easy chairs round an oval table were placed facing the 
 book-shelves. A massive desk, with a folding board and 
 a number of small drawers inside, stood in the corner. Near 
 the window was a large writing-table, completely covered 
 with account-books, papers, medicine-boxes, bottles, 
 bundles of unexamined accounts, and uncut newspapers 
 and journals. Two candles under a green shade were 
 placed near an open book, which had been taken from its 
 shelf an hour ago. It was " Histoire de la Revolution 
 Frangaise." 
 
 An old man's hand, yellow as parchment, was slowly 
 turning over the pages one by one. In a grey dressing- 
 gown with blue facings and a girdle of the same colour 
 with large tassels, Ilarion Zakharovitch Dounaisky had 
 been sittmg at this table since six o'clock. His wrinkled, 
 earth-coloured face was ugly and harsh-looking. The 
 blunt chin and cheeks were covered with a growth of grey 
 prickly hairs which Dounaisky shaved twice a month. The 
 drawn down corners of the mouth and two deep wrinkles de- 
 scending from the nose gave a bilious and disdainful look 
 
 lOZ
 
 102 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 to his face. Two pairs of spectacles in tortoise-shell setting 
 were placed on his short snub nose. Short grey hairs 
 curled round the bald place on his head. 
 
 When the clock on the table struck seven, Dounaisky 
 placed a bookmarker, made of an old faded Georgian 
 ribbon, in the book, closed it, and rang a small bronze 
 bell, standing near. The door opened noiselessly, and a 
 servant, stepping softly on his felt soles, entered the room. 
 Dounaisky silently pointed with his finger at the book. 
 The servant replaced it in the bookcase, closed the latter, 
 and laid the keys back on the table. 
 
 "Moissei Borisovitch," said the old man abruptly; the 
 servant retired. 
 
 Moissei Borisovitch, who had been waiting in the ante- 
 chamber, entered directly after. He was lower than 
 middle height, rather stout, with a red moustache cut short 
 over his lip, red spare hair smoothly combed across his 
 head, to mask the bald place on the crown, a small pointed 
 beard, little crafty eyes, peering with a sharp look behind 
 his round spectacles, which had a tortoise-shell setting. He 
 was dressed in a worn-out and badly fitting frock-coat, and 
 held a shabby portfolio under his arm. 
 
 The old man gave a slight nod in acknowledgment of 
 Moissei Borisovitch's respectful bow. 
 
 " The petitions," growled he, without raising his eyes, 
 moving the inkstand near to him and taking up a pen. 
 
 Moissei Borisovitch handed him several petitions for 
 relief. The old gentleman ran his eyes over the marginal 
 notes in red ink made by Moissei Borisovitch ; on some of the 
 applications he wrote, "To be given," on others he scribbled 
 angrily, " To the devil," and flung them towards Moissei 
 Borisovitch. 
 
 " The stud," he demanded shortly, having completed the 
 examination of the petitions. 
 
 After looking through the accounts, asking a few ques- 
 tions which resembled growls, he said : 
 
 "The estate" 
 
 Having completed his inspection of the various papers, 
 he took off both pairs of spectacles, folded his dressing-
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 103 
 
 gown closer around him, leaned back in his chair, and sat 
 silent, frowning and drumming with his fingers on the 
 edge of the table. Moissei Borisovitch put the papers back 
 into the portfolio and also remained silent, awaiting the 
 usual questions, which generally followed in the same 
 order. Dounaisky seemed to have forgotten that he was 
 not alone, but Moissei Borisovitch knew that, in the old 
 man'.c opinion, it would be the greatest impertinence to 
 remind him of his presence, and therefore he waited 
 patiently, trying to think of the best way in which to pro- 
 pose an affair whose success would be highly advantageous 
 to his own pocket. 
 
 "Your report," the old man interrupted his musings 
 sharply, and for the first time glanced straight at the 
 steward. 
 
 " In the second story the fireplaces are smoking. Your 
 Excellency; the stove-setter must be called to repair them." 
 
 "Nonsense! Lies!" 
 
 "Yesterday evening Nathalie Georgievna's footman 
 came to me twice about it. I ordered the chimneys to be 
 cleaned; to-day the fires were lighted, and it was the same 
 thing again." 
 
 " Have them cleaned again. I tell you it is not true. 
 What else ?" 
 
 " The police officer called ; they want the snow to be 
 carried away and the pavement scraped clean. Efim 
 cannot do this alone — so much snow has fallen. Will you 
 permit a day-labourer to be engaged ?" 
 
 " Extra expense. Send some one of the men from the 
 kitchen, and if the police officer calls again, kick him out 
 and tell him that such were my orders. Go on." 
 
 " Will you please give an order that about four poods of 
 petroleum be added for the second story ? It is very badly 
 lighted, especially as they often have company. Very much 
 is burnt." 
 
 The old man sniffed, and snorted crossly : 
 
 " To the devil with their company ! . . . Increase the 
 supply, if necessary, but order the menials to be careful of 
 it."
 
 104 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 " Has the Englishwoman gone ?" asked the old gentle- 
 man after a moment's silence. 
 
 " She is going to stay. Michail Vladimirovitch has 
 increased her salary by ten roubles." 
 
 " He is doing nonsense. Spoiling her. He might have 
 a cheaper and better one." 
 
 " He says the little one has grown used to her and would 
 miss her." 
 
 " I say he is spoiling the woman. I see the expenses 
 are increasing, but the funds are the same . . ." said 
 the old man with a wry smile. "Carelessness and 
 foolishness." 
 
 The old man ceased his questioning and again resumed his 
 drumming on the table. During the several minutes of 
 silence Moissei T )risovitch decided to lay aside for that 
 day the question of the sale of the troika of black horses 
 to a friend of his. The old man was evidently in a bad 
 temper, which he showed by the long pauses in his talk 
 and the drumming of his fingers on the table. 
 
 " Is he making debts? . . . Have you heard anything?" 
 he suddenly asked the steward, fixing on him a sharp and 
 searching look. 
 
 " I have not heard. ... I have not noticed, . i .^ 
 
 For one moment the crafty eyes of Mci.jsei Borisovitch 
 flickered slightly, but soon resumed their calm and indif- 
 ferent expression. 
 
 "What are your orders. Your Excellency, in regard to 
 the sale of the pair of black horses of our stud to Michail 
 Vladimirovitch ?" 
 
 "What are you inventing there? Speak clearly." 
 
 Dounaisky knit his brows and moved in his chair. 
 
 " He proposes to pay eight hundred roubles for the black 
 horses to be used for the carriage : he says it is a shame to 
 go to balls and theatres in cabs." 
 
 " Where is the money to come from to pay for the 
 horses ?" asked Dounaisky with a sarcastic smile. 
 
 " I do not know. He asked me to report to you, and is 
 expecting your answer." 
 
 "I will think about it. I'll tell him myself," snapped the
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 105 
 
 old man. " Troubling me with such nonsense ! You may 
 
 Dounaisky dismissed the steward with a nod and rang 
 the bell. 
 
 "My dress," he ordered, rising from his chair. 
 
 He blew out the candles, and going up to the sofa he 
 threw off his dressing-gown. In the dim light of the winter 
 morning his features looked paler and more earth-coloured. 
 In his shirt sleeves he seemed a small, thin and pitiable old 
 jman with a cross and disagreeable expression. Groaning 
 and grumbling, he donned the dress that was brought him; 
 in the uniform with spurs he looked younger and taller. 
 Without a glance to the right or left he passed through the 
 cold and comJortless rooms which for economy's sake were 
 heated only every other day, descended into the hall, and 
 without answering the salute of the footman on duty at the 
 front door, put on his warm cloak, wrapped it around him, 
 pulled his cap well over his eyes, and sallied forth for a 
 walk. 
 
 After his report Moissei Borisovitch went upstairs. 
 There the servant told him that the master had come home 
 at six in the morning and had given orders that he was not 
 to be disturbed before eleven. 
 
 "Tell the master that I must see him on business, and 
 will await his pleasure to come to him. What about the 
 stoves — do they smoke ?" 
 
 "Yesterday they smoked, but to-day it is all right. We 
 lit them, and they are burning brightly." 
 
 " How so ! " the steward said with a frown, " and I re- 
 ported that they are smoking." 
 
 "Well, what matter! They are not smoking to-day, but 
 to-morrow we will make them smoke, and you will be 
 right," laughed the young footman. " The stoves are really 
 bad — you may put in any amount of wood, they give no 
 real warmth. We shall not manage without the stove- 
 setter." 
 
 "All right, I'll see about it myself. You say he came 
 back late ? From where ?" 
 
 " From where ? From ..."
 
 io6 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 The footman made an eloquent gesture showing a man 
 drinking, and his Hps parted in a merry grin. 
 
 "So, so . . ." said Moissei Borisovitch thoughtfully. 
 " He is often on the spree." 
 
 "And why should he not be? Such a handsome man, 
 such a fine fellow, and so lively a nature. Those are the 
 people who ought to lead a merry life. Should he take an 
 example from your old owl ?" 
 
 " So . . . so . . ." said Moissei Borisovitch again, " And 
 how is the mistress ?" 
 
 The footman made an impatient movement. 
 
 " She is just as usual — one day crying and raging, the 
 other hanging herself on his neck. A crazy woman ! Last 
 night she sat up for the master till four o'clock. She was 
 in the drawing-room on the sofa, reading a book and 
 burning the candles, and he not coming and not coming. 
 After four she called me, her face quite green and pale. 
 ' You may go to bed, Timothy,' she said, ' and leave the 
 door open. The master will soon be in now.' Well, I 
 thought, you bet, oh, she will give it him hot to-day. Last 
 night she probably did not dare to ; he dislikes to be worried 
 when he is in his cups. He'll make such a row as to wake 
 the whole house." 
 
 After a little further talk with the footman Moissei 
 Borisovitch went away to wait till Michail should send for 
 him.
 
 n 
 
 It was quite late in the morning when Michail awoke and 
 pressed the button of the electric bell; then, groping with 
 his hand in the darkness caused by the drawn blinds and 
 curtains on the table near him, found the cigarettes and 
 matches and began to smoke. He bent his ear, and 
 guessed by the quiet which reigned in the adjoining room 
 that Nathalie had quitted her bedroom. While the servant 
 was preparing his bath in the dressing-room and bringing 
 his clothes, Michail lay on his back, smoking and consider- 
 ing ways and means to avoid the scene which his wife was 
 in the habit of making when he returned home late. He 
 thought with pleasure of the agreeable evening that he had 
 passed at the Governor-General's the day before. At first 
 they had asked him to play cards, but a new partner arrived, 
 and the ladies had insisted that he should join them. He 
 was in good spirits; he sang some tsigane songs, and felt 
 how his presence and voice electrified the atmosphere of 
 the room, in which there were several very pretty women. 
 Without the shadow of coxcombry and without effort on 
 his part Michail won women's hearts. He knew it, and 
 with gay and lighthearted good nature he gave himself up 
 to this power of his. With a feeling of wonder very soon 
 he ascertained in practice that beautiful and, as it seemed 
 to him, inaccessible women easily and rapidly ceded to his 
 wishes. . . . Since his two years of married life Michail 
 felt a great difference in himself. His love for Nathalie 
 had quite cooled, but he tried not to think of this and to 
 hide it from her. Notwithstanding the loss of his love, he 
 would have managed to bear the burden of married life if 
 Nathalie would not torment him with outbursts of jealousy. 
 His healtby and strong constitution, animated spirits, and 
 love for life created around him a pleasant atmosphere in 
 
 107
 
 io8 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 which it seemed easy to Hve both for himself and for those 
 who surrounded him. All involuntarily submitted to the 
 law of an easy and pleasant life, except Nathalie, who made 
 her own life a burden, poisoned the light, pleasure-loving 
 nature of her husband, arid estranged him more and more. 
 
 After the evening at the Governor-General's a whole 
 company had assembled at a friend of Michail's, where they 
 played cards and tasted some wine that had just been 
 received from abroad. The company was very interesting, 
 and all were very merry. To-day promised to be good 
 also ; his friend Tchagin had arrived from Petersburg and 
 he had asked him to dinner. Then there was the question 
 regarding the purchase of the horses. All was good and 
 pleasant . . . and like a dark cloud loomed the inevitable 
 talk with Nathalie. 
 
 Gourakin frowned, and decided to avoid his wife until 
 dinner-time, or rather until Tchagin's arrival, and he hoped 
 that after this all would pass over quietly. He suddenly 
 remembered the conversation which he had had last night 
 at the tea-table with one of the prettiest women of their 
 circle of friends. An involuntary glad smile passed over 
 Michail's lips. This woman interested him, and after 
 yesterday evening he understood that he was not indif- 
 ferent to her. . . . Michail, still smiling, stretched his 
 young, muscular, flexible body, and with one bound jumped 
 out of bed and put on his dressing-gown. 
 
 In his dressing-room a bath awaited him, which he 
 thought of with the same pleasure that he felt towards 
 everything that went to make up the sum of his pleasant 
 and healthy life.
 
 Ill 
 
 Nathalie Gourakina, with a pale face after her sleepless 
 night, as handsome and slim as she was two years ago, but 
 with an irritated expression on her face, entered the dining- 
 room, where lunch was already served and two-year-old 
 Mimi, perched on her high chair beside the thin English 
 nursery-governess, was impatiently striving to get at her 
 eggs and porridge. 
 
 "You must wait for papa and mamma," the governess 
 was repeating, restraining the little hands ; Mimi struggled 
 to free them, and scratched the large hand which prevented 
 her from snatching an egg. 
 
 " Master has sent word that he will be here directly, and 
 asks not to wait for him," announced the same footman 
 who had spoken to Moissei Borisovitch in the morning. 
 
 Nathalie took her place, the governess sat down after 
 her. An old and respectable-looking nurse in a starched 
 cap, brown dress and white apron, appeared, and, tying a 
 table napkin under the chin of the little girl, began to feed 
 her, talking to her the while in a low voice. 
 
 " Has Boby had his milk ?" asked Nathalie of the 
 governess. 
 
 "When we went to lunch the nurse was not there yet," 
 answered the latter in English. 
 
 " Boby is lunching now," said the nurse. 
 
 Nathalie began to eat in silence and unwillingly, glanc- 
 ing frequently towards the door leading into the drawing- 
 room. When her husband's mellow laugh was heard, 
 something seemed to quiver in her face. 
 
 " Is there somebody with the master ?" she asked the 
 footman. 
 
 "Moissei Borisovitch came half an hour ago.* 
 
 109
 
 no THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 The door between the study and the drawing-room was 
 heard to open, and the loud pleasant voice of Michail was 
 heard saying : 
 
 "Then I will come down to the stables after lunch, and 
 from there I will go to my uncle's. Do not tell him any- 
 thing about the carriage or the sleigh yet, Moissei Boriso- 
 vitch. We will first conclude the business with the horses, 
 or else the old man may refuse to give either the one or the 
 other. Come to me to-morrow morning, or, better still, 
 to-day after dinner." 
 
 " My respects," the voice of the steward answered. 
 
 Michail entered the dining-room. 
 
 He wore the uniform of an aide-de-camp. He had lost 
 his look of extreme youth during these last two years, but 
 he had grown handsomer, and his tall stately figure was 
 more dignified. His cheery, good-humoured glance sought 
 little Mimi. 
 
 With a friendly greeting to the governess and the nurse, 
 he kissed his wife's hand in passing by her chair, and going 
 up to the little girl he put two fingers down the back of 
 the neck and commenced to tickle her. The child threw 
 her head back, screwed up her eyes, and laughed merrily, 
 kicking her half bare little legs. 
 
 "You are not letting her eat," remarked Nathalie in a 
 disagreeable voice. 
 
 She had hardly touched her husband's forehead with her 
 lips while he was kissing her hand. 
 
 Michail took no notice of his wife's remark, lifted Mimi 
 oflF her chair, tossed her up in the air, watching lovingly her 
 little fat legs in their white socks and shoes dangling in 
 the air, then pressed her to his heart, and kissing her several 
 times, carefully put her down again. 
 
 " Is baby all right ?" 
 
 " He is well and had a good sleep," answered the nurse 
 staidly. 
 
 "You are going to call on uncle after lunch?" said 
 Nathalie in French, so as not to be understood by the 
 governess and servants. 
 
 "Yes, lam."
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN in 
 
 " Has he sent for you ?" 
 
 "No, I am going without invitation." 
 
 " But ... he will not receive you. Why should you 
 disturb his habits and irritate the old man ?" 
 
 "You know very well that I have not quarrelled with him 
 once, and I will know how to be received kindly even if I 
 go without being invited." 
 
 " I doubt it. Why do you want to see him ?" 
 
 "To settle the question about the horses." 
 
 " Does he consent to give you them ?" 
 
 "Not to give, but to sell them firstly, and secondly he 
 says neither yes nor no. I know his manner; he will go 
 on hesitating until spring. I shall have to bring him to 
 the point. I am offering a good price. If you want money, 
 you may ask Moissei Borisovitch to give you five hundred 
 roubles," added Michail, not noticing, or pretending not to 
 notice, his wife's bad humour. 
 
 "This person" — Nathalie indicated the governess with 
 her eyes — "has again quarrelled with the maid about the 
 hot water. I see that she will have to be dismissed; I told 
 you it would not do to give in to her and allow her those 
 extra ten roubles." 
 
 Michail frowned disdainfully : 
 
 "How can you find pleasure in interfering with the 
 governess ? What business is it of yours if she quarrels 
 with the servants ? I have increased her salary by ten 
 roubles, and will gladly give her ten more if need be, be- 
 cause the child likes her, is glad to play with her, and she 
 looks after the little one very well." 
 
 " But I hear complaints of her from my maid every 
 day." 
 
 " Send the maid away.'* 
 
 "You are mad ! I have had Fenia with me ten years." 
 
 "The child's welfare is dearer than any Fenia, and it will 
 end in my dealing with Fenia myself for her tale-bearing. 
 . . . Do leave off your cavilling and let the governess be." 
 
 "Evidently you have not slept well," said Nathalie with 
 a wry smile. 
 
 "I! I slept perfectly, and am feeling excellently. Please
 
 112 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 bear in mind that we have Tchagin and Rykhlofif to dinner 
 to-day." 
 
 " We are going to the Opera to-night — have you for- 
 gotten ? Aline is dining here, and we are all going 
 together." 
 
 "One thing does not hinder the other," answered 
 Michail, pouring himself out a glass of claret and drinking 
 it. 
 
 " You know very well that I hate to have visitors to dinner 
 the evening we are going to the theatre . . . especially 
 your Rykhloff. I cannot bear him. . . ." 
 
 Nathalie shrugged her shoulders with growing irrita- 
 tion. 
 
 "And I cannot bear your Aline. However, I am silent, 
 and even go to theatres and balls in her company. Please 
 do not spoil my good spirits, and spare me from your sense- 
 less caprices. It is so dull to see your discontented face 
 day by day." 
 
 " If it is so, you have only yourself to blame. I cannot 
 be gay if I have no peace." 
 
 Michail was silent. He had lit a cigar, and letting out 
 the smoke and half closing his eyes, he was looking aside, 
 as if remembering something pleasant, and appeared not 
 to have heard his wife's last words. 
 
 The footman served the coffee and retired. Mimi ran 
 up to her father. He stroked her head and took from his 
 pocket a small cake of chocolate. The little one, receiving 
 her favourite sweet, gave her hand to the governess, and 
 they both left the room. Nathalie and Michail remained 
 alone. Several minutes neither spoke — Michail without 
 noticing the silence, Nathalie searching for an excuse to 
 give vent to her irritation. 
 
 "What are they giving at the Opera to-night?" asked 
 Gourakin. 
 
 "Ah, how do I know? . . ." 
 
 " But you sent for a box ?" 
 
 ** I did, and still I do not know. Ts it not just the 
 
 «ame r 
 
 ?" 
 
 *'Xt is not tljc same to me. I go to the Opera to listen
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 113 
 
 to something that pleases me, but not for the purpose of 
 mi^eting my friends." 
 
 ■' I have heard that a hundred times; please do not repeat 
 it. It is better to go to the Opera to meet your friends than 
 to drink all the night," Nathalie said, suddenly giving way 
 to her temper. 
 
 Michail glanced sideways at his wife, and again remained 
 silent. 
 
 " I will never believe that you have been playing cards 
 until six o'clock in the morning at the Governor-General's." 
 
 " But I think I did not tell you that it was so," remarked 
 Michail calmly. 
 
 "Then why did you tell a lie, saying that you were going 
 there ?" 
 
 " Nathalie, cease," Michail said meaningly. " I do not 
 know how to tell lies, and do not see any necessity for lying, 
 as I have told you a hundred times that I do not admit of 
 any control over my actions." 
 
 " Why don't you wish to tell me where you were last 
 night ?" Nathalie's eyes flashed angry fires. 
 
 "Youjiave not asked me about it." 
 
 " Well, I am asking you now." 
 
 "You might have done so without disagreeable pre- 
 ambles." 
 
 Michail shook the ashes off his cigar and after a second's 
 silence answered : 
 
 " From the Governor-General's we went to Zorin's to 
 play cards, and sat there drinking wine for some time." 
 
 " With women, of course. . . . You could not manage 
 to be without women. Why are you silent ? It means 
 that I have guessed rightly?" 
 
 " It means that I have enough of these foolish supposi- 
 tions, and I put an end to our conversation." 
 
 Michail rose, and without looking at his wife went oflF to 
 the nursery. Nathalie remained alone. She struggled to 
 keep down the tears that were choking her. 
 
 " En voild un caractere infernal," she whispered, and 
 pushirg away her chair with an angry movement, she went 
 to li^i room. 
 
 8
 
 114 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 Michail stayed a few minutes in the nursery and then 
 proceeded to the stables. Some horses which were 
 brought from the estate for sale stood in the boxes. 
 Michail carefully examined a pair of magnificent black 
 animals, patting them on their sleek sides. Then he 
 ordered the carriage-house to be opened and also inspected 
 very attentively a carriage and sleigh which stood amidst 
 a great number of various vehicles. 
 
 " Since it was ordered in Vienna, no one has ever used 
 it," said the groom, whisking the dust off an elegant closed 
 carriage. " The sleigh was had out not more than five 
 times. And now these things have been standing here for 
 over two years. What are they waiting for ? They would 
 suit you nicely, Michail Vladimirovitch." 
 
 Michail left the coach-house, after having generously 
 tipped the grooms and stablemen, and, accompanied by 
 their deferential bows, directed his steps to the ground floor 
 of the house, where his uncle lived. 
 
 Dounaisky was in his study, seated on the sofa before 
 the oval table and occupied in laying the cards for patience, 
 his customary occupation after lunch from two till three. 
 At three p.m. he always opened the writing-desk in the 
 corner of the room, and until five worked at his memoirs 
 of the Sebastopol campaign. The old man had an excel- 
 lent memory, and reproduced a precise copy of all that he 
 had seen or heard of in relation to the unsuccessful epoch 
 which had cost Russia streams of blood. While laying the 
 cards the old man thought out and prepared the material 
 to be recorded in the memoirs, and he would fly into an 
 uncontrollable rage if disturbed during this hour. 
 
 There was a cautious knock at the door. The old man 
 glanced towards it from under his shaggy brows and made 
 no answer. The knock was repeated. Dounaisky flung 
 the cards down on the table in a temper. 
 
 " What's wanted ?" cried he. 
 
 The door opened softly and the grey head of his valet 
 appeared : 
 
 "Michail Vladimirovitch on urgent business." 
 
 " Idiot 1 . . . How often I told you! . Get you
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 115 
 
 gone ! . . , If I want to see anyone, I call them myself. . . .'* 
 The hoarse voice broke off angrily on a high note. 
 
 " Uncle, for God's sake receive me. I ask for only five 
 minutes. I must see you most urgently." 
 
 Gourakin stood on the threshold, and, as if not noticing 
 the angry face, continued with a broad, friendly smile : 
 
 " May I come in ? Change your wrath to grace." 
 
 Without waiting for an answer he entered. The old man 
 with knit brows continued to grumble under his breath. 
 He shook hands unwillingly with Michail and began to 
 collect and shuffle the cards lying about on the table with- 
 out looking at his visitor. Michail picked up two of 
 them which had fallen on the floor and laid them on the 
 table. 
 
 " What's wanted ?" asked Dounaisky abruptly, shuffling 
 the cards with his bony fingers. A slight trembling of the 
 hands in their red knitted wrist-warmers bore evidence to 
 his inward rage. 
 
 "I want your advice, uncle, your wise counsel. I want 
 it at once, as I have to give a definite answer by the even- 
 ing. Nathalie knows nothing of this; I will do whatever 
 you advise. . . . Last night I w^ent to a card-party at the 
 Governor-General's, and he told me confidentially that in 
 Petersburg there will be a vacancy open with the Minister 
 of War. If I consent, he will send a telegram to-day to 
 obtain the post for me. I do not know; what am I to 
 
 say 
 
 ?" 
 
 Dounaisky listened, frowning. If he had looked at 
 Michail's face he might have doubted the sincerity of his 
 words; the eyes of the young aide-de-camp twinkled with 
 a mischievous laugh which he with difficulty restrained. 
 This invention of his amused him. He knew beforehand 
 what the old man would say, and foresaw that he would 
 feel so much flattered by the deference to his advice that 
 his wrath would be appeased and the object of the visit 
 would be attained. 
 
 " Why should you hesitate ! . , , Catch hold of the 
 igreeable possibility of returning to Petersburg, while 
 society has not yet forgotten the scandal of your love story.
 
 ii6 THE HEART OF .1 RUSSIAN 
 
 . . . And I suppose it will be so pleasant for you and 
 Nathalie to meet Volynsky. . . . Financially, it looks very 
 tempting also. . . . The Minister will probably give you 
 a good apartment with heating and lighting, for your stately 
 figure if for no other services. ... A flattering proposi- 
 tion. . . . How can you not consent to it ! . . ." 
 
 The old man spoke sarcastically and sharply. Notwith- 
 standing his constant grumbling against his niece and her 
 husband, both in their presence and in their absence, he 
 was glad to know that he was not alone, since the upper 
 story of his house was, at his urgent invitation, occupied 
 by the family of Gourakin, whom he not only learnt to like, 
 but even felt a certain weakness for, because he was the 
 only person who did not fear his angry words or cross face. 
 Always lively and happy-go-lucky, Michail carried with 
 him into his uncle's old life a ray of sound masculine 
 gaiety, in which women, wine, comradeship were united in 
 one common knot. Not only did Michail not hide from 
 the old man his partiality for the pleasures of life, but he 
 spoke of the latter with such frankness that the other 
 often listened graciously to his stories, although he always 
 harshly blamed all excesses. Under his biting and caustic 
 speeches the old man had wished to hide his disappoint- 
 ment at the thought that Michail would return to Peters- 
 burg. His house would again be empty, and he would be 
 left to bear his complete solitude. He had ceased to go 
 out in society, and rarely received anyone. 
 
 " I see, uncle, that you do not approve of the new appoint- 
 ment. . . ." 
 
 " How so I do not approve ?" snapped the old man. 
 
 "I understand so, uncle. And therefore the matter is 
 over and done with : I shall remain under your roof to 
 torment you with my presence." 
 
 Michail smiled and looked at the old man with eyes in 
 which there always shone an involuntary expression of 
 kindness and friendliness. 
 
 He rose as if to go. 
 
 " How is Nathalie ?" asked the old man, as if wishing to 
 prolong the visit.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 117 
 
 "Nathalie is in a bad temper," Michail answered with a 
 smile. 
 
 " Is she unwell ?" 
 
 "She's quite well, but she is angry with me because I 
 came home rather late last night and a little dans les vignes 
 du Seigneur. We sat late at Zorin's; a pleasant company- 
 had assembled for a game at lansquenet." 
 
 "What is there to be angry about? . . . Very foolish. 
 . . . But you should drink less." 
 
 " But do I drink so much ?" Michail laughed merrily. 
 "Just enough pour la noblesse qui oblige. ... I saw 
 Count Palen yesterday, and he asked about you, uncle. . . . 
 He spoke of your passion for horses formerly, your splen- 
 did racers and the prizes they won. . . ." 
 
 Dounaisky said nothing, but Michail could see by the 
 scarcely perceptible smile that hovered round his lips that 
 his slight ruse had pleased the old man and completely 
 dissipated his ill-humour. 
 
 "And speaking of horses, Zorin is selling a pair of car- 
 riage horses. To be frank, yours are much better. If you 
 would let me have them for eight hundred, I would rather 
 take yours." 
 
 " Have you come into a fortune ?" 
 
 "My aunt sent me a thousand roubles for Christmas," 
 Michail explained. 
 
 "The price of the black horses is twelve hundred roubles. 
 You may have them for eight hundred. Pay the money to 
 Moissei Borisovitch." 
 
 "Allow me, uncle, to leave it here, on your table; I am 
 afraid you might change your mind," Michail said jestingly, 
 laying down the money that he had taken from Moissei 
 Borisovitch an hour ago. 
 
 " I do not go back on my word." 
 
 " However, I am abusing your kindness, uncle, and have 
 overstayed my five minutes. Thank you again for your 
 advice." 
 
 " There is nothing to thank me for. Tell Nathalie from 
 me that if she of her own free will exchanged her states- 
 man-husband for a madcap and giddy boy then she must
 
 ii8 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 learn to be lenient to his frolics. And you, amuse yourself, 
 but within certain limits." 
 
 Gourakin went upstairs in the best of humours. The 
 successful purchase of the horses and the prospect of dining 
 with his friend, who had come from Petersburg, helped to 
 mitigate the expectation of the inevitable quarrel with 
 Nathalie which he had succeeded in avoiding during lunch.
 
 IVi 
 
 " Nathalie, may I come in ?" 
 
 "Certainly, dear Aline ; I am very glad.'* 
 
 "Oh, how fine we are! . . . How wonderfully that 
 peach colour suits you ! . . . And what a perfect fit ! . . 
 How beautifully made." 
 
 " Why, Aline, this dress is three years old. I ordered it 
 when we were in Paris. I would not hear of Russian dress- 
 makers then, and even now, I must confess, I go to them 
 against my will. But I have to economize and deny myself 
 many things." 
 
 " Oh, Nathalie, you have such a quantity of Paris toilettes 
 that you are always the best dressed and the most in- 
 teresting and handsome woman present. You are spoilt, 
 Nathalie, and you do not know what it means to wear the 
 same dress at all your calls, and another at all the balls that 
 you go to. You do not know this, and therefore you will 
 not understand what I suffer each time when I have to go 
 anywhere. . . ." 
 
 Aline's voice broke. She threw her silken sac on a small 
 table and sank down on a sofa, while Nathalie, standing 
 before a huge pier glass, was finishing her toilet. The 
 peach-coloured silk dress was well suited to her bright 
 gipsy type. A long string of large pearls encircled her 
 neck in a double coil; diamonds flashed on her breast and 
 fingers. Aline, a tall, very slim blonde, with flaxen-coloured 
 hair, arranged in a pretty coiffure, large blue eyes and a 
 transparent, delicate skin, was very interesting. In her 
 narrow black silk dress, cut low in front and at the back, 
 she seemed to have stepped down from a canvas painted by 
 Gainsborough. Her figure and bearing were stylish and 
 distinguished. Except a diamond brooch on her breast 
 she wore no other ornament, and they would have been 
 superfluous. 
 
 119
 
 120 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 "Really, Aline, I repeat to you for the hundredth time 
 that in your place I would never wear anything else but just 
 this black dress of yours. For your figure, for your style, 
 no other is necessary." 
 
 " Many thinks for such consolation. ... It is all very 
 well for you to talk, with the luxurious wardrobe that you 
 have at your disposal. No, no, I am tired, I am weary of 
 all, all. ... I wanted to send you a note saying I would 
 not go to the theatre, I am so disgusted with this dress, 
 these shoes, this single diamond brooch. . . . O-o-oh! 
 I am stifling, Nathalie ! I would like to throw everything 
 into the fire, and remain at home in my dressing-gown, 
 undressed and unadorned, never seeing or hearing of 
 anyone. . . ." 
 
 At the last words Aline jumped up from the sofa, and 
 with a grimace of disgust shook her skirts and the silken 
 underskirt trimmed with lace. 
 
 "Look at these shoes, Nathalie; they are demode. . . . 
 They make my feet look so ugly, but I must wear them, 
 because I have not got ten roubles to buy new ones." 
 
 Aline turned aside and pressed her handkerchief to her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Please do not think, Nathalie, that I am envying you. 
 I must, I must speak of my worries to someone. . . . Always 
 alone, always thinking of how to make both ends meet by 
 the end of the month, alone with such degrading thoughts 
 of how to manage. . . . You will agree that any nerves 
 would be ruined." 
 
 " Do not cry, Aline. Believe me that I would often be 
 glad to change places with you. Your privations are 
 easier by far . . ." 
 
 "Nonsense! nonsense! I don't believe such talk. You 
 are beautifully dressed, you wear pearls and diamonds, you 
 go to balls, picnics and dinner-parties, you have a handsome 
 husband, whom you worship. . . ." 
 
 " Yes, yes, that's just it, I worship him — and therein lies 
 my suffering." 
 
 "Leave ofif, for God's sake!" Aline shrugged her 
 shoulders impatiently. "You suffer because you are spoilt
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 121 
 
 by fate, because you are capricious. My husband was 
 despotic, rough — he treated me Hke a little girl— but I had 
 no money troubles, I was well dressed, I had diamonds, I 
 knew myself to be pretty and attractive, and amidst 
 pleasures and flirtations I used to forget the worries at 
 home. No, Nathalie, such spoilt women as you and I, we 
 cannot live without money, without all that makes a frame 
 for a woman's beauty. Although my husband was a despot 
 and harsh, I still felt his love, I knew he was fond of me as 
 a woman." 
 
 " He never gave you cause for jealousy." 
 " Do you think so ? He used to go to sup with ladies to 
 spite me. ... I was foolish : I used to cry. . . . Oh, now 
 I am much wiser. Since I became a widow I have felt the 
 prose of life, and I look at everything with other eyes. You 
 have children, Nathalie, you have everything, everything, 
 and you are tempting fate when you complain of it." 
 
 "I have everything except peace of mind — that is to say, 
 except happiness. . . . Michail does all that he can to 
 poison my life. ... I do not sleep at night. ... I . . ," 
 "Nathalie, what are you saying? What does he do? 
 Everyone speaks so well of him ; and really, he is so nice." 
 
 "Outwardly, certainly, all looks well. If I mention this, 
 it is for the first time, and only to you because of our old 
 friendship. Michail leads a fast life, returning home in the 
 morning, passing his nights in restaurants and God only 
 knows where else. . . ." 
 
 "Well, and what then, if he does so? Let him go to 
 restaurants. He makes no secret of it before you. Do not 
 forget, N?'^alie, that you and I are over thirty years of 
 age, and he is not yet twenty-five. Some are much worse 
 at his age ! You ought to be more lenient to him and over- 
 look many things." 
 
 "What do you mean by overlooking things? To sub- 
 mit calmly to his drinking, and in the company of women 
 too?" 
 
 Nathalie's nostrils quivered, and her eyes flashed angrily. 
 "If even they are present at such revels . . . well, that 
 sort of woman doesn't count."
 
 122 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 "That is not the case with such passionate and enthusi- 
 astic natures as Michail's. He is ever boiHng over with some 
 idea, his head is full of plans and wishes; he cannot do 
 anything with equanimity and calm." 
 
 "Your Michail has a grand and artistic nature; it is 
 difficult for him to keep within the bounds of life's prose, 
 and he will constantly be breaking them one way or an- 
 other. Well, I understand him." 
 
 " You do ! I wish you had tried family life with such a 
 man. Everlasting anxiety, everlasting fear. . . ." 
 
 " Leave him alone, forget your jealousy, and you will see 
 that life with him is not so very hard to bear. Ah, if I were 
 in your place, how I would enjoy my life!" Aline leaned 
 her head against the back of the sofa, her long slender 
 hands clasped behind. " I w ould play with my children, 
 fondle them, press them to my heart, adorn their little 
 bodies; I would have a lot of dresses, develop a regular cult 
 for my body, tending it, anointing it with all kinds of per- 
 fumes and scents; I would enjoy the sight of myself decked 
 in the finest of linen with beautiful lace, silk dressing- 
 gowns, with the stuff falling so gracefully in long soft 
 folds. ... I would have tea-gowns of different colours, 
 which I would wear like peplums. , . . Stockings, shoes — 
 all would be exquisite, perfumed. ... A woman's beauty 
 fades and loses its brilliancy without these necessary 
 accessories. . . ." 
 
 " And your husband ? If you would do all this for your 
 husband, it would mean that you love him, and if you loved 
 him you would suffer as I do." 
 
 "You find suffering in everything, Nathalie, but I have 
 grown so tired of suffering from the mean details of real 
 life that if I were free from them I would look upon myself 
 as the happiest of mortals." 
 
 "It is not at all so difficult. If it is not a matter of love 
 for you, then why do you bear your poverty so long? 
 Marry a rich man or find a friend with a heavy purse." 
 
 " Who told you that I did not want love ? I never said 
 that. If one must b-:: r privations, then one must have love 
 to make one forget them; but if one has the joys of a
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 123 
 
 luxurious life, one must know how to enjoy them. You 
 have everything : a man whom you love and into whose 
 arms you may creep ; you may kiss and fondle your children. 
 . . . Whereas I ? Oh, how I sometimes dream, during the 
 long dull nights, of a tiny baby, whom I would even adopt, 
 to press him to my heart and cr}'^ over him, only not to be 
 so lonely, so unnecessary to anyone. . , . But I cannot do 
 it. I have barely enough for myself. I would consent to 
 be an actress, to sing in a music-hall, anything, only not 
 this dulness, this vegetation. . . ." 
 
 " Really, Aline, I see that you are quite irresponsible to- 
 day, and I am so worried myself that I cannot comfort you." 
 " Don't, please don't. ... I will be quite calm directly. 
 There, you see, I am laughing again. ... It is not worth 
 while, truly, it is not worth while to grieve. . . . All will 
 pass, and thank God that all passes ! ..." 
 
 Aline wiped away her tears, and, standing before the pier 
 glass, powdered her flushed face with a small pocket 
 powder-puff. 
 
 " My dear Aline, you are hysterical. Michail said the 
 other day that you were an hysterical woman." 
 
 "How amusing!" Aline laughed merrily. "What put 
 that into his head ? How does he know ?" 
 
 "I cannot tell, but I think he is right. Now, let us go 
 into the drawing-room; Rykhloff and Tchagin are dining 
 with us to-night. They will soon be here; it is already six 
 o'clock" 
 
 Hearing the voices of Nathalie and her friend in the 
 drawing-room, Michail, together with Tchagin, left the 
 study and also went there. Tchagin was a fair-haired man 
 of about thirty years of age, tall and hin as a reed, with a 
 long thin nose and short-sighted grey eyes. He occupied 
 a post in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, was unmarried, 
 with a good fortune, and possessed a very sweet temper, 
 a taste for all that was beautiful, and a kind, sensitive 
 heart. 
 
 " How pleasant it is to find you and Misha so well !" said 
 Tchagin to Nathalie, seating himself beside her, while 
 Michail was talking to Aline. "We often speak of you,
 
 124 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 and are awaiting with impatience the time when you will 
 come back to the banks of the Neva." 
 
 " What news have you, Sasha ? Who is the fashion now ? 
 Who is in love, and with whom ? How is the Duchess ? I 
 know you will tell me the truth." 
 
 "The fashion? Well, I really do not know; for my own 
 part I only admire Carina and the Duchess; Carina is an 
 enchanting beauty, and the Duchess is a beautiful en- 
 chantress." 
 
 " Please, Sasha, I beg you once for all : I will not have 
 the name of Carina mentioned in my presence. She is my 
 enemy, and I detest her." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I had forgotten. ... I had quite forgotten 
 that old story — that is to say, your fancy," laughed Tchagin. 
 " It is past, Nathalie Ceorgievna, but you may believe me 
 that Misha had nothing to do with her; Carina was then, 
 and continues to be, Vamie tendre of the Duke Vladimir." 
 
 " One would not be in the way of the other. ... So the 
 Duke has become constant ? I did not expect that. And 
 what about the Duchess ? I am in correspondence with 
 her, but she writes about others and nothing about herself." 
 
 " The Duchess ? She has changed greatly. . . ." 
 
 " In what sense ?" 
 
 " H'm ! . . . I thought you knew. . . .** 
 
 " What— is it a secret ?" 
 
 "Have you any news of your ex-husband, Volynsky?" 
 
 " A-a-ah ! " drawled Nathalie. " I guess he is in love with 
 the Duchess ?" 
 
 "Just fancy, it is she who is in love with A^olynsky, madly 
 in love. After the divorce he went abroad for a year, and 
 she maddened us all with her fascinating coquetry, but now 
 we do not recognize her. All her smiles are for him alone; 
 she pays no attention to us. I think it is something 
 serious." 
 
 "And Volynsky?" 
 
 "No one can guess. Fige et superbe." 
 
 While Nathalie was talking to Tchagin, Michail, stand- 
 ing near the piano, was teasing Aline : 
 
 " If I were a sculptor, I would represent you as the god
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 125 
 
 Janus, with two faces : one would be veiled in sorrow 
 and tears, the other wreathed in happy smiles. In you, 
 A.lexandra Vassilievna, all seems mixed up together — tears 
 and laughter, sorrow and joy." 
 
 " How can you know ? You are only acquainted with 
 me about six months. Nathalie knows me very little too, 
 lor the reason that since we saw each other, about eight 
 years ago, I have changed very much. Marriage and 
 widowhood have made a deep impression on me. . . . No, 
 it only seems to you that you know me. You even said I 
 was hysterical. . . . That was nice, very nice ! ..." 
 
 " And even if I did say so ? Hysterical women are very 
 interesting; with them all is so unexpected, so involun- 
 tary. . . ." 
 
 "You need not try to justify yourself. . . . Tell me 
 better who is this Tchagin ?" 
 
 "A great friend of mine; I am very fond of him, and I 
 have a great respect for him. He has an excellent heart. 
 He knew Nathalie as a girl, and often visited at her parents' 
 house. A splendid musician, he adores the theatre — in a 
 word, he excels in everything. We have a small society in 
 Petersburg of fervent admirers of art in all its branches; 
 we used to assemble often and come home near morning, 
 but no one was ever drunk. Tchagin was the founder, and 
 is at the head of the society even now." 
 
 " Oh, how nice that is ! How I always dreamed of some- 
 thing like that!" Aline clasped her hands in ecstasy. 
 " Instead of that I am living the fourth year in a remote 
 village with a deaf old aunt, reading the Lives of the Saints 
 to her, mending stockings, patching dresses, weighing 
 butter, flour and cheese-curds, taking her to the church in 
 the village, where the psalmist drones the prayers. . . . 
 O-oh, how loathsome I feel, and what joyous and happy 
 gods you all seem to me ! — so far removed from my hum- 
 drum and prosaic life." 
 
 "Then why not go away from that old aunt of yours? 
 Live otherwise." 
 
 " I cannot, understand me, I cannot. How can one live 
 on seventy roubles a month? . . . Oh, don't, don't let us
 
 126 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 speak of this! Excuse me. ... It is foolish of me. . , . 
 I want to forget it all. Let us speak of you, of Tchagin, 
 the Opera, anything you like, only not of me." 
 
 "But listen, Alexandra Vassilievna; I am sorry for you. 
 Nathalie never told me that you ... I mean that . . ." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I understand; but after my husband died I had 
 nothing left except a heap of debts, seventy roubles a 
 month, and a deaf aunt. . . . Ha-ha-ha ! " Aline laughed 
 nervously. " It was not worth while to speak of such dull 
 things. ... I want to forget them for an hour, for two. 
 . . . This evening at the Opera, in a sea of sounds, all will 
 be forgotten." 
 
 "Apropos, what are they giving to-night? Nathalie, 
 with her revolting indifference to music and art, sends for a 
 box without even knowing for what Opera." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I recognize her," laughed Aline; "she was the 
 same as a girl. My singing master, an Italian, called her 
 cuore senza anima." 
 
 " That is a good definition," said Michail thoughtfully. 
 " Nathalie is interested only in questions of the heart. . . . 
 But still, what Opera are tliey giving to-night ?" 
 
 " ' Rigoletto,' beautiful ' Rigoletto.' I feel simply mad 
 each time after that music. ' La donna e mobile^ . . ."sang 
 Aline in a low voice. 
 
 ". . . ' QuaV pium alvcnto* . . ." continued Gourakin. 
 
 Aline opened the lid of the piano, in a moment found the 
 right accompaniment to suit Michail's voice, and played it 
 with great skill. 
 
 " No, wait a bit. ... I will find Rigoletto's air. . . . 
 There, I have it. . . . Now, go on. . . ." 
 
 Michail began first in a low voice, then he let himself be 
 carried away by the music, and the soft and mellow notes 
 filled the room. Tchagin ceased talking to Nathalie and 
 listened to his friend with evident pleasure, his kind eyes 
 screwed up, and his head moving in time with the music. 
 Aline took up the duet of the second act. Suddenly her 
 voice rang out in bright warm notes and merged itself with 
 Michail's in one vibrating wave of sound. Tchagin rose 
 from his seat, and, placing his pince-nez on his long thin
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 127 
 
 nose, approached the piano. Standing opposite to the 
 singers, he watched AHne as if he had never seen her before. 
 AHne's face became paler; her eyes had a far-away look, 
 and seemed to be larger. 
 
 "You have a beautiful voice, Alexandra Vassilievna, and 
 your accompaniment is artistic." Michail was gazing at 
 her with undisguised admiration. " I did not suspect this ! 
 Why did you not tell us, Nathalie? How much time we 
 have lost. . . . Now please sing alone." 
 
 Aline protested, but Tchagin took her arm and with 
 gentle force made her return to the piano and take her seat. 
 
 " Traviata, the song with the goblet . . . please," begged 
 Tchagin. 
 
 Aline began to sing. Michail and Tchagin exchanged 
 approving glances. 
 
 By this time a new visitor had appeared at the door of the 
 salon, and after a discreet bow had stopped on the thres- 
 hold, awaiting the end of the song. Inclining to one side 
 his smooth handsome head, he stood in the attitude of a 
 man aware of his irresistible beauty, and allowing others 
 to admire him. It seemed as if he, like all the others, was 
 engrossed by the music, but it did not prevent him, how- 
 ever, from carefully examining the narrow patent leather 
 toes of his irreproachable boots. After that he inspected 
 the whiteness of his waistcoat, the brightness of his pink 
 nails, and again resuming his immovable, picturesque atti- 
 tude, he remained standing perfectly motionless until the 
 song was finished. 
 
 Pavel Georgievitch Rykhloff, whom the men called " la 
 belle Pachette," was very handsome; his face expressed 
 self-assurance, coldness and indifference; he considered 
 himself a representative of a higher race, had a limited 
 mJnd, and could lie well and glibly. He was quite indif- 
 ferent towards women, was passionately fond of hunting, 
 had a metallic tone of voice, and liked to be looked at and 
 listened to. 
 
 "I have just come in from the hunting-field," said 
 Rykhloff loudly, addressing Michail so as to be heard by 
 all. "The stalking was not very successful I had a bad
 
 128 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 number, however; the old wolves fell to my share, and not 
 one escaped." 
 
 Rykhloff raised his narrow straight eyebrows and gazed 
 around severely, as if defying anyone to misbelieve him. 
 
 " It is such a cold day, I would not agree to freeze outside 
 for any amount of money," said Nathalie, wishing to break 
 the silence which followed. 
 
 " But the cold is not so great, only eight degrees. It was 
 glorious in the woods. I stood waiting for the wolf four 
 hours " — Rykhlofif spoke with emphasis — " and I did not 
 notice the cold. . , ." 
 
 Rykhloff took possession of the mistress of the house, 
 who detested stories of the hunting-field, and, distinctly 
 emphasizing each word, related most improbable feats in 
 which he was the principal agent. Michail, Tchagin and 
 Aline, standing near the piano, talked of music. The butler 
 announced dinner, and all went to the dining-room. Goura- 
 kin loved to give his guests good dinners and expensive 
 wines; he was a merry and genial host, and his friends liked 
 to come to him. Nathalie, despite her passionate love for 
 her husband, still continued to be fond of society and men's 
 admiration, and managed to create here, as at St. Peters- 
 burg, an interesting salon. After dinner all passed into 
 the study, where the coffee and cigars were served. The 
 men lit their cigars. 
 
 " I have come, my friend, as an envoy from our artistic 
 circle," said Tchagin to Michail. 
 
 His long and thin figure, ensconced amid the soft 
 cushions of the Turkish ottoman sofa, seemed quite bone- 
 less. Crossing his lean legs and lazily smoking his cigar, 
 he gazed dreamily at the rings of blue smoke. 
 
 "The Duchess wishes to organize something for the 
 benefit of the poor by the end of Lent; it fell to the share of 
 our circle, as usual, to be the organizers. We have decided 
 to have a concert and private theatricals. The piece is 
 already selected. We want actors and artists. Your duty 
 is to be both actor and artist." 
 
 Michail rose promptly from his chair and sat down beside 
 Tchagin.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 129 
 
 " Ah, this is excellent. . . . You say by the end of Lent ? 
 There is not much time left. . . . However , . . certainly 
 we shall have plenty of time. . . ." 
 
 "There, good fellow I" Tchagin clapped Michail on the 
 knee. " What a talented chap you have in your husband, 
 Nathalie Georgievna — ready for anything ! " 
 
 Nathalie did not respond to Tchagin's joking praises; 
 her eyebrows were drawn together convulsively; she sat 
 biting her nether lip. 
 
 " Bear in mind, Michail, that I am very particular in my 
 choice of partners; we desire to surprise the public with 
 unusual talent. The theatricals will take place in the 
 palace. I hope the prospect of rehearsals and all the pre- 
 paratory worry is not disagreeable to you ? You will 
 again breathe the air of our capital. I will take him under 
 my wing, Nathalie Georgievna, and will look after him 
 most strictly." 
 
 "Oh, he is completely free," she answered constrainedly; 
 " he can do all that he likes." 
 
 " We have selected three pieces ; in one of them the prin- 
 cipal parts are given to you and Nellie Ivanovna Garina; 
 you will both be splendid in these parts, but . . . there is 
 a serious ' but.' The lovely Garina cannot boast a brilliant 
 French accent, and that worries me. If we could give her 
 a part in the other piece, whom could we have in her 
 place ?" 
 
 " Cotnme toujours vous cherchez midi d quatorze heures, 
 my dear Sasha " — Nathalie spoke nervously — " here is an 
 excellent actress for you" — she pointed to Aline. "She 
 can play and sing; she will outshine all your beauties in the 
 capital." 
 
 " Great God, but certamly, certainly ! " 
 
 Tchagin rose abruptly and stopped before Aline in an 
 attitude of supplication. 
 
 "No, no and no! For nothing in the world! Do not 
 ask me ! I am quite out of it ; I have not been anywhere 
 for four years. ... I do not want to stir up bygone 
 memories. . . . No . . . no. . . ." 
 
 Aline stood up with outstretched hands. She wa* sur-
 
 130 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 rounded and implored to consent. Nathalie was the most 
 persistent, the most urgent, in her pleading. 
 
 " But, Nathalie, cannot you understand why I am unable 
 to consent ?" cried Aline with a feeling of sincere despair. 
 
 "Well, wait a bit. It is time to go to the Opera now; 
 come to my room to arrange ourselves, and there we will 
 hold council." 
 
 With these words Nathalie drew her away. On entering 
 the boudoir and shutting the door Nathalie, pale with ex- 
 citement, turned to Aline. 
 
 " I implore you. Aline, in the name of our old friendship, 
 I implore you to consent. . . . For my peace of mind, for 
 my happiness. . . . Again the excitement of the Peters- 
 burg life, again all those temptations. ... I know Misha. 
 ... I do not want, I cannot bear, to have him there all the 
 time with that Carina . . . and all those women. . . ." 
 
 Nathalie spoke hurriedly, brokenly. Her voice trembled 
 with unshed tears. Aline stood looking at her friend with 
 wide open, astonished eyes. 
 
 " But what can I do ? How can I help you ? You are 
 exaggerating, Nathalie. And, lastly, to take part in such 
 private theatricals in the highest society, one must spend 
 at least a thousand roubles; I have no frocks, I have 
 nothing. . . .** 
 
 " Aline, be a true friend to me. You were complaining 
 just now that no one needs you; well, now I need you. Oh, 
 do not turn away, do me this favour; allow me to bear the 
 expenses of your trip and your dresses. . . ." 
 
 " Oh, Nathalie ... I cannot do such a thing. , . ." 
 
 But Nathalie would not let her speak. She hugged her, 
 put her hand to her lips and burst into tears at last. Aline 
 ended by consenting, although she could not yet under- 
 stand why her participation in the theatricals was wanted. 
 
 " Darling, thank you, thank you. I know that you are 
 honest and good; I know that you will help me. I saw 
 how when you sang to-day Michail's eyes glowed. He is 
 ready to fall in love with you, because you have an artist's 
 nature. . . . Ah, do not interrupt me, I know him. . . . 
 You will act with him, you will sing, you will have beauti-
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 131 
 
 ful dresses. . . . Captivate him and he will not look at 
 anyone else there, and I will be sure of him; I know you 
 and your sense of honour." 
 
 " You are mad ! . . . You are mad !...** laughed 
 Aline. " It is you who are the hysterical one, not I. . . . To 
 take part at once in two comedies, to act two parts ! It is 
 too funny. ... I will not know how to do it." 
 
 "You will know that; I will teach you." 
 
 They entered the study with animated, laughing faces. 
 Aline's consent was greeted by Tchagin and Michail with 
 loud and merry acclamations. 
 
 "Please, Nathalie," Michail said to his wife, "go to the 
 Opera without us. Pavel Georgievitch will be your 
 cavalier, and we will await you here with Sasha. We will 
 prepare a supper for you and have a good talk." 
 
 Rykhloff stood in a picturesquely expectant attitude. 
 Nathalie, against her will, thanked him graciously for his 
 willingness to accompany them ; she was very much dis- 
 pleased with the sudden change of plans. In a few moments 
 they were off. Michail and Tchagin disposed themselves 
 comfortably on the wide sofa. No lamps were lit. The 
 fire was burning, and the room was plunged in a soft half 
 light.
 
 "And so, my old friend," began Tchagin, when they re- 
 mained alone, " I am very glad that I have at last seen 
 your cosy ' home/ You are looking very well, Nathalie 
 Georgievna also. That means that all is going on 
 splendidly ?" 
 
 " Splendidly is rather a strong word." 
 
 Michail was softly clinking his spurs on his outstretched 
 feet and thoughtfully gazing at the blue flames in the 
 chimney as they leaped from the bright red fire, now dis- 
 appearing, now reappearing again on the charred bits of 
 wood. 
 
 " At least, I would like to hear from you that you do not 
 regret anything. ... I hope that I may ask this question 
 by the right of a friend?" 
 
 " You can — certainly you can. You see, I am very glad 
 that you came and that we can sit so comfortably and have 
 a talk. These last two years I have a lot on my heart. You 
 know my nature : I am always lighthearted and gay, but 
 still there are moments when I feel the need of collecting 
 my thoughts and sharing my doubts with someone. You 
 ask me whether I regret anything ? That is just it : I 
 regret very much my lost liberty. With Nathalie I cannot 
 be my own self. You must know her well; she is so very 
 intolerant; she denies everything that is not congenial to 
 her nature; she is despotic, and chiefly, Sasha, she is 
 absurdly, savagely jealous. You know me also : I do not 
 like to tell lies, but I assure you she will make me do so." 
 
 "Yes, Misha, I foresaw all this, because I know you both 
 so well. Yes, yes," continued Tchagin with his head re- 
 clining on the cushions, " I foresaw this, and more than 
 once I hinted to you that if Nathalie Georgievna is not quite 
 
 152
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 133 
 
 happy with Volynsky, she will be downright unhappy with 
 any other husband. Hers is a nature which demands the 
 tight hand of an experienced and serious man. You are 
 too young for such a woman. . . . However, what is done 
 is done. Try to give up to her as much as you can." 
 
 " It is not so much the giving up to her. Nathalie is 
 prose itself. You cannot imagine how destitute she is of 
 all impulse, of all strivings after beauty and art. She is 
 so terre-a-terre that, besides dresses, children, servants, 
 money, visits, balls and Court scandal, she is not interested 
 in anything. She neither understands nor likes music or 
 singing; literature does not interest her; she never reads 
 anything — drama, opera, circus and operetta are all the 
 same to her. I have no wish to share with her my impres- 
 sions, or my small inspirations, so precious to me. A few 
 days ago I received from Matlin a very witty description 
 of their fete in verse. I answered also in verse, and, do you 
 kiiow, it was very successful. I went to her and read both 
 his versts and mine, and she did not even smile. ' What 
 pleasure can you both find in such nonsense I Matlin 
 would do better if he v/ere to try to be a good husband 
 instead of writing stupid verses.' 'Well, and Pushkin — 
 what should he have done instead of writing poetry?' I 
 asked her. ' Pushkin was a poet, and Matlin is a fool,' she 
 answered. You will allow that it was enough to make 
 anyone angry and unwilling to speak to her at all. You 
 know how I love music, but if I sit down to the piano, I 
 prefer to do so after closing the door previously. I wrote 
 a small valse one day. I thought it good ; I played it with 
 pleasure, and everyone liked it very much; only Nathalie 
 found nothing else to say but that it was a ' foolish valse,' 
 and that I had composed it to fascinate a certain young 
 lady. ... In general, according to her ideas, a worthy 
 husband and serious man must not admire nor like anything 
 but his lawful wife, his children, and his household. There 
 is a notion of wedded life for you! On these grounds we 
 have quarrels. I will not cede to her one iota of my maybe 
 senseless but most precious impulses. I am ready to have 
 quarrels every day, but to please her I will not desist from
 
 134 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 what constitutes the best part of our existence. No, no, 
 for nothing in the world ! Let her be as mad as she Hkes. 
 ... I will be what I am." 
 
 "Poor Mishuk! You are tasting the sweets of married 
 life," smiled Tchagin. " Do not grieve. We will support 
 you from Petersburg. Our circle values you very highly; 
 we hold you in great honour. It is a pity that you have left 
 Petersburg. This year our meetings were very, very inter- 
 esting; Tchaikovsky used to come, Apukhtin . . ." 
 
 " There you are also ! Allow that it was no small sacri- 
 fice for me to leave my regiment and the capital. But do 
 you think that she understands what it cost me ? Not a 
 bit ! ' There are people everywhere,' she says, ' and for you 
 the provincial life is better; you will be more steady.' She 
 will exhaust my patience some day; I will show her the very 
 devil. . . ." 
 
 "No, you had better not show her anything," laughed 
 Tchagin. 
 
 "Oh, Sasha, I confess, sometimes I feel such a devil in 
 me, such a desire to do something quite impossible. . . . 
 And as if it were on purpose, I never could bear jealous 
 women, and now, just see ! " 
 
 " And how are the children ? Are you a loving father ?" 
 
 "My children are all right. I adore my little Mimi. A 
 lovely child, intelligent and extraordinarily caressing." 
 
 " And how are your relations with Dounaisky, that old 
 money-bag ?" 
 
 " Fancy! I have managed by a sort of miracle to please 
 the old man, and we are on the best of terms. A queer 
 fellow and a miser. . . . Sometimes one has to practise 
 a little innocent deceit towards him. He will soon agree to 
 hide my peccadilloes from Nathalie, it seems, and even to 
 protect me from her attacks. He is nearly eighty, but he 
 does not think of dying — a wonderfully healthy constitu- 
 tion. It were time for the old man to go; his millions 
 would be just the thing for us. While awaiting them 
 Naihalie and I are getting rather deeply into debt." 
 
 " It is the fashion to be in debt at present," Tchagin said 
 with a smile.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 135 
 
 "Have you seen Prince Alexei lately?" asked Michail 
 after a moment's silence. 
 
 " I saw him just before leaving town. I sincerely pity 
 him. His life has turned out miserably. Princess Anna 
 Valerianovna is quite crazy with her cunning priest. All 
 this idea of building a convent is of his invention; she is 
 completely under his influence, and the poor Prince totally 
 subjugated by Petrova. She is robbing him all round, and 
 wherever possible drawing attention to their liaison. I 
 heard that the Princess intends to leave Petersburg and 
 remove to Moscow to manage the convent herself; she 
 may even take the veil ! Such nonsense ! People do not 
 know how to live!" 
 
 "And you, Sasha? How are you getting on?" 
 " My life is not interesting. I am vegetating." 
 " You ought to be ashamed to say so, you, a free poet and 
 thinker, who can live just as you like." 
 
 "I can live as I like, but all around me I see such triviality 
 and vulgarity, so little sense of beauty, that involuntarily, 
 living among other people, one has to desist from one's 
 gods. Culture is not deep. You may say what you like, 
 but Christianity has turned back the course of refined 
 culture. People have forgotten beauty and heroism. The 
 worship of the ancient gods was full of beauty, and our 
 rites are senseless and dull. Cruelty has remained the same 
 as at the time of the heathens, only its form is changed. 
 Are our wars more humane than the old ones ? The idea of 
 Divinity in cultured nations will always remain the imper- 
 sonation of a wise and powerful force, but the form of this 
 idea was more beautiful in the days of Rome and Greece, it 
 gave more scope to the creative genius, more sources for 
 the creation of imperishable beauty. I am a heathen at 
 heart, and I never felt any admiration for the lives of the 
 saints, their recluse habits and revocation of the world. 
 What good did it bring? What was their object? Only 
 to preach abstinence and contempt of the body, love of self- 
 torture, and martyrdom? It is abnormal, completely 
 foreign to a healthy and strong constitution. Instead of 
 Strengthening, loving and improving the body, Christianity
 
 136 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 teaches us to disfigure it. Oh, ye gods of the Olympus I 
 Oh, their imperishable, poetical, inspiriting beauty!" 
 
 In speaking Tchagin had risen from the sofa and stopped 
 in the middle of the room with upraised hands, as if calling 
 upon the invisible deities. His long shadow lay on the 
 walls and on the ceiling; in the red half light of the fire he 
 seemed unnaturally tall. Michail had listened in silence, 
 following his thought with interest, and did not break the 
 silence at once. 
 
 " No, Sasha, you are not right. The ancient gods killed 
 the spirit; Christianity revived and elevated it." 
 
 " What is the result of such revival after two thousand 
 years ? The ancients organized beautiful bacchanals in 
 honour of their gods, we become drunk and debauched in a 
 vulgar and ugly way; they erected temples to the God of 
 Love and love was raised to a cult, we have hideous public- 
 houses where woman is dragged down to the level of 
 beasts; we thrust her into these dens, we profit by her, and 
 it is we who trample her into the dirt. They had slaves and 
 disposed of their lives, and we have created such conditions 
 for the people that their existence is not better than that of 
 serfs; they loved life and were strong in spirit, we do not 
 love anything, and are simply marching on to physical and 
 moral degeneration." 
 
 " It is difficult for me to argue with you; you have read 
 and thought more than I, but I am sure that you are not 
 rjght. Christianity teaches a man humility, creates spiritual 
 ideals. . . . For instance, life beyond the grave : you do 
 not believe in it ?" 
 
 "You are mistaken — I believe in the immortality of the 
 soul, but certainly in quite another way than you do. You 
 speak of humility, and I can remark that a man with a noble 
 and refined nature will retain it even if he is a heathen; 
 whereas even religion will not soften a man who is cruel 
 and hard by nature. I can cite any number of examples : 
 John the Terrible, who did not cede the palm to Nero or 
 Caligula, Maluta Skuratoff, the landowners who beat their 
 serfs to death. Remember the Inquisition, with its refined
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 137 
 
 cruelty; read the history of tortures used by all the Chris- 
 tian nations, our dungeons, our chastisements in the name 
 of the law. . . . Read the history of France and her refined 
 and cruel depravity before the Revolution, and you will see 
 clearly that humanity has not progressed in the culture of 
 the spirit. I know that you, as well as all your family, are 
 a deeply religious man; I know that you find consolation 
 in prayer, you go to church and follow all the rites. I never 
 go to church, do not keep the holidays, cannot bear the 
 priests, and have long forgotten all the prayers; but am I 
 such a very bad man, Misha?" 
 
 Tchagin smiled and looked at Gourakin with his kind, 
 short-sighted eyes. Michail laughed without answer- 
 ing, it was unnecessary; it was difficult to find anyone 
 kinder-hearted, more ready to help, and gentler than 
 Tchagin. 
 
 "You pray to God, the Mother of God, St. Nicholas, 
 your Guardian Angel ; you keep holy the day of John the 
 Baptist, of Elias ; and I bow down only before the Deity of 
 a Wise Power. I worship the beauty of the ancient gods 
 as an aesthete. I have come to the conclusion that a man 
 is bom either with a consciousness of his soul, and then he 
 strives for good and the love to his neighbour, or he lacks 
 this consciousness, and then nothing and no one can teach 
 him the meaning of goodness. Princess Anna Valerianovna 
 is always talking of God and Christ's commandments, but 
 I really have never met a harder, colder, or more intolerant 
 nature than hers. What is our religion ? Only a uniform. 
 It is high time to leave all this. Worship whom and how 
 you like — that is of no importance. . . . Guard your soul 
 and keep it pure until the hour of your death — that is what is 
 wanted and is important." 
 
 Tchagin was silent, and again resumed his seat beside 
 Michail. Silence reigned in the room, only the wood 
 crackled in the fire. 
 
 "Sasha, life is really good, is it not?" asked Michail 
 softly, gazing pensively into the flames. 
 
 "Certainly it is good I And especially is it good for
 
 138 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 those who know how to live, without complicating it or dis- 
 torting it to please other people." 
 
 " But I have complicated mine," sighed Michail. " I may 
 confess to you that I feel the weight of the yoke of wedded 
 life . . . especially the absence of liberty and the constant 
 control. Please, Sasha, call me as soon as possible to 
 Petersburg for the theatricals. I will stay a m.onth and 
 rest from the bonds of Hymen. Nathalie will not like to 
 leave the children, and will only arrive for the play." 
 
 "All right, I will cable to you immediately; but if you 
 are going to be naughty, then know that Nathalie 
 Georgievna will never forgive me for these theatricals, and 
 we will be in enmity for life. Do you know that the pretty 
 blonde, Aline, is a good help ? She has a splendid voice, 
 very good looks for the stage, and it seems to me she must 
 act well " 
 
 " I cannot give you any information about her, as she has 
 just arrived from the country to pass the winter here. I 
 know that she was Nathalie's friend before her marriage, 
 that her husband was a wealthy General, who lost his fo /tune 
 and died, and she is always in the clouds, hoping for some- 
 thing, cursing her lot. She seldom goes into society, but 
 she meets with success. Nathalie, it seems, wants to have 
 her as a confidante," Michail added, smiling. 
 
 Gourakin relieved his mind in friendly talk with Tchagin. 
 The prospect of the forthcoming trip to the capital, where 
 he would again plunge into the gay life of the society he 
 knew so well, made him glad and animated, and when the 
 voices of the party returning from the theatre were heard 
 he pressed Tchagin's hand, and thanking him for his un- 
 alterable friendship, he went to meet his wife joyfully and 
 kindly, forgetting her bad humour and her wish to find a 
 pretext for a quarrel with him. 
 
 A few days later Michail got a telegram from Tchagin 
 informing him that his presence was needed for the re- 
 hearsals, which were about to begin. Nathalie was, as her 
 husband said, d'une humeur massacrante. She kept find- 
 ing hundreds of reasons and pretexts to induce Michail to
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 139 
 
 refuse to take part in the theatricals, but the more irritated 
 she became, the more was he in a hurry to depart. Before 
 leaving he went to say good-bye to Dounaisky. The old 
 man received him graciously, begged him not to stay too 
 long in Petersburg, and, hearing that Nathalie was in a bad 
 temper, promised to have a talk with her. After Michail's 
 departure, Nathalie began to hurry Aline to be ofif; she 
 wrote to Baroness Kern asking her to receive her and to 
 introduce her to her friends. 
 
 Aline was rather oppressed by the idea of the money 
 which she had taken from Nathalie, but the thirst for 
 amusement and gaiety, which she was deprived of since the 
 death of her husband, drove all other thoughts from her 
 mind, and she rushed from shop to shop, and dressmakers 
 and modistes, dreamed of successes, looked at herself in 
 the glass, and quite forgot the part that Nathalie wished her 
 to play. She hoped to be able to make a brilliant conquest, 
 and looking at herself in the glass, which reflected her 
 supple figure in the black dress with the large black hat 
 with feathers, which she was to wear at the first rehearsal, 
 she felt sure that she would conquer anyone she liked. 
 Aline belonged to the class of women whose condition of 
 mind depends exclusively on the consciousness of their 
 charms, which, in their turn, only come out fully in con- 
 genial surroundings. The more elegant the latter, the 
 firmer the conviction of the power of the charms, and the 
 more assurance in the use of them. Aline was unrecogniz- 
 able: she looked much prettier; animation lent a new 
 sparkle to her eyes, her lips were always wreathed in smiles. 
 She knew herself to be charming, and the knowledge added 
 to her beauty. 
 
 A few days after Michail's departure Nathalie received 
 a letter from him asking her to speak to Moissei Boriso- 
 vitch about a sum of money which he needed for his stay in 
 the capital, where he had to bear great expenses. Michail 
 forbore to let his wife know that his grandmother, Mme. 
 Gourakina, had given him a thousand roubles on the day of 
 his arrival, knowing how much such pleasures cost.
 
 140 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 Nathalie called Moissei Borisovitch to her and asked him 
 to get double the amount that Michail asked for. The 
 steward listened in silence as usual, and promised to get 
 the money. Two days later the desired amount was in . 
 
 Nathalie's hands. Aline, well dressed and animated, accom- 
 panied by her friend's requests to write as often and as 
 fully as possible, started for Petersburg to begin the life 
 which she had been longing for and dreaming of so many 
 years.
 
 VI 
 
 The first rehearsal was to take place at Baroness Shell- 
 man's, a recognized beauty, who spared neither her own nor 
 anyone else's reputation. The stage-manager was the 
 general favourite, Sasha Tchagin, who had decreed that no 
 one but the actors was to be present at the rehearsals. 
 Some exceptions were, however, allowed at the request of 
 the Duchess. By nine o'clock all had to be there, but it was 
 already half-past nine and only five or six persons had 
 arrived. Tchagin kept taking out his large gold chrono- 
 meter and peering at it with his short-sighted eyes, shaking 
 his small sleek head with mild reproof, and, measuring the 
 length of the salon and drawing-room with large steps, he 
 peeped into the hall, and was visibly becoming agitated. 
 The hostess, coquettishly folding her white fur pelerine 
 round her shoulders, was alternately chaffing and calming 
 him. 
 
 " Sasha, will you keep still for ten minutes ? Come, sit 
 down by me and tell me why you are looking longer and 
 thinner. . . . Really, joking apart, sit down here. If you 
 are going to avoid me, I will begin to believe something 
 that I suspect. . . ." 
 
 The Baroness laughed maliciously, gazing from under 
 her eyelids at Tchagin, who stopped before her. 
 
 "What is it you suspect, chere baronne f I am not so 
 trusting as Prince Alexei, and not so easy to tease." 
 
 "That means you surrender, cher Sasha?" 
 
 " I do not surrender. . . ." 
 
 " Excellent 1 Then you are invulnerable ?" 
 i am. 
 
 " I know why ! " the Baroness laughed merrily, hiding her 
 face in her furs up to her eyes, which sparkled with a 
 
 141
 
 142 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 naughty and provoking gaiety, " Why did you go to 
 Moscow, mauvais garnement?" 
 
 " But you know as well as I : to invite Michail Gourakin 
 to take part in the theatricals." 
 
 "You could do that by letter. . . . And how is the beau- 
 tiful Pachette Rykhloff ?" 
 
 The Baroness looked straight into Tchagin's eyes, whose 
 face was covered with a slight blush for a hardly perceptible 
 moment. He took off his pince-nez, put it on again, and 
 remained silent, as if he could find no answer. 
 
 " You are malicious and indiscreet, and I don't like you 
 any more," he said at last, turning to go. 
 
 " Sasha, you are offended? Come, let us make peace; 
 let us be friends again. Here are both my hands for a kiss. 
 So ! You need not have been offended; on dit que c'est de 
 la derni^re mode. . . ." 
 
 " You are beginning again ?" 
 
 " I will not, I swear, by the eyes of the beautiful Pachette, 
 I will not any more. . . ." 
 
 The belated actors were coming in by now. The drawing- 
 room was soon full of animated guests. Tchagin was being 
 pulled one way and another. Baroness Kern arrived with 
 Aline, after them Michail, with a handsome young General 
 in the suite of the Emperor, with whom he had been dining. 
 The General was a favourite of the ladies and of fate. His 
 name was Boris Alexeievitch, but in society he was known 
 under the name of Prince Bibiche. The reputation of an 
 irresistible flirt had become so attached to him that if he 
 only danced an extra valse with a lady society exchanged 
 meaning smiles behind the fair one's back, and the next day 
 everyone spoke of Prince Bibiche's new conquest. 
 
 In the salon all was ready for the rehearsal, and everyone 
 was only awaiting the arrival of the Duchess. The ser- 
 vants were handing round tea, fruits and bonbons. In the 
 drawing-room and salo7i there was a hum of laughter and 
 brilliant French phrases. 
 
 " Ecoute, tnon vieux" Prince Bibiche addressed Michail 
 Gourakin, drawing him aside from a group of ladies and 
 gcntleme-n with whom Michail had been talking with
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 143 
 
 animation: "qui est cette belle blonde aux yeux pas- 
 sion es ?" 
 
 " I really do not know . . ." answered Michail absently, 
 trying to follow the interrupted conversation. 
 
 " How you do not know ? I saw myself how she gave 
 you her gloves to put away about ten minutes ago." 
 
 "Ah, that one ! That is a friend of my wife's." Michail 
 gave Aline's name and surname. 
 
 "Married?" 
 
 " She is a widow." 
 
 "A-a-ah," drawled the General approvingly, "please 
 introduce me at the first opportunity." 
 
 Aline was speaking to Tchagin at that moment; he was 
 showing her some alterations to be made in her part. She 
 was following his instructions with attention, but at the 
 same time she had caught the look that the handsome 
 General had directed towards her; she blushed slightly, and 
 guessed that the General was speaking about her with 
 Michail. Her woman's instinct whispered to her that 
 Prince Bibiche was admiring her. She raised her head, and 
 as if accidentally threw a kind and sparkling glance 
 towards the place where he stood. 
 
 " Ca y est," said the dashing General to himself, answer- 
 ing the look. 
 
 "... There it is . . . there it is. . . . At last! . . ." 
 thought Aline with beating heart. Her eyes flashed, a 
 delicate pink blush played on the milky pallor of her face, 
 and she looked still prettier. 
 
 "How is it your wife let you come, Michelinka ?" Nellie 
 Garina was asking Michail. "I laid a wager that she 
 would not allow you to leave her, and I have lost to Matlin 
 and Prince Bibiche two bottles of champagne each. Come 
 to dinner to-morrow; we will drink them. You have 
 grown devilishly handsome, Michelinka, and I am awfully 
 angry with Tchagin that he did not make me your partner 
 instead of that fascinating blonde. I will pull his long 
 nose, and if I catch you flirting with her I will complain to 
 your Nathalie directly." 
 
 "No, Nellie Ivanovna, anything you like, but not that.
 
 144 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 Please be kind; let me breathe the air of the capital in 
 freedom." 
 
 "A-ah, Michelinka, you are begging now! . . . Well, 
 well, be as naughty as you like, but not behind my back." 
 
 At this moment the servant announced the arrival of the 
 Duchess, and the hostess went to meet her. 
 
 Tchagin begged everyone to begin the rehearsal at once, 
 and proceeded to arrange the chairs so as to divide part of 
 the room appointed for the actors. 
 
 The Duchess entered the room with light and quick steps, 
 laughing and talking merrily with the hostess. While 
 exchanging greetings her look travelled round the room 
 rapidly and imperceptibly, and a slight shade crossed her 
 face. 
 
 " If all are here, the rehearsal may begin," said the 
 Duchess. 
 
 "All are here, except Volynsky," answered Baroness 
 Shellman; "he has sent to say that he will be a little late." 
 
 The Duchess's face brightened. 
 
 "As he is not an actor, but only a spectator, we will 
 not wait for him," remarked Tchagin, and clapped his 
 hands. 
 
 "Ladies and gentlemen, please go on the stage. 
 Prince, I beg you," addressing Prince Bibiche ; " Nellie 
 Ivanovna, you begin. Where is the prompter? Now 
 please, messieurs et mesdames, silence. We are beginning." 
 
 The rehearsal began. After several phrases pronounced 
 by Nellie Carina and Prince Bibiche on the stage all were 
 silent, and followed the dialogues with interest. Tchagin 
 interrupted the rehearsal several times, indicating the places 
 and begging for repetitions. 
 
 The piece was performed in a lively and gay manner. 
 
 " Charming ! . . . Very good, indeed," said the Duchess, 
 pressing Carina's hand. " But could you not insert a little 
 music? You have such a beautiful voice, Nellie Ivanovna; 
 some tsigane song. What do you say to this, monsieur le 
 regisseur f" 
 
 " I think. Your Highness, that the piece will be improved 
 if Nellie Ivanovna will consent to sing". It will be very
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 145 
 
 easy to insert it. The accompaniment may be heard from 
 behind the scenes. . . ." 
 
 Carina sang several songs to choose from. The mellow 
 contralto voice of the beauty filled the large room with its 
 warm soft notes. All were applauding, arguing, choosing 
 the songs. At this moment Volynsky entered. When he 
 approached the Duchess she greeted him with a warm 
 glance which rested on him for a second. 
 
 " At last ! ..." whispered she while he was kissing her 
 hand. " Michail Gourakin is here. Had they warned 
 you ?" she added quickly, and Volynsky felt her hand press 
 his closely and kindly. 
 
 Michail Gourakin and Volynsky bowed to one another 
 without the least affectation, like very slight acquaintances. 
 Baroness Kern had called the day before on Volynsky and 
 warned him of the coming meeting with Gourakin. 
 
 " How can he incommode me, this Gourakin, now that 
 he is Nathalie's husband ?" Volynsky had answered calmly. 
 After the divorce he had passed a year abroad, and had 
 come back looking younger, still more interesting and im- 
 penetrable in women's eyes. All this season he was seen 
 near the Duchess, but no one could guess what he felt for 
 her. The Duchess made no secret of her preference for 
 him; without him the balls and parties seemed dull to her. 
 She concentrated on him all her inexhaustible fund of 
 coquetry. Volynsky, as if fulfilling the duties of a real 
 courtier, seemed to foresee all her wishes; he was near her 
 when she wished it, but he remained calm and equal in his 
 manner towards her. The calmer he was, the more excited 
 and nervous she became. Under his half-closed eyelids he 
 knew how to hide his glance when he followed her classic- 
 ally beautiful figure in the ball-room. He desired and 
 hoped for her love, not a passing flirtation, and he weighed 
 each of her words and looks, jealously guarding and hiding 
 his own feeling until, assured of her love, he could open his 
 heart to her. 
 
 Now Aline was on the stage. The two-act French piece 
 began with a song. Her well-trained, full voice flowed in 
 mellow and sonorous waves of sound. . . .
 
 T46 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 " Bravo, bravo ! ..." was heard on all sides. 
 
 "A lovely voice," Volynsky said under his breath to 
 Baroness Kern, who was sitting beside him. 
 
 '' She is pretty too," said the Baroness in a low voice. 
 
 " Do yon admire her ?" asked the Duchess, who had heard 
 his remark. 
 
 "I have not spoken two words with her, but from here 
 she seems charming. She has something special in her; 
 I would say she is the type of a true lady." 
 
 The Duchess had at once set Aline down as an interesting 
 person when the latter was presented to her, and now after 
 Volynsky's words she examined her attentively through her 
 golden lorgnette. 
 
 ". . . /' effeuillerais les roses sous tes pas, et je mourrais 
 si c'etait ton envie . . ." sang Aline, and as if accidentally 
 her eyes rested on Prince Bibiche. 
 
 The Prince stood at the back of the salon, leaning against 
 a column. He knew all the pretty women of the Peters- 
 burg society and the cocottes; Aline, as something new, 
 interested him greatly. He had not been presented to her 
 yet, but he felt that an invisible thread was drawing him to 
 her. Having discovered where Carina was sitting apart 
 with Matlin, and trying to move softly to avoid clinking 
 his spurs, the Prince carefully passed behind the columns, 
 and, coming up to her, bent down to her ear : 
 
 "Nellie Ivanovna, I have a favour to ask of you. . . .* 
 
 "Ah, you madman! . . . How you frightened 
 me! . . ." 
 
 Carina gave a slight cry, and laughed, hiding her face in 
 her muff to stifle the sound. 
 
 "Nellie Ivanovna, will you do it?" 
 
 "Speak: what is it, you irresistible flirt?" 
 
 " I ask you very much : invite this beautiful blonde to 
 your dinner to-morrow." 
 
 "How? . . . Already? . . . But, mon general, you are 
 simply impossible. You have hardly seen her. . . ." 
 
 ". . . And have fallen in love," added the Prince. 
 
 "I know your manner of falling in love. Nothing but 
 sin. Very well, I will invite her, but provided that after
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 147 
 
 dinner we go in troikas to hear the tsiganes singing. 
 Agreed ?" 
 
 "Your wish is law. Everything will be ready. You're 
 o. true friend; let me kiss your hand." 
 
 In expectation of the pleasure awaiting him on the fol" 
 lowing day Prince Bibiche began to prepare a plan of his 
 love campaign, and putting up his eyeglass he stood watch- 
 ing and appraising attentively all the points in Aline, who 
 was still on the stage. 
 
 After the rehearsal, which ended very late, the guests 
 passed into the dining-room. Baroness Shellman was an 
 attentive hostess, and knew by instinct what would please 
 her guests. She always managed to place them at table in 
 such a way that neighbours were satisfied with each other. 
 The Duchess had Volynsky beside her; Carina, a bald and 
 subtle diplomat, who assured her, and not without founda- 
 tion, that neither Spain nor Italy had ever produced beauty 
 equal to hers. Aline's neighbour was Prince Bibiche; 
 Michail Gourakin sat near the hostess, to whose charms 
 he had fallen a victim ever since his arrival in St. Peters- 
 burg. As usual after rehearsals the company was most 
 animated. The free manners of the stage seemed to have 
 been transferred to the drawing-room; the good wines 
 plentifully served helped to maintain and increase the high 
 spirits. When the company rose from the table it was quite 
 late, but the hostess ordered the wine, coffee and liqueurs 
 to be brought into the salon, and the guests continued their 
 merriment. Michail, slightly excited by the wine, flatly 
 refused to sit down to the piano to accompany Aline, declar- 
 ing that he could not exist a second without the Baroness. 
 Everyone was urgently begging her to sing, but she did 
 not like playing her own accompaniment when in company. 
 Volynsky rose from his place, went up to Aline, offered her 
 his arm with a polite bow, and conducted her to the piano. 
 
 "Bravo! . . . Bravo! . . ." was heard on all sides. 
 
 No one had expected that Volynsky would sit down to 
 play, as he had never before accompanied anyone's singing, 
 although many people knew him to be a good musician. 
 Aline, flattered by the attention of the brilliant statesman,
 
 148 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 excited by her success, sang magnificently. She was joined 
 by Carina, and they sang several duets. Under the sound 
 of their beautiful voices the passionate music-lovers whis- 
 pered softly in the corners of the room. The Duchess kept 
 her lorgnette fixed on Volynsky and Aline. A feeling of 
 irrepressible jealousy possessed her, and she had to make 
 great efforts over herself to hide under the mask of a smile 
 the tears that were welling up. It was the first time in her 
 life that she was experiencing such a degrading feeling, the 
 first time that anyone was deaf to her wishes and intention- 
 ally incomprehensive of her desires. She who was accus- 
 tomed to have her smile regarded as the highest bliss, who 
 was used to torture, to inflict the pain of jealousy upon 
 others, now felt herself suffering and longing each time for 
 a new meeting. Two years ago, after their conversation 
 about the divorce, she was so sure of her victory, but the 
 head of the fascinating statesman, bent in deference before 
 her rank, did not bend lower, and the Duchess could not 
 find out what he felt, nor what were his thoughts. At this 
 moment, surprised by Volynsky's readiness to go to the 
 piano, she was watching with fast beating heart every 
 gesture and look of his. She saw how he was saying some- 
 thing to Aline while turning over the leaves of the music, 
 and, so it seemed to her, smiling in the charming way which 
 he knew drew all hearts to him. . . . Then, softly touching 
 the keys with one hand, he sat looking at Aline, while she 
 was laughing merrily and relating some story to him. 
 
 "... He has quite forgotten me . . . forgotten that I 
 exist . . ." thought the Duchess, not hearing at the moment 
 what the Baroness Kern was telling her. 
 
 "... I think Pavlik is en train de lui faire la cour," the 
 Duchess heard suddenly, "and really she is very lovely and 
 full of talents." 
 "Is Mr. \^olynsky capable of losing his heart?" 
 The Duchess was making an effort to appear quite com- 
 posed. 
 " With men, voire altesse, one never knows. . . ." 
 After the singing, Matlin recited some comic verses. The 
 candles were beginning to burn out when the guests rose
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 149 
 
 to take leave. Prince Bibiche asked Aline's permission to 
 see her home in his carriage. 
 
 " Oh, but where are my gloves ?" cried she. " I took them 
 ofiF, and I cannot remember where I put them." 
 
 " From the moment that you appeared I could not keep 
 my eyes off you, and I saw you give them to Gourakin, 
 which made me very jealous," added the Prince in a low 
 voice. 
 
 Aline laughed and went to look for Michail. He was 
 not to be seen, either in the salon or in the drawing-room. 
 She ran into a small Chinese room, and started back as if 
 stung. Michail, on his knees, was showering tender kisses 
 on the hostess, who was half reclining on a low sofa. He 
 had his face towards the door, and although the room was 
 half lit he recognized Aline. Baroness Shellman had not 
 heard her steps, which were stifled by the soft carpet. 
 Aline left without her gloves. Prince Bibiche was afraid 
 that her hands would be cold, and covered them with kisses 
 all the way. Aline felt as if in a fairy dream. The week 
 in Petersburg had flown by like one day. Making calls, 
 dressing, new friends had occupied all her mind. She only 
 thought of herself, saw Michail very seldom, and not only 
 did not try to captivate him but even forgot him quite. She 
 was happy to be in the gay world again, and cared for no 
 one and nothing else. She only wrote short notes in 
 answer to Nathalie's anxious letters, saying that all was 
 going on well, that Michail passed his time mostly at his 
 grandmother's or at Prince Alexei's house. 
 
 She knew very well that Gourakin was out every day 
 either with his comrades at the restaurants or at balls and 
 dinners to which everyone was inviting him. Tired and 
 happy, Aline lay down to sleep, pleased with the thought of 
 the dinner at Garina's on the next day, when she would 
 again meet Prince Bibiche. She suddenly remembered the 
 scene in the Chinese drawing-room and laughed drowsily. 
 
 " If only Nathalie could know," passed through her mind, 
 "she would be quite crazy. One cannot keep such a 
 handsome husband tied to one's skirts. How interesting 
 Volynsky is! ... The Prince is better. ... Is he in
 
 150 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 love, or does he see that I am interested in him ? . . . Oh, 
 how nice it all is ; how happy I am ! . . . To-morrow I will 
 wear my mauve dress, it suits me so well. ... It fits so 
 closely, and the shoulders are bare. . . . What a beauty 
 Carina is ! ... And what a firrn-e the Duchess has ! . . . 
 And I ? The Prince assures me that my eyes are both 
 languishing and passionate. ... ' Vous etcs d'nn chic 
 parisien,' he said. . . . Dear Prince ! . . . I am crazy 
 about him. ... I am in love. ... ' Si tu m'aimais . . . 
 si I'ovibre de ma vie.' . . ." 
 
 Aline's thoughts became confused, and she fell asleep to 
 dream of the joys of life and love. 
 
 When the Duchess took leave of Volynsky in the 
 Baroness's drawing-room her face was slightly pale. 
 
 "Are you feeling well. Your Highness? You are 
 pale, . . ." asked Volynsky in French. 
 
 "I am not feeling quite w^ell," she answered. 
 
 Her usually laughter-loving eyes were sad. Volynsky 
 offered his arm and asked for permission to see her home. 
 He had a keen knowledge of woman's psychology. His 
 amiability towards Aline was intentional. He marked the 
 hidden jealousy of the Duchess and triumphed. He would 
 like to kiss her hands in his gratitude to her, but he 
 restrained himself. 
 
 "You over-exert yourself. Your Highness," said Volyn- 
 sky in French as usual, when they were in the carriage. 
 "You go to bed too late; this is telling on your health." 
 
 "You are mistaken; I am quite well. . . .** 
 
 " But why are you so pale and so sad ?" 
 
 The Duchess was silent. She felt inclined to cry. Her 
 nerves were strained, and, afraid of betraying herself, she 
 did not speak. 
 
 " You do not wish to answer me ? . . . I ask pardon for 
 my presumption. Your Highness." 
 
 "Ah no ... do not excuse yourself. ... I am sad, sad, 
 sad ! . . . But what is that to you ? . . . My inner life 
 does not interest you. . . . You are so taken up by 
 others. . . ." 
 
 " I .'*" asked Volynsky in a low voice. He bent low
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 151 
 
 towards her and, taking her hand, softly pressed a tender 
 kiss on it. " ' J'effeuillerais les roses sous tes pas' . . ." he 
 repeated with emphasis the words of the song they had just 
 been hearing. 
 
 "You! . . . Les roses sous mes pas f 
 
 The Duchess turned towards him and gazed at him 
 several seconds with wide open and as if frightened eyes. 
 
 " Repeat it, repeat it. . . . I do not believe you. . . ." 
 
 " ' Si tu m'ahnais ' . . ." said Volynsky in a still lower 
 voice. 
 
 " Mais je vous aime . . ." burst in a passionate exclama- 
 tion from her lips. 
 
 " For always — till the end of the world ?" asked Volynsky, 
 clasping the little hands and with a deep look into her eyes. 
 
 " Till the end of the world," she replied passionately, the 
 tears filling her eyes. 
 
 The carriage had reached the palace ; the servant opened 
 the door. 
 
 "Till to-morrow?" asked the Duchess. 
 
 "Till to-morrow and for ever . . ." answered Volynsky, 
 pressing a hot kiss on the small hand which was extended 
 to him for life.
 
 VII 
 
 It was nearly midday when on the next morning Aline, 
 after her bath, in a white morning gown with broad sleeves 
 open at the shoulders and knots of blue ribbon, and her 
 golden hair streaming down her back, sat down to her 
 breakfast. She occupied two rooms in one of the best 
 hotels in the centre of the town. She was lazily scanning 
 the papers and yawning. Before going to Carina's dinner 
 she had some interesting calls to make. 
 
 " I shall wear my steel grey dress and the hat with the 
 black feathers. . . . For dinner I shall put on my mauve. 
 ... I must let the hairdresser know . . ," she was thinking. 
 
 There was a knock at the door. 
 
 "Come in." 
 
 Aline thought it was the chambermaid. Michail Goura- 
 kin stood on the threshold. 
 
 " I am not dressed," she began confusedly. " However, 
 never mind, come in, Michail Vladimirovitch. . . . What 
 good wind blows you here? How cross you look! Did 
 you have a bad night ? I slept excellently." 
 
 Michail's face kept its frown; he took the seat indicated 
 to him. 
 
 " Have you only just got up ?" 
 
 " Certainly. And you yourself ? It is enough to look at 
 your face to see that you have left your bed — that is why 
 you are so cross," laughed Aline. 
 
 " I am cross because I could not sleep." 
 
 "Poor boy!" 
 
 " Hear me, please, Alexandra Vassilievna. I have come 
 to you on a matter of business," Michail interrupted her. 
 
 "That is a pity; I am quite incapable of attending to 
 business now." 
 
 152
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 153 
 
 " I shall not be long. May I smoke ?" 
 
 "As much as you like, and state your business quicker; 
 there are many things much more interesting." 
 
 " May I ask, Alexandra Vassilievna, have you written to 
 Nathalie to-day ?" 
 
 " No, I have not." 
 
 " Will you write ?" 
 
 " Certainly I will, if not to-day, then to-morrow. What 
 is the matter?" 
 
 " What shall you write about ?" 
 
 " Dear me, how persistent you are ! About many 
 things. . . ." 
 
 " H'm ! . . ." 
 
 Gourakin rose from his chair and began to twirl his 
 moustache nervously. 
 
 " Voyons, cher ami, quelle mouche vous a pique f Speak 
 reasonably." 
 
 " Well then, listen, Alexandra Vassilievna : I know that 
 you are very frank with Nathalie, that she desired you to 
 take part in these theatricals, and that you are charged to 
 look after me. If it were not for the meeting in the Chinese 
 room I would continue to pretend that I do not see or sus- 
 pect anything. Baroness Shellman did not know that in 
 dealing with me she depended at the same time on you and 
 your kind interest in me. And so I have come to tell you 
 that if you write to Nathalie anything of what you saw 
 yesterday, then I . . ." 
 
 "Silence! — be silent this minute. . . . How dare you! 
 How can you say such things to me ! ..." he suddenly 
 heard Aline cry wrathfully. 
 
 While he was speaking her eyes grew darker and darker, 
 and she turned from pale to red. With his last words she 
 jumped up and struck the table with clenched fist. The 
 silver tray with the coffee service resounded and the spoon 
 fell down. Aline pushed it aside with her slipper. Michail, 
 interrupted in the middle of his speech, stood gazing at 
 Aline with uplifted brows in astonishment. . . . 
 
 "... One must be a villain oneself to suspect me of such 
 meanness. Who gave you the right to speak to me like
 
 154 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 that? Do you think I will allow it? No one dares to do 
 so. I do not want to know you any more . . . or no . . . 
 wait a bit. . . ." 
 
 Aline rushed to the toilet table, took a pocket-book out 
 of the drawer, and with trembling fingers drew from it 
 some banknotes, which she flung towards Gourakin. 
 
 The money fell on the table and on the floor at his 
 feet. 
 
 " Here is Nathalie's money . . ." cried Aline brokenly, 
 stifling the rising tears. "You may take it; I do not sell 
 my conscience. And this . . . and this. . . . You may take 
 all. ... I do not want anything if you dare to suspect 
 me. . . . 
 
 Hat-boxes were now flung at Michail, and their contents 
 fell out, disclosing hats, ribbons, laces. Aline was in a wild 
 frenzy. She opened the wardrobe and, catching at the 
 dresses, she threw them at him. Tears were running down 
 her pale cheeks, loud sobs were bursting from her throat, 
 her long hair was ruffled and hung round her face. 
 
 " Alexandra Vassilievna, for God's sake, listen. Pardon 
 me if I have been mistaken. . . . By God, I did not know 
 ... I did not want . . . What is it to me that my wife 
 lent you money? I did not think that you . . ." 
 
 "That is a lie! You did think that Nathalie paid me to 
 play the spy. It is mean and vile to insult me like that. I 
 do not want to know you. ... I curse these theatricals. 
 I will not, I do not want to take part in them . . . for 
 nothing in the world . . . not for millions I . . . I will 
 leave with the evening train. . . ." 
 
 Michail did not know what to do. Aline would not let 
 him say a word. She lay on the sofa, her face buried in the 
 cushions, and cried unrestrainedly. In vain Gourakin tried 
 to calm her. He endeavoured to take her hand, but she 
 pulled it away, and only cried more bitterly than ever. 
 
 " You cannot go away, Alexandra Vassilievna — it is im- 
 possible. Everything is arranged. . . . Tchagin will go 
 mad, the Duchess will be displeased." 
 
 "To the devil with all your Tchagins and Duchesses! . . . 
 I do not want anyone. ... I will go away. . . ."
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 155 
 
 Gourakin felt quite at a loss. He looked at the sobbing- 
 Aline in silence. She lay on the low sofa, her golden hair 
 falling on the carpet, the si:pple body trembling with the 
 sobs. Suddenly she raised her head. Her face showed 
 her grief and looked very beautiful. 
 
 " Go away. . . , Do not dare to remain here . . ." she 
 said through her tears, and buried her face in the cushions 
 again. 
 
 " How is it I never noticed how beautiful and interesting 
 she is ?" thought Michail, carefully moving along the carpet 
 so as not to tread on the hats, dresses, feathers, laces lying 
 about. He decided to go straight to Tchagin, knowing 
 that only he, with his gentle nature and kind heart, would 
 be able to persuade Aline. When Gourakin left her she 
 continued to lie as she was in the same attitude of hopeless 
 despair. Bitter and sad thoughts chased one another. In 
 the morning it had seemed to her that she was standing on 
 the threshold of a new and happy life, in which she saw the 
 face of the dashing General; now everything looked dark, 
 grey and hopelessly sad. In the evening she would have to 
 leave this noisy, lively town and return again to the remote 
 village, to read the Lives of the Saints to her old and deaf 
 aunt, to see to the closing of all the doors and shutters after 
 their early supper, to count the eggs, and deal out the butter 
 and cream. . . . Oh, how horrid to remember all that, and 
 how soon all this would be a dismal reality, in which there 
 would be no place for the smiling image of coquettish Aline 
 in a dress of mauve colour with bare shoulders and delicate 
 bare arms ! No place either for the elegant Prince Bibiche, 
 with the family ring on his handsome hand and his brilliant 
 French accent. . . . And no hope that these charming 
 pictures will ever return to her, become habitual owing to 
 the will of capricious fortune. . . . She will have to leave 
 with the evening train, just when such happy days of suc- 
 cess were before her ! Her part, so coquettish and provok- 
 ing ! . . The tears flowed again. Aline heard how some- 
 one knocked twice at her door, how it opened slowly, and 
 someone entered, but she remained lying still. Tchagin 
 sfood in the doorway with his hat in his hand and peer»t!
 
 156 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 through his pince-nez at the dresses, hats and money scat- 
 tered on the floor. 
 
 "May I come in, Alexandra Vassilievna? I must see 
 you," he said, not noticing that AHne was lying on the sofa. 
 
 "Come in . . . but chaos is reigning here," she answered 
 in a tired voice, raising her head from the cushions and 
 pushing back the ruffled locks of hair. 
 
 "Chere petite Suzanne, in what a state I find you!" said 
 Tchagin, kindly extending his hand and calling her by the 
 name she bore in the part she was to act. " Should such 
 clear blue eyes ever shed tears ! And the little hands are 
 quite cold. Come now, think of me as a friend. Let me 
 sit near you here. I have come to you in Gourakin's 
 name." 
 
 "Do not speak of him. He is a bad man." 
 
 "Believe me, I know him from childhood; he has an 
 excellent heart. He told me all, and is now ready to ask 
 your forgiveness on his knees. He just now confessed to 
 me that he did not know or understand you until to-day. 
 Forgive him. He is in despair for having insulted you, 
 and implores you not to go away, to change nothing, and 
 not deprive us of your talent and your sweet company, and 
 he says that if you order him to do so, he will leave for 
 Moscow this very day." 
 
 "Why should he go away? Let him amuse himself. I 
 do not want to be in anyone's way. I am going away. . . . 
 I have decided. . . ." 
 
 Tchagin continued to soothe and persuade her until Aline 
 was able to listen to him calmly. His gentle manner and 
 kind hearty words at last obtained from Aline the permis- 
 sion for Gourakin to come to her to explain his conduct, 
 and she promised not to leave the town. While giving the 
 promise she thought of Prince Bibiche's smiling eyes, and 
 her heart felt lighter. With Tchagin's help she picked up 
 all her scattered wardrobe and the money and bid him 
 adieu with a smile on her lips. 
 
 "You have a good nature," said Tchagin, kissing her 
 hand. " You do not nurse your grievance, and pass soon 
 from sorrow to joy."
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 157 
 
 Aline did not make any calls. She had a slight head- 
 ache, and lay down to rest until it would be time to go to 
 Carina's dinner. 
 
 Gourakin arrived when she was ready to start. Her eyes 
 were burning from the tears they had shed, her dress suited 
 her delicate skin and golden hair to perfection. Glancing 
 from under her eyebrows at Gourakin as he entered the 
 room, she tried to hide a smile. She wanted him to feel 
 that he had wronged her. Michail proceeded to give his 
 explanations with evident contrition. Aline stood before 
 a tall mirror, and was more interested in admiring her own 
 reflection than in listening to what he was saying. 
 
 " Well, God forgive you, wicked man ! I pardon you, but 
 remember that no one ever hurt me as you did." 
 
 "Alexandra Vassilievna, ma belle Suzanne, I repent sin- 
 cerely. I was such a fool as to think that out of friendship 
 to Nathalie you were capable of ..." 
 
 "A meanness! Oh, how little you know me! I want 
 to live, do you understand, to live, a short but brilliant life, 
 and nothing else is of any importance to me. To spy upon 
 you ? Ha, ha, ha 1 Nathalie implored me to make you in 
 love with myself, and thus guarantee her peace of mind, 
 and I quite forgot about you." 
 
 "I can only say to that that Nathalie's plan was much 
 more dangerous than my small peccadilloes." Gourakin 
 came quite close to Aline, and his admiring glance seemed 
 to embrace her bare shoulders. " If I were to fall in love 
 with you, then most certainly you would have to turn 
 traitress in respect to Nathalie." 
 
 " You are mad, really ! What new insult is this ?" 
 
 Aline turned to Gourakin and looked at him with laugh- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 " Without any doubt, petite Suzanne. It sounds in- 
 credible, but only to-day for the first time I noticed how 
 charming you are." 
 
 "An hysterical woman. Please do not forget that is 
 what you called me." 
 
 " Yes, you are hysterical. Would a normal w^oman ever 
 lose her self-possession to such a degree as to fling at me
 
 158 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 all the contents of her wardrobe, hat-boxes, bags, and even 
 her pocket-book? C'etait un tableau T 
 
 The remembrance of that scene called forth a burst of 
 irrepressible laughter. The quarrel was forgotten, and 
 they went off together to Carina's dinner. 
 
 "Again Michail Gourakin ?" whispered Prince Bibiche 
 reproachfully, kissing Aline's hand when she entered the 
 drawing-room accompanied by Michail. * I am beginning 
 to be jealous." 
 
 The dinner was served for a small number of guests, but 
 it was very animated. Besides the hostess and Aline there 
 was only one other lady, a celebrated operetta actress with 
 whom all the brilliant youth of Petersburg were in love. Very 
 piquante, lively and witty, the Parisian artist knew how 
 to behave in a society drawing-room as well as she knew 
 how to be daring on the stage. After the dinner the ladies 
 curled themselves up on the sofa and the men disposed 
 themselves at their feet on the rugs and furs, smoking their 
 cigars and drinking champagne. Jokes, laughter and 
 witticisms went on gaily. Nellie Ivanovna, half reclining 
 on a sofa, with her hands crossed behind her head and her 
 small feet stretched out, began to sing a tsigane romance. 
 Aline at once ran to the piano and caught up the duet : 
 "And I love you so . . , and I fear you so. . . . Must be 
 I saw you first in an untoward hour . . ." she sang, and in 
 the last notes something passionate seemed to vibrate as 
 if from the very depths of her soul. 
 
 " Sing something for me alone, please," asked Prince 
 Bibiche, while the others were applauding and talking 
 loudly. 
 
 Aline ran her fingers over the keys and struck a few pre- 
 paratory chords. 
 
 "... I remember a marvellous moment . . ." she began 
 without looking at anyone, but the sounds flowed with so 
 much feeling that all understood she was singing for some- 
 one. "In solitude, in the darkness of confinement, my 
 days were slowly passing. . . ." The sounds flowed on 
 sad and soft, and suddenly they rang out bright and solemn. 
 Aline's eyes, sparkling and moist, were turned toward.';
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 159 
 
 Prince Bibiche : "... And then came the awakening, and 
 for me were revived again faith in Divine Power, and in- 
 spiration, and life, and tears, and . . . love. . . ." Aline 
 rose from the piano as if she did not know where she was. 
 Prince Bibiche was watching her with a strange look in the 
 eyes. Michail was very much excited, and seemed taken up 
 with the Parisian diva. At eleven o'clock three troikas 
 drove up to the door. The gay company departed for the 
 Islands, calling by the way for Baroness Shellman, Mishka 
 Kovalevsky, and Prince Vassilkoff. Lumps of frozen 
 snow falling into the sleighs touched the heated faces; the 
 frosty wind gave a red glow to the cheeks. Laughter, 
 jokes, ardent glances, secret pressure of hands. . . . The 
 troikas dashed past lantern posts, solitary cabmen drowsing 
 on their seats, belated passengers on the quay . . . then 
 small wooden houses, country seats closed up for the 
 winter, shrubs and trees covered with snow, and the un- 
 trodden paths in the wood. All round silence and night. 
 They reached the tsiganes' restaurant. The choir assem- 
 bled in a small room; champagne and oysters were served 
 on a table. The dark and swarthy tsigane women sat in 
 a row, the men standing behind them. The strings of the 
 guitars rang forth, and the guttural sounds of the tsigane 
 songs seemed to add to the animation and general excite- 
 ment. Michail sat between Aline and Baroness Shellman. 
 Aline took no notice of him. Prince Bibiche did not leave 
 her side, and kept whispering to her words of love. 
 
 "On the way back Mishka Kovalevsky is going with 
 the Baroness, and I will go in the same troika as you, 
 petite Suzanne," Aline suddenly heard a whisper in her 
 ear. 
 
 "I am going with the Prince," she replied absently. 
 
 "One does not interfere with the other. There is plenty 
 of place in the sleigh. He is paying you too much atten- 
 tion." 
 
 "All the better." 
 
 * I do not like it." 
 
 ■I do!" 
 
 Aline laughed, flashed a look at Michail out of the comers
 
 i6o THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 of her eyes, and turned away to resume her conversation 
 with the Prince. 
 
 The gay and noisy company left the restaurant long past 
 midnight; the men helped the ladies with their furs, the 
 troikas ringing their bells at the door. Mishka Kovalev- 
 sky exchanged a few whispered words with Gourakin, 
 opened wide the doors, and exclaiming, "The Rape of the 
 Sabines!" caught up within his muscular arms Baroness 
 Shellman, and amid shouts of approval carried her off to 
 the sleigh. At the same moment Michail, lifting Aline in 
 his giant clasp, ran down the steps and bore her towards the 
 other troika. Prince Bibiche and Tchagin rushed after 
 him. Jumping into the sleigh as it was going full speed, 
 they tore madly after the troika which was carrying away 
 the Baroness, Kovalevsky and Matlin. Michail managed 
 to get his hand into Aline's muff unperceived, and each 
 time that Prince Bibiche bent towards her to whisper into 
 her ear, he squeezed her fingers until they ached. In vain 
 she tried to free her" hand. All the way Prince Bibiche kept 
 telling her how she had turned his head, and that he was 
 completely in her power, and all the way Michail hurt her 
 hand and gazed at her in silence from under the vizor of 
 his cap with angry and excited eyes.
 
 VIII 
 
 The rehearsals followed one another. Three tableaux 
 vivants had been added to the play, and the number of the 
 actors had increased, so that each time the rehearsals be- 
 came more and more lively. The Duchess seemed trans- 
 figured, and was present at every one; happiness and joy 
 seemed to emanate from her, and her presence served to 
 bring new animation. An atmosphere of love seemed to 
 reign wherever the company of actors and actresses were 
 assembled. The last rehearsal was to take place at the 
 palace of the Duchess. A magnificent stage was erected 
 in one of the large salons. Michail and Aline were the 
 best actors ; Michail, Aline's lover in the play, was beginning 
 to continue his role when off the stage. Prince Bibiche 
 was jealous, and in order not to leave Aline alone with him 
 took upon himself the duties of stage-manager. Aline, 
 wishing to bring the Prince to a serious declaration of his 
 love, teased him by slightly encouraging Gourakin. Two 
 days before the play Michail received a letter from his 
 wife, in which she informed him that she would not be able 
 to come, as their little boy was ailing; he was cutting his 
 teeth, and she did not want to leave him in the hands of his 
 nurse. On receiving the letter Michail went to his grand- 
 mother, Mme. Gourakina. Since his marriage neither his 
 grandmother nor his father had ever mentioned his wife's 
 name. Old Mme. Gourakina loved her grandson as much 
 as ever, and in her prayers she always remembered his 
 children, but she woukl never listen to anything about 
 Nathalie, and could not forgive her for the past. Her 
 daughter Marie was of too kind-hearted a nature, and she 
 loved her nephew too well, to remain a stranger to his Hfe. 
 She had long ago forgiven Nathalie, and if in accordance 
 
 i6i II
 
 i62 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 with her mother's will she did not see her, she was never- 
 theless deeply interested in all that concerned her nephew's 
 family life. Without seeing her she dearly loved little 
 Mimi, and often sent her toys unknown to Mme. Goura- 
 kina. During- his present stay Michail used, as in the old 
 days, to run into Marie's room before leaving the house, 
 and there pour out frankly into her ear all that was troub- 
 ling or pleasing him. Marie understood that the intensely 
 jealous nature of Nathalie was embittering her nephew's 
 life, and that a wife with a better balanced mind and calmer 
 nature could both find and give him perfect happiness. Not 
 wishing to add fuel to the fire, Marie as well as she could 
 reasoned with and tried to soothe Michail, advising him 
 not to give his wife cause for jealousy. But even while 
 pronouncing these words Marie knew that they were use- 
 less; she understood that Michail was too young for family 
 life, that his impulsive nature presented but a poor guar- 
 antee for Nathalie's peace of mind. 
 
 Old Mme. Gourakina and Marie were very much inter- 
 ested in the forthcoming theatricals, but there was no 
 question of Marie going to see the play, as the old lady 
 would not admit the idea that her daughter could be placed 
 in an awkward position in meeting Nathalie. 
 
 Michail went straight to the old lady's apartments; he 
 found her in the small drawing-room reclining on a long 
 chair, her feet wrapped in a rug. 
 
 Opposite to her sat Prince Alexei Vassilievitch. After- 
 noon tea had been served on a small table, Mme. 
 Gourakina looked much older than she did two years ago. 
 Although she still kept her dignified bearing and proud 
 look, her face had a yellow colour, new wrinkles were 
 appearing, she was often ailing, prayed more, and fre- 
 quently remained buried in thought. 
 
 " Good-day, my boy, I am glad to see you," said she 
 with a fond caress to her grandson. "Have some tea? I 
 am not quite well . , . feverish, and I passed a bad night. 
 I am thankful to dear Prince Alexei Vassilievitch that he 
 •comes to see me." 
 
 "Bonjour, Michail. Are you coming from a rehearsal,
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 163 
 
 or going to one ? I hear you are developing a great his- 
 trionic talent. A brilliant success. All the ladies tearing 
 you to pieces," said Prince Alexei with a smile. 
 
 " I think he is willing to do that himself. To think that 
 he is the father of a family!" and Mme. Gourakina shook 
 her head in mild reproof. 
 
 Michail seemed to bring with him a ray of youth and 
 light-heartedness. Clinking his spurs and noisily dragging 
 a chair to the table, he beamed on his grandmother and the 
 Prince with the careless happy smile of youth. Mme. 
 Gourakina gazed on him with love and admiration shining 
 in her eyes. 
 
 " Do not you find. Prince Alexei, that he is becoming too 
 much of a dandy?" she said, laying her hand caressingly 
 on her grandson's sleeve. " What scent are you using ? 
 It has a delicate perfume. How much does it cost? Six 
 roubles ? You spend six roubles for scent ? But that is 
 madness, dear child. I never, even when I was young, 
 allowed myself to spend as much. From where do you 
 take the money to pay such expenses ?" 
 
 "You yourself, grand'niaman, gave me the money; I am 
 just spending it," laughed Michail. 
 
 " I did not give you the money to buy scent, my boy." 
 
 " Excuse me, grand' maman, I promise you to use only 
 eau-de-Cologne in future. Do not be angry." 
 
 " Well, well. . . . Drink your tea and pour out another 
 glass for the Prince." 
 
 " I have just received a letter from Moscow," said 
 Michail, addressing himself to the Prince alone. " My little 
 son is cutting his teeth and feeling out of sorts, so that no 
 one is coming from over there to the play." 
 
 Mme. Gourakina seemed not to hear what her grandson 
 was saying; she was arranging the rug about her knees. 
 
 " I have brought a ticket in the first row for Aunt Marie. 
 I hope, grand'maman, that you will have nothing against 
 her going." 
 
 " If Marie wishes it, let her go. I do not know, however, 
 what she has to wear. One must be en grande tenue for 
 this play."
 
 i64 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 "Yes, certainly," affirmed the Prince. "The whole 
 Court will be there; the company will be in full dress." 
 
 Soon after that Marie came in from her walk. She was 
 not much changed after two years, in her dark dress with 
 batiste collar and cuffs, her hair parted in the middle and 
 smoothly drawn back in a large coil at the back of her head. 
 She extended her hand in hearty greeting to Prince Alexei, 
 whom she liked and pitied very much, embraced her 
 nephew, and asked her mother with loving concern how she 
 was feeling. 
 
 Her mother gave her the ticket for the play that Michail 
 had brought, and advised her to lose no time in seeing 
 about a dress for the evening. Marie, very much surprised 
 at her mother's consent, at first refused to go, but soon 
 ceded to Michail's prayers. 
 
 " Have you heard," said the Prince to Mme. Gourakina, 
 "that my Princess is going to remove to Moscow? She 
 finds that there is so much to do with the convent that 
 she must be there herself. I am dissuading her, but as it 
 is Father Fedor who is influencing her, the question is now 
 finally decided." 
 
 At the mention of Father Fedor's name old Gourakina's 
 face wore its most austere expression: "How tactless he 
 is, the dear Prince I" she thought. 
 
 "Well," she said aloud, "if the Princess finds consolation 
 in this work, which demands great care and attention, she 
 had certainly better dwell near the convent." 
 
 " Maybe she will yet take the veil herself," continued the 
 Prince. "She has always been peculiar, and if she gets 
 something into her head, it is quite impossible to dissuade 
 her." 
 
 "The best thing is to let her do as she likes." 
 
 " Certainly, it is not my business to prevent her," an- 
 swered Prince Alexei, and rose to say good-bye. 
 
 He carried off Michail with him to dinner, after which 
 they were to go on to the palace for the rehearsal. After 
 the latter, the Prince intended to go to the ballet to take 
 Petrova as usual to supper at Dussaux's. He wanted to 
 give her pleasure, and asked Michail to invite a few
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 165 
 
 more friends to come there too and join them, as if 
 accidentally. 
 
 Prince Alexei conducted Michail to his study to show 
 him some photographs of his racers which he had just 
 received. 
 
 After looking at them Michail turned his attention to the 
 writing-table, where he discovered a new series of photo- 
 graphs of Petrova in various attitudes. 
 
 "Listen, my boy," said the Prince. "Tikhon has just 
 told me that the Princess is going to have company in her 
 apartments to-night. Now you try to find some excuse for 
 both of us, in case we shall be expected to be there. Say 
 whatever you like, but find some excuse; I hate to tell 
 stories, and I never know how to do it, and the Princess has 
 become most impossibly irritable with all' her saintly 
 worries; it's simply impossible to speak with her. Anyhow, 
 I prefer to fail to gratify her, who never was pleased with 
 anything in all her life, than to grieve a woman who is fond 
 of me. . . . How she dances ! In these years she has 
 acquired such lightness, such a plastic grace ! She dances 
 the Catchucha . . . like a goddess. I tell you, it is enough 
 to turn any head. Quelle jambe! Quelle precision! You 
 are a family man now, you can understand many things. 
 . . . The Princess, with all her qualities of a good wife, 
 always had an unbearable temper, and when one gets old, 
 one cannot be without a cosy home, without a loving 
 woman's heart. This is my house, but there is my home, 
 and I will tell you frankly, it will be better for both of us 
 if the Princess goes to Moscow. I do not believe in all 
 these rites and prayers of hers; it is just pride and hypocrisy, 
 but let her go." 
 
 The Prince took up a new cigarette and, closing the door 
 of the study, continued in a slightly lowered voice : 
 
 "Do you remember Olga Onisimovna, the head of the 
 school ? It appears she is such an accursed hag that 
 hanging is too good for her. I have provided for all her 
 daughters and arranged for their education at the cost of 
 the Government, and it appears that she has been carrying 
 such tales about me that the devil would break his leg in
 
 i66 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 extricating himself. Une triple canaille ! She manages to 
 know everything, and reports at once to the Princess. How 
 do you Hke that ? I have been through such scenes here 
 lately, enough to make a man run away from home." 
 The Prince began to pace the room in agitation. 
 "Serguei takes his mother's part. He has a very diffi- 
 cult temper. He quarrels with everyone. As you see, my 
 boy, fate has not been very kind to me. The Court is also 
 rather cold towards me, but that does not trouble me much; 
 in declining years one cares less for all those grandeurs, 
 and I never was ambitious, even in my youth. No, my 
 dear, the love of a woman is a great blessing; it is the best 
 thing on earth. Do you agree with me ?" 
 " You are right, uncle." 
 
 " Ah, Michail, you are young yet, and you will have to 
 sow many wild oats before you learn to appreciate woman. 
 And how is Nathalie ?"' 
 
 " Nathalie is just the same," smiled Michail, 
 " I heard that. They say she is getting prettier, she loves 
 you as much as ever, and is as jealous as she was. That is 
 not right. And how are you with your father? A stub- 
 born old man; however, I can tell you that he has left 
 everything to you in his will. He is still angry with you 
 for your marriage; during his last visit here he complained 
 to me that he would like to see his grandchildren, but he 
 cannot. Yes, there is a cankerworm in every family. 
 However, let us go; dinner will soon be announced." 
 
 At dinner there was only the chief steward of the princely 
 estates. The Princess, grown very fat, with a certain 
 afifectation in the ultra-simplicity of her attire, her spare 
 hair in a tight knot at the top of her head, discoursed dur- 
 ing the whole dinner on matters concerning the estates 
 and the expenses inherent on the building of her convent. 
 In her voice the old harsh, authoritative tones were heard 
 still more, her irritability had increased with age and had 
 laid a mark on her homely face. 
 
 "We see you very little," said she, addressing Michail. 
 "I only hear of your successes in society. At your age the 
 world can still amuse you, but when you get older you will
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 167 
 
 be glad to escape from it. . . . And so you find, August 
 Lvovitch, that the stud could bring in more profit? The 
 Prince, however, desires to suspend it altogether. You 
 hear, Alexei ?" 
 
 " I hear, I hear. Up to now the stud has been a dead 
 loss," said the Prince indifferently. 
 
 " You would be pleased perhaps. Your Excellency, to look 
 through the estimates; I have brought them. . . ." 
 
 "Good heavens, what a dull dinner!" thought Michail, 
 and regretted that he had been persuaded to come. 
 
 "Will you not come to my apartments after ten o'clock? 
 I have some people coming. Maybe in your honour Prince 
 Alexei Vassilievitch will show himself to my guests," said 
 the Princess to Michail when he was making his adieux 
 after dinner. 
 
 Michail assured her that neither he nor Prince Alexei 
 would be free before two hours past midnight, as . . . 
 and here he poured out such a stream of excuses that the 
 Prince hastened to leave the room. 
 
 "Well, my friend, I see that you are past master in the art 
 of finding excuses. And I have now been learning it 
 twenty-five years, and still have not acquired it. . . ." 
 
 " Say, please, have you heard the great news about 
 Volynsky ?" asked the Prince when they entered the car- 
 riage to go to the palace of the Duchess for the rehearsal. 
 
 " I have heard of it. Do you think it is true ?" 
 
 " It looks like it, it looks very much like it. They say that 
 after Easter they are going abroad together. He has good 
 taste, Volynsky; for a wife he had Nathalie, for a lover he 
 has the Duchess."
 
 IX 
 
 The performance held in the Duchess's palace for the 
 benefit of the poor of the town was very brilliant. The 
 whole Court was present, the receipts were more than 
 could be expected, the performers had a great success. 
 Most of the applause fell to the share of Aline and her 
 partner, Michail. Aline in her role of grande coquette was 
 irresistibly charming; her head was quite turned by the 
 praises, applause, and the rapturous kisses rained on her 
 little hands. After the theatre there was a ball. The 
 Duchess, resplendent in her happiness and her diamonds, 
 Carina, Baroness Shellman, and Aline were the belles of the 
 ball, with their beauty and dresses. Each of them had a 
 brilliant cavalier, and the Duchess with Volynsky, Carina 
 with the Duke Vladimir, Baroness Shellman with Michail, 
 and Aline with Prince Bibiche were the centres round 
 which were grouped attention, curiosity, and conjectures. 
 Michail, wishing to excite Aline's jealousy, did not move 
 from the Baroness's side, but Aline was utterly absorbed' 
 in her own cavalier, and did not pay any attention to anyone 
 else Prince Bibiche was imploring her not to return to 
 Moscow, to stay the Easter holidays in Petersburg; Aline 
 was consenting to everything, although she did not know at 
 the time how she would be able to arrange it, as her money 
 was spent, and she only had just enough to take her home. 
 She did not want to spoil her impressions of the ball, and 
 laid all her cares aside until the next day, to prolong the 
 happy feeling of her own and the Prince's love. She hoped 
 that Prince Bibiche would pass from admiration to love, 
 and she was happy to listen to his tender entreaties not to 
 go away, not to destroy the enchantment. 
 
 Meantime Prince Alexei Vassilievitch, immediately after 
 
 1 68
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 169 
 
 the performance, was carefully pushing his way through 
 the brilliant crowd, replying to many respectful bows, 
 greetings, and handshakes, and trying to espy somewhere 
 the modest figure of Marie Gourakina. His aide-de-camp 
 had just respectfully handed him a note from the Princess : 
 "Old Gourakina is taken ill; let Marie come home at once." 
 
 Marie, swept aside by the crowd, was standing in a corner 
 of the ball-room and watching Michail, who was whisper- 
 ing something to the Baroness, so that she did not at once 
 see Prince Alexei, who was making signs to her from afar. 
 He gave her his wife's note and proposed to call her 
 nephew, but Marie asked him not to spoil his pleasure. 
 With a changed face Marie took the Prince's arm and 
 hastened to leave the ball. The Prince ordered his carriage 
 to be brought round and went with her. 
 
 After her daughter's departure old Gourakina suddenly 
 felt worse, and leaving the drawing-room, where for the 
 last two days she had been half lying on her long chair, she 
 went to her bedroom and lay down. About midnight she 
 became feverish and delirious. Miss Jones sent for the 
 doctor, who found his patient in a dangerous state. Miss 
 Jones had then sent word to Prince Alexei's house. When 
 Marie entered her mother's bedroom Miss Jones was stand- 
 ing near the bed and holding an ice-bag to her mother's 
 forehead. She laid her finger on her lips to show that the 
 patient was sleeping. Marie came up softly and bent over 
 her mother; the old woman was breathing heavily and in 
 gasps; her hot hand lay above the counterpane, and the 
 fingers were moving convulsively and unceasingly. Marie, 
 her eyes full of tears, passed into her own room to divest 
 herself of her ball-dress. Prince Alexei exchanged a few 
 words with the old grey-haired family practitioner, Karl 
 Ivanovitch Lindes, who had attended the Gourakins for 
 over twenty-five years. 
 
 " Science cannot work miracles," he was saying, shaking 
 his old head, with his long and reddish nose. " Advanced 
 age and very weak heart." 
 
 Prince Alexei and the doctor left at five in the morning, 
 Marie had persuaded Miss Jones to lie down, but she
 
 170 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 herself would not quit her mother for an instant. Mme. 
 Gourakina was still lying in the same immovable condition. 
 By the morning the delirium left her, but the eyes were 
 closed ; the fever had abated, the face was drawn and of a 
 pTPvish pallor; on the temples and the cheeks were deep 
 hollows. Weak moans issued from the half open, dry lips, 
 together with the breath. 
 
 " Mamma, dearest, darling mamma, do you hear me ? I 
 am here, I am with you . . ." Marie kept asking softly, 
 stroking her mother's hand, but the old woman lay as 
 immovable as before, and Marie, driving back her tears, 
 pressing her handkerchief to her lips to keep back the sobs, 
 with a heavy sigh resumed her seat at the head of the bed, 
 and without taking her eyes off her mother's face watched 
 her breath, her smallest movement. 
 
 The doctor arrived in the morning; he shook his head, 
 prescribed new medicines, said the patient was not to be 
 disturbed, and promised to come again in three hours. 
 Michail came after him. Stepping softly, and trying not 
 to make a noise with his spurs, he came to his grand- 
 mother's bed and, bending down, lightly laid his lips on the 
 strangely pale plump hand. 
 
 "Mishenka! . . . You? ..." 
 
 The old woman suddenly opened her eyes, and with an 
 evident effort lifted her hand and laid it on her grandson's 
 head. 
 
 " I have been waiting for you and Marie. . . . Why is she 
 not here ?" she said in a weak voice, without taking her 
 intent gaze off the face of her grandson, who had sunk 
 down on his knees beside her. 
 
 " Mamma, I am here. ... I have been here all the time; 
 I have not left you for a single second. . . . Look at me 
 . . . darling mamma. . . ." 
 
 Tears were streaming from Marie's eyes. She knelt 
 down beside Michail and carefully transferred her mother's 
 hand to her own head. Gourakina turned her gaze slowly 
 on Marie's face, and it stopped there with the same dread- 
 ful intensity. 
 
 "I see you now, my dear. . . . Don't cry. . . . You
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 171 
 
 must not. ... i am very ill . . b ut I am calm. . . . Call 
 the father-confessor. ... I am ready. . . ." 
 
 The old woman closed her lips and was silent. It seemed 
 she was asleep. Michail sent for the priest and sat down 
 near the bed with Marie. About half an hour passed. 
 
 "Are you here?" asked Gourakina in a scarcely audible 
 voice, and moved her hand weakly towards them. " Do 
 not go away, stay with me . . ." she whispered. 
 
 Hardly able to keep back her sobs, Marie laid her fore- 
 head on her mother's hand, which Michail took into both 
 his. When the father-confessor arrived, the old woman 
 asked them to lift her higher on the pillows. She con- 
 fessed her sins and received the holy sacrament in full con- 
 sciousness. Her strength was failing visibly. The face 
 was hardly recognizable; a vague but dread shadow en- 
 veloped the features. The room was quite still. Prince 
 Alexei came and Baroness Kern; they stood a few minutes 
 in silence by the bed of the dying woman, exchanged a 
 sorrowful look with the grief-stricken Marie, and went out, 
 as silently, from the room where one seemed to hear the 
 rustle of death's wings. After confession the sick woman 
 lay without movement, only her shoulders and head seemed 
 to sink deeper into the high-piled pillows. When it began to 
 get dark Marie lit the candles at the other end of the room, 
 and, coming up to her mother's bed, softly laid her lips on 
 her hair. The sick woman suddenly opened her eyes and 
 looked into her daughter's eyes witli a clear gaze. 
 
 "Come nearer . . . Marie . . . Mishenka. ... I bless 
 thee and thee in the name of our Lord. . . . Misha . . . 
 give my blessing to your father and take care ... of 
 my . . . my . . ." her tongue refused to obey. The sick 
 woman turned her eyes towards her daughter and repeated 
 again, " Take care ... of her. . . ." With a great eflfort 
 she made the sign of the cross over them, closed her eyes 
 for a moment and added lower still and in a whisper: "You, 
 darling, be a comfort to him. . . . Our . . . Fa . . . 
 Father . . ." Her lips babbled incoherently, 
 
 Michail understood the wish of the dying woman, and, 
 kneeling down, began to read the Lord's Prayer in a clear,
 
 172 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 distinct voice. Marie lit last year's Passion-week candle 
 before the large ikon-case standing in the corner opposite 
 to the dying woman and repeated the words of the prayer 
 with her nephew. In the doorway stood the tall figure of 
 Miss Jones. Moving her lips in her usual fashion, she 
 knelt down on the threshold, fearing to disturb the peace 
 of death, and with eyes full of tears she gazed on the hardly- 
 to-be-recognized features of the departing one, thanking 
 her inwardly for the peaceful home that she had given her 
 solitary old age. Without a moan, without suffering, the 
 old lady quietly passed away, respected by all and deeply 
 loved by her family. Sorrowful tears ran down her 
 daughter's cheeks, but with neither sob nor moan did she 
 disturb the peace of her dying mother. Michail's eyes 
 were also full of tears. When all was over, he carefully 
 led Marie to her room, made her lie down, and stayed by 
 her side until, wearied out by her sleepless night and her 
 tears, she fell asleep.
 
 X 
 
 After the funeral Michail 'began to prepare for his de- 
 parture for Moscow. NathaHe was insistently calling him 
 home in her letters, in which signs of irritation were 
 beginning to be felt. Gourakin did not wish to forsake his 
 grief-stricken aunt, but his leave was up and he could not 
 remain longer. It was decided that Marie would go to 
 live in Moscow in the autumn to be nearer to her nephew. 
 She feared the idea of a solitary life, and the last words of 
 her dying mother to her daughter and grandson were 
 understood by them as her wish that they would be near 
 to each other. Michail decided that his beloved aunt was 
 to live with them, but he did not say anything, desiring that 
 Nathalie would be the first to mention it to Marie. Before 
 his departure he called on Aline and found her in a strangely 
 excited state. She talked very much, laughed suddenly, 
 then became thoughtful, and seemed absent-minded. 
 
 "What is the matter with you, petite Suzanne?" asked 
 Gourakin. 
 
 Aline had been so charming in her role that she was often 
 called by everyone "petite Suzanne" now. 
 
 " I do not recognize you to-day, and I cannot make out 
 whether you are joyful or sorrowful." 
 
 " There is nothing the matter with me. I am the same 
 as usual. Or no. . . . You have guessed : something has 
 happened to me. The worst is that in such moments I am 
 quite alone, I have no one to speak to, no one to turn to, 
 to ask advice of. . . ." 
 
 Aline put her hands behind her head, a customary gesture 
 of hers. 
 
 "And Prince Bibiche? He is at your feet," said Goura- 
 kin in a mocking voice. 
 
 "Leave the Prince alone. At this moment I am in need 
 
 173
 
 174 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 of someone else, of a kind, understanding friend. Listen, 
 Michail Vladimirovitch; why are you angry with me ? You 
 have a kind heart, and you must understand me ; even if 1 
 were not in love with the Prince I could not, 1 would not, 
 dare to fall in love with you. We were friends, Nathalie 
 and I ; we dreamed of our future together, we made such 
 beautiful plans, we came out together. Do you think I 
 could steal even'a bit of her happiness ? She loves you to 
 adoration, she Ts sick with love for you. To deceive her 
 with you — it would be meanness on my part. Say that I 
 am right." 
 
 "Oh, that certainly; if you take such a soul-saving stand- 
 point then there is no outlet; on your part it would be 
 meanness, on mine it would be baseness. Nathalie is a 
 saint, and I am a monster." 
 
 "You are not a monster at all, but the nicest of men. 
 But do not let us speak of this any more; I repeat to you 
 that I must have someone this moment to relieve my mind. 
 Be my friend and remember that I may be a devoted and 
 faithful friend to you. Life is long. , . . Who knows 
 what is awaiting each one of us? . . ." added Aline sor- 
 rowfully. 
 
 " Prince Bibiche is certainly awaiting you. . . . Well, 
 forgive me, forgive me — I was joking. I see that you are 
 really in trouble. What could have happened ? You need 
 not be afraid of trusting me, petite Suzanne; I will not 
 betray you." 
 
 "I do trust you; I know you are & nice man. Ah, how 
 difficult it is for me to tell you I . , , You know the be- 
 ginning. I am speaking of our meeting with the Prince, 
 of how I am not only in love with him, but I love him, you 
 understand — I love him so that I cannot think of life with- 
 out the possibility of seeing or hearing him. He is implor- 
 ing me to stay till the spring, and even for me it seems 
 monstrous to go away. And where to ? To that disgust- 
 ing place 'Motygi,' to my old foolish aunt, to the far-off 
 village, to the cows and hens ? . . . No, no ! I'd rather 
 die, be drowned. ... I cannot bear it any more. , . « 
 Anything, but not Motygi. . . .**
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 175 
 
 "Certainly Prince Bibiche is better than Motygi," said 
 Gourakin with a sly smile. 
 
 "Yes, you may well smile, because you have no idea of 
 what it is to live that dull animal life with the capricious 
 old woman. I have decided not to go away, to stay here, 
 to make the Prince understand that I love him seriously, 
 for all my life. I did not know to whom to turn for help; 
 it is no secret to you that my means are very small. I 
 wrote all frankly to Nathalie, asking her to get me some 
 money. This morning I at last got her answer. Read it 
 and tell me, what am I to do ? My thoughts are all in a 
 maze, I am simply losing my wits!" Aline gave Gourakin 
 his wife's letter. "Read it attentively, and if you know 
 anything be frank. It is better to know the truth than to 
 be in the dark." 
 
 "My Dear Aline, 
 
 " Your letter is simply the raving of an unsound 
 mind. Michail is right : you are an hysterical woman. I 
 never thought you could fall in love so rapidly. Prince 
 Bibiche is undoubtedly very interesting, and is known to all 
 Petersburg as a lover of women. Believe me, he has paid 
 his attentions to all the interesting women. But I assure 
 you he never thinks of marriage. The beautiful Gon- 
 tcharova was madly in love with him when she was not 
 married. She was an excellent parti for him, and her 
 parents greatly desired the match. He went oflF abroad. 
 Princess Valitzkaia wanted a divorce from her husband for 
 his sake — he suddenly went ofif to his estates. Do not trust 
 him, be prudent, dearest Aline. Prince Bibiche likes 
 women for his own amusement, and he remains quite cold 
 in view of the sufferings that his amusement causes 
 women's hearts. I am sending you the money, but I 
 implore you once more not to lose your head. I have 
 nothing to say of myself; I am in tortures and quite ill since 
 Michail is so far away. 
 
 "Yours, 
 
 " Nathalie.**
 
 176 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 Gourakin read the letter and handed it to AHne. 
 " What do you say ?" she asked with anxiety. 
 "Nathahe is right; I do not wish to deceive you. May- 
 be the Prince is very much in love with you, but I have 
 often heard him say that he is against marriage, and in 
 general he is a man whose love affairs are not to be taken 
 seriously." 
 
 "I shall go mad, quite mad. . . . Yesterday only he 
 said to me — and it is all untrue, all lies. . . . No, I can't 
 live so. . . . It is above my strength. . . ." 
 
 Aline, pressing her hands to her temples, moved about 
 the room restlessly. 
 
 " But we may be mistaken in this case," Gourakin 
 hastened to reassure her. " Perhaps a change has come 
 over him. It may be. Do not despair, petite Suzanne; 
 think over your position and act prudently." 
 
 "Ah, what can I do ? I have no will now; I have given 
 myself up to his fascination, I believed so implicitly all 
 that he told me." 
 
 Aline, covering her face with her hands, burst into tears. 
 " But perhaps he was not lymg. Come, control yourself, 
 make him explain himself seriously and frankly. When 
 will you see him ?" 
 
 " We have agreed to dine together at Dussaux's. . . . 
 But I will not go ... I cannot see him now." 
 
 "On the contrary, go, be as charming as usual, and make 
 him speak definitely. In love, frankness is indispensable. 
 Begin by that." 
 
 "Ah, I know nothing, nothing at all now. . . . For 
 God's sake, tell me only one thing, but tell the truth : do 
 you consider the Prince a bad man ?" 
 
 " Certainly not ! He is the nicest man, but a great cox- 
 comb, dreadfully spoilt by women, and he loves his freedom. 
 You ought not to have taken my words so tragically. Take 
 him well in hand; maybe he will give in — I gave in," said 
 Michail with a smile. 
 
 " If you were as old as the Prince is now, then most cer- 
 tainly Nathalie would not have succeeded in depriving you 
 of your liberty."
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 177 
 
 "I think you are right, and I confess that I cannot but 
 regret it." 
 
 "Yes, because Nathalie is so unreasonably jealous. As 
 to myself, you will not believe how pliable I can be in 
 family life, how I respect a man's freedom. . . . The 
 Prince might be so happy with me ! ..." 
 
 Michail said good-bye to Aline and persuaded her not to 
 put ofif her explanation with the Prince. He admired her 
 very much, and in his 'heart of hearts he hoped that she 
 would be disenchanted and return to Moscow. 
 
 On remaining alone. Aline tried several times to write a 
 letter to the Prince, but each time that she began she tore 
 up what she had written and began again. Not able to find 
 the exact words to express her anxious frame of mind, 
 Aline left the writing-table in vexation. Then she decided 
 not to write to the Prince, but when he would call for her 
 to send to tell him that she was unwell, and would not go 
 to dinner to Dussaux's. But after a while, about half an 
 hour before the moment appointed for their meeting. Aline 
 was frightened at her decision. Not to see the Prince for 
 a whole day, not to speak to him, seemed so cruel to her 
 that she began to dress in a fever of haste, thinking of the 
 impending explanation. Punctual to the minute, Prince 
 Bibiche sent word that he was there and was waiting for 
 her. Never did he seem so handsome to Aline as when she 
 saw him in the hall waiting for her as she was coming down. 
 He was smiling, and ascended several steps to meet her. 
 
 "Quel chic cpatant! Ravishing as ever!" said he with 
 a look at her plush cloak and its bright-coloured lining. 
 At the door stood the Prince's elegant brougham with a 
 pair of black horses. As soon as they had started the 
 Prince took possession of Aline's hand. 
 
 " All last night I was drinking to your health. What 
 have you done with me ? I cannot sleep at all. I had a 
 mad longing at two o'clock to come to you, wake you up 
 and carry you off somewhere, but I controlled myself and 
 went to Borel's instead. But I did not forget you a single 
 moment. . . . And you, petite Suzanne, did you think of 
 m€?" 
 
 12
 
 178 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 * Oh, I have been thinking too much, too much . . and 
 I have decided to let you knov/ all my thoughts." 
 
 " Very well, I am all attention." 
 
 "No, not at once. At dinner it w^ill be more cosy, and 
 with a glass of champagne I will be more eloquent." 
 
 " I submit to your will and I am entirely in your power," 
 answered Prince Bibiche, gazing at Aline with eyes in 
 which she could feel the strength and recognition of her 
 own, not another's, power. 
 
 "After dinner we shall go for a drive to the Islands," 
 said Prince Bibiche, entering a private room of the re- 
 staurant and helping Aline to take off her cloak. " I told 
 the coachman to come for us with the sleigh and to bring 
 a rug for you. Soon the snow will thaw and the road will 
 be spoilt. Are you agreed ?" 
 
 "That will depend on our conversation, Prince charmant. 
 We wiii either go to the Islands or you will take me home, 
 and then . . . then I will return to Moscow to-morrow. . . ." 
 
 " You, to Moscow ? To-morrow, even ? What an 
 idea! Why should you go to Moscow? That will not 
 be . . ." 
 
 " But perhaps it will be . . ." Aline sighed softly. 
 
 " Do not make me sad . . . why ? I adore you so, I 
 would do anything to please you," said the Prince, while 
 placing Aline on the sofa before the table and sitting down 
 himself on a chair. When the dinner was over and the 
 servant, having filled their glasses with champagne, went 
 out, the Prince moved nearer to Aline and looked straight 
 into her eyes. 
 
 " To-day there is something uncannily fascinating in you. 
 What eyes you have ! You wanted to tell me something. 
 I am all attention. I will catch each word of yours and 
 will not cease to admire you. . . . May I smoke ?" 
 
 The Prince got his cigarette-case, and carefully took out 
 a cigarette with his white, well-cared-for fingers with the 
 rosy nails, then closed the case, put it away into his pocket, 
 lit the cigarette, and waving the smoke away from Aline 
 with his hand, leaned his arm on the table and with a smile 
 in his eyes looked at her.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 179 
 
 " Prince, dear Prince, tell me the truth. Do you love me 
 very much ?" began Aline with sudden determination. 
 
 " Do I love you ? I adore you." 
 
 " But how, how do you love me ?" 
 
 " Ma foi! I love you very much. ... I am ready to do 
 anything to win your love in return." 
 
 " Dear Prince, but if it is only for your amusement, then 
 I have decided to go away. ... I cannot, cannot suffer so. 
 ... I love you myself, and much more than you think." 
 
 " What do you mean by * for amusement or not for amuse- 
 ment'? I do not understand that at all. One loves as 
 one loves." 
 
 " Yes, certainly one cannot force one's heart, but now I, 
 for instance, feel that I love you for ever. Happen what 
 may, my love for you will not cease. And you ?" 
 
 " I never guarantee the future, but I must admit that I 
 never thought of a woman so much as I have thought of 
 you, and I cannot agree to lose you. . . . Oh no!" 
 
 Aline felt her heart beat wildly; she half closed her eyes 
 and waited trembling what the Prince would say. The 
 silence lasted a whole minute. Prince Bibiche took his 
 cigarette out of his mouth, put it carefully against the 
 edge of the ash-case, and, coming over to the sofa, sat 
 down beside Aline and took both her hands in his. 
 
 " I understand why you have begun this conversation, 
 petite Suzanne. Now hear me out. I will be frank with 
 you; I will not say a single word that is not true. I love 
 you, and I love you more than I have ever loved anyone 
 until now, but I cannot make you my wife. I hate mar- 
 riage, because I do not believe in it. I have so often 
 deceived husbands with their most dear and loving wives 
 that I have lost all respect for marriage. I know that if I 
 marry my wife will also deceive me, as frequently other 
 wives have deceived with me the most interesting and hand- 
 some husbands. If you cease to love me, then you will 
 leave me, but you will not deceive me, and I will not cease 
 to respect either you or myself. But to risk both your and 
 my own love, to tie up our mutual freedom, and then to fear 
 that I am deceived — no, a hundred times no I I do not
 
 i8o THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 dispute the fact that maybe you, as my wife, would never 
 deceive me, but from the moment that you would become 
 my wife, I would cease to trust you, for the sole reason that 
 I would constantly be thinking- of the dear women who, 
 even loving their husbands, often used to lie in my arms. 
 You are free, beautiful, you have no children — why should 
 you fear free love ? I am a man of the world, and would 
 never compromise you." 
 
 " I fear free love in the same way as you fear marriage," 
 said Aline in a sinking voice. 
 
 " Were you so happy with your husband ?" 
 
 " Oh no ! I was very unhappy." 
 
 " Then what is the reason ? I do not understand you." 
 
 " How can I be sure of my happiness if I know that at 
 any moment you may leave me ? . . ." 
 
 "And do you think that being your husband I would not 
 leave you if I ceased to love you ? Petite Suzanne, you 
 know me very little. I know no other bonds except those 
 of love. I may be a very bad husband, but I can be a very 
 faithful friend to the woman whom I love. Ask from me 
 whatever you like, I am ready to sacrifice anything, but 
 not marriage. ... If you want, I will take a year's leave, 
 and no one will know how and where I hide with you 
 abroad. ... If you like, I will swear to be faithful, not to 
 look at another woman. . . . Anything you want, petite 
 Suzanne, only not marriage. If you will attain your pur- 
 pose and make me marry you, then, believe me, it will be 
 the grave of our love." 
 
 Aline was crying softly, her head on her hands, which 
 were crossed on the table. The Prince put his arm round 
 her waist very gently and in an insinuating whisper began 
 telling her how he loved her and would be ready to fulfil 
 all her wishes. Aline was crying over her crushed dreams. 
 She knew that she could have made the Prince a happy 
 husband; she knew that for a kind cosy home she would 
 have given him her soul, her heart, all her thoughts. At 
 the same time she could discern unfeigned sincere feeling 
 in the sound of his voice. She was unable to tear from her 
 heart the love that had sprung up in it. According to her
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN i8i 
 
 decision she would have to leave to-morrow and never see 
 the Prince any more, but she foresaw that she would not 
 have the power to part with him, and she was now weeping 
 bitter, heavy tears. 
 
 "Am I then such a bad man? Have you then not a 
 shadow of confidence in me, that it seems so dreadful to 
 you to love me as a friend ? . . . Dear me, do not cry so. 
 ... I cannot see you suffering so. . . . Well, try me in 
 any way you like. ... I implore you, chere enfant, stop 
 crying. You upset me so, I cannot even think." 
 
 Little by little Aline became calmer. The Prince took 
 her head tenderly and laid it on his shoulder, and began to 
 stroke her hair with a caressing movement, and like a 
 distant murmur she heard his words of love and tenderness. 
 Her thoughts were in a whirl. To go back to her dreary 
 life, to leave the Prince, she simply could not, and at the 
 same time the fear that he would cease to love her, that he 
 might leave her, froze her brain. There was no outlet. 
 Nothing remained to her but to tread the path on to which 
 her poor weak heart was calling her. She knew that 
 struggle was useless — she could not bear separation from 
 him. Tired out by her sorrow, she now felt herself lulled 
 by the tender tones of his insinuating voice; his hand was 
 touching her hair so lovingly, it was so sweet to forget all 
 the difficulties of her dull lonely life. She thirsted for 
 happiness. It was here, it was beckoning to her, calling to 
 her with persuasive whispers, and she, shedding tears over 
 her unfulfilled dream, let herself be tempted, and with a 
 passionate impulse threw her arms round the Prince's neck.
 
 XI 
 
 On his return to Moscow Gourakin found his wife grown 
 thinner and her nerves very much unstrung. 
 
 She went to meet him at the station, and on seeing him 
 arrive she threw herself on his neck, sobbing. 
 
 "No, Misha, I cannot remain so long without you," she 
 said, fondling him. " I have worn myself out. ... I have 
 imagined such dreadful things. I cried nearly every day, 
 and you were amusing yourself there and not thinking of 
 us. Fancy only, you have been away a whole month." 
 
 " That is not so much, Nathalie ! " said Michail with a 
 good-natured smile. 
 
 " Not much for you . . . you were taken up with other 
 things, but for me the month seemed endless. Besides, 
 uncle has become quite strange. I do not understand what 
 has come to the old man. He is raging and storming. 
 Moissei Borisovitch does not know what to do with him. 
 He says that if this is to continue, he will leave. All of a 
 sudden he decided to make a general revision : he finds 
 fault with all the accounts, his voice is heard scolding all 
 over the house. It is simply impossible. He wants me to 
 help him to check the accounts. It is such gibberish that 
 I have an attack of migraine after two hours' work." 
 
 " How did all this begin ?" 
 
 " On account of some trifle. He had noticed that there 
 were two pounds of candles extra in one of the accounts. 
 He dismissed the butler, fined the footman. Then he found 
 out extra expenses in the stables, and his anger fell on the 
 head of Moissei Borisovitch. Since then it has been going 
 on. We have had such scenes that I wanted to telegraph 
 to you. An insupportable old man! He makes everyone 
 lose patience. He was sending all yesterday to know 
 when you were coming back." 
 
 182
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 183 
 
 Nathalie related to her husband all that had been hap- 
 pening in his absence. The children were quite well. Little 
 Mimi threw herself into his arms with a glad cry, and it 
 was quite impossible to get her to return to the nursery. 
 He took his little favourite on his lap, and she fell asleep so. 
 
 On the next morning Michail had just sat down to his 
 morning coffee when Dounaisky sent for him to come 
 immediately; he left his breakfast and hastened to him. 
 The old man was waiting for him, standing in the middle 
 of the room, muttering and gesticulating. Gourakin had 
 hardly crossed the threshold than he began to scream in a 
 squeaky, irritated voice : 
 
 " No, you just think ! They are all robbing me. 
 Swindlers ! And that cursed Jew Moissei Borisovitch is 
 with them. ... A muddle in all the accounts. I will have 
 them all kicked out. ... I have ordered that all the 
 account-books be brought here. . . . Swindler! . . . Vil- 
 lain ! , . . Thief ! . . . I have not slept for four nights 
 through him. Nathalie is a regular fool ; she cannot check 
 the simplest accounts. . . . Why are you standing? Sit 
 down. There is a lot to do. I thought you were going to 
 remain there altogether. I hear you have buried your 
 grandmother. Soon you will be taking me there also. 
 Your Nathalie is quite crazy; she has been crying here 
 without you, she wants to tie you to her skirt. . . . She 
 got a letter from Petersburg saying that you are a sort of 
 irresistible Don Juan." 
 
 The old man smiled, and suddenly his wrinkled face with 
 the greyish-yellowish tinge looked brighter, and even 
 attractive. 
 
 " If it is necessary I will write to the Governor-General 
 myself and ask for an extension of your leave, and you do 
 me a favour, make a round of the estates and check the 
 accounts in the books of tliat Jewish scamp Moissei 
 Borisovitch." 
 
 At the mention of the steward's name the old man's brows 
 again knit themselves into a frown, and his face regained 
 its spiteful expression. He began pacing up and down the 
 study, nervously drawing around him the folds of his grey
 
 i84 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 dressing-gown and taking pinches of snuff from the snuff- 
 box given him by the Emperor Nicholas I. 
 
 " Get the account-books from that cupboard and sit down 
 here. I shall send for that scamp directly. He has made 
 such a muddle of the accounts of the Saratoff estate that I 
 could not find my way out all the evening yesterday." 
 
 Moissei Borisovitch made his appearance an hour later, 
 pale and gloomy. Old Dounaisky glanced at him over his 
 spectacles, opened a thick corded book, and began to show 
 with his finger the figures at the bottom of the pages. 
 
 " What have you stuck here ? What are these sums ? 
 From where have you dug them out ?" he asked in a sort 
 of whisper, keeping his rage down. 
 
 "I have reported to Your High Excellency that these 
 are the totals, that " 
 
 " Reported ! . . . You have reported . . . you scamp 
 . . . swindler ! . . . You Christ-betrayer ! . . . You have 
 grown rich. . . . You have grown rich, old devil . . ." 
 Dounaisky suddenly stamped his feet and screamed out 
 hoarsely, his voice breaking on the high notes. 
 
 Moissei Borisovitch in despair wiped the perspiration 
 from his brow with his pocket-handkerchief. He tried to 
 explain, but Dounaisky would not give him time to do so, 
 and, turning over the pages and passing his finger, quite 
 bent from rheumatism, along the columns of figures, con- 
 tinued to pour forth reproaches and abuse. 
 
 " Michail Vladimirovitch, put yourself in my place, for 
 God's sake; explain the accounts. . . ." Moissei Boriso- 
 vitch turned in his despair to Gourakin. 
 
 "He will put himself in your place; wait a bit. . . . He 
 will. . . . To-morrow he will go and make a revision of all 
 the estates. You thought, I am old, and you would have 
 it all your way to fill your pockets. Wait, brother, wait. 
 . , . After the revision I will bring you before the 
 court. . . ." 
 
 All day long Dounaisky kept Michail busy over the 
 account-books. Not being in the course of affairs, not 
 understanding the co-ordination of the accounts, Michail 
 felt that towards evening his head began to ache. The old
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 185 
 
 man did not leave him, and only hindered his work, con- 
 stantly interrupting him and putting himself into senseless 
 and unrestrained rages against the steward. In the even- 
 ing Dounaisky let him go, after making him promise that 
 he would obtain an extension of his leave in the morning 
 and immediately start to work on the revision of the 
 estates. Gourakin went upstairs tired out from the work 
 and the fits of rage of the old man. 
 
 "Undoubtedly, our General has been too hasty, and is 
 letting his rage get the better of him," said Michail to his 
 wife, sitting down to tea; "but that Moissei Borisovitch 
 is not quite faultless is quite clear to me." 
 
 "At any rate, he is not a swindler," remarked Nathalie. 
 " Uncle was the same all his life : one day he trusts a person 
 and another he suspects everyone." 
 
 "Perhaps he is not a swindler exactly, but it seems to me 
 that our respected Moissei Borisovitch is rather a bit of a 
 thief. You should see his phiz" — Michail burst into a ring- 
 ing laugh — " he kept taking off his spectacles, putting them 
 on again, sniffing, shrugging his shoulders, wiping the 
 perspiration from his forehead, and only mumbling : ' Your 
 High Excellency.' . . ." 
 
 Michail imitated the steward so well that Nathalie 
 laughed with him. 
 
 The next morning, as soon as Gourakin returned from 
 the Governor-General, after having obtained the extension 
 of his leave, a footman ran up to ask him to hasten to 
 descend, as His Excellency was very ill. Michail rushed 
 downstairs, followed by Nathalie. Dounaisky was sitting 
 in his armchair before the writing-table. His head was 
 leaning on one side, the eyes had a glassy stare; one hand 
 was hanging helplessly over the arm of the chair, the other 
 was moving pitifully and convulsively on the table, which 
 was strewn with account-books in great disorder. The old 
 man was removed to his bed. His eyes stared without any 
 meaning; he was unconscious, and only his left hand con- 
 tinued to move unceasingly. A doctor was sent for. Some 
 remedies were applied. Towards evening his eyes were 
 clearer, and he managed to make known his wishes by
 
 i86 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 choked, half-intelligent sounds. After long and vain efforts 
 on the part of those who were near him, it was understood 
 that he desired that his bed be carried into his study. With 
 muffled steps, talking in whispers, trying not to push against 
 anything, they succeeded in bringing the narrow iron bed, 
 on which lay the body of the small, wizened old man, 
 gazing impassively straight before him, into the great gloomy 
 study, and placing it near the secretaire, where his papers 
 were kept. Towards the night Nathalie had her bed made 
 on the cold leather sofa, but the patient began to mumble 
 restlessly, and the right hand, which was less paralyzed 
 than the left one, moved impatiently and fitfully on the 
 counterpane. Nathalie, desiring to guess the meaning of 
 the indistinct, incoherent sounds, bent down over him. The 
 right eye stared at her angrily, and the cheek worked con- 
 vulsively under the vain efforts. It took some time to 
 understand that Dounaisky demanded that Michail should 
 remain with him for the night. When the old man saw 
 that Michail came instead of Nathalie, and in his warm 
 dressing-gown took his place in a large leather armchair 
 near his bed, he became calmer and closed his eyes. On the 
 writing-table two candles were burning under a green shade, 
 and the enormous room, with the uncouth, dark, cumbrous 
 furniture, seemed to be enveloped in an ominous semi- 
 obscurity. The camp-bed with the dying old man gave it 
 a still more uncanny aspect. Dounaisky's valet had been 
 ordered to lie down in the next room. Michail, tired out 
 with the cares of the preceding day, leant his head on the 
 high back of the armchair and, stretching out his legs in 
 their soft morocco slippers, shut his eyes and fell into a 
 doze. An immovable and, it seemed, watchful silence 
 reigned in the room. One of the candles began to run. 
 Its flame, springing up and wavering, threw shadows on 
 the ceiling and walls. Gourakin was snoring softly and 
 evenly. The old man opened his eyes and gave a slow look 
 all round the room. Something seemed to quiver on the 
 immovable, ashen-grey face, as if a shade had passed over 
 it. The eyes had a conscious and sorrowful look. They 
 • turned slowly towards Gourakin and stopped on his peace-
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 187 
 
 ful sleeping face. The right hand, lean, dried up and veiny, 
 tugging, trembling, and convulsively clutching at the 
 counterpane, was trying to raise itself and could not. After 
 many and vain efforts it lay quite still. Two large tears 
 flowed slowly, slowly down the old wrinkled cheeks and fell 
 on the pillow. The eyes, with their look of mortal anguish, 
 fastened on Michail's face, woke him. Slowly, struggling 
 with the sleepiness which was overpowering him, he opened 
 his eyes and heard a low moan. He bent down towards the 
 old man and, becoming suddenly wide awake, met the sad 
 look of his eyes. 
 
 " Uncle, what is it ? Do you want anything ?" asked 
 Michail anxiously. 
 
 The old man closed his eyes for a second, sighed heavily, 
 and again his anguished look was turned on Gourakin. 
 Michail felt an inexpressible pity for the old man. He 
 took his hand and, holding it between his own, murmured 
 kind and soothing words. By the morning the old man 
 seemed to feel easier. From his long and unintelligible 
 muttering it was understood that he wanted to ^ee the 
 steward. Moissei Borisovitch came up to him, arid sud- 
 denly his eyes filled with tears. The old man looked at him 
 and moved his hand. Moissei Borisovitch bent down and 
 kissed the feeble helpless hand that but so lately pointed to 
 the totals in the account-books trembling with anger. The 
 patient, after his peace with Moissei Borisovitch, became 
 much calmer. In the evening he felt worse again. He 
 became unconscious. The doctor came, but the old man's 
 state was hopeless. Without regaining consciousness he 
 died in the night. 
 
 He had no other relations besides Nathalie, and there 
 was no one to weep over his coffin. The funeral was very 
 pompous. A great number of people, especially officers, 
 followed the body to the grave; a whole array of clergy in 
 their rich robes followed the coffin of the well-known 
 General, and the sounds of the funeral march rose in solemn 
 and grave strains towards the heavens.
 
 XII 
 
 DouNAisKY had left all his fortune of several millions to 
 Nathalie, under the condition that her husband should 
 manage the property. Although he was very old, it was 
 only during the last summer that he had not made the tour 
 of his estates, but had remained throughout that season 
 in his largest estate of Saratoff, which was his favourite 
 one ; but he had seen to all the accounts, and Moissei Boriso- 
 vitch was frequently obliged to pass through stormy scenes 
 and to listen to abuse, reproaches, and accusations of theft. 
 Dounaisky's affairs were in order and the estates more or 
 less under control. 
 
 Gourakin made the tour of all the estates, examined all 
 the accounts, and checked the books, and came to the con- 
 clusion that Moissei Borisovitch was not quite without 
 guile. His first impulse was to dismiss the steward, but 
 Nathalie took his part warmly, and persuaded her husband 
 to leave him. 
 
 " Whatever we do, we cannot be without Moissei Boriso- 
 vitch at present," said Nathalie to her husband. " He has 
 been managing the affairs so many years, and he knows 
 them all, whereas you, as a newcomer, may not master them 
 all at once. Besides, we must not forget that he has been 
 very useful to us in getting money for us during these 
 years. . . ." 
 
 "Don't forget either that the money came out of the 
 pocket of your uncle, as it appears," objected Michail. 
 
 "Well, we did not know it. Still, he has often helped us 
 out. Give him to understand that he is to be more careful 
 in future, but please do not dismiss him. You know how 
 miserly and suspicious uncle was, and still he kept him so 
 many years." 
 
 Thus it was decided that the steward was to remain for
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 189 
 
 the time being; Moissei Borisovitch was informed somehow 
 that were it not for NathaHe's intercession he would have 
 lost his place. From that moment he cherished a grudge 
 against Michail, but he hid it deeply in his heart, remaining 
 outwardly the same devoted and faithful servant. At the 
 end of the summer Gourakin removed with his family to 
 the large patrimonial domain of Tashooki, in the govern- 
 ment of Saratoff. The six thousand dessiatins of fields and 
 forests seemed to extend without end. Michail went there 
 first, prepared everything for the arrival of his family, and 
 after a few days drove forth at sunrise to meet them at the 
 station. Nathalie, although tired by the journey, seemed 
 fresh and gay, and nestled fondly in her husband's arms. 
 The sun was gilding with his slanting rays the fields and 
 trunks of the pines in the woods. The open carriage with 
 the four horses abreast flew along the well-kept road, the 
 brougham with the children and their governess and nurse 
 following behind. 
 
 Nathalie felt very happy; it was decided to spend the 
 autumn in the country, and Nathalie yearned to be in the 
 old house of her family, which, if but for a short time, would 
 enable her to have Michail to herself alone. No evening 
 parties, balls, or theatres would take him from her and 
 bring anxiety and cares to her jealous heart. 
 
 Marie was to come from Petersburg soon, but her 
 presence would not be an impediment to their happiness. 
 Nathalie foresaw that Marie would occupy herself with the 
 children, of whom she spoke with such tenderness in her 
 letters. On entering the house and looking it all over, 
 Nathalie embraced her husband and laid her head on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " I feel that we will be happy here," whispered she. 
 
 All the servants heartily welcomed their new mistress 
 with bread and salt, and they were very pleased with the 
 beautiful lady, so gay and generous. 
 
 A week later Gourakin went to meet his Aunt Marie at 
 the same small railway station. She came out of the train 
 in deep mourning, with a long crape veil, looking much 
 older, her face thinner and very sad. On seeing Michail, she
 
 190 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 cried. She remembered their last evening near the bed of 
 her dying mother. Michail kissed her with a brother's 
 tenderness. He was happy that she had consented to come 
 and hve with them, that her heart was open for love to his 
 children, and even to his wife. He knew that she had long 
 ago made her peace with Nathalie, and was ready to love 
 her. While they were driving in the carriage Michail told 
 her of his new work, and Marie saw that he was interested 
 in the management of the property and that he did not feel 
 dull in the country. 
 
 "There is so much to do here, Aunt Marie, one may do 
 so much good, that I assure you one cannot be dull. I am 
 busy from morning till night. Nathalie is also very much 
 interested in all the property; she is arranging the house to 
 her taste, and we do not remark how the time flies. Next 
 year we will call on our neighbours; there are many here, 
 and, they say, some are very nice." 
 
 Meanwhile the carriage had approached the park. 
 Through a long avenue of pines they skirted a large pond 
 with sloping banks, covered with greensward, and with a 
 picturesque summer-house set on a small island. Farther 
 on the carriage passed a white marble obelisk in the middle 
 of a green lawn, which was lit up by the morniiig sun. In 
 the distance a little white house with a Grecian portico 
 peeped through the trees. Small lawns with groups of 
 birches, ashes, and pines were well kept. The carriage 
 rolled up to a long, two-storied house built in the style of 
 the Alexander the First epoch. All the house was still 
 asleep, only the servant who was waiting for them came out 
 and carried in the hand luggage. Stepping softly and talk- 
 ing in whispers, Michail conducted Marie to the room which 
 was to be hers, looked around to see that all was ready for 
 her, kissed her once more, and left her, closing the door 
 behind him. Marie sank down wearily in her hat and 
 travelling cloak into an armchair and looked around. Near 
 the chair, on a small table, stood a large nosegay of freshly 
 cut roses; on a piece of paper laid in the nosegay there was 
 written, " Soyes la bicnvcnue, chcre Marie." 
 
 Marie smiled and, bending her face towards the roses,
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 191 
 
 inhaled their tender perfume. She was pleased with this 
 attention on Nathalie's part. Her room looked out towards 
 the flower-garden. Large flower-beds, steps leading from 
 the terrace towards the ponds, and bright, yellow-sanded 
 paths. Marie closed the windows and began to undress. 
 The room with its ancient furniture had a look of comfort. 
 A large mahogany toilet-table carved by hand, a washstand 
 with its silver basin and ewer ornamented with chased 
 silver; a few costly old prints, a work-table of the time of 
 Catherine the Great, the low ceilings, oaken doors, and 
 shutters on the windows — all seemed to tell of the former 
 owners of this old patriarchal estate. Marie remembered 
 the country house where her childhood had been passed 
 and where her brother, Michail's father, was now living 
 alone ; she remembered also her stately and outwardly proud 
 mother, with whom all her past life from day to day was 
 joined, the life that had passed so quickly, so strangely 
 quickly, that it all seemed a dream now. . . . Marie sat 
 down on her bed and, running her fingers through the ends 
 of her long thick hair, fell into a deep reverie. She was 
 alone now; after burying her mother, under whose wing 
 she had lived from her earliest childhood without noticing 
 how the years went by and how day by day her yovith was 
 fading, Marie suddenly awoke to the fact that her life was 
 over without having brought her a single hour of personal 
 happiness, that in the past she had no memories and could 
 have no hopes for the future. Some more colourless years 
 would go by, and she would become quite old, in her role 
 of beloved aunt, all her interest? and her love given to 
 another's children. It seemed to her that there was some- 
 thing pitiful and humiliating in her fate. . . . One after 
 another the tears rolled slowly down her cheeks and fell 
 into her lap. A door creaked, and someone stepping softly 
 in the corridor outside passed her room. In the window 
 she saw a gardener sweeping the paths. . . . All this was 
 strange to Marie, all were strangers, the house was a 
 stranger too, the whole life. . . . Stifling a heavy sigh, 
 Marie, following the habit of her childhood, knelt down 
 beside her bed and began to say her prayers. At first she
 
 192 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 repeated the words half-heartedly. When she came to the 
 prayer for the repose of her mother's soul, Marie pressed 
 her folded hands under her chin and with strong feeling and 
 faith turned all her heart to God. . . . "You, darling, be 
 a comfort to him . . ." the last words of her dying mother 
 passed through her mind, and brought a ray of light to her 
 sorrowing soul. 
 
 " My destination, my fate, is to be with Misha. Before 
 her death mamma gave me an object in life; that means it 
 must be so . . ." said Marie with a sigh of submission, 
 lying down between the cool linen sheets. Tired out with 
 her journey, she was soon fast asleep and woke up and left 
 her room when all the rest had breakfasted long ago. On 
 the threshold of the terrace Nathalie came forward to meet 
 her. In her light muslin dress with a deep red rose in her 
 wavy hair near her ear, with a bright colour on her cheeks 
 and a glad smile of welcome on her lips, she seemed to 
 Marie handsomer than she had been three years ago. 
 Nathalie extended both her hands and, seeing the kindly 
 look in Marie's face, put her arms round her and kissed her. 
 
 "At last we meet. I am very, very glad, dear Marie, 
 that you have decided to make us happy and to come to us. 
 Let us be good friends; I do so want it. . . . I remember 
 your kind heart." 
 
 Nathalie's words sounded sincere, and Marie felt a sym- 
 pathy towards her which she never felt before, when she 
 used to meet her in society as the wife of Volynsky. 
 
 "Your tea will be served here, dear Marie; sit down. 
 Misha is in his study, and the children will be brought here 
 directly." 
 
 The view from the vine-covered terrace was splendid. 
 The day was warm, the sky blue, and the sun brightly shin- 
 ing. In the distance the two children appeared with their 
 nurse. Marie went forward to meet them. The boy, a little 
 fellow of twelve months with fat sturdy legs, plump and 
 red-cheeked, strongly resembled his father. He extended 
 his little hand and drew it away again distrustfully. Three- 
 year-old Mimi, in a white pique dress, with a small red pail 
 in her hand, was standing a little apart and smiling prettily.
 
 ' THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 193 
 
 her blue eyes looking up from under her eyebrows. She 
 put out her little hand confidently towards Marie, lowered 
 her eyes, allowed herself to be kissed, and then, suddenly 
 taking Marie by the hand, began to talk very fast. 
 
 " Small, small ... so small . . ." she said, holding up 
 two little fingers right before her nose. 
 
 " Who is so small, my little one ?" asked Marie, admiring 
 the pretty gestures and the childish prattle. 
 " Little birdie ... so small. . . ." 
 
 The little one took Marie farther into the garden to show 
 her the birdie. From that moment a friendship sprang up 
 between the two, and Marie, fascinated by the child, felt 
 for the first time since her mother's death that the sun was 
 shining kindly, that the flowers smelt sweetly, and her own 
 soul seemed to feel something tender and comforting. 
 
 " Well, how did you like my chicks, auntie ?" asked 
 Michail at lunch. " How did you find my spoilt darling Mimi ?" 
 " A charming child ! She is adorable. There is some- 
 thing so taking about her," answered Marie with feeling. 
 "Is she like me?" 
 
 " Very much like you," answered Marie unhesitatingly, 
 feeling that she would give a great pleasure to her nephew 
 by an affirmative answer, although she did not find the 
 least resemblance between father and daughter. 
 
 Nathalie, taking Marie's arm, conducted her all over the 
 large house. Their rooms were on the ground floor, the 
 reception-rooms were on the second story. A broad oaken 
 staircase, covered with a red carpet, led from the hall up- 
 wards, dividing into two turnings. 
 
 On the walls were large stuccoed arms and crests of the 
 Dounaisky race. On the second turning there was gilded 
 brass worked into the banisters. In the large white ball- 
 room the windows looked out on the pond and the best 
 part of the garden. Here in olden times Dounaisky used to 
 give balls and dinners; farther along there was a room 
 where the pictures of celebrated artists were collected. 
 Then a library and study, a corner drawing-room, and beyond 
 it a beautiful state bedroom all in rose-colour, with looking- 
 glass doors and a broad bed under a stately canopy. 
 
 13
 
 194 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 "I used to be here when I was a girl and uncle gave his 
 balls," said Nathalie. " When he was young he used not 
 to be so stingy, and he was known for his capacity of arrang- 
 ing balls and parties. Look, Marie, at this portrait; is she 
 not a beauty ? This was uncle's wife, who died young. 
 After her death he left off giving balls and dinners, and the 
 whole house seemed dead. Misha w^ants to pay some calls 
 next spring and revive the house with a big ball. You 
 know Misha; I can imagine what it will be! He will 
 astonish the whole district. . . . He is so interested in all 
 that concerns the country that I think he ought to retire 
 from military service and serve here in the county by- 
 election. We have such a fortune now that he can create 
 an excellent position for himself wherever he likes." 
 
 "Do not you think, Nathalie, that Misha is too young to 
 bury himself in the country ?" asked Marie hesitatingly. 
 
 " Why should he bury himself ? We can pass the winter 
 in Moscow. My uncle has left us a house there as well. 
 You will not believe how much good country life has done 
 Misha! He has become quite another man since he has 
 grown acquainted with its interest. Personally I do not 
 care where we live if only I am with him." 
 
 Marie understood that country hfe pleased Nathalie 
 because her husband was nearer to her and there were no 
 grounds for jealousy. 
 
 The Gourakins passed the time in the country peacefully 
 and quietly until October, and came back to Moscow, where 
 they had renovated and refurnished Dounaisky's house, 
 which was now quite changed from the gloomy old mansion 
 with the cumbrous, uncouth furniture. Now all was 
 bright and new, large mirrors reflected light and elegant 
 furniture, beautifully stuccoed ceilings, statues, paintings, 
 and all kinds of modern innovations and luxuries. Marie 
 consented to comply with the prayers of her nephew and his 
 wife and to live with them. She had her own apartments, 
 consisting of five rooms, of which one was occr^jied by 
 Miss Joncj. The latter was still busy with her yellow and 
 green scarves for the poor, who had passed under the care 
 and solicitude of Marie.
 
 XIII 
 
 The life in Moscow began to acquire a new character little 
 by little. Dinner and evening parties were given. The 
 circle of acquaintances increased rapidly, and soon all 
 Moscow spoke of the brilliant receptions at the Gourakins'. 
 Handsome Gourakin was a most cheery host and a desir- 
 able cavalier in all the drawing-rooms. Without him no 
 private theatricals or charitable bazaar could be complete. 
 He not only gave generously, but he was at the same time 
 the organizer and performer at such affairs. No social 
 picnic or troika-party was complete without him. Nathalie, 
 with her lovely dresses and singular beauty, was always 
 surrounded by a crowd of admirers and followers, which 
 were necessary to her as a balance to her husband's con- 
 quests. In society she was a coquettish, gay woman, and 
 in her heart a woman loving her husband with an illimitable 
 love and submitting to all his wishes rather than leave hira 
 alone amid the temptations of a worldly life. 
 
 Marie's apartments, with their regular and austere order 
 of living, seemed like a separate world in the noisy gay 
 house always filled with visitors. Little by little the 
 children's world joined Aunt Marie's, and while in the 
 sumptuous apartments people were dancing, singing, 
 arranging private theatricals and tableaux vivants, and 
 turning night into day, in the five rooms furnished cosily 
 with old-fashioned furniture, life went on regularly, simply, 
 and wholesomely. The children and Marie rose and went 
 to bed early, took walks together, lunched and dined at 
 regular hours. The little ones with their governess were 
 always there, as Nathalie, after her late hours, could never 
 be up in time to breakfast with her children. She was not 
 jealous of Marie's love and care for the little ones, her heart 
 
 195
 
 196 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 being chiefly taken up with her husband. As Marie had 
 taken upon herself to teach Michail in his childhood his 
 first prayers and the letters of the alphabet, so now with 
 the same loving care she undertook this task with his chil- 
 dren. Sitting beside her aunt on a high chair, little Mimi 
 learned to spell words in cubes with letters on them, or, 
 awkwardly turning the crochet-hook in her tiny hands, tried 
 to acquire the science of crochet, tangling the wool and 
 enjoying the bright colours. In the summer the family 
 went off to Tashooki and stayed there until October, 
 returning to Moscow for the winter. Michail left the 
 military sei-\'ice and busied himself with the estates. Very 
 soon, entering into all the details himself, he learnt how to 
 manage the property, and did so not worse than Moissei 
 Borisovitch himself, who was still occupying his post, at 
 the desire of Nathalie. Michail became more and more 
 convinced that Moissei Borisovitch needed a strict control, 
 and that it would be dangerous to trust him implicitly; but 
 Nathalie always stood up for him and assured her husband 
 that he was exaggerating, and that she was so used to the 
 services of the steward she could not think of anyone else 
 in his place. There were occasions when Moissei Boriso- 
 vitch, desiring to obtain Michail's consent to some trans- 
 actions the advantages of which only he alone could see, 
 addressed himself preliminarily to Nathalie. He always did ' 
 this very skilfully and prudently. It always seemed, as if 
 Nathalie, understanding at once the indisputable advantage 
 of a transaction, agreed with the opinion of the steward, 
 whereas Michail protested and would not agree. Moissei 
 Borisovitch would humbly shrug his shoulders and say in 
 an indifferent voice : " As you like, Michail Vladimirovitch 
 ... I do not dare to insist. . . ." Then Nathalie would 
 begin to dispute with her husband, and Moissei Boriso- 
 vitch's plan would succeed. With every year Gourakin 
 became more and more attached to Tashooki, and gave 
 much time and trouble to the affairs of the estate. He loved 
 forests, planted immense tracts of land with trees, and 
 watched with loving care how every new spring the grace- 
 ful rows of green young saplings grew higher and higher.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 197 
 
 He cared for the well-being of the peasants, and they loved 
 and trusted him. An assistant surgeon was engaged for 
 them, a school was being built. 
 
 "Michail Vladimirovitch is very broad in his swing," 
 Moissei Borisovitch would say with a condescending smile 
 and shaking his head, to Nathalie. " Now he is wanting to 
 buy new machines and to give the old ones to the peasants. 
 Superfluous charity ! And when I wanted to sell a piece 
 of land that we do not want for a profitable price to the 
 peasants, he was obstinate." 
 
 The piece of land of which the steward spoke was half 
 covered by a swamp, and Gourakin had forbidden him to 
 sell it, not wishing to profit by the peasants' ignorance. 
 Moissei Borisovitch in his conversations with Nathalie 
 always criticized Michail's orders, and although the revenues 
 did not decrease, but rather increased, Nathalie, without 
 remarking it herself, trusted more to the reasonings of the 
 steward than to facts themselves. 
 
 "Michail Vladimirovitch has also projected to build the 
 school unnecessarily," the steward said with regret in his 
 voice. " What do we want with a school ? The peasants 
 live like pigs. Let them first be cleaner, let them put their 
 huts in order, become less brutal, and then they may begin 
 to think of learning their letters. We shall spend a lot of 
 money on this school, and there will be no sense, no use for 
 it, my word of honour." 
 
 Listening to the arguments of Moissei Borisovitch, who 
 skilfully put forward the heavy figures showing the cost of 
 construction of the school, Nathalie used to come to the 
 conclusion that he was right, that her husband was too 
 generous with the money, and that the good to be done to 
 the peasants was rather doubtful. 
 
 " Please, Nathalie, do not irritate me with arguments 
 which have not a grain of common sense," Michail would 
 say with some warmth, when Nathalie used to reproach 
 him for not being practical enough, and bring forward 
 arguments which she had heard from the steward. "To 
 make the peasant less of a brute you must give him a bit 
 of learning. We have made him a free man. we have
 
 198 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 accomplished this godly work, now we must end it quickly, 
 and not stop in the middle." 
 
 It happened frequently that Michail used to go to his 
 aunt and complain of his wife. Then Marie would lead 
 Nathalie to talk on the subject, and word by word would 
 succeed in making her see that her nephew was right in his 
 cares for the welfare of the peasants. But in town it was 
 otherwise. In the winter Nathalie used to run in to Marie 
 in her quiet rooms on the ground floor and in great agita- 
 tion pour out her heart to her : Michail was passing too 
 many nights in restaurants, was paying court to this lady 
 or to that one; Michail came home not sober in the small 
 hours of the morning; Michail was hiding letters, naturally 
 of a romantic character; Michail, instead of returning with 
 his wife from some ball, had accompanied Madame Z., and 
 so on; the complaints, and with them the tears, flowed on 
 without ceasing. 
 
 " Do not cry, Nathalie, I will speak to Michail." Marie 
 tried to comfort her. "This may be only accidental. 
 Misha has such a good heart, and if one speaks kindly to 
 him he admits his fault and always repents of it. You, 
 Nathalie, are too hasty sometimes, and do not always under- 
 stand him. Certainly he is wrong, I do not defend him, 
 but, chere Nathalie, you must remember he is very 
 young." 
 
 " Anyhow, he is twenty-eight now ; it is time for him to be 
 steadier," Nathalie would remark irritably. 
 
 " And you are very much over thirty," Marie thought, 
 and, although sympathizing with Nathalie's griefs, pitying 
 her nephew at the same time. On the very first oppor- 
 tunity she would call him to her rooms and mildly rebuke 
 him for his careless behaviour in regard to his wife. Michail 
 would justify himself as best he could, then he would con- 
 fess his sins to his aunt and relate his adventures, which 
 turned out to be much more serious than Marie expected. 
 
 "Ah, Misha, Misha; how can you! How can you have 
 at the same time a kind heart, and brains, and love for God, 
 and so much deceit in you ?" 
 
 "But what am I to do otherwise, aunt?"
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 199 
 
 "Not deceive — it is so simple," Marie would cry, looking 
 at her nephew with reproach. 
 
 " Now, auntie, that is impossible. I cannot leave 
 Nathalie, because I have children, and because she will not 
 survive separation from me, and on the other hand I cannot 
 and will not give her all my love and thoughts " 
 
 Michail spoke positively, without passion, and Marie felt 
 in his words a serious determination. 
 
 "You understand, aunt, that Nathalie as a companion for 
 life is not suited to me. I love life and all that it comprises ; 
 Nathalie loves only me, or rather me for herself. If it were 
 not for Mimi I certainly would not have married her. You 
 reproach me for spending much money, but really, auntie, 
 I work so much in the management of her property, I guard 
 her interests and increase her revenues so well, that the 
 extra ten or twenty thousand that I throw away for my 
 own amusements make but a small item in her colossal 
 fortune." 
 
 " But how can you speak of your love for other women, 
 my boy, when you have a wife ? It is a sin, and dis- 
 honourable." 
 
 " Ah, auntie, leave aside theology and morality; the latter 
 was made to suit the people and not the people to suit the 
 morality. What do I care about morals when I cannot live 
 without enthusiasms and passions ? All my impulses, all 
 my thoughts, my forces, all my energies centre in love for 
 woman. Like a heathen I erect an altar not to one, but to 
 many gods. On my knees I burn incense and adore every 
 woman who awakes in me the happiness of love, everyone 
 who creates in me a storm of passion. If you see in me a 
 world of life and energy it is because I am constantly in 
 an atmosphere of love. Without love there is no real life. 
 If I could love one woman with such passion and for all 
 my life, you would not deem it a sin from your point of 
 view, but not all of us have the same organization of the 
 heart. My heart is made in such a way that I love each 
 new woman deeper and more passionately, as if in grati- 
 tude to her for having opened before me a new world of 
 sensations, impressions, and love for life."
 
 200 IHE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 " What v7ould mamma say if she heard you ?" Marie shook 
 her head sadly. 
 
 " She would blame me with her reason, but in her soul I 
 think she would have understood. Grand'maman had a 
 great depth of soul, and she understood things that others 
 blamed; but you also, auntie, you understand me. Your 
 soul, I feel, is akin to mine," Michail would say, kissing his 
 aunt's hand. 
 
 " I pity you, Misha. I see that you are giving yourself up 
 to your passions without restraint, and not only do not 
 struggle against them, but you rejoice in their power over 
 you. Your family suffers therefrom. Nathalie, always in 
 fear of losing you, gives up to you all her thoughts and 
 forces, and very little is left to the children's share. Mimi 
 never takes her eyes ofif you; she is a very sensitive child, 
 and, believe me, will soon begin to understand much more 
 than other children understand at her age. You must try 
 to control yourself for the sake of your children." 
 
 " No, auntie, please don't begin to frighten me with my 
 children. Do not make scarecrows for me out of their 
 dear little heads. Having such an aunt to bring them up as 
 you are, they will learn to love their father, and not criticize 
 him." 
 
 Marie's exhortations generally ended in nothing in this 
 way, and the Gourakins' life, outwardly so brilliant and 
 happy, held hidden sorrows which tortured Nathalie inex- 
 pressibly. Michail, fearing to give himself up to sad 
 thoughts, fearing to acknowledge the steadily increasing 
 discord of his family life, and at the same time, alone with 
 himself, suffering from this discord, stifled the voice of his 
 conscience and as in a dream threw himself into the vortex 
 of a life of pleasure. 
 
 After the death of his grandmother he saw his father 
 several times. Vladimir Gourakin had forgiven his son, 
 but he never expressed a wish to see 'his wife. The son was 
 happy that the quarrel was ended, and not wishing to 
 irritate his father, never raised this question. Four years 
 after his mother's death Vladimir Gourakin died at his 
 country seat, leaving his son a large fortune. On receiv-
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 201 
 
 ing his inheritance Michail felt a great relief, as the large 
 fort ane of his wife seemed to make him dependent on her, 
 and this was a heavy yoke for his proud spirit. Now the 
 knowledge of his independence made him much happier and 
 calmer, but at the same time it increased his thirst for the 
 pleasures of life, which had become easier of attainment to 
 him as a very rich man. 
 
 If Gourakin joined any feasting company, then all knew 
 that the champagne would flow in streams; the servants in 
 the restaurants received enormous tips, the orchestra and 
 the tsiganes had wines served them; for each song per- 
 formed at the request of the company they received a 
 hundred roubles. For all that was eaten and drunk and for 
 the broken crockery the fabulous accounts were sent to 
 Michail's home, and there they were paid without complaint. 
 All Moscow loved him and called him a true Russian gentle- 
 man. 
 
 One day, during the carnival week, coming out of a 
 restaurant with as much wine as he could carry, Gourakin 
 was going down the Tverskaia with a friend. Suddenly 
 they heard screams in the distance. People were running 
 to all sides in fear; the cabmen were beating their horses 
 and making them turn into the side streets. A troika was 
 tearing madly down the Tverskaia, scattering all on its 
 way. The horses with the bits between their teeth, throw- 
 ing up clouds of snow-dust, were rushing along without a 
 coachman. The lady in the sleigh, half crazy with fear, 
 was holding on to the back of the sleigh and screaming 
 desperately. 
 
 In one moment Michail ran out into the middle of the 
 street. The troika was tearing down on him. In the 
 crowd which was running away a cry of horror was heard. 
 In a second the maddened horses had run down Gourakin, 
 trampled him and then risen on their haunches, and stopped 
 still, snorting and rolling the whites of their eyes, Michail, 
 without a hat, with a side of his coat torn off, was hanging 
 on the reins, holding the horses with an iron hand under 
 their bridles. Several men rushed to his assistance. They 
 freed him. His shoulder and his leg were severely knocked
 
 202 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 about. In the evening half Moscow knew of his mad 
 courage, and his prestige grew still more. 
 
 When he was thirty years of age he had the firmly estab- 
 lished reputation of a gay, madcap comrade in revels, a 
 good-natured and careless spendthrift, a conqueror of 
 women's hearts, and a richly endowed, talented lover of 
 arts. Poor artists and musicians without engagements and 
 without money always found a friend in Gourakin. He 
 obtained engagements for them, and helped them with 
 money. Beginners received subsidies from him or he paid 
 for their lessons. Nathalie protested and quarrelled with 
 her husband. Michail used to get vexed and disappear 
 from home for whole evenings and nights, but he continued 
 to do as he liked. 
 
 Moissei Borisovitch, making up a total of all the expenses 
 for charitable purposes for a whole year, found occasion to 
 bring it to the knowledge of Nathalie. 
 
 " With every year Michail Vladimirovitch becomes more 
 generous," he began, with a good-humoured smile. "With- 
 out speaking of the peasants and all kinds of beggars, what 
 sums we have spent on artists I dare not even state!" he 
 continued, his good-humoured tone of voice changing to a 
 pitying one. "I would advise you, Nathalie Georgievna, 
 to teach these artists and singers not to reckon so much on 
 our bank account; otherwise, if we continue at such a pace, 
 it will not be difificult to be ruined." 
 
 " What are you saying, Moissei Borisovitch ! With our 
 fortune are these expenses so very great then?" objected 
 Nathalie half doubtfully, half anxiously. 
 
 " But, Nathalie Georgievna, even millions can be ex- 
 hausted. Look into the books some day. . . . The 
 expenses are unheard of this year. What the balls and 
 restaurants alone have cost ! During the three weeks that 
 Michail Vladimirovitch spent abroad he deigned to expend 
 over five thousand roubles. . . . And now he has ordered 
 me to send every month two hundred roubles to Milan for 
 the lessons of a young singer, who sang several times at 
 your evening parties. I tried to protest against this, but
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 203 
 
 he shouted at me. 'You do not understand anything,' he 
 said; ' such a voice, it is a sin not to support him.' . . . But 
 there are ma\ y artists and voices. We do not keep a con- 
 servatoire for them." 
 
 "Most certainly," said NathaHe. "I will speak to my 
 husband without fail. . . ." 
 
 " Only please leave me out of the question, Nathalie 
 Georgievna, or else there will be unpleasantness again. He 
 will say that I am poking my nose there where I am not 
 asked." 
 
 "You may be assured, Moissei Borisovitch, I will not 
 betray you; I will say that I took the books to check up a 
 lost bill and saw this unexpectedly. And you, please, send 
 up the book from the business room." 
 
 " It is madness, it is folly, to spend money in such a way," 
 Nathalie was saying to her husband a few days afterwards. 
 " It will end in your getting all our affairs out of order. . . . 
 We must not forget that we have children. . . Look, 
 please; restaurant bill, 800 roubles; restaurant bill, 630 
 roubles; restaurant bill, 540 roubles; restaurant bill, 680 
 roubles. It is incredible, Michail ! What will it be 
 farther ?" 
 
 " Spare me, spare me all these preachings, my dear, and 
 do not spoil my good humour." 
 
 " But you always seem to be in a good humour," Nathalie 
 objected irritably. 
 
 " Learn how to prize it, then. When you find that your 
 revenues are decreasing, then begin to preach, but so long 
 as I keep all in order, please exempt me from all control, 
 or perhaps you had better transfer it to your Jew, Moissei 
 Borisovitch, who nearly sold a troika of the stud horses. 
 Now he is trying to exculpate himself, but it is not so easy 
 to deceive me." 
 
 It v^as quite clear to Nathalie that a secret enmity was 
 growing between her husband and the steward. Nathalie's 
 confidence in the steward who had managed the affairs of 
 her old uncle was not shaken after Michail's words; she did 
 not doabt that he was irritated against Moissei Borisovitch
 
 204 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 because the latter did not approve of his extravagance, and 
 was utterly devoted to her personal interests. She called 
 him oftener to talk on business, and she prized the crafty 
 Jew more and more. Michail used to tease his wife, but 
 continued to look after all the affairs himself, control the 
 steward in everything, and enjoy life with inexhaustible 
 energy.
 
 XIV 
 
 At a distance of two versts from Moscow is a religious 
 house called the Voskresensky Convent. All white, with 
 its gilded cupolas, it can be seen from afar. Near the big 
 entrance gates with iron railings a nun usually sits on a low 
 footstool knitting stockings. The spring sun was now 
 warming her, and putting aside her work, she gazed often 
 for a long time into the far distance beyond the road where 
 the fields were beginning to turn green. Shading her eyes 
 with her hand, she looked attentively down the road which 
 wound its way near the woods of the convent. At last 
 behind a cloud of dust she recognized the well-known car- 
 riage drawn by a pair of handsome white horses. Not a 
 week passed but this carriage used to stop at the doors of 
 the convent on feast-days. The nun looked on with a 
 glad smile of greeting and followed with her eyes the cloud 
 of dust moving along with the carriage and dispersing 
 afterwards, driven away by the wind. The fleet horses 
 stopped at the doors, and Marie came out of the carriage, 
 followed by a pretty little fair-haired girl all in white. 
 
 " Good-morning, Your Excellency," the nun greeted the 
 newcomers with a low bow. " I have been waiting for 
 you ; I was thinking, * Why are they not coming ?' . . . The 
 bells have long ago stopped ringing." 
 
 " Marfinka darhng," said the little girl, embracing the 
 nun, " after the service come to fetch me to walk in the 
 garden." 
 
 " If the Princess will allow it, sweet little soul, I would 
 be glad to come for you," answered the nun, fondling the 
 child. 
 
 "I have brought you some apple tarties, so good I" the 
 little girl whispered into Marfinka's ear. 
 
 205
 
 2o6 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 "Thank you, little one, that you remembered me. Go on, 
 go on now; your aunt is waiting for you." 
 
 Mimi caught her aunt up and, walking along the broad 
 path which encircled the clean paved courtyard, they 
 reached the convent church. From the choir came the 
 sounds of the nuns' melodious singing. In passing their 
 rows Marie and Mimi answered their greetings, and having 
 reached their places they both knelt down. Father Fedor 
 came out of the chancel with the censer in his hand. The 
 blue smoke of the incense rose upwards in light transparent 
 waves and melted in the rays of the sun, which poured in a 
 sheaf of gold through the side window of the cupola. In 
 front, on a crimson carpet to the right of the choir, in a hood 
 and black mantle reaching to the ground, leaning on a stout 
 black staff, stood the fat, middle-aged Mother-Superior, 
 Princess Anna Valerianovna — Mother Alexandra now, 
 since she had taken the schema* Her flabby yellow face 
 looked very austere. The thin compressed lips and the fold 
 between the eyebrows denoted, as formerly, her firmness 
 of will and love of power. Behind her stood a young lay- 
 sister, and each time that she knelt down or rose from 
 her knees the sister helped her carefully and respectfully by 
 supporting her elbow. The Princess, who had been suffer- 
 ing from pains in her legs, had become quite cured since 
 she had taken the schema. She had long ago left Peters- 
 burg and lost all connection with it. At rare intervals she 
 used to go there to visit the school, which was now wholly 
 under the management of Olga Onisimovna. Otherwise 
 she led quite a hermit's life, and only saw those who came 
 to see her at the convent. When the service was over, 
 Marie went up to her with the child, and after a few words 
 of greeting they passed out together through the side doors 
 of the church into a long light gallery with high arches and 
 round windows placed very high up in the wall. The gal- 
 lery led to the chief wing, where the Princess's apartments 
 were situated, and those of the sisters who managed the 
 economical part of the convent. Father Fedor's apart- 
 ments were in a separate wing, adjoining the chief one. 
 
 * Vows of the severest order. — Translator.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 207 
 
 Slowly bending her head in answer to the deep bows of 
 
 the sisters whom they met on their way, stepping heavily 
 in her soft shoes, and leaning on her staff, the Princess 
 passed with her guests into her own apartments, which 
 consisted of three low, modest little rooms. The first was 
 a study and reception-room, the second a dining-room, and 
 the third a small bedroom with a large case for the ikons, 
 in which were many rich old ikons brought over from the 
 private chapel in Petersburg. They went to the dining- 
 room, where a lunch was served : a pasty, fish cutlets, and 
 tea, with honey and jam. Eight-year-old Mimi, seating 
 herself demurely at the table, looked at everything in great 
 enjoyment. All that was served at the table of the severe- 
 looking Princess-nun seemed to Alimi to be particularly 
 good and quite extraordinary. Everything pleased her in 
 the peaceful cloister : the beautiful church with the melo- 
 dious singing of the nuns, their black garments, their cells, 
 the merry young lay-sister Sophia, and the good-natured 
 door-keeper Marfinka, and the garden with the apples and 
 cherries, and the bee-hives, and the river in the garden, 
 where she could catch fish with a home-made hook — in a 
 word, the whole convent seemed to Mimi to be a magic 
 world in which special joys were hidden. At lunch the 
 conversation was general. The Princess told Marie of the 
 patients who had left the convent hospital, of those who 
 had entered it, asked her advice regardmg an orphan from 
 the convent school, who was imploring them to take her in 
 as a lay-sister to serve her term before taking the vows, 
 against the wishes of her relations, and complained of 
 asthma and palpitations of the heart. 
 
 " Ma tante, may I go into the garden with Marfinka ?" 
 asked Mimi as soon as the lunch was over. 
 
 When Mimi was gone the Princess passed with Marie 
 into the study, where she sank down into a low soft arm- 
 chair, stretched out her feet and took up her beads. 
 
 " So you say, Marie, that they are starting to-morrow," 
 continued the Princess, taking up the last subject of their 
 conversation — " and how about the country ?" 
 
 "They will go on to Tashooki from Paris. And I, with
 
 2o8 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 the children and Miss Jones, am going there directly after 
 Easter." 
 
 " What would they do without you, my dear, or rather, 
 what would the poor children do without you!" 
 
 " But now I love them so, Princess, that I cannot think 
 of what my life would be without the little dear children. 
 If you could know what a good heart this little girl has, 
 how tender she is, quelle delicatcsse (Tame. . . . Her 
 adoration of her father is beyond all limits, and notwith- 
 standing that Misha spoils her dreadfully, the child is not 
 spoilt at all. There are moments when I feel a great 
 admiration for the child, she is so meek and intelligent." 
 
 "And is she as loving towards her mother?" 
 
 "Naturally she loves her, but you cannot imagine. 
 Princess, with what strange eyes she looks at her mother 
 when Nathalie is irritable and unkind to Misha before the 
 children. One must be very careful with her. I am afraid 
 she will not be happy in future." 
 
 " Tell me, please, Marie, and what are the plans for the 
 winter? How about the purchase of the house?" 
 
 " Misha has decided to remove to Petersburg by next 
 winter, and the purchase of the house has already taken 
 place. All the furniture is going to be taken there, and 
 Nathalie wants to let or sell the house in Moscow." 
 
 "If it is not too expensive, I might buy it for the school. 
 Father Fedor has been urging me for a long time to have 
 the school transferred to Moscow, and I agree with him; 
 the journeys to Petersburg are very trying to me, and the 
 school is without supervision there. Tell Nathalie to 
 think about it and to send me Moissei Borisovitch for the 
 negotiations. Naturally, you will also go to Petersburg 
 with them ?" continued the Princess after a moment's 
 silence. 
 
 " Where they are, there am I," Marie smiled. 
 
 " Now tell me, my dear, what is the story with Misha at 
 the ball of the Marshal of the Nobility? Orlovskaia was 
 here the other day; she mentioned something accidentally, 
 but I did not want to ask her. What has he done this 
 time?"
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 209 
 
 Marie shook her head with compunction. 
 
 "Ah, Princess, it is sad to remember even. Misha cares 
 for nothing." 
 
 "Do tell me, my dear; you know I won't speak 
 of it" 
 
 " But there is no need to hide it; all Moscow knows it.'* 
 
 "The more reason for you to relate it." 
 
 The Princess ensconced herself still more comfortably in 
 her armchair, preparing to hear something of interest. 
 
 " As usual, Misha was to conduct the dances at the ball 
 at the Marshal's. Instead of going there directly, he first 
 went to a dinner with his comrades somewhere. I know 
 that there was a large company, and that some of them 
 had to be at the ball also. Naturally Misha drank more 
 than was good for him, because, when leaving for the ball, 
 he laid a scandalous wager with the nephew of the 
 Governor-General." 
 
 Marie faltered a moment. 
 
 "What wager? I can fancy!" The Princess smiled 
 slightly. 
 
 "Misha had taken an article of toilet from one of the 
 ladies who were with them, trimmed with ribbons and 
 laces. . . . You know what I mean. . , . He laid a wager 
 that at supper he would use it instead of a table-napkin and 
 during the cotillon he w- mM fan himself with it. Think 
 only, I'rincess, what a scandalous wager, and where ? At 
 such a brilliant ball ! All that had been stipulated he did, at 
 the supper-table, and Annette Voljskaia, who sat opposite 
 to Michail, says that she not'-ed he had something strange 
 in his hands instead of a table-napkin. But you can think 
 what a horrible scandal there was when, during the cotillon, 
 just at the moment when he was fanning his face, someone 
 pushed him, the thing slipped from his hands, and got 
 caught by someone's spur. General consternation and 
 astonishment ! Nathalie, when she heard that it was a 
 trick of Michail's, was in despair, and left the ball at once, 
 but he was in raptures that he won the wager, and was not 
 at all disconcerted by the scandal. Afterwards he went to 
 everyone to make his excuses, and of course managed to 
 
 M
 
 210 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 arrange matters with his usual good nature and fas- 
 cination." 
 
 "Ah, what a scandal!" The Princess shook her head. 
 " I can imagine how unpleasant this was for Nathalie. He 
 is unmanageable, and really I find that with the years his 
 follies do not leave him, but seem to increase. You ought 
 to restrain him, dear Marie ; you always had a good in- 
 fluence over him, he is such friends with you." 
 
 " I very often speak to him, Princess. While I am preach- 
 ing he listens, quite silent, and seems to be even very much 
 ashamed of himself; but as soon as I stop, he is again 
 laughing, and assures me that he feels how devilkins are 
 creeping out of all his pores. Now this trip to Paris 1 I 
 am begging Nathalie not to go with him, to allow him to be 
 there alone a month or two, let him leave all his devilry 
 there. Well, no, she will insist on having her way; she 
 affirms she will be able to keep him from spending too much 
 money. But I know Misha : if anyone goes against him 
 he will be worse still." 
 
 "Yes; that is a great pity," said the Princess with feeling, 
 and sat a moment lost in thought. "Believe me, Marie, 
 you have lost nothing in not being married," she continued 
 after a silence. " The examples are before your eyes. You 
 say yourself that Misha is a good and kind man, but can 
 you call him a good husband, and what has Nathalie gained 
 by throwing over Volynsky? We do not know what will 
 happen next. ... I do not foresee anything good. And 
 Prince Alexei ! . . . What a life has he made for me and 
 for himself! ..." 
 
 At the remembrance of her husband the Princess became 
 agitated. Her beads fell into her lap, her fingers trembled, 
 and a slight convulsion disfigured her mouth. 
 
 "All my life I bore patiently many pricks to my self-love, 
 and even insults," continued the Princess, touching the 
 collar of her dress in her customary way when she was 
 agitated. " I thought that when he would be old he would 
 return to his family. ... I do not murmur against God's 
 will; I have now wholly given myself up to prayer and the 
 affairs of the convent, but I wish no one to end their Hfe
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 2ii 
 
 with such bitter memories as I have. And people consider 
 Prince Alexei to be a good, and gentle, and an honourable 
 man. . . . All his virtues have just led to this — he has 
 brought disorder into our affairs, broken up our family 
 life, and brought shame on his name by his liaison with 
 
 that " The Princess nearly said a bad word, but she 
 
 stopped in time, and began rapidly and nervously to pass 
 her beads through her fingers. 
 
 Marie was silent. She knew that each time that the 
 Princess remembered her husband she became agitated. 
 Evidently, neither fasting, nor prayers, nor the affairs of 
 the convent could stifle the bitter feeling of injustice in 
 her heart, or perhaps a secret love for her husband. 
 
 " I have heard," began the Princess again, " that he goes 
 openly with her abroad and lives there with her. I never 
 had such an honour " — she smiled with disdain — " he even 
 used to joke about it — that I was not wanted there." 
 
 The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Mimi, 
 and Marie began to make her adieux. 
 
 "Then tell Nathalie about the house; perhaps we will 
 agree about the price," the Princess reminded her again. 
 
 On returning home Marie passed into her own dining- 
 room, where lunch was served. Miss Jones, Mimi, the little 
 lively Boris and the governess were there also. The chil- 
 dren prattled merrily; Miss Jones ate her luncheon con- 
 scientiously and assiduously; Marie was very thoughtful. 
 Her lawyer had been to see her the day before on personal 
 business of her own, and he had told her among other 
 things that he had heard that Gourakin's steward was 
 carrying on negotiations respecting the sale of part of the 
 forests of the Riazan estates, and that he thought it was 
 being done without the knowledge of Gourakin. Marie 
 knew that lately there had been occasions when the steward 
 had acted with the knowledge of Nathalie, but that Michail 
 was the last to hear of it. Generally it occurred in such 
 cases when the matter promised a good profit to Moissei 
 Borisovitch and a doubtful one for the Gourakins. In the 
 given case the steward might be acting with the knowledge 
 of Nathalie, and then any intervention on the part of J.lcuie
 
 212 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 might only lead to a dispute between the husband and wife. 
 Marie, keeping herself always apart from all business rela- 
 tions of her nephew's, but at the same time an involuntary 
 witness of all that passed, had frequently had occasion to 
 conclude that lately the steward was becoming more and 
 more independent, and not only did not seem to consider 
 Michail's wishes, but managed to act unknown to him, 
 through the intermediary of Nathalie. Marie knew that 
 the peasants did not like him and that the employees, who 
 all loved Michail, disliked the steward and called him a 
 skilful rogue. After long consideration and doubts, Marie 
 decided to keep silence and not to intervene, seeing that if 
 the steward had had the audacity to sell a forest which 
 Michail valued highly and to do so unknown to Nathalie, 
 then, certainly, sooner or later, it would come to their 
 knowledge and would open Nathalie's eyes to his 
 unfaithfulness. 
 
 A few days before their departure, in one of the rare 
 evenings when the Gourakins were at home and without 
 any visitors, they came to Marie to drink tea. The con- 
 versation touched upon their departure and on the impend- 
 ing packing off of the little ones to the country. Marie 
 carefully led the conversation to the Riazan estate, which 
 she had heard praised for its beauty. 
 
 " Why should you not sell it, Nathalie ?" she asked inten- 
 tionally. 
 
 "Why should I, Marie? Such a splendid estate I" 
 
 " But you never go there; why do you want it?" 
 
 "But Tashooki and the Riazan property are the best 
 estates. No, I will not sell it for anything. I will give 
 Tashooki to Boris after my death, and the Riazan estate 
 will go to Mimi." 
 
 " I have heard that you have beautiful forests there and 
 many of them." 
 
 " Splendid forests. But on the whole the Riazan estate 
 is smaller than the Saratoff one by fifteen hundred dessia- 
 tins, and with time I have in view to purchase some more 
 land or forests." 
 
 Now Marie was quite convinced of Moissei Borisovitch's
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 213 
 
 dishonesty, and decided to keep silence, so as to let the sale 
 take place. 
 
 Very soon Michail, very displeased that his wife was 
 going with him, having arranged all his affairs on the 
 property, went off abroad, after a tender farewell to his aunt 
 md children. Nathalie, who was leaving her children for 
 the first time, even cried a little, and repeatedly committed 
 them to Marie's greatest care, although she knew very well 
 that under their aunt's wing they would be much better off 
 than under her own.
 
 XV 
 
 The Gourakins passed through Vienna, Trieste, Venice, 
 and stopped at Milan on the Piazza del Duomo. They 
 were just leaving the hotel for a stroll when in the porch 
 they met Tchagin. Astonishment, glad exclamations, 
 handshakings, embracings and questions: How? When? 
 Where to ? and From where ? 
 
 "This is a surprise!" Tcnagm kept saying with a smile 
 and at the same time peering at the passers-by, who were 
 examining with curiosity the tall, unnaturally thin 
 foreigner. 
 
 "Where are you going, Sasha?" asked Nathalie, very 
 pleased to meet him, as she felt that Michail was feeling 
 dull in her society. 
 
 "Come, join us, dear friend," interrupted Michail, also 
 very pleased with the encounter. 
 
 A happy idea had been born in his mind — to carry 
 Tchagin away with them so as to obtain a little liberty for 
 himself by leaving his wife with his friend, or else to get 
 some amusement for himself in the company of the latter. 
 " If you are going southwards, I will join you with 
 pleasure," answered Tchagin, to the great joy of Gourakin. 
 After resting a few days in Milan — the only town in 
 Italy that Tchagin did not love because of its mercenari- 
 ness in making a trade of art — they proceeded southwards 
 without any system or established plan, first passing by all 
 the lakes. For Michail, who adored nature and the arts, 
 the meeting with Tchagin was a very happy occurrence. 
 Tchagin never let a year pass without visiting Italy, and 
 therefore he knew her right through. He loved this 
 country of sun and beauty with a touching and pious love. 
 "My spirit always lived in this country. In Russia it 
 
 214
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 215 
 
 was only incarnated for the first time," Tchagin used to 
 say often. "Tlierefore the nature of that country is always 
 strange and dull to me; it does not appeal to my soul. 
 Russian by birth, I love our nation, our beautiful Slavonic 
 nature, noble, generous, indolent, and without a care, but 
 Russia as a country I do not like, and I even feel oppressed 
 by it. I have left my estates because I was oppressed by 
 the neighbourhood of the villages, with their dismal grey 
 isbas (little houses), as grey and colourless as their owners, 
 the peasants. ... I was stifled by those muddy roads, 
 along which I passed as a master, those never-drying 
 ditches, tattered children with their inflated stomachs, 
 sickly and ugly, lying about in the dirt under the foul and 
 crooked enclosures. As much as I was able to I tried to 
 introduce the feeblest signs of culture, but I was powerless 
 to vanquish their apathy in regard to their brutish condi- 
 tion. I left my estates not to torture myself purposely. 
 I envy your husband," Tchagin said to Nathalie ; " his eyes 
 glisten when he begins to tell me of his improvements in 
 the country. One feels his love of the earth, whereas I 
 flee it, and only feel happy here under these hot rays, on 
 these shores of the Italian seas, with the eternally blue and 
 warm waves." 
 
 When they stopped in the small sea-towns Tchagin used 
 to go away alone, sit down on the shore, and, taking his 
 hat off, let the sun's burning rays rest on his small head, 
 remaining so without movement, watching the far distance 
 and the warm gentle waves coming in. He listened to 
 their murmur, to their splashes at the foot of the grey rocks, 
 their gurgling between the crevices covered with green 
 moss, and they spoke to him of deep, touching and beauti- 
 ful things which Nathalie could not understand at all. 
 When they roamed through the narrow streets, like small 
 galleries, of some little town, Tchagin was always deeply 
 affected, and his soul, with its keen love of beauty, used to 
 seek for words to express his feelings. 
 
 " You just look," he would say in a low impressed 
 voice, taking Michail's arm; "become penetrated with 
 this language of colours and shades ! See those many-
 
 2i6 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 coloured, sun-1 rnt clothes hung up by a careless hand . . . 
 those toy-houses with the small wooden balconies, with the 
 walls from which the plaster has come off, and covered with 
 roses and awnings of lilac glycineas. . . . Or that tiny 
 piazetta with the portico; the shops, shaded from the heat 
 with yellow striped tissues; that low column with the jets 
 of water falling into the marble basin; the Santa Madonna 
 in her little painted niche, and near by the marvellous 
 ancient cathedral with the marble columns, the delicate 
 carving on the pilasters, the frescoes on the walls, the in- 
 comparable mosaic work. And all this is flooded with the 
 blessed rays of the bright and burning sun! . . . The 
 whole scene overwhelms one with the beauty of the lines 
 and colours, grouping themselves so naturally, forming 
 themselves into an unimaginable gamut of blendings. 
 Here reigned the gods of Olympus, here was born the im- 
 perishable idea of beauty. . . . Nathalie, look around you, 
 and say if you do not feel a desire to fold your hands piously 
 as for prayer and to bend your knees before something, 
 before someone? . . . 'Oh, Italia! Thou who hast the 
 fatal gift of beauty,' as Byron said, and as I always repeat." 
 " Certainly, Sasha, all this is very beautiful, but . . ." 
 "But your soul is dumb," concluded Tchagin. "These 
 low porticoes, this rustling little fountain, these sun-burnt, 
 half-naked little children, so handsome and strong, burnt 
 by the sun and washed by the salt sea. . . . And this smell of 
 the sea, the smell of oysters ! . . . How many times in ball- 
 rooms I shut my eyes and feel myself borne away here, 
 and, inhaling the air, I drink in the intoxicating breath of the 
 sea and watch the dazzling little streets full of sunlight, 
 the tiny columns, the tables near the little cafes with the 
 lazy Italians drowsy from the heat. How I love all this, 
 how near and dear it all is to me ! . ." 
 
 Michail shared the raptures of his friend, but he was far 
 from understanding the refined enjoyment which Tchagin 
 experienced each time that his foot touched the soil of 
 Italy, so kindred to his spirit. He gave a handsome tip to 
 the wandering Italian with a large organ drawn by a patient 
 grey donkey, stopping before each cafe, before each open
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 217 
 
 window. ** La mare rida . . . Varia serena . . . Santa 
 Lucia . . . Santa Lucia," sang the Italian, throwing into 
 the warm fragrant air the melodious and mellow notes of 
 the Neapolitan song. 
 
 " Ecco il gran' signor !" said he, smiling and showing his 
 glistening teeth and shining black eyes, on receiving the 
 generous gift from Gourakin. 
 
 Nathalie soon tired of running from piazettas to cathe- 
 drals and being burnt by the sun, and she consented to rest 
 a week in Bologna, while Michail with Tchagin went down 
 to the Adriatic. Tchagin took Gourakin to Ravenna to 
 see Dante's tomb. In this little town, which seemed as if 
 it had slept for a hundred years, Michail experienced some- 
 thing akin to what his friend was feeling. The monuments 
 of olden ages untouched by time spoke eloquently to the 
 wondering wayfarer of the power of beauty, inborn in the 
 people from its earliest infancy. The cathedral of St. 
 Apollinarius, a purest basilic, with white marble columns 
 of incomparable beauty and lightness and the richest 
 mosaic on the walls ; the cathedral of St. Vitellius in the 
 form of a rotunda, covered with coloured mosaics on a 
 golden mosaic ground, are both beautiful, but the mauso- 
 leum of the ancient Queen of Gallia, Placida, is the height 
 of art. It is built of yellow marble, and has no openings 
 for windows. Instead of five windows the marble in these 
 parts is hollowed to a depth of two or three fingers; when 
 the doors are shut the light inside the mausoleum is of a 
 rosy opaline colour. Three marble sarcophagi, beautifully 
 carved, contain the bodies of the Queen and her two 
 husbands. Beginning from half-way up the wall, all the 
 upper part is covered with the finest mosaic work, which 
 by its bright colours and delicate execution can well com- 
 pete with paintings. 
 
 " This is what this people created as far back as the fourth 
 and fifth centuries ! What a delicacy of artistic taste, what 
 technical qualities ! " Tchagin said with pride, seemingly 
 persuaded that those grand old Italian masters reposing in 
 their century-old graves were related to him in spirit. 
 
 Before the mausoleum of Theodoric the Great, entwined
 
 2i8 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 with rose creepers, Michail stood still, struck by its singular 
 beauty and grandeur. 
 
 "Notice that the upper part is one whole piece of stone, 
 with a diameter of eighteen metres," said Tchagin. 
 
 " Wonderful ! " 
 
 "Yes; in the second century the builders were Titans, 
 not men." 
 
 On the steps of Dante's mausoleum Tchagin bent his 
 head in deep thought. In the hanging carved lamp, the 
 gift of Florence, a light was burning. 
 
 " I have come to the conclusion that Dante possessed 
 mediumistic propensities, and he was given to see what we, 
 simple mortals, cannot see. The flight of creative fantasy 
 alone cannot be responsible for such images. . . . Great 
 Dante of great Italy ! ..." wdiispered Tchagin slowly. 
 
 " Really, Sasha, you seem to be a man torn out of old past 
 centuries," Gourakin said to Tchagin when they were re- 
 turning after a week's wandering. "Your soul is akin to 
 ours — a Slavonic soul ; but your spirit — you are right — has 
 come to you from here. Thanks to you, I have learnt to 
 know many things better, to understand them more fully; 
 but for my own part, our Vassily Blajenny, the Uspensky 
 Cathedral, our forests, steppes, our mother Volga, our 
 shady garden with the lake, our ancient house in Tashooki, 
 are indisputably nearer to the heart and dearer and more 
 9weet than Dante's mausoleum and the lazy prattle of a 
 fountain on a dreamy, sun-flooded piazetta." 
 
 " Yes, yes, you are certainly right," answered Tchagin, 
 "because all this is foreign to you, and for me it is home. 
 I was sixteen years old when I first saw Italy. I do not 
 know why, but from my earliest childhood I always 
 dreamed of this country, to which I was irresistibly 
 attracted." 
 
 The Gourakins and Tchagin went on to Rome, Naples 
 and Florence, stopping at the best hotels and living in such 
 grand train that the hotel-keepers saw them off with flowers 
 and low bows. In Viareggia they separated. Tchagin 
 remained on the Mediterranean shores, and the Gourakins 
 went on farther.
 
 XVI 
 
 Two weeks passed by for Michail like a dream. In Paris 
 his energy seemed to have increased tenfold. Whole days 
 he went about the boulevards and museums without a rest; 
 he rode in the Bois de Boulogne and made merry and 
 revelled on the Montmartre until the morning. Nathalie 
 began to feel the absence of her children and to wish to 
 exchange the bustle and brilliancy of Paris for the peaceful, 
 quiet country life. In Paris she could not always follow 
 Michail as she had done in Italy; here, when they met any 
 one of their Petersburg friends, they had frequently to go 
 out separately. These last days Michail never managed to 
 be at the appointed rendezvous, owing to unforeseen cir- 
 cumstances, and at the time when Nathalie and their mutual 
 friends would be waiting for him at some theatre, he would 
 appear to be in some other place, and come back to the 
 hotel so late that Nathalie, unable to keep awake to scold 
 him well, had fallen asleep. On the next morning, as soon as 
 she opened her mouth to express her displeasure, Michail 
 used to interrupt her and with an inexhaustible fund of 
 gaiety relate to her the events of the preceding night. 
 
 "Fancy, Nathalie, whom I met!" said he one morning, 
 trying to prevent the scene inevitable after his disappear- 
 ance from morning till morning. " Guess whom I met 
 yesterday on the Boulevard des Italiens. . . . Aline ! Not 
 changed at all — d'un chic parisien, gay, happy. . . . She is 
 expecting you to-day at four o'clock. As soon as she saw 
 me she made me come to her home. She has a splendid 
 apartment near the Champs Elysees. She lives in Paris 
 always, continues to adore Prince Bibiche, and assured me 
 that she feels herself to be the happiest woman in the 
 world." 
 
 2ig
 
 220 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 " Is he here ?" asked Nathalie. 
 
 "No, he comes several times during the winter, and in 
 summer they travel. I tell you, the Prince has arranged 
 his life excellently," Gourakin laughed. 
 
 " It is all very well for him, but I do not envy Aline." 
 
 "Well, she told me herself that she is quite happy and 
 that the Prince is becoming more and more attached to 
 her with every year." 
 
 " All this is very well, but I do not think it can be pleasant 
 to live in such a doubtful position." 
 
 " Why not ? In Paris everyone considers her the wife 
 of the Prince, and in Petersburg she has spread the rumour 
 that her aunt died and left her a fortune." 
 
 " She may say whatever she likes : no one believes her, 
 and all know very well that she is living at the Prince's 
 expense." 
 
 " In the end I agree with your Aline that the chief object 
 in life is to be happy, but whether our happiness pleases or 
 does not please people with whom we have nothing to do 
 is really of no importance. Personally I am very glad for 
 her. Surely her life, with her tastes, was not sweet, and 
 now, not only is she provided for, but she has found 
 happiness in love." 
 
 " To listen to you one would think that the best thing is 
 to live without marriage," Nathalie interrupted her husband 
 with irritation. 
 
 " It is difficult to judge what is better, what is worse," 
 said Michail thoughtfully. "Let everyone find his 
 happiness wherever he can. . . ." 
 
 "I cannot bear those immoral opinions of yours." 
 Nathalie suddenly got excited. " Who knows how each of 
 us would like to arrange his life ? But one has to reckon 
 with public opinion and the feeling of duty." 
 
 " Spare me, spare me, my dear, from sermons on 
 morality," said Michail, shrugging his shoulders. " Firstly, 
 I am too old for them, and secondly, I am in especially good 
 spirits to-day, and so you must not spoil them." 
 
 "You should invent something else than your usual 
 statement that you are in excellent spirits. I think there
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 221 
 
 are no circumstances which would be capable of taking you 
 out of this chronic state." 
 
 " That, my dear, is exclusively the result of my equanimity. 
 I am never angry with anyone. I wish everyone well, I 
 love life, physically I feel very well — that is why I am gay — 
 whereas you are always irritated, and nothing interests 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, of course, everyone knows what a hateful character 
 I possess. I have heard it from you hundreds of times. . . ." 
 
 Nathalie would have liked to raise a quarrel, to be able 
 to speak out all that had been accumulating during the last 
 days in her heart against her husband, but Michail rose 
 hastily and, keeping back his laughter, in a moment had his 
 coat on and his hat in his hand. 
 
 "Madame, je vous tire ma reverence." He bowed with 
 a comic gesture before his wife, like a naughty schoolboy. 
 
 " Where are you going ? Wait a bit," Nathalie said 
 angrily. 
 
 "I must hurry. At three I have a rendezvous with 
 Valouieff at the Cafe de Paris. You go to Aline; stay to 
 dinner with her, and about ten I shall come up with 
 Valouiefif and we shall all go somewhere together." 
 
 "Listen, Misha : I must warn you quite seriously that I 
 am terribly tired of this life. It is time for us to return to 
 the country, and besides, we have spent such a mass of 
 money that " 
 
 "Again you have money on your mind I Devil take it! 
 It is there to be spent." 
 
 " But not in such quantities as you do." 
 
 " Very well. Another time I promise you to listen to the 
 end to your economical lectures, but now I must run. . . ." 
 
 " Misha, I give you my word that if you deceive me again 
 and are not at Aline's at nine o'clock, I shall pack up my 
 things to-morrow and go. I have enough of this, I am 
 tired, I do not want to stay any longer if you run about 
 all day alone and pass your nights no one knows with 
 whom, drinking. Do you hear, Michail ?" 
 
 " I hear, Nathalie. . . . Rest assured, I will be at petite 
 Suzanne's with Valouieff at ten o'clock sharp."
 
 222 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 Gaily humming' a little song, Michail kissed his wife's 
 hand and, glad to have got off so cheaply, disappeared 
 hurriedly. 
 
 At four o'clock Nathalie went to Aline's. After the 
 private theatricals which had played so great a pan in her 
 life, Aline had for a long time not given any news of herself. 
 Over a year had passed when Nathalie received at last a 
 letter from her, enclosing the sum of money that Nathalie 
 had once lent her. In her letter Aline told her friend that 
 her life was quite changed, that her love for Prince Bibiche 
 was so great that she had decided to compromise with her 
 conscience. Nathalie had answered this letter, but the 
 correspondence soon ceased, as Nathalie hated writing 
 letters. Now she was very glad to see and have a good 
 talk with her old friend. That day she was feeling very 
 heavy-hearted; the glitter and whirl of the sumptuous 
 hotel, the noise and movement in the streets, oppressed her 
 still more. During her morning conversation with her 
 husband she had noticed particularly his flourishing appear- 
 ance, his stately, powerful figure, his energy, and the joy 
 in life which seemed to emanate from him. When he left 
 her, she dejectedly proceeded to her morning toilet and 
 gazed long at herself in the glass. Her face looked paler 
 than usual; she was over-tired and troubled; the eyes had 
 lost some of their lustre, and tiny wrinkles showed near 
 them. She felt that she was looking faded, uninteresting, 
 and the provoking beauty of her husband awoke in her a 
 bitter and suspicious jealousy. In such minutes she was 
 sorry she had not taken Marie's advice and remained in the 
 country, leaving her husband free for two months. There 
 she would have been more at peace; she would not be 
 angered or troubled by the cursory and tender glances 
 which women whom they met threw her husband. . . . 
 She had caught his answering glances, which he seemed to 
 give to each pretty woman, and could hardly restrain her 
 wrath and despair. Now on this very day sparks of irre- 
 pressible gaiety had seemed to dance in her husband's eyes, 
 while she felt inclined to cry, to flee from Paris, aad hide in 
 the country, where Michail had been so attentive and kind
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 223 
 
 to her. With such thoughts NathaHe set off to AHne. As 
 soon as she crossed her threshold, Ahne ran out into the 
 hall and with a cry of joy threw herself into her arms. 
 
 " How glad I am to see you, Nathalie ! Now, let me 
 look at you, dearest. . . . You are looking tired, and so 
 pale. . . ." 
 
 " Ah, I am so distracted, you cannot imagine." 
 
 "Again! . . ." Aline could not help ejaculating. 
 
 " Not again, but always. And you are just the same, 
 even better-looking. How nice it is here ! What a charm- 
 ing apartment ! What taste! . . . How cosy everywhere 
 . . . un vrai nid pour des avioiireux" Nathalie said while 
 they were traversing several rooms and stopped at last in a 
 pretty little blue boudoir. 
 
 " That's just it, Nathalie : nothing is changed ; we are as 
 formerly — nous sommes deux amourcux" said Aline gaily. 
 " I am perfectly happy and assured. The first year I 
 suffered very much and feared for our happiness; now I 
 believe in it and am not even jealous." 
 
 " My life is the same old torture ! " Nathalie continued, 
 seating herself on a low sofa all covered with silken 
 cushions. "You saw Misha yesterday; tell me, how did 
 you think him looking?" 
 
 " What a handsome man ! He will turn the heads of all 
 the French women," laughed Aline without noticing the 
 quiver of pain that passed over Nathalie's face at her words, 
 
 "They will turn his; that is what I am afraid of. . . ." 
 
 "Nothing so bad in that — let him have his fling." 
 
 " No, Aline, you know that our views differ on this sub- 
 ject; let us not speak of it. I am feeling quite unstrung 
 to-day as it is, and have come to you to find courage and 
 calmness. Tell me rather of your own life and of yourself." 
 
 " Of myself I can say, Nathalie, that I am happy, that 
 never has life seemed to me so beautiful as it is now, 
 and that I do not regret having entrusted myself to the 
 Prince." 
 
 "It might have ended otherwise.'* 
 
 " That is to say, you mean that he could have abandoned 
 me long ago ?"
 
 224 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 "Certainly, Aline. Think how awful it would have been 
 for you." 
 
 " But still I would have had the memory of past happi- 
 ness. I remember how desperate I felt when I got your 
 letter at that time, Nathalie. . . ." 
 
 " Was I not right ? I knew that the Prince had always 
 been against marriage, and I considered it mv duty to warn 
 you." 
 
 "You did right, and I knew what I had to expect, but 
 still I do not regret anything." 
 
 Aline smiled, looking at Nathalie with happy eyes. 
 
 " Life has changed for me as in a fairy-tale. ... I feel 
 so happy, so wonderfully happy. We have no children. 
 Why should I deprive the Prince of his fancied liberty? . . . 
 Just the same, he does all that I want and he does it with 
 pleasure. If you could know, Nathalie, how tender and 
 faithful and devoted he can be to a woman ! I very soon 
 learnt to know his character, and when he understood that 
 I was not going to be an impediment to him, but only asked 
 for his love and kindness, he seemed to become still more 
 attached to me. He spoils me so, he thinks so much of 
 me." 
 
 " I should think so ! You have sacrificed everything to 
 him." 
 
 " No, Nathalie, I do not want to exaggerate. What have 
 I sacrificed ? A dreary, dull life without joys, without any 
 interest. That ca::not be callec' sacrifice." 
 
 " But your name ? Your honour ? Do these things not 
 count ?" 
 
 "Name, honour! . . . Nathalie, is it really so? I have 
 neither children nor relations, except an old aunt who does 
 not care at all for me. Have I lost my honour by loving 
 the Prince with a deep, faithful and devoted love? Can 
 you, can any thinking person, consider me less honest than 
 Baroness Shellman, who changes her lovers v/ithout end, 
 or than Nellie Carina, who deceives her good, kind husband 
 first with one, then with -nother? I have thought long 
 and painfully over these questions, and decided at last that 
 happiness is dearer to me than anything."
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 225 
 
 " If you have found what you wanted, I am very glad for 
 v'ou, AHne. My Hfe has turned out quite otherwise, and 
 \he farther it goes, the worse it becomes. I sometimes 
 think that Misha has ceased to love me. . . ." 
 
 Nathahe poured forth with tears a long string of com- 
 plaints of her life, full of torturing doubts and suspicions. 
 Aline tried several times to point out to her her own faults 
 towards her husband, but Nathalie only became more 
 excited, and Aline was silent, and just let her have her say 
 and ease her heart. The time passed quite unperceived, 
 and it was about nine o'clock when they rose from dinner. 
 On hearing that Michail would soon be there with his 
 friend, Aline called up two of her own friends, one of 
 whom was General Tistcheff, a comrade of the Prince's 
 just arrived from Petersburg, and the other a wealthy 
 landowner from the Volga regions, Pantchin, who always 
 passed the winter in Paris. When ten o'clock struck and 
 Michail did not put in an appearance Nathalie began to be 
 agitated. She became distraite and answered at random 
 when spoken to. The clock struck eleven. To divert her 
 Aline proposed to go somewhere to supper and to let the 
 concierge know where they had gone so that he would be 
 able to tell Gourakin, when he would come for his wife. 
 The landowner, a handsome blonde man who knew Paris 
 very well, proposed that they should go to a Spanish 
 restaurant which had just been opened. 
 
 In the exciting atmosphere of the night restaurant 
 Nathalie's attention was diverted from her troubles, and 
 she began to be interested in what was going on around 
 her. 
 
 The large oval saloon had rows of tables along the side 
 walls, and on these tables there were small lamps under 
 bright coloured shades. The red velvet sofas were occu- 
 pied by the guests. Here were ladies in modest toilets 
 with their husbands and friends, mostly foreigners, and 
 also the provocative, painted, very much decollctces dcmi- 
 mondaines in bright and eccentric dresses. The master of 
 the place, a handsome and high-bred-looking Spaniard in 
 evening dress, went forward to meet each newcomer and 
 
 15
 
 226 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 very politely showed him to a free table. From above the 
 light streamed down from many-coloured little lamps amid 
 garlands of flowers and leaves. An orchestra on one side 
 of the saloon behind a row of columns filled the place with 
 melodies which seemed to incite a sort of mad gaiety and 
 devilry. In the middle of the room a Spanish woman, slim 
 and supple as a snake, with a crimson fringed shawl draped 
 round her body, wound and turned round her partner, a 
 Spaniard, strong and lithe as if made out of steel, dressed 
 in black trousers with a broad sash. With elasticity and 
 rhythm his soles beat the time on the parquet, and it seemed 
 as if in each step of the dance there was hidden either a 
 furious jealousy or a mad passion. Each muscle, each 
 nerve seemed to take part in the passionate dance, and the 
 whole public was stimulated by it as if by an electric 
 current. 
 
 Several couples one after the other executed the "jota," 
 and each one seemed to give something personal, but 
 equally stimulating and irresistibly passionate. Nathalie, 
 not listening to what the General was telling her, and not 
 noticing the beautiful Spanish woman in an enormous hat, 
 with a splendid figure and eyes, sitting near, followed the 
 dance with intense interest. Her eyes were glistening, her 
 cheeks burning, her lips half open. Aline watched her 
 with a smile. She was very pleased that Nathalie was 
 carried away by the general gaiety, and forgot her husband. 
 Happy-looking women with bright red lips and sparkling 
 eyes were constantly moving past their table. They walked 
 with a strange unnatural movement of the haunches and 
 exchanged provocative and meaning jests with the men. 
 The whole atmosphere of the room was strangely excited 
 and exotic. Spanish was heard. The women were nearly 
 all Spaniards. 
 
 "Ah! . . ." Nathalie cried suddenly. 
 
 Aline and the two gentlemen looked at her. She was 
 quite pale; her face expressed suffering, even fear; her eyes 
 were fixed immovably on the entrance door, near which the 
 amiable host, tall and slender, with his head on one side, 
 was saying something with a smile to a pair who were just
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 227 
 
 entering the saloon. Aline looked in the direction of 
 Nathahe's eyes and shuddered. An exquisitely pretty, very 
 young, woman in a bright green toilet, with very bare 
 shoulders, and an ostrich feather which hung down on her 
 neck, was making her way to one of the tables. Behind 
 her came Gourakin. In one hand he held his hat, in the 
 other a bouquet of bright-coloured roses. They passed 
 farther down the saloon. The Spanish host, leaning with 
 both hands on the table, was listening with a smile to what 
 Gourakin was saying to him. When he moved away, 
 Gourakin gave a careless glance around, and evidently not 
 remarking the presence of his v>^ife, leaned quite close to his 
 lady and began to whisper something in her ear. Only 
 Aline understood the meaning of what was passing. Both 
 the gentlemen were looking with astonishment at Nathalie's 
 changed face, as she. sat looking fixedly and silently before 
 her. 
 
 "Nathalie! . . ." called Aline in a low voice. 
 
 But the other did not hear her; her fingers, convulsively 
 pressing her glass of champagne, were trembling visibly. 
 
 " Nathalie. . . . Let us go," whispered Aline, leaning 
 towards her. " For God's sake, control ypurself . . . you 
 must not remain here." 
 
 "Please leave me alone. I shall not stir from here. I 
 shall stay until they depart," answered Nathalie in a trem- 
 bling voice, slightly pushing Aline aside. 
 
 "Nathalie, I implore you. ... A dreadful scandal may 
 ensue." 
 
 " Oh, I do not care in the least now whatever happens 
 . . ." Nathalie laughed nervously and unnaturally. " Rest 
 assured, I will control myself;" and with these words 
 Nathalie, still laughing unnaturally, raised her glass. " Let 
 us drink to love, messieurs — I propose to drink to love.** 
 
 Both the men raised their glasses readily. 
 
 " Although my temples are getting grey, T am never- 
 theless always ready to accept this toast," said General 
 Tistcheff, raising his glass with a smile. 
 
 "Aline, why do you not drink? Do not you agree with 
 the General ?"
 
 228 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 Nathalie seemed to become more and more excited every 
 minute. 
 
 " Enough, Nathalie," Aline said with a vexed expression. 
 " You are not sincere. . . . We had better go. . . ." 
 
 "For nothing in the world! It is so gay here. . . . The 
 whole atmosphere seems full of love. Here for the first 
 time I have understood the force of real love, all its 
 worth. . . ." 
 
 Nathalie laughed loudly. The beautiful Spanish woman 
 near by turned and looked at Nathalie fixedly. 
 
 "Don't you think, messieurs, that for the sake of love 
 one might sacrifice one's life, one might die ? . . ." 
 
 Nathalie's voice sounded like the string of an instrument. 
 Pantchin began to comprehend that something had 
 occurred. He was listening attentively to Nathalie's 
 words, and was on his guard. 
 
 " Why do you look at me so. Monsieur Pantchin ? Am 
 I not right ?" 
 
 " I do not know of what love you are speaking. ... If 
 it is of the one that is here " — he gave a glance around with 
 a smile — "then this love is not worth one sleepless night." 
 
 "And do not you think that here, just here, with these 
 women who sell themselves, the best feelings of women — 
 of wives — are trampled into dust — women who are willing 
 to give up their lives for their beloved. . . . No, no, Aline 
 was right when she reproached me for being insincere. I 
 do not believe in love any more. . . . There is no love. 
 Or, if it does exist, then men try to drown it in debauchery. 
 . . . There is no love, there is only debauchery, gay and 
 unconcerned. . . ." 
 
 Nathalie's voice broke; she did not take her eyes oflf 
 Michail for a single minute. He continued to talk to his 
 lady in a tender manner. He seemed very much taken up 
 with her, and paid no attention to what was going on 
 around him. Once, when Michail, in touching glasses with 
 his lady, put his arm round her waist, Nathalie made a 
 movement as if she would leave her place, but Aline stopped 
 her in time by placing her hand on hers. It was getting 
 late. Aline, very nervous, insisted that it was time to go
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 229 
 
 home; Nathalie, very excited and unnaturally gay, refused 
 obstinately. Watching the least movement of her husband 
 with feverish gaze, she suddenly stopped speaking, rose 
 rapidly from her place, and, moving between the tables, 
 followed Michail, who was leaving the room with his lady. 
 Aline was thunderstruck. 
 
 " Plea&e follow her at a distance," she begged General 
 Tistcheff in her agitation. " I foresee a scandal. Nathalie 
 is beside herself — the handsome gentleman with the lady 
 in green is her husband, le charmeur Gourakin." 
 
 Tistchefif rose and, rapidly crossing the room, disappeared 
 behind the heavy drapery of the door. 
 
 While Michail was putting on Marion Dore's luxurious 
 ermine cloak, which he himself had given the well-known 
 Paris beauty, and with a tender smile was gazing in her 
 greenish-grey mermaid's eyes, someone pulled his sleeve 
 sharply. Michail turned round. His wife stood before 
 him. He did not lose his self-possession for a single 
 moment. He looked at her with severely astonished eyes 
 and wanted to pass by, but she stopped in his way. 
 
 "H you will not this very moment leave this vile creature 
 and return with me into the saloon, then I . . . then I . . .** 
 Nathalie said in a stifled voice. 
 
 " Quelle est cette dame f . . . Qu'est ce qu'elle te veutf" 
 asked Marion Dore in a half-frightened voice, examining 
 Nathalie. 
 
 " Je te prie de monter dans la voiture et de ni'attendre un 
 instant; je te suis immediatement" answered Michail in a 
 quick whisper. 
 
 Marion Dore, gracefully picking up her rich train and 
 showing her slim legs up to her knees, nodded to Gourakin, 
 threw a mocking, provocative look at Nathalie, and began 
 leisurely to descend the stairs, her light and graceful 
 little figure reflected in the mirrors placed along the 
 walls. 
 
 " Nathalie, I order you to go home this very second. In 
 half an hour I will be with you and we will talk it out. Here 
 we cannot speak. Be reasonable." 
 
 Michail pronounced this phrase in a restrained and mean-
 
 230 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 ing tone. His eyes were burning with a wrathful light, 
 but he seemed quite calm. 
 
 "No, I shall not go home. I am here with Aline, and I 
 have been watching you all the evening. You will return 
 with me to the saloon. I demand this. . . . Misha, I do 
 not answer for myself. . . ." 
 
 "Nathalie . . . people are looking at us. . . . Remem- 
 ber the proprieties." 
 
 "Michail . . . this is the last time that I speak. . . ." 
 
 Nathalie's voice broke; her face was distorted with rage. 
 Gourakin set his teeth, gave her his arm, and went with 
 her in silence through the whole room to the table where 
 Aline sat. The Spanish woman who sat near by tittered 
 audibly. Aline, gazing at the approaching pair with 
 frightened eyes, did not know what to say in the first 
 moment. Gourakin led his wife to her place, kissed Aline's 
 hand, answered Pantchin's bow, then made a general bow, 
 and without saying a word turned and left the room rapidly. 
 All this happened so swiftly and unexpectedly that when 
 Nathalie jumped up to follow her husband he had already 
 disappeared behind the drapery of the door. Aline held 
 her friend's hand fast, preventing her running after him, 
 and trying to win time to allow Gourakin to drive 
 away. 
 
 "For shame, Nathalie! . . . Why such scandal? . . . 
 Control yourself. To-morrow you will hear his explana- 
 tion," she whispered. 
 
 Nathalie, understanding at last that it would be useless 
 for her to run after Michail, sat with a pale face and fixed 
 stare. 
 
 "I am tired. . . . Come home . . . take me home, 
 please," she asked Pantchin. 
 
 Without another word she returned to the hotel, accom- 
 panied by Pantchin. Tistcheff saw Aline home; she was 
 more angry than excited over all that had passed in the 
 restaurant. She blamed Nathalie for not being able to 
 control herself, for having made strangers witnesses of 
 her family drama. 
 
 It was late next morning when Aline's maid opened the
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 231 
 
 door of her bedroom carefully and called her several times 
 before she answered. 
 
 "There is a gentleman asking for madame." 
 
 "What gentleman? What time is it?" asked Aline, 
 stretching herself lazily. 
 
 " He is the handsome Russian who was here the other 
 day.* 
 
 "Monsieur Gourakin?*' 
 
 " Yes, madame. It seems he is in a great hurry.'* 
 
 "Very well. Help me to get up." 
 
 Aline jumped up hastily and proceeded to dress. 
 
 "Evidently Nathalie has made a terrible scene, and he 
 has invented some trick," thought Aline, laughing in- 
 wardly. Putting up her hair and throwing an elegant 
 morning gown on her shoulders, she came out to Gourakin. 
 
 " It seems yesterday's escapade has cost you dear, cher 
 ami, if you are up so early. Or perhaps Nathalie has not 
 let you sleep at all? She is capable of that. . . . But you 
 were caught yesterday! I must admit, however, I was 
 more frightened for you than for Nathalie. How is 
 8he ?" 
 
 Aline spoke laughingly, seeing Gourakin very calm and 
 bright. 
 
 " I do not know what Nathalie is doing. I have not seen 
 her since yesterday's sally, and I am awfully angry with 
 her. If I am wrong, she is insupportable. May I sit down, 
 Alexandra Vassilievna ? I will not stay long, as I am afraid 
 that Nathalie will be coming to you, and I do not want to 
 meet her." 
 
 "How, you do not want to meet her? Come, cher ami, 
 do not invent any cause for a drama. You know that 
 Nathalie is crazy." 
 
 " I have come to you to ask you to quiet her and advise 
 her to return home to the country at once. I am starting 
 for Nice to-day with my new fancy, and I will remain there 
 until I have had enough of her. I hope that her charms 
 will keep me prisoner a month. You may tell Nathalie 
 whatever you deem necessary. I consider that I have the 
 right to have a month's leave of absence for yesterday's
 
 232 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 scandal. Advise her to let me go my way, otherwise m} 
 patience will be out." 
 
 " Your patience ! " Aline burst out laughing. "If anyone 
 must talk of patience, then admit that you ignore the very 
 meaning of that quality, as you always do only what yon 
 like." 
 
 " I am very patient by nature. I know how to control 
 myself, and therefore do not expect you to feel any sym- 
 pathy for my feelings. Let it be so. Feel for Nathalie ; in 
 this case it serves me well. Au revoir, Alexandra Vassi- 
 lievna, I am going. As all my wardrobe has remained at 
 the hotel, I must spend my time in shopping before the 
 train starts. I count on your friendship, chere petite 
 Suzanne." 
 
 " You are incorrigible — a sort of devil is in you," said 
 Aline, shaking hands with Gourakin. "I do not envy 
 Nathalie." 
 
 " Are you sure ?" Gourakin looked at Aline with merry 
 glistening eyes. 
 
 " Anyhow, with me it would have been otherwise," said 
 Aline provokingly. 
 
 " I think so too." 
 
 Gourakin kissed Aline's hand and departed, leaving 
 behind him an atmosphere of joy and pleasure in life. 
 
 Without waiting for the arrival of Nathalie, Aline decided 
 to go to her directly after luncheon. The thought of the 
 impending visit oppressed her; she foresaw the despair 
 and frenzy in which Nathalie would be. 
 
 However, the explanation was not so stormy as she 
 expected. Nathalie, it seemed, had been expecting some- 
 thing much worse; she feared that Michail would not return 
 at all, and when Aline assured her on her word of honour 
 that he would return, she sobbed hysterically. She had 
 passed the remaining part of the previous night in hopeless 
 thinking. Tormented by jealousy and indignation, she at 
 the same time experienced a mortal fear that Michail would 
 leave her altogether. Now the tension of her nervous 
 state was dissolving itself in tears of joy. She made Aline 
 repeat several times her assurance on her word of honour 
 
 \
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 233 
 
 that she was not deceiving her, and that Michail had said 
 lie would return. 
 
 " But if he is carried away by his infatuation and leaves 
 me altogether!" Nathalie asked, gazing at Aline with 
 frightened eyes. 
 
 " Never ! . . . You forget that your Michail is a terrible 
 spendthrift. He will run through all his money and will 
 be obliged to leave her. Marion Dore's appetite is too 
 great. . . . And very probably he will throw her over 
 much earlier. You know his impulsive nature : one cannot 
 guarantee to-day what will be to-morrow." 
 
 "Yes, dear Aline, there is a grain of truth in your words; 
 Misha is so much spoilt, he is so accustomed to squander 
 money. ... I sometimes think that if uncle had not left 
 me his millions I would have been happier, because then 
 Misha could not spend the sums that he is spending on 
 suppers and women. You know the proverb : L'appetit 
 vient en mangeant. It is very applicable to Misha." 
 
 "Well, I think that you are mistaken in this also, and do 
 not know his character well. If he had not your millions, 
 he would be making debts. Such natures as your hus- 
 band's are averse to discipline; one must have much patience 
 and firmness in dealing with them ; you have neither the one 
 nor the other, my dear Nathalie, and this is the chief cause 
 of your family troubles." 
 
 " I have heard that — a hundred times I have heard it," 
 cried Nathalie irritably, lifting a phial of smelling-salts to 
 her nose. " I am not a machine, I am a live woman with 
 nerves and tortured heart. I cannot be calm when I love 
 and suffer." 
 
 "That means all will remain as usual: you will suffer, 
 and he will do as he likes," said Aline, smiling, and rose to 
 depart. 
 
 But Nathalie begged her with tears not to leave her alone 
 and to pass the day with her. She sent for a carriage, and 
 they went for a drive in the Bois de Boulogne. She hoped 
 to meet Michail in the crowd. Aline had not deemed 
 it necessary to tell her friend that he was going to Nice on 
 that same evening with Marion Dore. To Aline's question
 
 234 ITHE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 when she thought of leaving Paris, Nathalie answered in a 
 very decisive tone that she would remain there until her 
 husband returned to her. She would inform Marie of all 
 that had happened, and as she did not doubt that Michail 
 would not leave his aunt without news of himself, she would 
 let him know Nathalie's decision to remain in Paris. 
 
 "I do not understand what pleasure it can be to you, 
 Nathalie, to complicate in such a way this unpleasant story," 
 said Aline with a shrug of her shoulders. " In your place I 
 would immediately return to my children, and would let 
 him know through Marie that I was very much hurt by his 
 conduct, . . ." 
 
 " Do not try to dissuade me. Aline — it is useless. So long 
 as Misha does not come back to me, I will not return to 
 Russia." 
 
 That same evening Aline sent a letter to Marie in 
 Tashooki, containing a detailed account of all that had 
 occurred, but without telling Nathalie of this. She in- 
 formed Marie that her nephew had gone to Nice with the 
 beautiful Parisian cocotte. After sending that letter Aline 
 felt quieter; she knew that Marie would find means to 
 influence her nephew.
 
 XVII 
 
 Marie woke up very early. Although she had arrived 
 at Nice from Paris late at night, she had slept little, her 
 mind busy with the coming meeting with her nephew. On 
 receiving Aline's letter she had decided to start at once 
 with the children to Paris and from there to Nice alone. In 
 decisive moments Marie had inherited something of her 
 mother's firmness of will and cool-headedness. In a few 
 days all was ready. She found Nathalie in the most de- 
 pressed state of mind. Her nerves completely unstrung 
 from her sleepless nights, ill, she used to lie whole days on 
 her sofa, giving herself up to her doubts and fears. Some- 
 times it seemed to her that weeks and months would pass 
 in this way, that Michail would not return, and she would 
 be waiting and suffering in vain. Then she used to send 
 for Aline, not to be alone, and become quite desperate. The 
 unexpected arrival of Marie and the children produced a 
 favourable result, and she felt a little calmer and braver. 
 She embraced Marie with tears of gratitude; she would not 
 let her out of her sight, and like a little child she looked to 
 her for protection and support. After staying in Paris 
 three days Marie went to Nice. While passing, on her 
 arrival, along the corridor to the chamber that she had 
 just taken, she met a very pretty and exquisitely dressed 
 young woman, with something indefinable in her move- 
 ments which showed her to be a demi-mondaine. The 
 thought arose in Marie's head that it might be Marion 
 Dore, the object of the family trouble. The lively and 
 gossiping chamber-maid soon told Marie that "la belle 
 dame du numcro douse est une cocotte de Paris des plus 
 chic. ... Et que le monsieur du nuniero onze est un beau 
 Russe ires riche, et tres arista crate "; and the maid's chatter 
 
 235
 
 236 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 went on like a gay little stream while she was unpacking 
 and arranging the things. In a very few minutes Marie 
 was fully persuaded that the " beau Russe du ninncro onze^* 
 was no other than her nephew. 
 
 The entire hotel was fast asleep; it was too early to go 
 out. Marie opened the broad glass doors of the balcony 
 looking out on the sea, and her room was flooded with the 
 warm light of the rising sun. The sea, infinitely blue, with 
 its rhythmically breathing surface, was sparkling, shimmer- 
 ing and softly splashing on the shore. Leaning on the 
 rails of the balcony, Marie gave herself up to her thoughts. 
 Last time she was in Nice, Michail had just left the Corps 
 des Pages and had been promoted to the rank of officer. 
 A wave of remembrances rushed over Marie. Already at 
 that time she was not quite young, and had become accus- 
 tomed to the idea that she was to be an old maid with no 
 hopes of personal happiness. In the hotel where they had 
 stopped she soon made the acquaintance of the Colonel of 
 the Horse Guards regiment, Tistcheff. They had heard, 
 her mother and she herself, that he was considered a great 
 bon-vivant in Petersburg. Tistcheff proved himself to be 
 a very pleasant companion, bon causcur, and a nice man. 
 Marie could not explain how or why, but between her and 
 Tistcheff special friendly relations had become established. 
 She used to feel pleased when, sitting with her mother on 
 the terrace of the hotel and on the quay, she saw the 
 sturdy form of Tistcheff approaching them. When Marie 
 lifted her eyes to look at him, she each time met a kind, 
 attentive gaze, which seemed as if it had something to tell 
 her. One day Tistcheff said that after knowing her he 
 had begun to believe in the ideal of a woman's purity, 
 which he, imbued with the uncleanliness of a worldly life, 
 did not dare approach, Marie had blushed, and wanted to 
 say something, but her mother had appeared on the terrace 
 and she could not speak. A new feeling of deep sympathy 
 and warmth had begun to be born in Marie's heart in rela- 
 tion to Tistchefif, who obviously sought for occasions to 
 see her and to speak to her. And then quite suddenly her 
 mother had ordered the servants to pack their things and
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 237 
 
 they had departed. Her mother had said good-bye to Tis- 
 tcheff very coldly, and had not asked him to call on them in 
 Petersburg. A long time had passed when, in recalling 
 one day their sojourn in Nice, Mme. Gourakina had said 
 to her daughter with a smile : 
 
 " I would consider myself an unhappy mother if my 
 daughter had consented to marry Tistche£f, that empty and 
 light-headed bon-vivant." 
 
 Marie remembered how she had blushed and felt con- 
 fused on hearing her mother's words. She had kept 
 silence, but in her heart of hearts had held quite another 
 opinion of Tistcheff. A delicate feeling whispered to her 
 that Tistcheff might have changed, might have given up 
 drinking, if he knew that a loving heart was suffering and 
 aching on account of these bad habits. From Nathalie 
 Marie had heard that Tistcheff was in Paris now. Some- 
 thing had again quivered in her heart. A meeting was 
 possible, but with a sad thought of her age Marie conquered 
 the wish of her heart and went off to Nice. 
 
 When the hotel began to show signs of life, Marie went 
 down into the garden, passed on to the empty quay, took 
 a few turns on it, and came back to the hotel. Having 
 breakfasted and read a few pages of " Imitation de Jesus 
 Christ," she wrote a note to her nephew, asking him to 
 come to her. She sent the note with the servant and, trying 
 to be calm, she sat down to wait for him. Five minutes had 
 hardly gone by when a light knock was heard at the door, 
 and at the same time it opened and Michail entered with a 
 smile which illurnlned his mobile face with gladness. 
 
 " Aunt Marie, dearest, I never expected you." He em- 
 braced Marie and kissed her hand several times. 
 
 "Are you glad to see me?" asked Marie, smiling, not 
 expecting such a warm greeting under the circumstances. 
 
 " Certainly I am glad — awfully glad. . . . How are the 
 children ?" 
 
 " I have left them with Nathalie in Paris." 
 
 "And came on yourself for me ... to save the prodigal 
 husband." 
 
 Michail laughed merrily and unaffectedly.
 
 238 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 "Do not joke, Misha. . . . Really it is all very wrong 
 and sad. Nathalie is looking very much altered; she is 
 quite ill. . . . Mimi is grieving at being separated from 
 you, and is often seen crying." 
 
 "Does Nathalie know that I am in Nice?" asked Michail, 
 who had become suddenly serious after hearing Marie say 
 that his daughter was grieving. 
 
 " Nathalie knows that I have gone to you, but where 
 I did not tell her." 
 
 "You did well, Aunt Marie. Really, you are the only 
 person who understands me completely. Only with you 
 I can be quite myself. Do you know what ? I'll go down 
 directly and tell them to let us have a carriage, and we shall 
 go away somewhere for the whole day. I will show you 
 some beautiful places. On the way we shall have a good 
 talk, and all unpleasant subjects will be less so amid the 
 wonders of this glorious country." 
 
 Michail left the room. Marie, smiling, followed him 
 with her eyes. 
 
 "What a fascinating man!" whispered she, "and what 
 a pity it all is ! . . ." 
 
 Michail soon returned, and they went down into the hall. 
 The servants bowed deeply as they gave way to the generous 
 rich Russian aristocrat, who threw the gold pieces right and 
 left, just as if they were centimes. When the well-turned- 
 out carriage drove away along the alley leading from the 
 sumptuous entrance to the hotel, on one of the balconies of 
 the lower story stood a young woman in a transparent 
 rose-coloured morning gown, with painted eyes and 
 carmined lips. She had an angry look in her greenish 
 mermaid's eyes as they followed the disappearing vehicle. 
 Two days afterwards Gourakin settled the mad totals of 
 his expenses, bade a tender good-bye to Marion Dore, and 
 started for Tashooki. 
 
 Marie returned to Paris, and from there, with Nathalie 
 and the children, also started for home. 
 
 Among other things, while speaking with her nephew of 
 the estates, Marie informed him of the sale of a large 
 portion of the Riazan estate in his absence by Moissei
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 239 
 
 Borisovitch; she made him promise that Nathalie would 
 never know that he had heard of this from her. Michail 
 was frightfully angry; it became evident that Moissei 
 Borisovitch had passed all bounds and that it was 
 dangerous to trust him with the management of the 
 property. 
 
 As soon as Gourakin entered the train, leaving behind 
 him Nice, Paris, Marion Dore, suppers and revels, he at 
 once forgot all about them, and all his thoughts centred in 
 his dear home Tashooki. He thought out a plan for his 
 discussion with Moissei Borisovitch in all its details, made 
 plans for the planting of new forests, the construction of 
 a new mill, and on what terms it might be leased. It 
 seemed strange to him now that he could have re- 
 mained away so long from his beloved work on the estates. 
 About Nathalie he stubbornly refused to think. The 
 thought of her created a sort of protest in him and at the 
 same time a sense of a wrong done on his part, whereas the 
 image of little Mimi moved him and awoke remorse. He 
 arrived unexpectedly, not even having ordered the horses 
 to be sent to meet him. Hiring a brake from the official 
 at the post-office, he drove up to the closed gates which 
 divided the park from the broad alley leading up to the 
 court of honour. A servant in the kitchen, on seeing the 
 master driving up, ran off to wake the guard, and in half 
 an hour the whole establishment knew that the master had 
 returned. 
 
 Gourakin passed the morning in the office and in the 
 inspection of all the buildings. Moissei Borisovitch was as 
 usual impenetrably serious and full of his dignity. Goura- 
 kin wished several times to challenge him with his deceit 
 and falsehood, but he restrained himself for the time being. 
 On the following day he went off to the Riazan estate. 
 Three days later Moissei Borisovitch received a special 
 telegram calling him there immediately, and a week after 
 that the whole village and all the servants heard the rews 
 that the master had dismissed Moissei Borisovitch for 
 dishonesty. Gourakin demanded that he should quit the 
 estate in three days. Moissei Borisovitch calmly sub-
 
 240 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 mitted to this demand, removed his things from the place, 
 handed over the accounts and books to his assistant, bade 
 a cold farew^ell to the employees, and started for Saratoff. 
 
 Nathalie, who was moving by easy stages, so as not to 
 fatigue the little ones, arrived on the day following the 
 departure of Moissei Borisovitch. Marie had persuaded 
 her that she was to meet her husband quite simply, not 
 demanding any explanations, and try to forget all that had 
 happened in Paris. Nathalie had obeyed her injunctions, 
 and the meeting passed naturally. Nathalie was glad that 
 the terrible nightmare was ended, that they were all to- 
 gether again and would be alone until late autumn. She 
 even had a kind of guilty look, whereas Michail, holding 
 high his handsome, well-bred head, was, as formerly, 
 unconcernedly gay and sure of himself. On the same day 
 at dinner he told his wife of the steward's dismissal. 
 Nathalie was carrying a fork to her mouth at the moment, 
 but suddenly put it down again and looked at her husband 
 with wide open eyes : 
 
 " You are joking ! This cannot be. . . ." 
 
 "I assure you, and at the same time congratulate you 
 that we are rid of that skilful rogue." 
 
 " But, allow me . . . Moissei Borisovitch is my steward, 
 and I do not understand what right you had to dismiss him 
 without my consent." 
 
 "The question here is not in the right, but in simple 
 common sense, and, I beg you, Nathalie, do not get excited 
 without any reason, and not knowing what the matter is." 
 
 Michail spoke quite calmly, but Nathalie was rapidly 
 losing all control over herself. After hearing all the details 
 of the sale of the forest Nathalie still continued to defend 
 Moissei Borisovitch, assuring her husband that there was 
 something in the whole transaction that Michail had not 
 understood. 
 
 The dinner ended with a stonny scene : Nathalie even 
 went so far as to accuse her husb-.nd o^ wishing to deprive 
 her of the only servant who was devoted to her interests. 
 
 " I am very glad that papa has sent Moissei Borisovitch 
 away. He is a bad man, and you should not be cross to
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 241 
 
 papa. . , ." From the other side of the table the sweet 
 clear voice of ten-year-old Mimi was heard; the child was 
 gazing at her mother with bright, wide open eyes. 
 
 "That is not your business, Mimi. Do not dare to inter- 
 fere!" her mother rebuked her severely. 
 
 "There, you see, Mimisha thinks the same as I do, and 
 Marie agrees with me, and Miss Jones, and all the servants. 
 You alone go against the general opinion, and I really do 
 not understand for what reasons. However, be that as it 
 may, I will not take back that Jew and rogue, as I do 
 not want to work feeling myself entangled in a web of 
 deceit." 
 
 With these words Gourakin left the table, not desiring to 
 continue the quarrel. Nathalie was very much disturbed 
 by the dismissal of the steward, and was not on speaking 
 terms with her husband for several days. A little more 
 than a week later, one morning when Michail was in the 
 office, a servant announced to Nathalie that the former 
 steward desired to see her. Moissei Borisovitch appeared 
 on the terrace, and after a very dignified greeting asked 
 Nathalie to accord him half an hour's audience. 
 
 In the study, where he was received, Moissei Borisovitch 
 spoke long and eloquently of his services to the estates 
 in the lifetime of the late General Dounaisky and after his 
 death. Michail Vladimirovitch's accusation had offended 
 him so bitterly that he had considered it humiliating to 
 justify himself, and he had waited for an interview with the 
 owner of the estates to explain to her the whole affair. He 
 had known very well that she was keeping the Riazan estate 
 for the children, and if he had permitted himself to sell a 
 small part of the woods without reporting it to her it was 
 because he wanted to do her a pleasure by a profitable 
 transaction as a surprise for her birthday. He had sold the 
 lot in question for a high price and had in view to purchase 
 for the same sum a much larger lot adjoining another part 
 of the same forest. . . . Moissei Borisovitch very adroitly 
 made Nathalie understand that the watchful control over 
 his extravagance on the part of such a devoted and dis- 
 interested defender of her interests as himself was very 
 
 16
 
 242 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 unpleasant to her husband. The interview ended by 
 NathaHe requesting him to undertake the management of 
 all the property again and to return at once to Tashooki. 
 When Michail heard of this decision of his wife's, his rage 
 knew no bounds. His voice rolled like thunder throughout 
 the house. He banged his fist on the table, scattering some 
 valuable Sevres china knick-knacks, and told Nathalie she 
 was a brainless and stubborn fool. On the next day he 
 ordered his things and Mimi's to be packed and went off to 
 his own estate, where he remained not a week but a whole 
 month, to NathaHe's distress. From there he went on with 
 his daughter to Petersburg, where the new house was quite 
 ready and prepared to receive its owners for their new life 
 in the capital. 
 
 In Petersburg Gourakin made known his wish to enter 
 the service, and he soon obtained a very high post. He 
 gave up his salary to the two poorest officials in the 
 Department where he served. Nathalie thought this very 
 foolish, and shrugged her shoulders with a grimace when 
 speaking of her husband's extravagant habits. 
 
 " Seven thousand are not to be found lying in the streets, 
 and it is very foolish not to profit by them," she said. 
 
 On re-entering upon his functions as manager Moissei 
 Borisovitch came to Petersburg to present himself to 
 Michail. He expressed his deep regret as to their "mis- 
 understanding," asked Michail to forget it and to consider 
 him his faithful servant. Michail listened to the words of 
 the crafty Jew with his cigar in his mouth, his head held up 
 haughtily, and with half-closed eyes, and without deigning 
 to enter into any explanations, put an end to the interview 
 by extending negligently two fingers of his hand by way 
 of good-bye. Moissei Borisovitch buried still more deeply 
 in his heart his rancour against Gourakin, and decided to 
 await patiently the moment of repayment. 
 
 In the Petersburg house, as in Moscow, the household 
 was divided into two parts. In the reception-rooms there 
 were, as formerly, dinners, balls, private theatricals and 
 routs; in Marie's apartments life went on like a wound-up 
 bit of mechanism, smoothly and evenly from day to day.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 243 
 
 Mimi, loving her father with a rapturous adoration, gave 
 the rest of her love, which her mother had not known how 
 to win, to her aunt. She admired and was proud of her 
 father, but she was wholly frank and open only with her 
 aunt, who watched so carefully the development of her 
 tender, fragile organism. Mimi was painfully sensitive, 
 and it seemed that nothing passed unperceived by the 
 searching gaze of her large thoughtful eyes. Without 
 being able to express it in words she seemed to understand 
 the psychology of both her parents. 
 
 " Poor mamma is again not in a good temper," she would 
 say to her aunt. " I will not go to her; I had better remain 
 with you, auntie, and work, and when papa comes home I 
 will go to him in the study. . . . Papa is always in a good 
 temper, and everyone feels happy near him. He is like the 
 sun : as bright and kind. All love him. Is it not true that 
 my father is wonderful ? And you also, auntie — you love 
 him more than mamma." 
 
 Marie would carefully avert such conversations, but she 
 had to admit inwardly that Mimi instinctively had a 
 premature and correct insight into things. Little Boris, 
 a favourite of his mother, was growing up a lively and 
 playful child, giving no trouble to anybody. Marie was 
 becoming more and more attached to the children with 
 every year, and her life was full of care and anxiety for 
 them. As when she had lived with her mother, the years 
 full of cares for others rolled over her head without bring- 
 ing her personal happiness, and meanwhile her smooth hair 
 was getting grey, her figure was beginning to get stout, 
 and small wrinkles had long ago appeared round her eyes. 
 Marie was conscious that old age was not far now. She 
 looked forward without a murmur to this sad autumn of 
 human life, and bore her joyless fate meekly and without 
 murmuring.
 
 PART THREE 
 
 Ten years passed. Marie Gourakina, grown stouter, her 
 hair showing silver threads, her whole appearance strongly 
 reminding of her mother, was sitting in a large armchair 
 and carefully sewing in a bit of elastic to the edge of a pair 
 of long white ball gloves. Light rapid footsteps were 
 heard, and Mimi, fresh-looking and remarkably pretty, her 
 cheeks red with the frost, entered the Httle drawing-room 
 where Marie was sitting. She had not yet divested her- 
 self of the little sable cap which was so well suited to 
 her fair hair. In her tailor-made blue costume, tall, slim, 
 she was very good to look at; her movements had a certain 
 inborn noble grace, and her dark blue eyes were soft and 
 thoughtful. There was not a shadow of resemblance to 
 her mother, or to Gourakin, whom she continued to love 
 with a sort of adoration. 
 
 At Mimi's entrance Marie gave her a fond look, 
 
 "Cold, Mimi?" 
 
 " No, auntie, the weather is splendid. I would have 
 walked a little more, but poor Miss Jones was quite frozen. 
 My dress is a dream I Even Miss Jones praised it. 
 Madame Josephine promised to send it by five o'clock. On 
 the quay we met Tchagin; he says to-night's ball promises 
 to be very brilliant. Do you know, auntie, I will be glad 
 to dance to-day. After the quiet of the country it is so 
 pleasant to plunge into the fun of the capital." 
 
 " Here are your gloves ready. Take them to your room, 
 Mimisha." 
 
 Marie handed the gloves to her niece. Mimi embraced 
 her aunt. 
 
 245
 
 246 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 "What a pity, auntie, that you do not go to balls with 
 me! I would be happier still." 
 
 " I should fall asleep there, my dear," Marie said with a 
 smile. "I was very young when I left ofif going to balls; 
 I never liked dancing much. . . ." 
 
 " Oh, auntie, how can one not like to dance ! I always 
 feel my heart beating quite particularly just when I enter 
 a ball-room. The music, the lights, the flowers, the ball 
 dresses, all look so pretty, everyone's eyes glistening; one 
 floats along the parquet as if one had wings, and all the 
 faces, all the words, seem quite different. For instance, 
 Tchagin, auntie mine : he is not handsome, but in a ball- 
 room I look at him and I admire him. He is so tall, so 
 slender, fresh-looking, elegant, somehow quite new." 
 
 "Come, come, Mimisha, what nonsense!" laughed Marie. 
 " If Alexander Alexandrovitch is good-looking at a ball, 
 then the other men must be simply beauties." 
 
 " Well, I see you do not believe me, auntie, because you 
 do not frequent balls, but ask Kitty Orlova — she says just 
 the same. And papa ! Papa is simply magnificent. I see 
 how everyone looks at him. When mamma does not go and 
 I enter a ball-room on his arm I feel a tingling all down my 
 back from rapture and pride." 
 
 " Is mamma going to-day ?" asked Marie. 
 
 "No, auntie, I am going alone with papa, and — I will 
 whisper it to your ear, auntie — I am so glad!" 
 
 Marie shook her head good-naturedly and reproachfully. 
 
 " It would be better if your mother would go with you." 
 
 " Why so ?" 
 
 " Papa spoils you too much." 
 
 "And you — do not you spoil me?" 
 
 Mimi smiled slyly. 
 
 "That is just what is bad: that everyone spoils you." 
 
 "Not bad, but very good, and you, my auntie, are a 
 darling, and I adore you. . . ." 
 
 Mimi kissed her aunt and, sitting down opposite her on 
 the sofa, took up one of Miss Jones's everlasting scarves 
 of orange wool for the poor, and continued to chatter 
 gaily :
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 247 
 
 " Auntie, tell me the truth : what do you think of 
 Tchagin ?" 
 
 " What can I think of him, Mimisha? A nice, good man 
 and nothing more." 
 
 " No. no, tell me something more. I know that you are 
 thinking something else and are silent on purpose." 
 
 " I am not thinking anything. . . . There is nothing to 
 think about." 
 
 " Ah no, there is, there is, there is ! You will not say on 
 purpose." 
 
 "What is it I do not want to say?" asked Marie, smiling. 
 
 "That Tchagin is in love with me, and that you are 
 afraid that I will fall in love with him." 
 
 "What nonsense! If Tchagin, as you say, is in love 
 with you, I do not think for one moment that you can fall 
 in love with him. It would be absurd." 
 
 "Why not? There is something dreadfully interesting 
 in him." 
 
 At the word "dreadfully" Mimi shut her eyes for a 
 second and, putting her work aside, leaAed both arms on 
 the table. 
 
 " He is not like all the others. Kitty Orlova assured me 
 that he is a mystic and something of a freemason." 
 
 "All that is very well, but he is too old for you, my 
 dear" 
 
 " Not at all. You told him yourself that his soul is young. 
 And you were right." 
 
 " If so, then marry him," said Marie, laughing. 
 
 "How, auntie! — you consent to that?" 
 
 "Yes, I consent, because I do not doubt that Tchagin 
 loves you as the daughter of his friend, and will never pass 
 that limit " 
 
 At this moment a servant from the other part of the house 
 appeared at the door. 
 
 "Boris Michailovitch ordered me to say that he cannot 
 go to the skating to-day." 
 
 "Ah, what a pity! . . ." cried Mimi in a displeased voice. 
 
 " Is my brother at home ?" she asked the man. 
 
 "No, miss; he has just gone out."
 
 248 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 "It is dreadful; Boris is never at home now," said Mimi 
 to her aunt, when the servant had gone. "And do you 
 know, aunt, that horrid Moissei Borisovitch connives with 
 him in a dreadful way." 
 
 "How can he connive with him?" 
 
 "I will tell you, but, please, it is a secret. He procures 
 money for him, and I know from Boris himself that not 
 long ago Moissei Borisovitch got him one thousand 
 roubles, which Boris spent in a fortnight." 
 
 "Can that be true, Mimi? Wherever can he spend so 
 much money? Since autumn papa and mamma have 
 allowed him five hundred roubles a month." 
 
 " Boris told me that since he has been promoted officer 
 he has many necessary expenses." 
 
 " However, his father received the same allowance of five 
 hundred roubles a month, when at his age he served in the 
 same regiment, and he managed to get on with it. Moissei 
 Borisovitch is acting very wrongly in giving Boris such 
 sums without the knowledge of his parents." 
 
 " Moissei Borisovitch does still worse : he sets Boris up 
 against papa. . . ." 
 
 "Ah, what a dreadful man!" cried Marie anxiously. 
 " What does he tell him ?" 
 
 "He tells him that all his life papa has squandered money 
 on suppers and amusements, and that if there is anything 
 left then it is only owing to mamma and her struggle 
 against papa to retain Moissei Borisovitch, who has always 
 guarded mamma's interests and saved her fortune from 
 papa's extravagance." 
 
 " But how dare he speak so ! How can Boris listen to 
 him ?" 
 
 " I said so to Boris. A few days ago he asked papa for 
 some money and papa gave him two hundred roubles above 
 his allowance. Boris was very angry that papa did not give 
 him five hundred, and turned directly to Moissei Boriso- 
 vitch. Instead of persuading Boris, he set him up worse 
 against papa and procured him the thousand roubles." 
 
 " How very dreadful !" 
 
 Marie was greatly agitated.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 249 
 
 " I am surprised that mamma does not see anything, and 
 trusts that horrid Jew so much. Besides speaking disre- 
 spectfully of papa he tells lies. Boris asked mamma for 
 some money once, and she refused him. Moissei Boriso- 
 vitch assured Boris that mamma had refused because papa 
 had persuaded her not to give the money. And I know for 
 sure that that is a lie, because at luncheon papa was per- 
 suading mamma in my presence to give Boris his part of 
 the fortune, so that in entering the regiment he would feel 
 quite independent. Mamma objected, and they quarrelled. 
 And Moissei Borisovitch represents papa in a false light, 
 and assures Boris that papa will squander all the money," 
 
 " Did Boris tell you that ?" 
 
 "Yes, he told me the day before yesterday." 
 
 Marie shook her head slowly, and was silent several 
 minutes. 
 
 " This cannot be left so," she said thoughtfully. " Moissei 
 Borisovitch is sowing discord in the family. Boris's eyes 
 must be opened. I will ask you to tea to-morrow evening 
 and will lead the conversation to this subject. I always 
 considered Moissei Borisovitch a dangerous man, but I 
 never thought that he would be capable of such baseness." 
 
 All the evening Marie remained under the impression of 
 her conversation with her niece. She remembered now 
 small but significant facts in Boris's conduct, his argu- 
 ments, his critical attitude towards his father's actions. 
 Marie used to restrain her nephew, but without laying 
 special stress on his sallies, which she ascribed to his youth 
 and undisciplined nature, which was such a contrast to his 
 sister's. 
 
 The last years Marie had suffered very much. She saw 
 that Michail's family life was an irreparable failure. Nathalie 
 loved him as formerly, and was jealous of him, but now 
 jealousy was taking a sharp, often rancorous turn. Michail, 
 who used to control himself so well formerly, now not only 
 lost the capacity of keeping his head in his quarrels with his 
 wife, but frequently flew into such a frenzy of rage that 
 Marie, listening to Nathalie's complaints, used to be quite 
 horrified, and vainly implored her to beware of stirring the
 
 250 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 lower side of his nature. As an onlooker she saw clearly 
 that Michail was losing patience, and might be carried away 
 so far by his passion that he might overstep certain limits, 
 after which there could be no return possible. 
 
 For Gourakin, who had always been spoilt by women, 
 his wife's cavilling and spiteful rancour were simply un- 
 bearable. Little by little the family had divided into two 
 camps : Nathalie and her favourite Boris, and on the other 
 side Michail and his devotedly adoring Mimi. In the 
 parents' quarrels Boris always took his mother's part, and 
 often showed his displeasure with his father by a moody 
 silence and angry looks from under his eyebrows. Mimi 
 carefully hid her suffering and displeasure with her mother 
 and only tried to prove her sympathy with her father by 
 marked tenderness. Marie observed in silence this sad 
 discord, but she never even thought that Moissei Boriso- 
 vitch's enmity towards Michail would be used to fan the 
 son's enmity to the father. Boris, very much like his father 
 in appearance, was like his mother in his character. He was 
 narrow-minded and suspicious. Accustomed to luxury, he 
 spent money without counting, but extravagant when it 
 concerned himself, he was stingy for others; he held long 
 and frequent conferences with Moissei Borisovitch, finding 
 out from him all about his parents' money affairs; he took 
 his mother's part, not so much out of love for her as from 
 egotistical reasons; he knew from the steward that his 
 father's fortune amounted to hardly the tenth part of his 
 mother's enormous wealth. 
 
 On the day following the ball Mimi and Boris were taking 
 tea with their aunt. Mimi was relating with enthusiasm her 
 impressions of the brilliant gathering. Boris, who had 
 slept badly, was yawning, and spoke little. 
 
 "And you, Boris — did you enjoy it?" asked Marie. 
 
 " Very much. The ball was a success, and the ladies 
 cannot complain of me; I hardly sat down a minute." 
 
 " Especially one lady," said Mimi, laughing. " He danced 
 nearly all the evening with Mika Bestoujeva." 
 
 " Well, she is very nice " — Boris seemed slightly confused. 
 
 "Oh, very, very . . . such a beauty," Mimi caught up
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 251 
 
 warml)' " Do you know, auntie, her mother is in love with 
 papa; I have heard it from many people." 
 
 Boris frowned; Marie was silent. Mimi's naive remark 
 touchec. upon the subject of many scenes between her 
 parents, Mimi did not know that her mother had ceased 
 for some time to appear at parties where she might meet 
 the lovely, youthful-looking, gay coquette, the mother of 
 Mimi's friend, Mika Bestoujeva. Michail Gourakin paid 
 his tribute to the fascinating, worldly woman, and in the 
 frequent meetings with her found a rest from his family 
 scenes. Although Michail was very careful, this liaison 
 had not remained undiscovered. Nathalie's friends had 
 hastened, for the sake of their friendship, to inform her of 
 her husband's new infatuation. Nathalie, never very dis- 
 ciplined in her fits of jealousy, was now in a terrible rage. 
 The passing years were laying their cruel hand on her 
 outward appearance, whereas Michail, although his hair 
 was beginning to turn grey, still remained the same singu- 
 larly handsome man, and Nathalie saw that the years did 
 not diminish the number of women's hearts ready to burn 
 with a bright flame in answer to their fascinating favourite. 
 Marie had known of this new drama of Nathalie's for some 
 time, Boris only a short time; he now looked intently at 
 his sister, as if wishing to see whether there was a deeper 
 significance in her words ; but Mimi's eyes were bright and 
 gay. She spoke of Bestoujeva's love as of one of the 
 trophies of her father, of which she was justly proud. 
 
 '■' Mika's mother is in love with papa," she continued 
 naively, " and Boris is in love with Mika." 
 
 " In love — that is going too far," smiled Boris. 
 " Most certainly in love, and Mika, also, I think, is in love 
 with you. I would advise you to marry her in time; she is 
 such a darling. If she has not enough money, it need not 
 matter to you — you will be rich." 
 
 " Well, that is not certain," said Boris in a mocking tone, 
 stretching out his crossed legs and putting his hands in his 
 pockets. 
 
 "How da you mean, not certain? Your parents will 
 without any doubt leave you their fortune," said Marie
 
 252 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 calmly, feeling that in her nephew's words there was a 
 hidden thought. 
 
 " It has happened that even with larger fortunes than 
 ours, the children have had nothing left them," said Boris, 
 not changing his position and without looking towards his 
 aunt. 
 
 " I really do not understand you, my dear." 
 
 " As if you did not know my father, aunt I His waste- 
 fulness is known to all Petersburg." 
 
 " Wastefulness is not right. Your father spends very 
 much because he is able to do so, and if, after living over 
 twenty years with your mother, he has not, as you say, 
 'wasted' her fortune, then who can suppose and foretell 
 that he will do so now ?" 
 
 "Those who know him well, they say so.'* 
 
 ** But, Boris, who, even knowing him very well, can 
 balance his revenues and expenses, to come to such con- 
 clusions? You are just beginning life, have but begun to 
 receive your allowance, and already you spend more than 
 five hundred roubles a month, and are even making debts, 
 although you are provided with all the necessaries of life, 
 and you blame your father, who you know is obliged to 
 spend much to keep up the style of your way of living. 
 Your father has a rich and generous nature, and you have 
 more right to be proud of him than to blame him." 
 
 " It is mostly such generous natures that squander their 
 millions," answered Boris irritably. 
 
 "Are not you ashamed, Boris, to speak so of papa?" 
 Mimi broke in hotly. "Everyone who knows papa intim- 
 ately adores him." 
 
 " Nothing surprising in that, when he feeds them, and 
 amuses them, and lends them money without ever getting it 
 back." 
 
 " You are talking nonsense, and I will not listen to it." 
 
 Mimi said good-night to her aunt and went to her own 
 room. 
 
 Marie remained with Boris and continued the conversa- 
 tion. For the first time Boris spoke out to his aunt about 
 his father. He accused and blamed him for all — for the
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 253 
 
 embittered character of his mother, and his wastefulness, 
 and his constant infatuations; he even blamed him because 
 he did not occupy himself with his mother's affairs, but left 
 them all to the steward. Marie listened to her nephew with 
 rising bitterness. Moissei Borisovitch's revenge had suc- 
 ceeded : he had been able to set the son against the father 
 so well that even the defence of the latter by the aunt who 
 had known him from his cradle was of no avail. Marie 
 tried to open his eyes, tried as far as she deemed it possible 
 to explain his mother's confidence in the false and crafty 
 steward, the antipathy, so easy to understand, which his 
 father's straightforward nature felt towards this man, the 
 latter's spite against him, and its results. 
 
 Boris remained deaf. 
 
 "You, aunt, are partial towards my father, and see his 
 actions in a favourable light, but I am wholly on my 
 mother's side, because I see my father as he is, and not such 
 as he appears to you." 
 
 " Enough, enough, Boris," Marie said. " You are wrong 
 to say such things. Without taking anyone's part, you 
 must respect and love your father and mother. You are 
 blind, and will not see what a precipice this base, sly Jew 
 is digging under the feet of your father, whom he has 
 served for over twenty years." 
 
 " He served my mother, not my father." 
 
 " Enough, Boris. I am deeply moved by what I have 
 heard from you, and I see that Moissei Borisovitch has 
 managed to influence not only your mother, but yourself 
 also." 
 
 Boris smiled a wry smile, coldly wished his aunt good- 
 night, and went off. 
 
 /-,11 that night Marie did not close her eyes
 
 II 
 
 In a large private room of a first-class restaurant the com- 
 pany of artists invited by Gourakin was in that elevated 
 frame of mind which is easily called forth by music, wine, 
 and the society of interesting women. On the large round 
 table stood many half-filled glasses. The men in evening 
 dress, the ladies in low-cut gowns, with their laughter 
 and merry intercourse quite drowned the sounds of the 
 orchestra which were borne in from the general salon. 
 Michail Gourakin, a little stouter, slightly grey on the 
 temples, with the same eagle's glance of his handsome eyes, 
 and a certain authoritativeness in his look and manner, was 
 sitting in the centre of the assembled company. Leaning 
 against the back of the chair, with his legs crossed one over 
 the other, he was listening with a smile to the picturesque 
 and flowery speech of the impulsive Italian singer. The 
 tenor Spada, gesticulating and speaking half French and 
 half Italian, was pointing out to Gourakin the most advan- 
 tageous places in the tenor's part in the musical comedy 
 composed by Gourakin and presented that evening to the 
 criticism of the artistic company. 
 
 " Veramente un pezzo bellissimo !" tenor Spada was saying 
 in immoderate praise of the work, which was not without a 
 spark of talent of the aristocrat art-lover, always ready to 
 throw hundreds and thousands of roubles on the stage. A 
 well-known musician, whose occupation was to accompany 
 singers on the piano during concerts, came up to the piano 
 and began to turn over the leaves of the manuscript. 
 
 " May we continue ?" he asked Michail. 
 
 " If you please. Signora Rizio," said Michail in Italian 
 to a gorgeous and dark-eyed brunette, " we are going to try 
 the mezzo-soprano part; will you help us?" 
 
 254
 
 THE HEAJIT OF A RUSSIAN 255 
 
 Michail's glance rested on Signora Rizio, accompanied 
 by a caressing smile, and the impulsive Italian, feeling its 
 magic power, blushed slightly. 
 
 " Con piacere, caro signor." 
 
 She went up to the piano, took the music which the pianist 
 handed her, hastily ran her eyes over it, and asked him to 
 begin. All were silent and listened with attention to the 
 pretty light melody which was issuing from the mouth of 
 the singer in low velvet tones. Michail, laying aside his 
 unfinished cigar, threw his head back, and with the expres- 
 sion of a dreamer, gazing into the far distance, seemed to 
 forget all his surroundings. 
 
 "Molto bene," the tenor Spada announced in a loud 
 whisper, but Michail did not hear him; the melody created 
 by him seemed to lull him and carry him away, and at that 
 moment he was indifferent to the judgment of others. 
 
 From the depths of the room a pair of woman's eyes 
 were fixed on Michail with a burning fixed gaze. They 
 were the eyes of a young artist just arrived from Italy, 
 where she had completed her training, and had been invited 
 through a third person to this assembly to become ac- 
 quainted with the soprano part, which she was to sing at 
 a grand concert given in Michail's house. Gourakin, who 
 had never liked to initiate the indifferent Nathalie into his 
 artistic efforts, now kept them quite secret to avoid vexa- 
 tious questionings and suspicions. Mimi alone was aware 
 of the fact that her father was intending to find performers 
 to execute his work. As in all other things, she completely 
 sympathized with the idea, and had learnt by heart all the 
 best melodies of the short opera. Nathalie had heard that 
 her husband had "composed something," but had never 
 inquired what it was. Michail had become accustomed a 
 long while to his wife's indifference towards his personal 
 interests; he ignored her with a cold contempt, and did not 
 even inform her of his having invited the artists to a 
 restaurant to acquaint them with his music. He did not 
 invite them to his house because he foresaw that she would 
 be displeased. 
 
 " I detest to have those artists in my house," she had
 
 256 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 often told her husband. "Your love for them is a craze 
 which costs much too dear." 
 
 Each artist or actress invited by Michail to their house 
 seemed to Nathalie to be a leech come to suck away a part 
 of her fortune. The more Michail was carried away with 
 them, the more she hated them, especially the women, as 
 she was sure that her husband spent his money on them, 
 and they gave him their love in return. 
 
 Michail's infatuations had not ceased as the years went 
 by. Just as when he was young, he never did anything by 
 halves : he either took no notice of people or he loved them 
 with a generous love. All that had anything to do v/ith the 
 arts found an echo in his soul; he spent large sums in the 
 support of talents without any thought of gratitude or 
 popularity, and therefore he was adored by this class of 
 persons. 
 
 At this moment, carried away by his impressions, Michail 
 in an unconsciously picturesque attitude attracted all the 
 looks of the company, who thoroughly sympathized with 
 him. 
 
 " What a noble profile I ..." the wife of the pianist said, 
 bending down to the ear of the young singer, who was 
 gazing at Michail with enraptured eyes. 
 
 " Wonderful!" answered the other one without withdraw- 
 ing her eyes. 
 
 " That is a real hero of a novel, is not he ?" 
 
 "Oh yes! For such a man one could do anything. I 
 see him for the first time, but I feel that if he but say a word 
 I shall be ready to forget everyone and everything for 
 him. . . ." 
 
 Whether these words reached Michail's sense of hearing, 
 or whether his action was unconscious, but he slowly turned 
 his head towards the speaker and looked at her with a 
 smile. 
 
 "Are you pleased?" he asked, thinking of the music. 
 
 " Not only pleased, I am enchanted," the singer answered 
 impulsively, thinking of her own thought. 
 
 Michail slightly bent his head in acknowledgment and 
 looked again at the lovely artist Their eyes met, a flash
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 257 
 
 of fire passed with lightning quickness from her to him and 
 back again, and Michail with a dumb feehng that was partly 
 gratitude, partly a caress, answered her thoughts with a 
 second's eloquent burning glance. He was so accustomed 
 to these dumb avowals from caressing women's eyes, he 
 loved them so, he was so grateful for them! ... In his 
 whole life he had not hurt a single woman's heart, except 
 his wife's. 
 
 The pianist was playing the third and last act. It was 
 late. Michail ordered oysters and champagne to be 
 brought. The pianist, after playing the last chord, came up 
 to Gourakin and with both hands extended : 
 
 "Bravo and bravo, Michail Vladimirovitchl Great 
 musical intuition, originality, and melodies of a rare 
 beauty." 
 
 " Michail Vladimirovitch in his musical fantasies, as in all 
 else, is simply enchanting," said the pianist's wife, a well- 
 known opera-singer, gazing boldly into Gourakin's eyes. 
 
 "You are too generous; I do not deserve this. . , ." 
 
 Gourakin, a whole head taller than the guests who 
 crowded round him in a tight circle, listened with a good- 
 natured, lenient smile to the praises that were pouring 
 down on him from all sides. Signor Spada raised a glass 
 of champagne high with a toast for t7 gran' signore russo, 
 pieno di talento e di buonta. 
 
 Amid the laughter and merry talk no one noticed how 
 the door of the room opened; Nathalie Gourakina stood 
 on the threshold, in a black silk dress, with a magnificent 
 silver-black fox fur on her shoulders. Holding her 
 lorgnette to her eyes, the lids of which were lowered in a 
 half-contemptuous fashion, her face pale, her nostrils 
 quivering, she stood for a minute unnoticed by anyone. 
 Michail was the first to catch sight of her. A lightning 
 flash of wrath crossed his eyes, but he controlled himself 
 and, moving back his chair noisily, he went to meet her. 
 
 "A-ah! . . . Nathalie. . . . Very nice of you to have 
 come. Allow me to present to you my lenient critics and 
 kind friends." 
 
 Nathalie extended the ends of her fingers with a con- 
 
 17
 
 258 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 descending smile and continued to observe the ladies fixedly 
 through her lorgnette. 
 
 " I did not suspect that my husband had such a large 
 audience," she said with an artificial smile. 
 
 " Oh, Michail Vladimirovitch is so talented. He has been 
 reading us his beautiful poetry," cried the young artist from 
 Italy with eyes shining with enthusiasm, and not remark- 
 ing the dissonance which had been felt in the company 
 from the moment of Nathalie's appearance. 
 
 " Your husband is such a grand, such a wonderful 
 man ! " 
 
 Nathalie's nostrils quivered a little more, and her eyes 
 rested with a cold and unfriendly look on the enthusiastic 
 face of the speaker. 
 
 " How enraptured you seem ! Or is it the wine, the 
 music, and my husband's presence which have such an effect 
 on you ?" 
 
 The singer wanted to reply, but she stammered and 
 looked in a disconcerted way towards Gourakin; he had not 
 heard his wife's words, but her whole aspect told him that 
 she was in a state of jealous excitement, which always led 
 to a desire to say disagreeable and unkind things to all and 
 anyone. 
 
 "If you intend to speak of music with my wife, then I would 
 recommend you to change the subject of conversation," 
 said Michail to the disconcerted singer, leaning his elbow 
 on the table and turning towards his wife, in a loud and 
 meaning tone. 
 
 " Take my advice, or else my wife will make you 
 hear a lot of disagreeable things, as she cannot bear 
 music." 
 
 Michail looked at the artist with a kindly smile; she raised 
 her eyes to his with a. rapid movement and lowered them at 
 once as rapidly. However, Nathalie had time to read some- 
 thing in this passing movement of the eyelids, and her face 
 began to lose its pallor and become diffused with hot colour. 
 At this moment a group of artists at the piano were urging 
 Signora Rizio to sing something. 
 
 She was refusing.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 259 
 
 "Make her sing, cher monsieur; she will not be able to 
 refuse you," said one of the Italian artists jestingly to 
 Gourakin. 
 
 "Yes, yes, Signora Rizio, give us the pleasure of listen- 
 ing to your beautiful voice." 
 
 With these words Gourakin rose and moved towards the 
 piano, where the artist was standing. At the moment 
 when she, ceding to his request, was taking up the music 
 and preparing to sing, Nathalie, pretending not to notice 
 either artist or pianist, rose abruptly from her chair, with 
 a graceful gesture caught up the fur which had slid off her 
 shoulder, and with a rustle of her silken train and an unkind 
 little fire in her eyes came up to her husband. 
 
 " It is very late, and I think that it is time for all of us to 
 go home, especially as to-morrow at nine o'clock there is 
 the levee du corps of Princess Yurakin, and we must not 
 oversleep ouselves." 
 
 Michail clenched with all his force his fist, which was 
 lying on the lid of the piano, and it seemed as if he wanted 
 to dig it into the instrument. An imperceptible convulsion 
 passed over his features and disappeared immediately. 
 
 "You have evidently not heard that Signora Rizio has 
 consented to give us the pleasure of hearing her beautiful 
 voice." 
 
 But Signora Rizio, with a look of offended dignity in her 
 large black eyes, threw down the music which she held and 
 said rapidly in French, addressing herself to Michail : 
 
 "Please do not trouble; I will sing to you with pleasure 
 another time, and as much as you like. I do not like, and 
 I do not wish, to sing in the presence of those who neither 
 understand nor love music." 
 
 " You are not quite right," answered Nathalie haughtily 
 with flashing eyes and letting loose her rage. " I like music 
 at concerts and in the opera, but I cannot bear it amid the 
 surroundings of a restaurant." 
 
 " Ecco la grand'dama!" Nathalie heard the mocking voice 
 of the tenor Spada in an audible whisper. 
 
 Pretending not to hear him, Nathalie inclined her head 
 slightly in a general bow and turned to go.
 
 26o THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 "Michail, I shall be waiting for you in the carriage." 
 She turned round from the door and left the room. 
 
 Gourakin moved away from the piano and, breathing 
 heavily, leaned his hands on the round covered table and 
 looked around him at the company with eyes dark with 
 wrath. 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen, I must tender my excuses. . . . 
 I did not expect this visit, otherwise I would have taken 
 measures to protect you against this . . . wild outbreak, 
 inspired, as usual, by a blind, unreasoning jealousy. Please 
 excuse me, once again I beg you. ... I feel myself 
 offended not less than you. . . ." 
 
 Gourakin wanted to bring his fist down with all his 
 force on the table, but with a tremendous effort of his will 
 he conquered his longing. In repressing his boiling rage 
 he suddenly felt a spasm in his chest, and caught at his 
 heart. In a moment he was surrounded, placed on a chair; 
 a glass of water was handed him. 
 
 ". . . Oh, povero caro signore . . . tanto gentile, tanto 
 huono ! . . . Calmez-vous, cher monsieur. ... For God's 
 sake, do not agitate yourself. . . . We understand very 
 well . . ." was heard on all sides. 
 
 Little by little Michail became himself again. 
 
 " Your Excellency," the respectful voice of the servant was 
 heard, " Her Excellency begs you to come to the carriage." 
 
 " Tell Her Excellency to go home and send the carriage 
 back for me." 
 
 Soon the ccmpany invited by Michail began to disperse. 
 Champagne had been served once more and had helped to 
 scatter the unpleasant impressions of the evening. The 
 guests took a friendly leave of Gourakin, who managed to 
 say to each of them something amiable and kind. 
 
 Returning home late at night, Michail was reflecting that 
 he must avoid meeting his wife that night. He felt that 
 the quelled wrath might break out into fury if he saw her, 
 and the usual nightly discussions would be recommenced. 
 Throwing his cloak to the porter, Michail, with his 
 thoughts concentrated on the tactless and cruel sally of his 
 wife, ascended the stairs to the second story. In the lower
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 261 
 
 story were the apartments of Marie, the children, and the 
 spare rooms. Moving carefully along the parquet, trying 
 to stifle the noise of his footsteps, he passed on to his study. 
 His servant was instructed to lay his bed in the study each 
 time that he went out in the evening. Michail put out the 
 lamp which was burning in the salon and entered his study. 
 Stumbling against the furniture, he passed on to his 
 writing-table; he felt for the matches and lit the candles. 
 The large, luxuriously furnished room was lit up with the 
 quivering light, and trembling, hovering shadows. The bed 
 with its white covering stood out in strong contrast to the 
 general half darkness. Michail took off his smoking-coat 
 and threw it on a neighbouring chair, then he yawned and 
 .stretched himself. His stately figure was reflected in a 
 giant shadow along the wall and on the ceiling. He took 
 a few steps into the room and stopped suddenly; in a low 
 armchair, enveloped in the fur which she had worn that 
 evening, in a white dressing-gown, her well-preserved hair 
 flowing down her shoulders, sat Nathalie. Evidently she 
 had been asleep and the light of the candles had awakened 
 her. Michail, having regained his equanimity, remained 
 silent, fearing to lose it. 
 
 "I have resolved to wait for you, Michail, to come to an 
 understanding once and for all, and to protect myself and 
 my family from your crazes; besides this, I . . ." 
 
 " Go away ... go away this very second, and do not say 
 another word. . . ." 
 
 Michail's voice sounded choked, and there was something 
 threatening in his unnatural restraint, but Nathalie did not 
 understand this. 
 
 "No, no, I have decided to lay before you the results of 
 all the outrages that have been accumulating all these 
 years," she continued rapidly, throwing aside her fur with a 
 nervous gesture of her hand. Michail bent down to pick 
 up the fallen fur, and then suddenly, in a movement of rage, 
 threw it with all his force on a chair. 
 
 "Go. . . . Do you understand? Another word, and I 
 . . . and I . . ." 
 
 " Oh, I have become accustomed to your rages long ago,
 
 262 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 you cannot surprise me . . ." Nathalie smiled contemptu- 
 ously. "I am going to speak to you on behalf of the 
 children, for their future welfare. . . ." 
 
 "Nathalie!" burst forth from Michail in a hoarse, 
 threatening whisper. 
 
 He was standing before her, his head slightly bent, 
 breathing heavily and clenching his fists convulsively. 
 
 " I have become tired of all these half cocottes, half 
 artists who hang themselves on your neck and extort 
 enormous sums out of our capital, and I will find means to 
 protect myself against your debauchery. ... If it were 
 only for the sake of your daughter, whom you have taught 
 to take your part, and whom you spoil with your fancies 
 and expenses — if it were only for her sake, you ought to 
 restrain your base instincts. . . ." 
 
 " Certainly . . . certainly, were it not for Mimi, I would 
 long ago have thrown over both you and this dastardly 
 life under one roof with you." 
 
 "I know it ... I know it very well. . . . You have 
 managed to turn her head, and the last crumbs of love 
 which belonged to me you have given to her." 
 
 " Yes, I have given her all, all of love and tenderness in 
 my heart. Thanks to your evil character, nothing remains 
 in my heart for you. . . . You are both pitiable and 
 disgusting." 
 
 "You gave all to that girl? Ha, ha, ha! ... En voila 
 un amour sublime ! Repeat it, repeat it again. . . ." 
 
 Nathalie was beside herself. Hysterical laughter inter- 
 rupted her excited utterances. She made two steps forward 
 and, coming up quite close to Michail, reiterated insistently : 
 
 " Say it again. . . ." 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes. ... I have given all my love to my 
 daughter, and you . . . you I am beginning to hate." 
 
 "To your daughter! You gave your love to your 
 daughter! . . . What a mockery of fate! . . . Mimi is 
 Volynsky's daughter, not yours. I have deceived you. . . . 
 Volynsky knows it as well as I. . . ." 
 
 Nathalie did not have time to end her speech. Like a 
 wounded tiger, with bloodshot eyes, his face distorted by
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN • 263 
 
 rage, Michail with a powerful movement of his hand bent 
 her down to the floor. In her vain efforts to free herself 
 from his hand, which was clutching her neck like an iron 
 vice, she tore her dressing-gown, which slipped down to 
 her waist. The aspect of her bare, convulsively moving 
 shoulders excited MichaiFs rage to the utmost limits of 
 madness. Out of his breast issued hoarse, inarticulate 
 sounds. Nathalie groaned, bent lower and lower down to 
 the floor with the huge bearskin rug on it. 
 " Let go ... or I will scream. . . ." 
 "Then scream, base, deceitful woman! . . ." 
 In an instant he had snatched a horsewhip which hung 
 on the wall near a collection of rare firearms and, grasping 
 the handle tightly, he began to rain down on Nathalie 
 smarting, cruel strokes. The strokes fell on her back, her 
 shoulders, her legs. Nathalie writhed like a snake, crawling 
 about on the soft fur, and burying her face in it in her pain, 
 clasping the legs of her maddened husband, trying to get 
 hold of the whip. . , . But the burning fiery lashes con- 
 tinued to cut into her flesh without stopping. Nathalie had 
 ceased to scream; she was howling in a hoarse voice, losing 
 her reason under the merciless hail of the whistling lashes. 
 Michail, with bloodshot eyes, saw in the trembling light of 
 the candles how the cuts came out and swelled on the bare 
 flesh, and he struck again and again, giving himself up to 
 the intoxication of cruelty. Now Nathalie was moaning 
 hoarsely; she had given up all resistance, and, clasping her 
 husband's legs convulsively, she struck her head against 
 them, nearly losing her senses with the pain. Her torn 
 chemise had slipped off her shoulders, swollen, dark crim- 
 son stripes covered all her body, in some places blood was 
 trickling. . . . And the cruel strokes fell and fell. . . . 
 Nathalie was silent now, and lay without movement at 
 Michail's feet. In the ensuing silence the hiss of the whip 
 brought him to his senses. He opened the hand which 
 was clutching his wife's neck, threw away the whip, and, 
 thrusting his fingers among his thick hair, he bent his head 
 back and remained standing so, not remarking how the 
 minutes were passing. His thoughts were in a wild whirL
 
 264 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 A storm was raging in his brain and heart. Mimi, the child 
 for whose sake he had married, for whose sake he had been 
 bearing this hell of a life for over twenty years; Mimi. 
 whom he had worshipped with the tender and proud lovr 
 of a father; Mimi, who had illumined his life, who all these 
 last years had been the only connecting link between him 
 and Nathalie ; Mimi was not his child I He had been rudely 
 and cynically deceived in the most precious and deepest 
 feelings of a father. . . . And Volynsky knew of this ! 
 . . . Probably Volynsky was not the only one to know it. . . . 
 He had been befooled. , . . Mimi — Volynsky's daughter! 
 Michail groaned. He felt choking. He pulled at the 
 collar of his shirt, and the golden stud, together with the 
 collar, torn off at one pull, fell far away on the carpet. 
 Michail sank into an armchair and with his face bent on 
 his hands remained a long time immovable, his eyes fixed 
 on one spot. . . . Nathalie moaned weakly and moved. 
 Buried in his thoughts, Michail did not hear her, and 
 continued to sit in an attitude of the deepest despair. 
 Meanwhile Nathalie, opening her eyes and perceiving her 
 husband sitting immovably, came to herself. She wanted 
 to raise herself, but the pain in all her body evoked another 
 moan, which Michail did not hear. She fell forward again 
 on the bearskin, and all the horror, all the terror and pain 
 which she had gone through came back to her. With a 
 tremendous effort she rose cautiously and sat down. An 
 involuntary sigh of horror broke from her when in the 
 trembling light of the candles which dimly lit the huge 
 room she glanced at her half bare body; it was horrible, 
 completely covered with swollen stripes of a purple-blue 
 colour, crossing and recrossing one another; in some places 
 the cuts were bloody. Her beautiful, well cared for body 
 was quite disfigured and awful. Nathalie began to cry 
 softly. Never, even in her childhood, had anyone raised a 
 finger against her. She felt herself completely abased, 
 humiliated, helpless and unfortunate. But instead of an 
 outburst of indignation and anger, she felt rising in her 
 heart together with the tears a passionate wish to embrace 
 the knees of the husband whom she had so deeply insulted
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 265 
 
 and who had punished her so mercilessly and harshly for 
 this insult. Overcoming her pain, she crawled to the arm- 
 chair and embraced his feet. It seemed that he did not 
 notice her touch, and he remained in the same immovable 
 position. 
 
 " Misha . . . Mishenka . . . forgive, forgive m,e . . ." 
 Nathalie sobbed in a stifled voice. 
 
 Michail raised his head. His face had suddenly acquired 
 a sunken look and was very pale. The eyes, usually so 
 bright, were dim and half closed. He made a movement as 
 if to free his legs from Nathalie's arms, but she clasped 
 them still tighter and pressed her face against them. 
 
 " Do with me whatever you like. . . . Beat me, torture 
 me . . . but only forgive me. . . ," 
 
 Michail frowned with a sort of pained disgust. 
 
 " Leave me. . . . Go away ! . . ." 
 
 "Mishenka, I crave your pardon at your knees. . . . 
 Forgive me for having loved you with a wild, unreasoning 
 love. , . . Forgive me that for the sake of that love I 
 resolved to lie to you, and have lied to you all my life. . . ." 
 
 " You were wrong to deceive me, but you were still more 
 deeply wrong when you disclosed your lie to me. . . . You 
 disclosed it in the wish to trample into the dirt the only 
 precious feeling that I have in my life — my love for my 
 daughter. And for that I hate you, I despite you. . . . 
 Your love for me is a base and low love; you see in me a 
 man, a male, and not me myself, with my soul and my brains 
 , . . and you could think that by trampling my feeling for 
 my daughter in the dirt you could revive a particle of my 
 love for yourself ! . . . Oh no ! ... Your mean and 
 unfeeling nature estranged me long ago." 
 
 "Misha . . . Misha , . . spare me! . . . Do not say 
 such dreadful words. I will bear all, I will suffer all, but 
 not your hatred. ... I will submit to you, I will be your 
 slave, your obedient slave, only forgive me, do not thrust 
 me away. . . ." 
 
 " Ah, go away from here. ... I cannot answer for 
 myself; all is boiling within me. . . ." 
 
 "Give, give way to your wrath . , ^ pour it out to the
 
 266 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 last drop on me. . . . There, take that horrible whip, beat 
 me to death; I will bear torture, pain from you, only not 
 hatred and contempt. . . ." 
 
 " A slave's nature ! . . . Why did not I understand you 
 twenty years ago ? Evidently you always needed a whip. 
 1 did not understand this, and I have paid for it with my 
 whole life." 
 
 Michail with a brusque movement freed himself from her 
 arms and rose from the chair. 
 
 " I repeat to you — go away ... I must remain alone." 
 
 Nathalie heard the inflexible note in his voice, and silently 
 rose. Shuddering and biting her lips from the excruciating 
 pain in her whole body, she was at the same time ready to 
 kiss the imprints of the strokes which had been dealt by 
 the hand of the man whom in an outburst of ungovernable 
 jealousy she had mortally wounded. Catching hold of the 
 furniture, moving along on unsteady feet, with head bent 
 low, Nathalie, like a shadow, jilently glided out of the room.
 
 Ill 
 
 On the next morning Mimi, greatly agitated, ran into her 
 aunt's apartments and communicated to her the strange 
 news that her father had left suddenly, without saying 
 good-bye to anyone, telling the servant that he had gone to 
 his estate. Mimi wanted to go for an explanation to her 
 mother; but Nastenka, Nathalie's grey-haired and worthy 
 old servant, told her that her mother was ill in bed and 
 would not receive anybody. 
 
 "Again she has hurt papa somehow," Mimi sobbed 
 piteously, wiping the running tears from her eyes with the 
 back of her hand like a little child. " Papa never went away 
 without saying good-bye to me. Something grave has 
 happened. Find out, my auntie, from mamma; she will 
 surely receive you. Now, what could have papa done to 
 her? Why does she always quarrel with him? . . I do 
 not know what I would not do for father so that he might 
 be happy and in peace. Where has he gone now ? For 
 how long ? And he has not even said good-bye to me, not 
 warned me. . . ." 
 
 And the tears flowed again from Mimi's eyes. 
 
 Marie sighed. Like Mimi, she understood that the sud- 
 den departure of her nephew and Nathalie's illness were the 
 consequences of some grave quarrel. "Poor child!" 
 thought Marie, looking at Mimi, who was standing by the 
 window and gazing out into the street with tear-filled eyes. 
 "They quarrel and she suffers." 
 
 " Auntie, will you go to mamma ?" asked Mimi, not turn- 
 ing away from the window and not moving from her 
 place. 
 
 "I will go, my dear; I will go directly after lunch," 
 answered Marie, removing with her plump hands, very 
 
 267
 
 268 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 much like her late mother's, the cofifee-pot from the spirit 
 lamp to the tray. "Sit down, Mimisha, and have some 
 coffee." 
 
 "No, auntie, I cannot. ... I feel so sad, so sad. . . ." 
 
 Mimi's voice broke, and she sobbed softly again. 
 
 "Do not cry beforehand; perhaps papa has had to leave 
 on some important business. . , ." Marie tried to console 
 her niece in a not quite reassured voice. 
 
 " He did not even say good-bye. That's what hurts," 
 said Mimi in a broken voice, through her tears. 
 
 After lunch Marie went upstairs, where she went 
 very seldom. Through the glass doors, before pressing 
 the button of the bell, Marie saw the valet in a careless 
 attitude filling his cigarettes with tobacco. Such an occu- 
 pation in the vestibule proved that he was certain of not 
 being disturbed. Rapidly covering the litter on the table, 
 he opened the door and bowed respectfully before Marie, 
 whom the whole establishment respected sincerely. 
 
 " Call Nastenka to me," ordered Marie. 
 
 "She is on duty near Her Excellency's bedroom. Please 
 walk in." 
 
 The valet opened the doors into the saloon, which had 
 been closed by him for fear that the smell of tobacco would 
 penetrate into it. Passing through the saloon and two 
 drawing-rooms, Marie entered a Chinese room. The 
 middle-aged, sedate Nastenka was there working; on seeing 
 Marie enter she rose from her chair. 
 
 " What has happened, Nastenka ? Why is Nathalia 
 Georgievna ill ?" 
 
 "She does not say, Your Excellency. She rang the bell 
 in the morning, but she did not allow the blinds to be 
 raised, would not drink any coffee, and she is groaning all 
 the time, and it seems as if she is crying. She will not allow 
 anyone to go in to her, nor will she allow the doctor to 
 be sent for. His Excellency left his study at daybreak, 
 ordered Egor to pack the valise, and went off to the station. 
 Egor says the bed had not been slept in, and the candles 
 were burnt down to their sockets." 
 
 " Did not His Excellency leave a letter for me ?" asked
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 269 
 
 Marie, becoming more and more persuaded that something 
 grave had happened. 
 
 " No, Your Excellency. I looked over the writing-table 
 myself, thinking there might be something for the young 
 lady, but there was nothing. Egor said that the General 
 Ivoked very bad, as if he had become much thinner in 
 one night. ... I cannot even think what could have 
 happened." 
 
 Nastenka shook her head with sincere contrition. 
 
 " Go to Her Excellency, Nastenka, and if she is not asleep 
 tell her that I would very much like to see her." 
 
 Marie sank down in an armchair and gave herself up to 
 her thoughts. Her face was anxious and sad. It was not 
 so much Nathalie's sudden illness that disturbed her as the 
 strange departure of her nephew. 
 
 " Please come in," Nastenka said, coming out of the 
 bedroom on tiptoes. 
 
 The bedroom, with the heavy draperies of the windows 
 closely drawn, and only the little lamp burning faintly 
 before the ikons, seemed quite dark to one coming in from 
 the light. 
 
 Marie stopped for a moment to let her eyes get accus- 
 tomed to the darkness. Feeling her way step by step, 
 knocking against a small table and overturning something 
 on it, she crossed the whole room, and at last, espying the 
 large bed under the gorgeous silken canopy, approached it. 
 Nathalie was moaning feebly. Becoming accustomed to 
 the dark, Marie saw her lying on her back, her arms 
 extended along her body above the counterpane. She 
 turned her head slowly towards Marie. 
 
 " Marie ... sit down," said she in a scarcely audible 
 weak voice. 
 
 " Nathalie, what's the matter ?" asked Marie kindly, 
 laying her plump warm hand on Nathalie's. 
 
 " Oh, Marie ... I am so . . . unhappy. ... I would 
 like to die. . . ." 
 
 "But what has happened? Parlez au nom de Dieu.** 
 " Something terrible has happened, chere Marie. ... I 
 dread to think of it. . . . I cannot believe that it has all
 
 270 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 been and is irreparable. ... I am afraid . . . that Misha 
 will not return any more. . . ," Nathalie began to cry; 
 she wanted to reach her pocket-handkerchief, which lay on 
 the table near by, and sobbed loudly. 
 
 Marie gave her the handkerchief and sat silent, in great 
 anxiety, awaiting when Nathalie would be more calm. 
 
 "Marie ... I am the most . . . the most wretched 
 woman in the world," said Nathalie in a voice broken with 
 sobs. " He hates me now. , . . A-a-ah ! Marie, Marie 
 . . . what shall I do, what shall I do ! " . . , 
 
 "Nathalie, calm yourself. Tell me what has happened 
 Perhaps it is not so terrible as you think." 
 
 " Marie . . . last night in a burst of rage and jealousy 
 ... I myself do not understand how it happened ... I 
 told him the dreadful secret . . . that Mimi is not his 
 daughter . . . but Volynsky's." 
 
 "A-ah!" 
 
 Marie, horrorstruck, both hands pressed to her bosom, 
 seemed to have turned into stone. Several minutes a heavy 
 silence ensued. Marie was crushed. It seemed to her as 
 if someone's heavy fist had dealt her a blow on the head. 
 
 " You told him that . , . you resolved to tell him, 
 Nathalie ?" she asked in a low voice of despair. 
 
 "Yes, yes, Marie. . . . It was a moment of madness. . . . 
 Yes, I told him. . . ." 
 
 "And he ?" asked Marie in a low voice. 
 
 "Light the candle for a moment. And now look here." 
 
 Nathalie, stifling her tears and moans of pain, lifted one 
 edge of the counterpane and showed part of her body, 
 swollen with awful-looking, blue-purple stripes, like cords. 
 
 Marie gasped and, hiding her face in her hands, sank 
 helplessly into her chair. 
 
 " My whole body is so disfigured, Marie. . . . There is 
 not a spot untouched. . . ." 
 
 " How awful ! " 
 
 **No, Marie. ... I have forgiven him ... I am ready 
 to suffer the same tortures again this minute, if only he 
 would forgive me, if only he would return." 
 
 Marie was silent.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 271 
 
 "Fow do you think, Marie — will he come back?" 
 
 " I im so shocked with all that I have heard and seen that 
 I cannot collect my thoughts, Nathalie. ... I cannot say 
 anything at present. I expected anything, but not this 
 horror." 
 
 " And now you despise me, Marie ?" 
 
 " I only pity you, Nathalie. You have done something 
 awful and irreparable." 
 
 Now Marie understood why Michail had left without 
 saying good-bye to Mimi, without leaving her a single line. 
 
 " Marie, I implore you, write to him, bring him back; you 
 were always my good genius." 
 
 Nathalie stretched out her hand towards Marie. 
 
 " No, Nathalie, that is impossible. Give him time to think 
 this over and to suffer. You have given a shock to all his 
 feelings. I absolutely cannot foresee how he will be able 
 to survive this awful discovery. . . . Poor Mimi ! I am 
 afraid that you have torn out of Misha's heart his tender 
 love to his daughter." 
 
 "Ah, Marie, do you think I could stop to reason in those 
 minutes ! . . . And you, Marie . . . you are upset . . . 
 indignant . , . hurt— for Misha." 
 
 " Let us not speak of me, dear Nathalie; I have long ago 
 become accustomed to this idea." 
 
 " How ! . . . You guessed ?" 
 
 " I knew. . . ." 
 
 " From whom ? Who could have told you ?" 
 
 " Mamma and I knew it from Baroness Kern. I always 
 feared that this secret would be disclosed to poor Misha. 
 I was sure that you would be the one to guard it most 
 faithfully, and now . . ." 
 
 After remaining a long time with Nathalie, Marie went 
 down and shut herself up in her room. She remembered 
 what sad presentiments weighed on all who loved Michail 
 before his wedding. Everyone foresaw that he would not 
 be happy, and these presentiments had been fulfilled; but 
 that his misfortunes would reach such a climax no one had 
 expected. 
 
 Althougl Alarie knew her nephew so well, in this terrible
 
 2^2. THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 shock which had struck his self-love, his inborn pride, she 
 could not foresee the results, and did not know what to do. 
 An inner feeling whispered to her that the best would be 
 to leave him quite alone for some time. In answer to 
 Mimi's anxious questions Marie told her that a serious 
 unpleasantness had arisen between her parents, that her 
 father had gone away for a short time, and that it would 
 be best not to trouble him with telegrams or letters. 
 
 Mimi listened to her aunt with bent head, and promised 
 to wait patiently until her father would come home and not 
 to write to him without her aunt's knowledge. 
 
 On the next day Marie decided to speak to Tchagin, 
 Michail's best friend. She wrote him a note, asking him to 
 call on her as soon as he could. Tchagin answered that 
 he would come that same evening. All day long Marie 
 was thinking over what she would say to Tchagin. Twice 
 she went to see Nathalie and listened patiently and meekly 
 to the same complaints against her fate and her unhappy 
 love. Nathalie groaned and moaned from the pain of her 
 scars, which seemed to swell still more, but not a word of 
 indignation or offence against the humiliating chastisement 
 did she utter. Marie was surprised how Nathalie, always 
 so proud and self-willed, could bear this humiliation so 
 meekly, how she could desire to see her husband at once. 
 She sincerely pitied Nathalie, but she suffered only for 
 Michail and poor Mimi, who felt so bitterly hurt by her 
 father's unusual and incomprehensible coldness to her. 
 
 In the evening Tchagin arrived. He found Marie in the 
 drawing-room before the large round table. Nearly all the 
 furniture which had belonged to old Gourakina had been 
 carefully transported by her daughter first to Moscow, then 
 back again to Petersburg. Marie always tried to keep the 
 same disposition of the things as in her mother's time. At 
 the moment when Tchagin entered she sat, as in the far 
 away olden days, near the same round table with the same 
 dark red plush table-cover, and she was occupied in knitting 
 a muffler for a poor sick child. The same bronze lamp in 
 the form of a column stood in the middle of the table, and 
 from under a large Empire shade illumined Marie's anxious
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 273 
 
 face as it bent over her work. Tchagin looked much the 
 same notwithstanding the number of years that had passed 
 over his head. Tall, spare and thin, he held himself erect, 
 his hair had not turned grey, his gait was light. Only his 
 small head seemed to have become smaller and his neck 
 longer. The same soft, insinuating manner in his move- 
 ments and voice, the same caressing, half screwed-up, 
 short-sighted eyes. 
 
 " I am not late, Maria Arkadievna ?" asked Tchagin, 
 wiping the glasses of his pince-nez while coming up to her. 
 
 " No, no, Alexander Alexandrovitch, I have been waiting 
 for you. I have held and driven away so many thoughts." 
 
 " Something unpleasant has happened ?" 
 
 " Not unpleasant, but very sad. . . ." Marie's voice 
 trembled. 
 
 "You frighten me. . . . Up there, naturally?" 
 
 " Well, certainly." 
 
 "Again a quarrel? Again Nathalie?" 
 
 "As always — Nathalie. . . . Misha went off to his 
 estate early yesterday." 
 
 " Oh, then it's serious. And Nathalie ? 
 
 "She has been ill for two days. . . . Ah, Alexander 
 Alexandrovitch, if you only knew how this sad life of 
 Michail's oppresses me ! One lives as if on a volcano. 
 And how this affects the characters of the poor children. 
 If you had seen the look in the eyes of that poor child 
 yesterday! How she suffers! I know you love Misha 
 and all of us. Perhaps you will be able to find a way out. 
 . . . But really I do not know how I am to tell you. . . . 
 I do not doubt that our conversation will be a secret. 
 Perhaps you will help me? You will guess yourself?" 
 
 "I think, Maria Arkadievna, that I will be able to make 
 a pretty good guess if you will help me by a hint." 
 
 "The most terrible thing that Nathalie could do she has 
 done. She told . . . she told Misha . . . about poor 
 Mimi. . . ." Marie directed a searching gaze on Tchagin. 
 " If he knows the secret of her birth he will understand of 
 •rhat I am speaking," she said to herself. 
 
 " What do you say ?" Tchagin rose from his place in great 
 
 18
 
 274 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 agitation. " Nathalie has avowed to him . . . now ! . . . 
 now ! . . . No, that is beyond my understanding. . . . 
 Or maybe I am wrong, I did not understand you?" 
 
 Marie bent her head sadly. 
 
 "You understood rightly." 
 
 " What a mad nature ! To betray such a secret after 
 twenty years' silence — it is ... it is " 
 
 Tchagin could not find words, and stopped with an 
 expression of deep and sorrowful perplexity. 
 
 " And Misha ? What did he say to this ?" 
 
 " Do not ask. . , . He did a terrible thing. , , * 
 
 "I can imagine. . . ." 
 
 "He is gone, evidently ran away from home not wishing 
 to see his daughter. What will happen now ? I am losing 
 my head." 
 
 " I am afraid that he will not return to this house any 
 more," said Tchagin sadly. 
 
 " I fear the same ; you have guessed my thought. But 
 Mimi will not consent to live without her father. You 
 know how she worships him. What will come of all this ? 
 What a drama! If Nathalie has decided to break Misha's 
 heart, we must any way protect the poor child's soul. It is 
 not her fault. Ah, I fear for her, I fear for her very much ! 
 . . . She is so sensitive, so nervous, so delicate. Poor 
 child ! First they deprived her of one father, now they 
 have taken away the other." 
 
 " Yes, the situation is tragic. I feel stunned. ... I 
 confess I cannot assemble my thoughts." 
 
 That evening Tchagin stayed a long time with Marie. 
 Always reserved and even-tempered, impenetrable, Marie 
 could not carry any more alone the burden of her grief over 
 the unhappy family life of her beloved nephew. Tchagin 
 knew very much of that life, and lightened Marie's confes- 
 sions by short exclamations, as " Yes, I know that," or 
 "Misha told me of that." 
 
 " Do you know what I have decided ?" said Tchagin after 
 a long silence. " I shall go to Misha. During these two 
 days the sharpness of the pain has become blunted. There, 
 down ir the quiet of the country, we shall come nearer to
 
 ' THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 275 
 
 one another, and I know Misha will tell me all himself. 
 And after that I will use all my influence to make him come 
 back for Mimi's sake. I shall appeal to the nobler part of 
 his nature." 
 
 "Yes, yes. . . . Use all your eloquence, be a good angel 
 to our poor little Mimi. Misha has such a kind, such a 
 generous heart; but there is a limit to everything, and I 
 am so afraid that the limit is reached." 
 
 Marie was crying with soft sobs, blowing her nose every 
 minute and smelling salts from a small crystal phial. 
 
 "Yes, the situation is an outrageously bad one. How 
 true the Russian proverb is : ' A hunchback will be straight- 
 ened only in his grave.' This miserable Nathalie was 
 always unreasonable and unrestrainable in her youth, and 
 has remained so. Her psychology is incomprehensible ! 
 To love a man to madness and suddenly to betray to him 
 such a secret ! ..." 
 
 Tchagin spread out both his hands and looked at Marie 
 in perplexity above his pince-nez. 
 
 "Nothing to do with psychology!" said Marie, shaking 
 her head. " Extreme egotism and an unbalanced, undis- 
 ciplined will. Mamma foretold all that to Misha." 
 
 Silence again reigned several minutes. Tchagin seemed 
 to be deliberating about something, walking up and down 
 the room, stepping inaudlbly on the soft carpet; he 
 shrugged his shoulders at times, then made a few gestures, 
 then stopped at one of the little tables and absently took up 
 one of the knick-knacks on it and turned it about in his 
 hands. Marie had resumed her work. After knitting a 
 few rounds she laid it on the table and raised her head. 
 
 "Do you know what I have decided? If Misha will not 
 cede to your exhortations and come back here, then I will 
 also leave the house, and take Mimi with me. This will be 
 the best for her in all respects." 
 
 " I think you are right. . . . But don't let us forebode 
 anything; perhaps all will be well, at least outwardly, 
 because the inner life is so broken up by Nathalia 
 Georgievna that it is impossible to mend it." 
 
 " Auntie, may I come in ?" Mimi entered the room.
 
 276 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 "A-ah, Alexander Alexandrovitch ! I did not know you 
 were here. I have been reading in my room all the 
 evening, till my eyes are tired." 
 
 " I thought you were at one of your numerous friend's," 
 said Tchagin with a fond look at ^limi through his screwed- 
 up eyes. 
 
 Mimi shook her head slowly. 
 
 " No. I do not want to see anyone. I feel so sad. . . ." 
 
 "You did not want to see me either?" Tchagin smiled 
 and, sitting down close to Mimi, bent nearer to her. 
 
 " You I am very glad to see. Have you heard ? Aunt has 
 told you ?" 
 
 Mimi bent her head, and the comers of her mouth 
 quivered like a child's when it is ready to cry. 
 
 " Yes, I know." 
 
 Tchagin continued to gaze on Mimi, and it seemed he 
 was thinking of something grave and important. 
 
 " How do you think — has papa gone for long ?" asked 
 Mimi softly. 
 
 "I am certain he will come back soon." 
 
 " Why did he go away ? Alone so far away, amid the 
 snows, in the empty house? . . . Unhappy . . . with his 
 sad thoughts. . . . Poor papa! . . . I cannot, cannot bear 
 it. . . ." 
 
 Mimi bent her head still lower, and, hiding her face in 
 her hands, cried silently. 
 
 Marie looked at Tchagin in despair. 
 
 " You see," she whispered under her breath. 
 
 " Mimi, my little one, my dear little friend, I understand 
 your grief, but try to trust to my experience of life ; there 
 are moments in a man's life when it is better for him to 
 be alone. Papa will be calmer and come back." 
 
 Tchagin laid his hand gently on Mimi's shoulder, and his 
 face, with its long thin nose, expressed the deepest sym- 
 pathy with the grief of this delicate little slender girl. 
 
 " Why did he punish me ? Pie did not even say good-bye. 
 I would have known how to console him, I would have said 
 something kind to him. . . . Aunt says I am not to write 
 even. . . ."
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN , 2y7 
 
 "Wait a little. Perhaps he will write himself." 
 
 " Alexander Alexandrovitch ! . . . Auntie ! . . . How 
 if we were to go to him ? With aunt . . . with you, auntie ! 
 . . . Really, it would be very nice, very, very nice. We 
 would be there all alone in the large empty house. Papa 
 would feel so quiet and peaceful with us, and it would all 
 pass. . . ," 
 
 Marie looked again at Tchagin with a meaning expres- 
 sion and bent her eyes on her work. 
 
 "Well, we'll see! Maybe it will be possible. But not 
 at once. We must wait a bit," said Tchagin in a comfort- 
 ing tone, and Mimi looked at him with gratitude. 
 
 " You hear, auntie ?" 
 
 " Certainly, my dear. We shall now follow our friend's 
 advice : first wait a little, then hold another council and, if 
 need be, we will go. Alexander Alexandrovitch has been 
 close friends with your father all his life, and knows his 
 character well." 
 
 The idea of the possibility of going to her grieving father 
 seemed to hearten Mimi, and with a touching confidence 
 she began to complain to the family friend the unhappy 
 character of her mother. 
 
 " And afterwards mamma suffers and torments herself," 
 said Mimi, looking at Tchagin with her large blue eyes. 
 "She is quite ill now. She does not leave her bed, will not 
 let anyone near her, and Nastenka told me to-day that she 
 cries all the time. Why does she do so ? Papa is so, so 
 good. . . ." 
 
 "... And how has he never noticed that this gentle 
 child has no family resemblance whatever to him ? . . ." 
 thought Tchagin, listening to Mimi and examining her 
 attentively at the same time. "Poor Mishal . . . Poor 
 little gentle child I . . .'*
 
 IV 
 
 The Christmas holidays had come. To an outsider the life 
 in Gourakin's house went on just the same as formerly; 
 Nathalie paid her daily visits and held receptions on ap- 
 pointed days. Michail hunted, and passed his evenings 
 either at the English Club, or at the Bestoujeffs', or in 
 restaurants. But the inner life of the luxurious private 
 house was unbearably tedious since Michail came home 
 after passing two weeks alone in the country. His hair 
 had become still more grey on the temples; in his manner, 
 in the turn of his head, something slightly haughty was to 
 be seen, as if he tried to mask by means of a dignified 
 demeanour the offensive self-love which was eternally 
 gnawing his pride. A deep wrinkle had formed across his 
 forehead. His look, which ladies had used to call " eagle's 
 look," showed now the presence of a stul)born, distressing 
 thought. With head slightly thrown back, and half-closed 
 eyes, his glance used sometimes to glide on the faces of 
 those who surrounded him, often without hearing the 
 words addressed to him. With his wife he hardly ever 
 spoke, noticing neither her presence nor her absence; he 
 was coldly and negligently polite, moved to a bedroom of 
 his own, and at the slightest hint of caprice or irritation on 
 the part of Nathalie his face took such a harsh look that 
 Nathalie, glancing at him, would at once become still and 
 quiet. And ^limi? . . . Mimi used to look into her 
 father's eyes with her own wide open sad ones and could 
 not understand anything. He seemed to her more hand- 
 some than ever, more lovable with this hardly perceptible 
 haughty manner, with this absent look as of hidden suffer- 
 ing. His caresses had become quite transient; he had 
 ceased to come to her small white room, and very seldom 
 
 278
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 279 
 
 went anywhere with her. Mimi frequently caught him 
 looking at her with a fixed gaze which she could not under- 
 stand. By a delicate intuition of the soul she understood 
 that between her beloved father and herself there stood 
 some shadow, and that the joy of their close relations was 
 darkened; she understood that this had happened since the 
 day when he had gone off to the country for two weeks to 
 bear his suffering alone, after which he had so changed not 
 only towards her mother, but also towards her. With an 
 inborn delicacy of feeling Mimi began to avoid her father, 
 so as not to awaken in him the heavy thoughts which, she 
 felt, were born in her presence. 
 
 One day Michail found on his writing-table a narrow 
 rose-coloured envelope, sealed with a tiny seal. On the 
 note-paper, smelling of violets, there was written in the 
 distinct well-known handwriting of his daughter the 
 following lines : 
 
 "My Dear, my Precious Papa, 
 
 "I feel that you have ceased to love me tor some 
 reason, that you are suffering. I love you and will love 
 you till my death, my own dearest papa, and pray for you. 
 You see, I do not dare to come to your study any more and 
 console you, as it always used to be formerly. Dear papa, 
 love me just a little bit. . . . 
 
 " Your very tenderly loving daughter, 
 
 " Mimi." 
 
 Gourakin, leaning on the table, his head on his hands, 
 sat a long time in thought over this letter, which with its 
 few lines showed him a sorrowing heart, already touched 
 with the pains of life, and hurt by whom ? — by him, her . . . 
 father. Yes, for her he was her father, who, from the very 
 first days since her birth, bred in her heart an answering 
 deep affection by his own tender, passionate fatherly love. 
 Under the warm rays of this love the child had grown up 
 and learnt to return his love and caresses a hundredfold. 
 He could not now, learning that the once beloved child was 
 not his, love her with the same love; the source of that 
 love had dried up. "Why? Has Mimi changed ? Become
 
 28o THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 worse ? No, she is the same. Then what is it ?" Michail 
 asked himself with sorrow, trying to find an answer in the 
 hidden depths of his heart, unknown to him and dark. " For 
 what reason ? For what have I ceased to love this gentle 
 and delicate child ? Is it because her mother lied and I 
 believed her? Have I then ceased to love her because she 
 is the involuntary cause of my deeply offended self-love ? 
 Or is it then because when I look at her now I remember 
 Volynsky? But then Volynsky never awakened in me 
 angry feelings or antipathy. . . . Why, then, why ? Lord, 
 help me to find my way, help me to understand my feelings." 
 . . . Michail suffered and could see no way out. Suddenly, 
 like a sharp arrow, the thought pierced his brain : " You 
 loved in her a particle of yourself." . . . From the moment 
 that he learned that he was not her father, she had become 
 a stranger to him. 
 
 "Yes, it is that!" said Michail, rising and passing his 
 hand across his forehead. 
 
 The difficult dilemma was solved, and he felt a certain 
 relief. Overcoming his unwillingness, he passed into 
 Mimi's room. She was sitting with a book in her hand. 
 On hearing the well-known footsteps Mimi jumped up 
 trembling from her chair, then again sank down into it, and 
 suddenly, with inexplicable fear and agitation, she closed 
 her eyes tightly and put her hands to her ears. A large, 
 heavy and caressing hand touched her head and slowly 
 stroked her hair. Mimi cowered down, then quickly, with- 
 out opening her eyes, caught the hand and, pressing it to 
 her lips, began to cover it with kisses. 
 
 "Papa, dear, precious papa ... I do so love you ... I 
 was so grieved when you went away, I simply cannot live 
 without you," and out of the closed eyes fast and burning 
 tears fell on Michail's hand. 
 
 "Do not cry, Mimisha, I also love you. Do not pay any 
 attention. This will pass," said Michail, searching for the 
 old simple words and the old tenderness in the intonations 
 of his voice and not finding them. 
 
 " What will pass, papa ? Why have you ceased to love 
 me?"
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 281 
 
 " It will pass, it will all pass, darling. . . . Know only 
 that I am passing through a difficult time. Do not think 
 that I have ceased to love you. . . ." 
 
 " I feel it, papa dear." 
 
 " No, my child." 
 
 " Papa darling, I am grown up now, I can understand 
 all; I implore you, tell me what has happened. You will 
 see that I will understand rightly, and it will be easier for 
 both of us." 
 
 Mimi, pressing her father's hand close to her breast, 
 raised her head and was gazing into his eyes with an 
 imploring, tear-dimmed gaze. 
 
 Michail shook his head slowly. 
 
 " No, darling, it is impossible." 
 
 Mimi bent her head meekly and sighed heavily. 
 
 Michail bent down, kissed her head, pressed the slim little 
 fingers clasping his hand, and left the room. When his 
 retiring footsteps were heard no more, Mimi, hiding her 
 face in her hands, wept long and hopelessly. . . . 
 
 Tchagin came to dinner. After the last sad events his 
 presence had become necessary for all the members of the 
 family. He relieved the tension that was oppressing them. 
 In his presence it was easier to speak of casual things to 
 mask the thoughts that were torturing everyone. Tchagin 
 with equal softness and sympathy listened to Nathalie's 
 complaints and to Michail, and owing to his mediation the 
 mutual relations between husband and wife, although 
 strained, still admitted of life under one roof. 
 
 Mimi, with a face pale from weeping, sat opposite to 
 Tchagin, and during the whole dinner did not speak a 
 word. It seemed that she even did not hear what was 
 being said around her. Busy with her own thoughts, she 
 several times turned a sorrowful and intent look on her 
 father, which he did not seem to notice; but Tchagin 
 caught it. After dinner he as usual sat in Michail's study. 
 Gourakin, who had seemed calm and talkative at dinner, 
 suddenly changed. Tchagin understood that something 
 new and sad had occurred. Several minutes both smoked 
 in silence.
 
 282 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 "You are not going- anywhere to-night, are you?" 
 Gourakin was the first to break the silence. 
 
 " No. If you do not send me away, I will spend the 
 evening with you with the greatest pleasure." 
 
 " That is good. I am very, very downhearted." 
 
 Michail was silent, rose from his place, took an ash-box 
 from the table, went over to where Tchagin was sitting, 
 and sighed loudly and heavily. 
 
 " I did not think, Sasha, that it would be so difficult," he 
 said, lowering his voice. 
 
 " What are you speaking about ?" asked Tchagin. 
 
 " About Mimi. My wife has ceased to exist for me. I 
 cannot pretend, I cannot be the same as I was, and — there, 
 read that." 
 
 Michail took out of his pocket-book the rose-coloured 
 sheet of note-paper and handed it to Tchagin. 
 
 "This is dreadful !" said Tchagin, after reading the letter 
 and returning it with a sigh. 
 
 " Yes, it is dreadful. ... It were better if I had not 
 obeyed you and had not returned here. We would be living 
 apart, and she would have suffered less." 
 
 "It would have been worse; she would not have con- 
 sented to live with her mother. . . ." 
 
 Both were silent, with the same thoughts. 
 
 " Have you really ceased to love her, Misha ? What for ? 
 Now, ask yourself — for what ?" 
 
 " Because she is the daughter of a stranger. Because 
 there is nothing of me in her. It is not my fault that I feel 
 so, but it is so, undoubtedly." 
 
 "Well, now, Boris is your son; in him there is your 
 physical self — and the result ? Do you love him more than 
 Mimi?" 
 
 " Boris ? Boris is quite like his mother." 
 
 " That is very well, but he has in him what you feel the 
 lack of in Mimi now, and which is why you have ceased to 
 love her. And still you do not love him so much. Cannot 
 you understand, Michail, that from her cradle you have 
 given your heart to this little girl, that in her there is more 
 of yourself than in Boris. I swear to you that I could not
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 283 
 
 cease to love any creature which from its cradle had been 
 united with my heart by the power of love." 
 
 "I feel, Sasha, that you are right, that yonr words are 
 true, but my brain revolts, my heart has grown cold, and I 
 cannot bring back my departed love by the force of logic. 
 I pity, I feel immeasurably for the little one, and at the 
 same time her presence torments and oppresses me. I do 
 not guarantee that I will be able to continue this life. . . ." 
 
 "Poor little Mimi!" said Tchagin in a low voice. 
 
 " You wanted me to return here — I have returned, and 
 you see what has come of it. Now try to find an outlet." 
 
 Tchagin shrugged his shoulders in silence and spread out 
 his hands slowly. 
 
 " What outlet ?" 
 
 "Marry Mimi." 
 
 Tchagin started and, stopping with his cigar half-way to 
 his mouth, fixed his eyes on Gourakin. 
 
 " What did you say ?" 
 
 " I said, marry Mimi." 
 
 " Listen, Misha, you . . . you . . ." 
 
 " What about me ? I have seen long ago that you are in 
 love with her, that you worship her, that you are suppress- 
 ing this feeling, that you try to hide it. I have noticed 
 this long ago, and have often thought of it before now. 
 Yes, I know that you are much older than she, that she 
 could be your daughter, but in the end happiness in mar- 
 riage does not depend on the age. One is young, and 
 nothing comes of it, and one is old, and still nothing . . . 
 one cannot make it out. At any rate, Mimi's character and 
 her gentle loving nature are a serious guarantee for 
 happiness." 
 
 " For mine, but not for hers." 
 
 "And for hers also. It is time for Mimi to marry; I 
 repeat, mafry her." 
 
 " I coula expect all kinds of combinations regarding 
 iMimi's future, but to hear from your lips what you have just 
 said, Misha, I must admit I did not expect it." 
 
 "What are you so surprised about in the end?" inter- 
 rupted Michail impatiently. " You know not less than I
 
 :?84 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 that Mimi can only love a worthy man; neither beauty nor 
 worldly position can tempt her. At present she wants, 
 more than ever a devoted man who understands her and a 
 firm hand. Many a scatter-brained fellow is fluttering 
 around her! She does not even notice them. She speaks 
 of you as of a friend. She loves and respects you. Try 
 to come nearer to her. You are clever and full of tact, and 
 you will know how to do so that you will win her heart." 
 
 "I am overcome ... I am staggered. ... I did not 
 expect this. . . ." 
 
 " Overcome ? Why ?" 
 
 Gourakin shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " As if what I have told you has never entered your head 
 before 1 As if you yourself had not thought of it a hundred 
 times ! I have only expressed your own thoughts aloud — 
 nothing else." 
 
 "I will not deceive you; I have thought of it, but in the 
 way that one thinks of impossible things." 
 
 " And it appears that it is not only not impossible, but 
 even desirable. Please, Sasha, do not think that I am 
 guided by the wish to get rid of Mimi. Not at all. If I 
 were not willing to spare her heart, the simplest thing 
 would be for me to go away myself. I want to find an issue 
 for the complicated situation, an issue which would bring 
 her healing and peace in future." 
 
 " I prize highly your trust in me, Misha, and am deeply 
 touched that your choice has fallen on me, but . . . what 
 will Mimi say?" 
 
 "I think that if you approach her skilfully, she will not 
 say no." 
 
 "And your wife? And Maria Arkadievna?" 
 
 "Ah, my wife! . . ." 
 
 Gourakin shrugged his shoulders with vexation. 
 
 " Has she any feeling towards her daughter ? Is not her 
 future a matter of complete indifference to her? And 
 Aunt Marie ? . . . When the time comes, I will speak to 
 her." 
 
 " Mimi . . . that child and all at once my wife ! It 
 sounds so strange. ... I am absolutely unworthy to bring
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 285 
 
 into my world — that of a man near the end of Hfe — this 
 untouched, pure world of a young girl's spring," said 
 Tchagin si ftly. 
 
 " Do not exaggerate, if you please. With all the supply 
 of energy that was in me, I am more of an old man than 
 you. You are in love with Mimi, and are agitated and 
 dreaming, whereas I am so exhausted by all the blows that 
 life deals me that I am ready to shut myself up in the 
 country, as did my father, and break with everyone." 
 
 " That will pass. All will be forgotten, and you will love 
 life again." 
 
 "Ah, the devil take it! Is this life? To live over forty 
 years, and the result — sadness, discord and deceit." 
 
 A servant entered and announced that Marie was asking 
 Tchagin to come to a cup of tea with her. Tchagin 
 hesitated before replying. He knew that he would meet 
 Mimi there, as she usually drank tea with her aunt in the 
 evening. After the conversation with Michail he seemed 
 to dread this meeting, but Gourakin persuaded him to go 
 down. 
 
 " This is just the time for you to see her and speak to 
 her to-day. She is sad; your sympathy and friendship will 
 gladden her. Go, please, and I will go to the English 
 Club" 
 
 Michail pressed Tchagin's hand. 
 
 "Good luck! To-morrow you dine with us, and after- 
 wards to the opera. Nathalie is not going, and I am going 
 with Mimi" 
 
 Tchagin went down. His heart beat strangely and 
 unusually wlien on entering the dining-room he saw behind 
 ths sani Dvar Mimi's sorrowful little face.
 
 Marie was entering the drawing-room of the Baroness 
 Kern at the moment when the latter was speeding a parting 
 visitor. With a face expressive of grieved astonishment, 
 and her two small yellow fists pressed to her breast, the 
 Baroness was listening to a society scandal which her friend, 
 the wife of a high-placed General, was rapidly whispering 
 into her ear. 
 
 " How dreadful ! . . . dreadful ! ..." the Baroness kept 
 repeating, drawing her sable cape closer around her. 
 
 The tall, stout General's wife was saying in so low a 
 voice that only separate phrases could be heard : 
 
 "... Burst into the bedroom . . . where she was half 
 dead with fear . . . rushed at him with a nagaika* . . . 
 The other climbed out of the window in his underclothes 
 . . . the policeman gave him his cloak . . . Governor of 
 the province . . . the whole province is whispering . . . 
 the Minister has made his report. , . ." 
 
 " Terrible scandal ! " 
 
 The Baroness was peering at the approaching Marie 
 without recognizing her. The General's wife broke ofif 
 abruptly : 
 
 " Au revoir, chere baronne. I have remained too long. 
 Take care of yourself, your cough is so bad . . . the 
 weather is dreadful." 
 
 The visitor embraced the frail little figure of the 
 Baroness, who had aged greatly within the last years. She 
 seemed to be much smaller and dried up, but as formerly 
 she went everywhere and received very much, and was 
 always full of care for others. She went to meet Marie 
 with outstretched hands : 
 
 • Whip used by the Cossacks, with a bullet at the end.- i .anslator. 
 
 2S6
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 287 
 
 " How nice that you have come ! I have much to tell 
 you." 
 
 Taking her arm, the Baroness led her through the draw- 
 ing-room into the small room beyond. 
 
 Volynsky was there in an armchair, reading a letter. At 
 their entrance he folded it carefully, putting it away in his 
 pocket-book, and rose to greet Marie. The increased 
 number of grey hairs and several wrinkles on the smooth, 
 inscrutably correct face of the courtier did not diminish 
 its attractiveness. 
 
 " Have you heard, Pavlik, what a scandal happened to 
 Mme. Ratistcheva's nephew, the Governor?" 
 
 "No, I have not heard anything." 
 
 "Ah, something dreadful! . . . Some landowner, a 
 deceived husband, horsewhipped him in the most scandalous 
 circumstances. He jumped out of the window in his 
 underclothes. A policeman gave him his cloak, and he 
 arrived at the Governor's palace in such guise. It all hap- 
 pened in the early morning. Certainly, it was known in 
 the whole province. Just fancy, what a shame!" 
 
 "Served him right," said Volynsky, smiling, and Marie 
 seem.ed to see a hidden meaning in his subtle smile. 
 
 " How is Mimi ?" asked the Baroness, serving Marie with 
 a cup of tea, and moving towards her a massive silver dish 
 with cakes. 
 
 " Thank you, she is better, but she is still at home, and 
 will not go out anywhere." 
 
 " Is Maria Michailovna seriously ill ?" asked Volynsky 
 with solicitude. 
 
 " No and yes. The doctors say it is nerves. . . ." 
 
 Marie stifled a sigh. 
 
 " That is why she has not been seen at the last balls. I 
 noticed her absence. Poor girl!" 
 
 "Yes, she has become very thin, poor little one!" 
 
 "A charming child," said the Baroness, not looking at 
 anyone. After a few minutes Volynsky rose and began 
 his adieux. 
 
 " Pavlik, in heaven's name, don't forget to support my 
 protege. If you do not help him, I shall have to take
 
 288 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 him in and put him in my dining-room. His family is 
 famishing. . . ." 
 
 " It will be done. Send him to my chancery." 
 
 "Thank you, Pavlik. Shall we see each other on 
 Wednesday? Will you be there?" 
 
 "Yes, certainly." 
 
 Volynsky went. The Baroness came nearer to 
 Marie. 
 
 "There is someone whom life has not touched," said she 
 with a movement of her head in the direction where 
 Volynsky had gone. " He does not grow old, is rich, dis- 
 tinguished, and is adored by such a charming woman as the 
 Duchess. I assure you she is as much in love with him as 
 in the first days of their liaison." 
 
 "Yes, life does not smile on all f " ' ' said Marie with 
 a sigh. 
 
 "Listen, dear Marie; how will it all end? I really begin 
 to think that the best thing would be for Michail to leave 
 the house; perhaps then he will be calmer. This question 
 has become a positive idee fixe with him. If you had seen 
 him here yesterday ! What things he said ! I simply 
 could not believe my ears. . . . Now he accuses Pavlik of 
 that lie. . . . Pavlik has behaved perfectly throughout; 
 there is nothing to accuse him of. The Duchess ? Well, I 
 do not defend her, but Nathalie was a woman, and an 
 experienced woman. ... - He even blamed m.e — why I had 
 not opened his eyes at the time. Such nonsense ! Even 
 as it is I played too great a part in that foolish story. What 
 right had I to enter into such intimate questions with him ? 
 I hinted the truth to Prince Alexei, I tried to persuade 
 Nathalie, lastly, I spoke of it to your mother as a supposi- 
 tion. He would not listen to anybody or anything, and 
 now he storms and raves. It is too late. The poor child 
 is not responsible for having an unreasonable mother. . . . 
 Why has he ceased to love her ? . . ." 
 
 Baroness Kern was very agitated, and drew her sables 
 closer round her with a trembling hand. Marie was silent, 
 her eyes fixed absently on one spot. She sighed deeply 
 from time to time.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 289 
 
 "I assure you, dear Marie, the best thing would be if he 
 left the house." 
 
 "And Mimi? How would it be with Mimi?" 
 
 "Mimi? . . ." The Baroness came still nearer. "I 
 want to speak to you of her. You know me : I do not give 
 advice without having considered the subject from all points 
 of view. I have weighed all, and I find that in this case 
 Michail is right : Mimi must marry. . . ." 
 
 "How — you also, chere baronne f* 
 
 Marie clasped her hands. 
 
 " Yes, I am of the same opinion." 
 
 " But he is too old for her." 
 
 " Find me a young man who's his equal. . . . There is 
 none ! Tchagin has all the elements for her happiness, 
 except his age; the others have youth — and nothing else. 
 Mimi will not be well unless she comes out of those sur- 
 roundings. Tchagin will be able to give her, if not com- 
 plete happiness, at least a complete illusion. Ah, my friend, 
 where will you find complete happiness ? It is not for you 
 and me to speak of it." 
 
 " But is there then no other outlet than this marriage 
 with the dear but elderly dreamer and mystic?" 
 
 " And noblest of men, you may add. You must admit 
 yourself that a life in common between Nathalie, Michail 
 and Mimi is become impossible. You are afraid yourself 
 that Mimi will not survive the blow if her father leaves the 
 house and shows his coolness to her by refusing to take her 
 with him. . . . Then what remains ? We must be reason- 
 able. Misha told me that Mimi sits with Tchagin whole 
 evenings." 
 
 " Mimi does not go anywhere, and never sees anyone. 
 What is there surprising in that she stays with Tchagin, 
 who comes every day?" said Marie vexedly. "Certainly it 
 will be as God wishes — let His will be done — but I will not 
 lend a hand to this marriage because I do not sympathize 
 with it." 
 
 "Has Nathalie spoken to you of this?" 
 
 "I do not know what is going on with Nathalie; she 
 keeps repeating that she will go mad if Misha does not 
 
 19
 
 290 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 love her again, and at the same time she is again beginning 
 to worry him about the expenses." 
 
 " There is nothing inconsequent in it : Nathalie is con- 
 vinced that all Michail's expenses are caused by women. 
 She thinks that by reducing his revenues she will make him 
 give up such pleasures. It's absurd, but so it is." 
 
 "Ah, how sad it all is!" whispered Marie, sighing. 
 "Mother was sure that such a marriage could not bring 
 happiness, and she was right." 
 
 While Marie was sitting in the drawing-room of 
 Baroness Kern, Boris Gourakin, with a look of irritation 
 on his young and handsome face, was entering his mother's 
 room. Nathalie was verifying some accounts at her pretty 
 writing-table. 
 
 " We won't be interrupted ?" asked the son, frowning. 
 
 "Probably not. What is the matter? Why are you so 
 gloomy ?" 
 
 " I have received a very unpleasant letter. Read it, 
 please." Boris got the letter and handed it to his mother 
 
 "Anonymous . . . that means something nasty." 
 
 " Not nasty, but a warning." 
 
 Nathalie read the letter, and instantly red spots began to 
 appear on her thin face. 
 
 "About whom can it be? To whom could he give 
 diamonds ? Can it be Bestoujeva ? . . , Or is there 
 someone else? . . ." 
 
 Boris shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " How do I know ? How can anyone know for certain 
 on what and how much my father spends ? I resolved to 
 show you this letter, because, I must admit, I am seriously^ 
 troubled by his wastefulness. He has lived his life and 
 lived it well; all my life lies yet before me." 
 
 "One should not trust anonymous letters, Boris; very 
 often they are written not out of friendship, as it is said 
 here, but from quite opposite feelings." 
 
 " However, you told me yourself that it was through an 
 anonymous letter that you knew of the assembly in the 
 r€Staura.nt."
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 291 
 
 " It was written that the supper was arranged in honour 
 of Bestoujeva, but she was not there.'' 
 
 "That is not important; the fact itself was true." 
 
 "Yes, certainly." 
 
 " No later than the day before yesterday I was told that 
 father had invited a company to supper at the Medvieds', 
 and he squandered so much money that the servants were 
 all crazy with joy. That is all very well, but to wake up a 
 beggar one fine day is not at all to my taste." 
 
 "This is very sad and very serious. Give mie the letter, 
 Boris; I will think of it. . . ." 
 
 " I am afraid, mamma, that you are taking too much time 
 in thinking over it, and the money is going and going." 
 
 "Ah, do not you begin to torture me now, do not add to 
 my worries. I am so morally broken down, so sick in soul 
 and heart, that I am surprised how I have the strength to 
 live and think." 
 
 " I know that it is very sad for you, mamma, but you must 
 understand that I cannot remain indifferent when I receive 
 such warnings." 
 
 " Ah, dear me, dear me ! There, again palpitation of the 
 heart ! . . . Give me my drops. There, in the bedroom, 
 on the shelf." 
 
 Nathalie moved from the writing-table to the sofa and 
 closed her eyes. After taking the drops she was silent for 
 some time. Boris, clanking his spurs, walked up and down 
 the room. 
 
 "Do not move, please, like a pendulum; ga m'enerve" 
 Nathalie said with a frown. 
 
 Boris put his hands in the pockets of his trousers 
 and stopped before the window, looking out into the 
 street. 
 
 "Order Moissei Borisovitch to be sent for; we must hold 
 council with him. We will hear what he says," said 
 Nathalie after a long silence. 
 
 Boris sent the servant for the steward, and, returning, sat 
 down apart, softly clanking his spurs to a tune that was 
 running in his head. Shortly afterwards a discreet cough 
 was heard and Moissei Borisovitch entered. He was the
 
 292 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 author of the anonymous letters informing Nathalie of her 
 husband's life, and adding fuel to the fire which was ready 
 to burst out in a great conflagration. 
 
 " How do you do, Moissei Borisovitch. Sit down, please. 
 I must have a talk with you." Nathalie pointed to a chair 
 near her. " What do you think of this letter ?" 
 
 She handed him the anonymous letter. Moissei Boriso- 
 vitch read it with the utmost attention, as if trying to under- 
 stand the meaning of each word, then folded it up and 
 handed it back. He was silent for a minute, as if consider- 
 ing something, and at the same time examining the design 
 on the carpet. 
 
 " There is nothing new in this to you, Your Excellency ? 
 It is the continuation of the old story." 
 
 Moissei Borisovitch shrugged his shoulders with sub- 
 mission. 
 
 " Can you guess whom they mean here ?" 
 
 " I have heard something. ... I do not know how much 
 truth there is in it." 
 
 " Bestoujeva?" asked NathaHe with a quivering voice. 
 
 " I heard so." 
 
 " And really for an amount of five thousand roubles ?" 
 
 "That is difficult to verify." 
 
 " But if so, that is dreadful. Something must be done to 
 protect the fortune from such mad expenses." 
 
 Nathalie, trying to overcome her agitation, pressed her 
 fingers to her temples. 
 
 Moissei Borisovitch was silent. 
 
 " What are we to do ? This cannot go on so. . . . I 
 shall simply go mad with all these worries." 
 
 " Listen, mamma," was heard from the other side of the 
 room. 
 
 The steward turned an attentive gaze on Boris. 
 
 " Vous chcrches midi a quatorce hcures. Why think of 
 finding ways and means when a question of such import- 
 ance has to be decided? Would it not be the most simple 
 way to appoint a certain sum for my father, beyond which 
 he could not go ?" 
 
 " But he has all the powers," retorted the steward, urging
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 293 
 
 Boris on to speak out the thought that he had been step 
 by step suggesting to the son against the father. 
 
 " Deprive him of these powers," interrupted Boris hotly. 
 " ^l^^prive him of them legally. There are only too many 
 reasons therefor." 
 
 A general silence ensued. 
 
 "Cannot any other way be thought of?" asked Nathalie 
 in a low voice, clasping her fingers and pressing them until 
 they ached. 
 
 "The powers were conferred legally, and can only be 
 cancelled legally," answered Moissei Borisovitch calmly. 
 
 " But what does that mean ? How is it done ?" asked 
 Nathalie with a frown as of physical pain. 
 
 The steward began to explain circumstantially and 
 without hurry all the laws relating to the case in question. 
 
 Meanwhile, on the other side of the house, in Michail's 
 study, crouching in the corner of the huge sofa, Mimi sat 
 in a motionless attitude awaiting the arrival of her father, 
 starting at the least sound. Her eyes, thoughtful and sad, 
 were fixed on one spot. Shivering with a nervous chill, 
 she wrapped her large warm Orenburg shawl round her 
 slim shoulders and ensconced herself deeper between the 
 two silken cushions lying in the corner of the sofa. At last 
 the well-known heavy steps of her father were distinctly 
 heard. Mimi jumped up from her seat and, folding her 
 hands on her bosom, stood awaiting his entry. Michail 
 Gourakin saw her at once, and unaccustomed to see her 
 in his apartments now, stopped in the doorway in 
 astonishment. 
 
 "That you, Mimi? I did not know you at once. . . ." 
 
 "It is I, father. . . . Listen, papa dear, I must tell you 
 something of importance. ... I have been waiting for 
 you here on purpose." 
 
 "What is the matter, my dear? Perhaps you might put 
 it oflf till the evening? I will be freer." 
 
 " No, papa. I must speak to you at once." 
 
 "All right, I am listening." 
 
 Michail seemed to be in a good humour. 
 
 " Papa, it is very difficult for me to speak, but I feel that
 
 294 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 it is necessary. This morning I went to Boris's room, but 
 he was not there. I sat down to his table to wait for him, 
 and my eyes fell on a letter lying there, without signature, 
 beginning with the words ' your father.' Without stopping 
 to think if it was right or wrong I read it. . . ." 
 
 Mimi lowered her eyes, and after a second's pause re- 
 ported to her father the contents of the anonymous letter. 
 " I left the room without seeing Boris, and thinking what 
 I ought to do. I went to the library — the doors were open. 
 Soon I heard how Boris went in to mamma and they spoke 
 about this letter. Now Moissei Borisovitch is there. You 
 know very well, papa, that he is capable of every evil in 
 respect to you." 
 
 "Thank you, girlie — thank you, my darling. You did 
 very well to tell me of this." 
 
 Michail stood several minutes thinking over what he had 
 heard. 
 
 " Yes, you did very well to warn me." 
 Having made up his mind, Michail stepped towards the 
 door. 
 
 " Papa, wait a bit ! Don't go when you are in a passion. 
 
 , . . Again there will be " 
 
 Mimi stammered. 
 
 " There will be nothing, I promise you," Gourakin smiled; 
 **you may be quite assured." 
 
 With these words he left the room rapidly and went to 
 his wife's apartments, where he had not been since his 
 return from his estate. His unexpected appearance at the 
 moment when Moissei Borisovitch was circumstantially 
 explaining the points of the law in regard to depriving a 
 person of the rights of possession seemed to put everyone 
 out of countenance. Boris involuntarily rose on seeing 
 his father, Moissei Borisovitch's glance ran from Nathalie 
 to Gourakin and back again. Nathalie made a movement 
 as if she wanted to rise. 
 
 " I did not know you were at home, Michail," said she. 
 This sentence had no logical sense, as they all felt, as the 
 absence or presence of Michail in the house had had no 
 relation whatever to his wife's life for some time. Goura-
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 295 
 
 kin seemed not to have heard her words, and did not even 
 look towards her. 
 
 "Moissei Borisovitch," he said to the steward, scarcely 
 answering the latter's bow, " I have sent for you, but they 
 told me you were here. I do not want to disturb your busi- 
 ness conference, and will say what I want in two words : 
 please to procure me out of my capital" — Gourakin empha- 
 sized the words — "five thousand roubles by to-morrow 
 morning. I have to pay to-morrow an outlay that I have 
 incurred. Please to do it without delay. Nothing more. 
 Au revoir." 
 
 Gourakin turned and left the room.
 
 VI 
 
 Returning home after his conversation with Michail, 
 Tchagin was in a deeply concentrated tense frame of mind. 
 Many years had passed since he had learnt to subjugate his 
 will, to keep control over himself, not to feel anger, or fear, 
 or be agitated. Little by little his spiritual atmosphere 
 acquired the extreme equanimity to which the ancient wise 
 men of the East and India aspired. The gods of Olympus, 
 whom he had piously worshipped all his life, had passed 
 away into forgetfulness, like the dear shadows of persons 
 dead long ago. At the time when, many years before, he 
 had given himself up to the worship of the Roman gods 
 with a special refinement of taste, he once had a terribly 
 realistic dream of Serguei Radonejsky, who seemed to him 
 to enter his study, with its multitude of antique statues. 
 Turning his austere face to Tchagin, the saintly old man 
 had said in a distinct, penetrating tone of voice : 
 
 "Leave these dead deities; read the Tch^tyi-Minei,* and 
 you will discover light." 
 
 At that moment Tchagin woke up. He felt a strange 
 restlessness, and it continued until he undertook the reading 
 of the book which had been recommended him. On learn- 
 ing that Serguei Radonejsky is considered the patron of 
 mystics, he threw himself into the study of occult sciences, 
 became acquainted with the lodges of the Martinists of the 
 East, England, France and Germany, carried on a corres- 
 pondence with Majata-Khan, the Rosenkreutzers, Grand 
 Orient and Steiner. He very soon acquired, and was deeply 
 impressed by, the mysterious doctrines, and from a disciple 
 became a master of secret brotherhoods. Very few knew 
 of this side of his life, and even those only partly guessed 
 
 * Martyrology. — Translator. 
 296
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 297 
 
 it, as Tchagin himself never touched upon these matters and 
 avoided giving direct answers to questions. By nature 
 well-wishing and kind, he now became still more penetrated 
 with the idea of good and love of humanity. 
 
 During the last year Tchagin had passed through a great 
 struggle. Love had suddenly entered his heart. He 
 worked persistently over his will, compelling himself to 
 submit this love for the daughter of his friend to the 
 spiritual elements, not those of the flesh, and at the very 
 moment when it had seemed to him that the spirit had 
 begun to conquer the fiesh, Gourakin had awakened the 
 bygone dreams by proposing marriage with his daughter. 
 Without for an instant losing his usual equanimity, 
 Tchagin, on remaining alone, sighed with a great relief. 
 After passing a round room hung with dark crimson hang- 
 ings, where the marble images of the now forgotten 
 ancient deities dwelt in immutable peace, Tchagin, with a 
 candle in his hand, not seeing them, entered the study, 
 threw off the "earthly clothing," and, taking up garments 
 of white linen and violet silk, put them on and passed into 
 an adjoining room, which was always closed. He was 
 surrounded by a mysterious and fragrant semi-obscurity. 
 Metallic lamps, with stilly burning little starry fires, were 
 placed in the four comers of the room before the images of 
 the Christian faith, consecrated by sacred rites, and of the 
 Buddhist and Jewish religions; in the fourth corner a 
 lamp was burning before an amulet. On the walls hung 
 pentacles and aggrippes, representing the figures of the 
 hermetic philosophy. On a small table, covered with a 
 piece of dark velvet, lay the crystals, i.e., balls of rock 
 crystal destined for exercises of second-sight. Near them 
 stood a perfumrng-pan of ancient design. Tchagin threw 
 in a few grains of Siamese frankincense, and a jet of bluish 
 smoke began to fill the room with light perfumed waves. 
 On another table lay a sword, the leaden rings, the sacred 
 salt, and some water in a crystal phial. In the middle of the 
 room stood an altar; on it lay the Books with the magic 
 formulas and ancient clavicles of the twelfth century; 
 around the altar a small circle was drawn with red chalk.
 
 298 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 Folding his hands on his breast cross-wise, and half 
 closing his eyes, Tchagin stopped before the altar without 
 passing over the circle. Little by little, by the effort and 
 tension of his will, he was conscious of a perception of the 
 two elements in him — the physical and the spiritual element. 
 Dividing these two elements more and more, and concen- 
 trating his consciousness on the spiritual substance, he 
 entered it completely and felt the imponderability and free- 
 dom of his conscious "I." With a last effort of his will 
 and spirit he began to blend with the astral-mental planes. 
 Tall and immobile, in his wide garments, with a pale, 
 singularly transfigured face, slightly dimmed, wide open 
 eyes, in the mysterious semi-obscurity and stillness, Tchagin 
 seemed to be a light vision which might disappear every 
 minute in the waves of blue incense. His substance, which 
 had become divided and was concentrated now in the 
 spiritual element, began to soar upwards slowly, slowly. 
 He now saw himself distinctly, standing motionless in the 
 middle of the room with his arms folded cross-wise, his 
 imponderable substance soaring higher and higher in a 
 mysterious and blessed ecstasy. The finest air-thread of 
 light joined his physical substance with his astral spirit. 
 Strange harmonious voices, or chords, like a distant echo, 
 were borne towards him, after he had passed beyond the 
 dark region of visions and the indistinct, awesome creations 
 of evil thought. Transparent shadows planed afar, waves 
 of air floated in imperceptible luminous shades, the infinite 
 space was awesome and beautiful. Notwithstanding the 
 distant harmony of the sounds or voices, there reigned a 
 deep, unmoving, mysteriously grand stillness. . . . All 
 became clear; the past, present and future were blended in 
 one circle. Earthly conceptions disappeared, thought was 
 still ... all was blended in contemplation, in the concep- 
 tion of the incomprehensible. . . . How long this state 
 continued Tchagin did not know. When he sighed, he was 
 conscious of standing in the mysterious room before the 
 altar. He sighed again and felt that the struggle was over, 
 that he had conquered the flesh, and that from now he was 
 giving his love to Mimi to serve for her happiness, to
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 299 
 
 protect her from sorrow, to support her strength in the 
 battle of Hfe. He foresaw that he would not be her 
 husband, although all the paths tended that way. 
 
 From this evening Tchagin, with a calm assurance, tried 
 to become nearer and nearer to Mimi. She not only did 
 not avoid him, but even seemed to seek his company, and 
 willingly passed all the evenings with him. Marie watched 
 her niece in silence, and, leaving the future to Providence, 
 she used to go to the Kazan Cathedral and pray zealously 
 before the wonder-working ikon. She remarked that lately 
 Mimi had become much calmer; the bursts of anguish w^hich 
 sometimes touched upon despair had ceased; she com- 
 plained less often of her father's coolness; she seemed to 
 have grown stronger, to be thinking of serious and peace- 
 ful things. Marie guessed that it was Tchagin's influence, 
 his long talks with her, his power to bring peace to her 
 troubled soul. 
 
 One day, after Tchagin had left, Mimi came up to her 
 aunt and without a word took her favourite place at her 
 feet on a footstool. Marie watched Mimi attentively with- 
 out stopping her work. Mimi's face was very serious; she 
 was thinking of something very deeply. 
 
 "You are again sad, Mimisha ?" asked Marie in a low 
 voice, stroking her hair. 
 
 " No, auntie, I am quite calm. Auntie dear," she con- 
 tinued after a long silence, "Tchagin has proposed to me." 
 
 Marie caught her breath. She laid down her work on 
 her knees and closed her eyes for a minute. She had been 
 waiting for this phrase a long time, and still on hearing it 
 she felt as if someone had given her a blow on the breast. 
 
 "Tchagin has proposed to you? . . . And what did you 
 say, Mimisha ?" 
 
 " I will give him his answer to-morrow. Let papa 
 decide. ... As he says, so let it be." 
 
 " My darling, besides your father's decision you must 
 ask yourself and act in accordance with the decrees of your 
 heart. It is not a walk that you are asked to take with 
 Tchagin; it is for all your life, for ever. You must decide 
 such an important step independently, and not under the
 
 300 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 pressure of advice even from yonr father. I know that 
 papa can only wish for your happiness, but besides the 
 considerations of wisdom, and more important, are the 
 dictates of your heart." 
 
 "Tchagin, auntie, is a very, very good man, and if papa 
 wants me to marry him, I will do so willingly; if papa does 
 not want it, then I will try to refuse him in such a way that 
 it will not hurt him." 
 
 " Pray to God to-day, my darling, as fervently as you can, 
 and do as God will direct you." 
 
 Marie sighed, and two large tears welled up slowly and 
 fell on her work. 
 
 Mimi did not say anything more, and Marie did not ask 
 her. Leaning her head against her aunt's knees, she sat a 
 long while in a motionless attitude. Marie pretended to 
 work, but her fingers trembled and she dropped her stitches 
 one after another. 
 
 The next morning Marie went to the Kazan Cathedral 
 and stayed while the mass was being served. When she 
 came back she felt so restless she could not bring herself 
 to do anything; her anxiety increased with each hour. 
 Several times she had to take her drops, tried to read the 
 papers, took up a time-worn volume of "Imitation de Jesus 
 Christ," with leaves quite yellow and old. At last she heard 
 light footsteps, the rustle of silk, and Mimi entered with a 
 serene face and a slight smile on her lips; Tchagin came in 
 behind her. Marie's heart sank. 
 
 "Aunt dear, wish me happiness; I am engaged," said 
 Mimi simply, coming up to Marie. 
 
 One second there was silence. Marie wanted to say 
 something, smiled pitifully, and suddenly, hiding her face 
 in her hands, burst into tears. Tchagin and Mimi rushed 
 towards her, but she soon controlled herself, and silently 
 embracing Mimi, folded her to her bosom. 
 
 "Alexander Alexandrovitch, I implore you, take care of 
 this child," she said in a broken voice, extending her hand 
 to Tchagin. 
 
 "Maria Arkadievna, I swear to you, from this day the 
 object of my life will be to be a friend, a protector, to Mimi,
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 301 
 
 Believe me, for Mimi's happiness I am ready to give up my 
 life." 
 
 In Tchagin's voice there was so much sincerity and depth 
 of feeling that Marie gratefully embraced him and kissed 
 his forehead. 
 
 "Does mamma know?" she asked her niece. 
 
 " Papa has gone to tell her. We will go to her directly." 
 
 Tchagin passed the whole day at the Gourakins' house, 
 and each word of his addressed to Mimi breathed such a 
 depth of sincere, honest love that Marie, without noticing 
 it, became quite reassured, and even found it in her heart 
 to be grateful to Tchagin for the serene tranquillity which 
 he had been able to instil into Mimi. 
 
 During the dinner, at which three visitors were present, 
 champagne was served, and Michail proclaimed the engage- 
 ment and wished the engaged pair happiness. Marie, who 
 knew her nephew from his childhood, saw that under his 
 outward gaiety there lurked a nervous excitement. Nathalie 
 was quite at ease, and seemed pleased with her daughter's 
 choice. 
 
 When Tchagin left all felt themselves to be tired with the 
 excitement of the day, and retired early. Marie, in a dark 
 flannel dressing-gown, her spare hair fastened in a knot 
 on the top of her head, was just putting out her lamps, 
 which she always did herself, when she heard the door 
 open, a few heavy footsteps, and Michail entered. 
 
 " May I ?" he asked, standing in the doorway. 
 
 " Certainly you may. Sit down, my boy, let us have a 
 talk," said Marie kindly. 
 
 She was struck by her nephew's dejected look. Not a 
 shadow remained of the bold gaiety with which he had all 
 day masked his inward agitation. He sank heavily into a 
 chair and, leaning his elbows on the table, stared at the 
 candle. Marie sat down in her favourite seat near the 
 table. 
 
 " There, I have come to have a talk with you, to lighten 
 my heart, and now I do not know what to say. ... I am 
 sad, aunt, very sad. . . ." 
 
 "I am quite calm now, Mishenka."
 
 302 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 "My soul is grieving. . . . Ah, this restless, grief- 
 stricken soul ! ..." 
 
 Michail took his head in his hands. In his exclamation 
 there was such a deep misery, such a fund of torture, that 
 Marie's heart beat anxiously. 
 "Misha, Mishenka! . . . Christ help you! . . ." 
 "That dear child, Volynsky's daughter, this torture of 
 mine which she unconsciously excites by her tender love for 
 me I I cannot bear it, aunt. ... I find no rest, nor peace. 
 . . . And now this marriage into which I am pushing 
 her. . . . Lord! . . . Where could I go to hide from 
 myself? . . ." 
 
 Gourakin clasped his head with both his hands and, 
 bending it low over the table, moved it from side to side 
 as if in physical pain. 
 
 " Do not torment yourself so, Mishenka. . . . Tchagin 
 is a good man, and Mimi cannot be unhappy with him. . . ," 
 Marie tried to soothe her nephew as well as she could. 
 She knew that his nature, always impulsive, always re- 
 sponsive to every call on it, felt both joy and sorrow to 
 their utmost extent. The heights of ecstasy, of buoyant 
 gaiety, and bursts of generosity were divided but by the 
 thinnest line from gloomy outbursts of wrath, unrestrained 
 irascibility, agonies of despair and grief. And this living, 
 impulsive soul of his Marie loved with an unfailing, deep 
 love. He sat for a long time, leaning his head on his 
 hands, listening to his aunt's exhortations, and suddenly 
 sobbed, in a stifled voice of deep suffering : 
 
 " Why, why did that woman spoil all my life, all that was 
 most precious in it ? . . ." 
 
 The aspect of a big strong man in tears was so dreadful 
 that Marie burst into tears herself. With trembling hands 
 she poured some drops into a glass and, trying to lift his 
 head, calling him by the most caressing names, she en- 
 deavoured to make him drink them, as she would persuade 
 a little child. 
 
 The whole house had been fast asleep for some time 
 when Gourakin, broken down morally, left his aunt. ]
 
 VII 
 
 Nathalie, with an irritated, splenetic look on her face, not 
 in correspondence with her magnificent Parisian gown, 
 all worked in silver and clothing her well-preserved figure 
 like a glove, with three rows of large pearls on her neck, 
 and carefully holding up her train with a hand encased in a 
 long white glove, passed through a row of brightly lighted 
 rooms into the large white ball-room, where the old grey 
 valet had just closed the windows and was perfuming the 
 air with aromatic essences by means of a spray. Nathalie 
 shrugged her shoulders under her ermine cape. 
 
 " How you have cooled the rooms ! The guests will be 
 frozen," she grumbled, and passed on into an adjoining 
 saloon smaller than the ball-room, where a buflfet was laid. 
 
 The footmen were arranging the vases with flowers, 
 giving the finishing touches to the horse-shoe table, on 
 which there was a profusion of sweetmeats, fruits, and 
 cooling drinks. Champagne cup was prepared in large 
 silver jugs. 
 
 Amid skilfully dispersed tropical plants small coloured 
 lamps were burning on little tables. An enormous bear of 
 ice, with electric, brightly-burning eyes, stood in a niche of 
 green. Nathalie gave a look to all this with the eye of an 
 experienced mistress of the house, and passed into the 
 banqueting-hall, where the servants, with a clatter of silver 
 and china, were laying a number of tables for four persons 
 each for the supper. 
 
 "Timofei," said Nathalie to the butler, "have you given 
 orders that over and above the one hundred and fifty sefs 
 there would be added twenty-five more ?" 
 
 "Just so. Your Excellency. Which table will you desire 
 to occupy ?" 
 
 303
 
 304 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 "Any one — it does not matter." 
 
 Nathalie frowned, pressing two fingers to her left temple, 
 which was aching with a nervous pain. The ball appointed 
 for that evening had come at a very inopportune moment 
 for Nathalie. From the morning she had been feeling 
 irritated. Firstly, the forthcoming ball, as it appeared, had 
 promised to cost much more than was originally supposed, 
 owing to the innumerable inventions of her husband, and 
 secondly, she had accidentally heard that Bestoujeva had 
 promised to be there, notwithstanding the evident tactless- 
 ness of the action; Nathalie never disguised her antipathy to 
 her husband's friend, and she had felt sure that Bestoujeva 
 would not come. A bitter angry jealousy was boiling in 
 her, especially as Bestoujeva always carried with her such 
 a fund of fresh, sincere gaiety and wit wherever she ap- 
 peared that like to a spoilt child society forgave her her 
 lightness of conduct; she was invited everywhere, and 
 somehow it always came about that she occupied the first 
 place. Nathalie guessed that she was coming owing to 
 Michail's entreaties, who, she had heard, was becoming 
 more and more infatuated with her. 
 
 The ball was being given in honour of the betrothal of 
 Mimi and Tchagin; those who desired it might wear 
 costumes. The costume of a hoyarishnia* designed for 
 Mimi by a friend of her father's, a celebrated Russian artist, 
 was fabulously expensive. Nathalie could not restrain her- 
 self, and made a scene with her husband when the costume 
 had been brought a few hours before. A whole batch of 
 bills in her hand, she had gone to Michail's study and, 
 laying before him the bills which had revolted her by their 
 enormity, she began to reproach him sharply for his fancy 
 in having the costume executed in accordance with the 
 designs of the celebrity. Michail, without looking, pushed 
 away the bills. 
 
 "We shall speak of that later on," he interrupted coldly 
 the angry stream of words. 
 
 But Nathalie, irritated by the forthcoming arrival of 
 
 * A daughter of a " boyarin," a Russian gentleman of rank in olden 
 times. — Translator.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 305 
 
 Bestoujeva, who, as she foresaw, would be the belle of her 
 ball, could not restrain herself, and, with angry determina- 
 tion and eyes darkened with fury and slightly distorted 
 mouth, continued to sting. 
 
 Michail tore himself away from the letter that he was 
 writing, laid aside his pen, leaned back in his chair, and 
 looked at his wife. He instantly felt a desire to close his 
 eyes and stop his ears, so disgusting, so physically disgust- 
 ing, did she seem to him, with her mouth distorted by fury, 
 her lips which had lost their freshness, and the vulgar 
 intonations of her heightened voice. 
 
 " Leave me . . . enough. ... I have already heard 
 this," said he, looking away. 
 
 Nathalie would not stop, although she was conscious 
 that each new word of hers might bring on her the horror 
 which she had once passed through. 
 
 "Begone!" thundered a voice suddenly above her ear. 
 
 Nathalie glanced at her husband. He was standing 
 upright near the table, with bloodshot eyes. She caught 
 his glance as it fell on the wall where the horsewhip hung. 
 Something cold and sharp seemed to seize Nathalie's throat 
 and breast. She started and, hiding her face in her hands, 
 and drawing in her neck, ran out of the room. This cold 
 and sharp lump had been choking her all day, and by the 
 evening had changed into a nervous pain in the left temple. 
 
 Michail, rapidly throwing off the wave of approaching 
 rage, soon resumed his former peaceful state of mind, 
 slightly excited by the preparations for the ball, which he 
 always very willingly took upon himself. 
 
 By the evening his spirits rose still higher at the thought 
 of the meeting with the fascinating, gay Bestoujeva, who 
 knew how to infuse a certain novelty and coquetry in her 
 relations with men. 
 
 At ten o'clock Mimi looked at herself in the glass for the 
 last time and smiled involuntarily at the exquisite reflection 
 of the boyarishnia, who seemed to have descended from the 
 canvas of the celebrated artist, the friend of her father. 
 The tall kokoshnik (head-dress) all covered with pearls sat 
 lightly and easily dh the hair, which was hanging down in
 
 3o6 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 a long plait, crowning the head so gracefully poised on the 
 supple girlish neck. The morocco slippers with their high 
 heels encased tightly the narrow little foot, and pattered 
 gaily with each step. The brocaded sarafan (the Russian 
 national dress), embroidered in front with precious stones, 
 rustled softly without disguising the grace of the slen- 
 der figure. The shougai trimmed with sable, thrown 
 lightly on the shoulders, made a dark and pretty back- 
 ground for the delicate skin of the face and neck. Mimi, 
 her new heels sounding their tap, tap, on the polished 
 parquet, passed through the brilliantly lighted rooms and 
 knocked at her father's door. In his evening dress, fresh- 
 looking, vigorous, with sparkling light in his eyes, and the 
 special "ball-room" face, that Mimi always noticed in her 
 father on such occasions, Gourakin opened the door of the 
 study and came out into the ball-room. 
 
 "The beautiful boyarishnia! Very, very good!" said 
 Gourakin with undisguised admiration, looking at the 
 fragile figure of Mimi from his great height. "Your 
 mother is grumbling at the cost of the costume, but to-night 
 our bride-elect will eclipse everyone. Has your betrothed 
 seen you ?" 
 
 " Not yet. He is taking tea with aunt. I am going there 
 directly." 
 
 " Go, gp. . . , But do not te late far the arrival of the 
 ^ests." 
 
 Gourakin put his arm round her shoulders gaily and 
 lovingly. Mimi felt suddenly light and happy at heart, 
 She saw that her father was in one of his best days, when 
 from each word, gesture and look of his there emanated a 
 sense of unrestrained, exhilarating enjoyment of life. 
 With a light gliding step Mimi ran across the ball-room and 
 went on to the stairs leading downstairs to her aunt's 
 apartments. 
 
 "Timofei," she heard Gourakin's sonorous voice, "if the 
 musicians are come, tell them it is time to take their places 
 in the gallery." 
 
 Soon the elegantly dressed pairs began to arrive. The 
 ladies were in ball dresses, with their shoulders bare, or in
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 307 
 
 fantastic costumes. Nathalie, having driven away her 
 irritation and splenetic depression by an effort of her will 
 and exchanged it for an artificially friendly smile, was 
 standing at the entrance to the ball-room with Prince 
 Bibiche, the smart General in the suite of the Tsar, who had 
 become somewhat stout of late, and, constantly breaking 
 off her conversation with him, was receiving the artificially 
 warm congratulations on her daughter's betrothal, ex- 
 changing kisses with ladies, giving kindly nods to the 
 curtesying young girls, touching with her lips the foreheads 
 of the older men, and with a coquettish grace acquired 
 during her whole life extending the tips of her fingers to be 
 kissed by the young ones. 
 
 Mimi, standing near by with Tchagin, received the felici- 
 tations with a smile that seemed to have caught something 
 of her father's good spirits. 
 
 Surrounded by several ladies, in a corner of the room, 
 stood a stately gentleman with a splendid head encircled 
 with a wave of grey curly hair. This was the celebrated 
 artist who had given his talent to the reproduction on 
 canvas of the bright living type of the Russian woman. 
 In his grey eyes shone the unquenchable power which 
 distinguishes a talented man from a crowd of his fellow- 
 creatures. 
 
 The guests continued to arrive. From the gallery above 
 the ball-room the bright strains of a valse were heard. 
 Under the bows of the violins the light tones grew and 
 melted away softly and smoothly. Light girlish feet in 
 satin slippers and filmy stockings tripped merrily on the 
 parquet. Those who were not dancing sat near the walls. 
 Boris, the very image of his father at his age, in his new 
 uniform of the Horse Guards, buttoning his glove on the 
 way, rushed across the ball-room, to be in time to meet at 
 the very door and carry oflf in a valse pretty little Mika 
 Bestoujeva, very like her mother. At the moment when 
 Nathalie was extending her hand in ceremonious greeting 
 to the mother, Gourakin approached them, and with an 
 undisguised pleasure in his sparkling eyes kissed the 
 latter's hand, and directly, fearing some sally on the part
 
 3o8 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 of his wife, carried off Bestoujeva, a tall, stately blonde 
 with large round greenish eyes, to the opposite end of the 
 room, where a small group of ladies and men were engaged 
 in animated conversation. 
 
 " The Duchess," whispered someone. 
 
 Gourakin, breaking off his conversation with Bestoujeva, 
 holding his head high, manoeuvred his way among the 
 dancers and bowed respectfully before the entering pair. 
 The Duke, smiling and peering about, exchanging hand- 
 shakes right and left, was seeking the bride-elect with his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Oh, what a glorious sun ! . . . Beautiful bride-elect ! 
 . . . May I crave your hand for a kiss, boyarishnia f" the 
 Duke said jestingly, admiring Mimi, whose delicate beauty 
 showed well in the new, unexpected framing. 
 
 Mimi danced all the time without a rest, and she felt very 
 happy under the admiring glances of the guests. She felt 
 that her father was also in good spirits. From time to 
 time he threw her approving glances, and it seemed to her 
 that she was once more as near as formerly to the heart of 
 this big man with the eagle look, whom everyone loved 
 and who was her father. 
 
 The ball went off very well; it was the most brilliant one 
 of the season, and was much talked of in the highest circles.
 
 VIII 
 
 Since Mimi's betrothal it seemed as if in Gourakin's house 
 everyone breathed more easily. The wedding was fixed for 
 the second week after Easter. Nathalie began to busy 
 herself with the trousseau with great interest, and in the 
 endless discussion of fashions, laces and stuffs she seemed 
 to take a greater part in her daughter's life. Mimi had 
 such serene eyes, such a peaceful, calm frame of mind, that 
 all who surrounded her came under her influence and were 
 assured that she was happy. In society the news of Mimi's 
 and Tchagin's betrothal caused a great astonishment; no 
 one had expected it, and those whose duty it was to collect 
 and spread sensational society news were indignant that 
 this news had come straight from the Gourakins and not 
 through themselves. Mimi went out again, and her pretty 
 head on the long delicate neck with the turned-up golden 
 hair was again seen at balls. Dancing or chatting with the 
 young men, many of whom envied her betrothed, her eyes 
 always sought out his tall thin figure, and in meeting his 
 glance she used to nod and smile to him. On returning 
 from balls she every time, no matter how late, went in to 
 her aunt, and, bringing into her bedroom the atmosphere 
 of the ball-room, sat down on the edge of her bed and 
 related to her all her experiences. Marie listened with 
 pleasure, glad to see her former animation returning to her. 
 After the wedding the newly-married pair were to go 
 iLioad till autumn, and Mimi, already sharing her be- 
 trothed's love for Italy, was dreaming of this voyage, the 
 more so as she had received from him as a present for hei 
 birthday a villa on the Mediterranean Coast, which had 
 become the object of endless talks between them. Tchagin 
 drew detailed plans of the villa and garden, and it seemed 
 to Mimi that she had already been there and seen the 
 
 309
 
 310 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 gravelled paths, the tall palms, and oleanders in flower, 
 the tremendous prickly cactus, like gigantic spiders, the 
 marble terrace leading to the sea and flooded with the 
 golden blinding sunshine. 
 
 " Villa Maria," reflected in the blue warm waters, 
 beckoned to her, and it seemed to Mimi that there, far 
 away, lulled by the blue waters and the love of her future 
 husband, she would regain her tranquillity and be quite 
 happy. 
 
 It was the middle of Lent. Mimi, with Tchagin, went 
 to a charity bazaar, where at all the stalls she had friends 
 and was prepared to put her mite into all their cash-boxes. 
 The enormous room, flooded with light, swarmed like an 
 ant-hill with an elegant, ever-moving crowd. The sounds 
 of an orchestra drowned the din of voices, laughter and 
 exclamations. In the movement to and fro friends were 
 found and lost sight of again. Near the stalls of pretty 
 women the crowd was denser; laughter, witticisms and 
 bons mots were heard. Mimi stopped to speak with some 
 of her friends, and did not notice how she became drawn 
 on by the movement of the crowd and lost sight of her 
 betrothed. She stopped near a column. 
 
 "Have you seen Mimi Gourakina ?" she heard distinctly 
 asked near her. 
 
 She turned round and saw two ladies, who were standing 
 so that they did not notice her. 
 
 " No, I have not seen her. Where is she ? Is she with 
 her betrothed?" 
 
 "She passed here not long ago with him. She is very 
 nice. I cannot understand what made her choose Tchagin ! 
 A delightful man, but he might be her father. Many 
 youths aspired to her hand— there was no lack of suitors." 
 " I heard that she would not have anyone, and that it was 
 the parents who arranged this marriage." 
 
 "Her mother perhaps; Gourakin always loved her too 
 much." 
 
 " They say that lately there are such discords in the family 
 that it was necessary to marry the daughter as soon as 
 possible."
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 311 
 
 "But still, you know, I am surprised at the father; he 
 ought to have found her someone younger." 
 
 " What would you, my dear ? Gourakin cannot have real 
 paternal feelings for her." 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 The lady looked excited and pricked up her ears, fore- 
 seeing something new and interesting to hear. 
 
 " How — do you not know ?" 
 
 " But no, nothing at all. . . . Ah, how interesting ! . . . 
 Do tell me, dear friend; you know how all this interests 
 me. 
 
 " Have you not heard the history of his marriage ? It's 
 quite a romance. Mimi is not his daughter, but the 
 daughter of Volynsky. You know Volynsky? No? He 
 is the Duchess's lover." 
 
 "You don't say so ! I hear it for the first time." 
 
 " And they say that Gourakin has only known quite 
 lately. What a drama ! . . . If you examine her, there is 
 in her much of the true father — the figure and the expression 
 of the face. ... I pity poor Michail Gourakin — so hand- 
 some, such a talented, interesting man, and his family life, 
 they say, is very miserable. . . . Ah, look to the left! . . . 
 There is Garina. A real Ninon de Lenclos — does not 
 grow old at all, and always has a crowd of men behind 
 her." 
 
 " But you must be blind, my dear! She is painted — that 
 is why she looks as if she did not grow old. . . . And who 
 is it beside her, do you know ? With the feathers in her 
 hat? . . . Handsome. . . ." 
 
 " Certainly I know : that is Bestoujeva, the chere amie of 
 Michail Gourakin. I have been told that her skin is of a 
 blinding whiteness, and that she shows herself to her 
 admirers lying au naturcl on the skin of a black bear." 
 
 "How shameless! Now I ask you, in what do women 
 of the world differ from the cocottes, after that?" 
 
 Mimi did not hear any more; Tch^gin, pushing his way 
 through the crowd, came up to her and offered her his arm. 
 She, seeing nothing and hearing nothing, leant on his arm, 
 but could not walk.
 
 312 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 " Mimi, what is the matter? You are so pale ! Are you 
 ill ?" 
 
 " Yes, I am feeling unwell. ... I do not know what it 
 is. . . . Let us leave. . . ." 
 
 Tchagin supported the agitated Mimi and led her step by 
 step towards the door, put her in the carriage and took her 
 home. She was silent all the way and, leaning back in the 
 corner of the carriage, sat without moving her closed eyes. 
 She mounted to her room in the same silence, asking 
 Tchagin not to tell anyone of her sudden illness. Her 
 teeth were chattering under the influence of a nervous 
 chill. Tchagin covered her up like a child in a rug, made 
 her lie down, and sat down beside her. Mimi lay now with 
 tense, frightened eyes, staring fixedly and strangely before 
 her. Tchagin called her name, she did not hear him. Very 
 much frightened he bent over her, and softly touched her 
 forehead; she started, sighed heavily, and closed her eyes. 
 
 "Mimi, my angel, what is it? Does something hurt 
 you ? You are frightening me." 
 
 " No, nothing hurts," she answered in a low voice. 
 
 "Then what are you thinking of, my dearest?" 
 
 " I will tell you afterwards. I cannot speak now," said 
 Mimi, lower still. 
 
 An hour passed — another; she continued to lie in the 
 dreadfully motionless attitude with frightened, wide- 
 opened eyes. It began to grow dark. The servant entered 
 to light the lamp. Mimi came to herself and grew agitated. 
 
 "For God's sake, dear friend," she said to Tchagin, "let 
 no one, no one, come in to me, otherwise I shall be ill, I 
 shall go mad. . . . Lock the door ... I beg you ... I 
 cannot see anyone;. . . ." 
 
 Tchagin tried to soothe her, but her excitement increased. 
 He locked the door, made her lie down, took her hand in 
 his, and, softly stroking it, urged her to sleep and not to 
 think of anything. Little by little she became calmer and 
 slept, Then he went down to Marie and told her all that 
 had happened. 
 
 By the evening Mimi was raving in a high fever. The 
 doctor could not say what it was; the next day would show.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 313 
 
 In the night the fever rose : Mimi moaned, tossed about, 
 spoke in disjointed sentences, kept calHng her father, cried; 
 and only by the morning she fell asleep from exhaustion 
 and loss of strength. Mimi's illness proved to be inflam- 
 mation of the brain. The doctor asserted that the cause 
 of the illness was an unexpected nervous shock. ... It 
 was a riddle to everyone; only Tchagin came nearer to the 
 truth than the others in deciding that something had hap- 
 pened to Mimi at the charity bazaar when they had become 
 separated by the crowd. 
 
 Nathalie, Marie, Michail and Tchagin one after another 
 took turns in nursing her. 
 
 Her life was in danger, and the fear of losing her united 
 them all in one link of grief. It seemed that Gourakin 
 suffered more than the others. Mimi constantly called for 
 him in her delirium, and Michail, without knowing why, 
 blamed himself for her illness. There were minutes when 
 the former feeling of tender love filled his heart and he 
 kissed the hands of the sick child and called her by name 
 softly, but Mimi, in high fever, with the burning flush on 
 her thinned cheeks, did not understand his words, and 
 continued to moan pitifully and complain of something to 
 someone. 
 
 About a month passed in this way. She began to recover 
 very slowly. Her constitution was reviving slowly; the 
 patient seemed indifferent to life, often cried in secret, and 
 broke the hearts of those who loved her. She had become 
 so thin, and so transparent and light, that Marie could 
 easily carry her from her bed to the armchair. Silent and 
 apathetic, she lay or reclined in the chair, indifferent to all 
 that was going on around her. She often asked to be left 
 alone, and only liked to talk to her betrothed. Both Marie 
 and Michail felt that she even showed a certain coolness 
 towards them. They frequently remarked an expression 
 of hidden suffering in her eyes as they rested on them. 
 Marie had become quite grey during that month. Michail 
 had a deep wrinkle across his forehead, which made his 
 face look much sterner and graver. 
 
 At last the long expected day arrived when the doctor
 
 314 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 allowed the patient to be taken out for a drive. It was 
 eariy spring, and its approach was felt in the air, in the 
 colours of nature. Mimi, leaning on her betrothed's arm, 
 descended the stairs, staggering from weakness. Taking 
 her seat in the carriage, she asked Tchagin with a pale 
 smile to drive to the Islands. In the bright rays of the 
 sunshine Mimi looked still thinner. Watching out of the 
 window how she was being placed in the carriage and her 
 feet were wrapped up in a rug, Marie saw the dreadful 
 change in her with a feeling of deep sorrow; she seemed 
 not to have seen it so distinctly as at this moment. 
 
 "Poor little girl!" sighed Miss Jones, who stood beside 
 Marie, as if answering Marie's thought. 
 
 There was no one on the Islands. In the air there was 
 the smell of the moist earth, already warmed by the sun's 
 rays. In some places could be seen layers of flattened, 
 blackened snow. The trees were bare, but through their 
 black branches glimpses of the blue sky were seen, from 
 where the warm, revivifying rays of the sun fell on the 
 earth. Mimi gave a deep breath and pressed her betrothed's 
 hand. 
 
 "How glorious!" she whispered. "Under this spring 
 sky and the warm rays I feel that my soul is thawing. I 
 have been unkind. . . . You have all suffered so much 
 through me, and I was so unkind to you all." 
 
 "What are you saying, my angel?" protested Tchagin 
 hastily; "you were indifferent to all, because you were ill — 
 that is so natural. . . ." 
 
 " No, it was not only that," answered Mimi thoughtfully. 
 
 Tchagin, fearing all excitement for her, hastened to 
 change the subject. From that day Mimi began to grow 
 stronger, and her young constitution seemed to revive 
 together with nature's revival and to yearn towards life. 
 Mimi was again loving and tender towards her aunt and 
 her father, trustful and gentle with her betrothed, but all 
 felt an imperceptible change in her, a sort of reserve, of 
 something unspoken. With the recovery of his daughter's 
 health Gourakin again became colder to her, but it seemed 
 that Mimi had become reconciled to her father's coolness,
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 315 
 
 and she never now raised the painful question in her talks 
 with her betrothed, never sought for consolation, in his com- 
 forting', all-reconciling arguments. She was silent. Only 
 a little light of gladness shone in her eyes when Michail 
 used to come to her room and was specially fond in his 
 manner to her. 
 
 The wedding had been put off till summer. Nathalie was 
 again busy with the trousseau and was ransacking with 
 pleasure her numerous stores, seeking for the best pieces 
 of old lace for the trimming of her daughter's dresses. 
 
 " Do not hurry, mamma, there is plenty of time," Mimi 
 used to say, casting an indifferent glance on the valuable 
 bits of old family lace which her mother used to bring her 
 to excite her wonder and gratitude. 
 
 " How so, plenty of time ? There only remain six weeks 
 to the wedding — it is not much. You have grown stronger 
 now, and one of these days we shall go with you to Madame 
 Josephine to try on your dresses." 
 
 Mimi was silent, and, lowering her eyes, seemed to be 
 thinking her thoughts.
 
 IX 
 
 Since Mimi had quite recovered she took a daily walk after 
 luncheon on the quay. She had solicited and obtained 
 permission to go out alone without Miss Jones. 
 
 Fastening the chain to the collar of her big high-bred 
 dog, Mimi, in a dark blue tailor suit, which had just been 
 sent her, with a scarcely perceptible flush on her thin little 
 face, left the house and as usual started for her walk along 
 the quay. Whether it was that the dog pulled at his chain 
 or that she was disturbed by some thought, Mimi's 
 hand trembled visibly, and she looked attentively to either 
 side as if seeking or fearing to meet any of her acquaint- 
 ances. After going a pretty long way she once glanced 
 along the nearly empty quay and, convinced that no one 
 was looking at her, crossed the road rapidly and turned the 
 massive handle of a private house. The porter stood aside 
 to let her pass and looked at the unknown visitor with a 
 certain curiosity. 
 
 " Is Pavel Konstantinovitch in ?" asked Mimi in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " His High Excellency will not receive anyone to-day 
 before three o'clock." 
 
 Mimi was confused for a second, but she very soon 
 regained her composure and said : 
 
 "Tell him that the daughter of Nathalia Georgievna 
 wishes to see him on urgent business." 
 
 A minute later, the servant who had taken the message 
 returned and with a respectful bow told Mimi that His 
 High Excellency asked her to come in. 
 
 Mimi, pale through excessive agitation, entered the hall, 
 and had hardly passed the door leading into the large light 
 waiting-room when Volynsky appeared at the opposite 
 door and came up to her. 
 
 316
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 317 
 
 " Mademoiselle Mimi, I am happy to see you, and above 
 all to see you looking so much better." 
 
 With these words Volynsky extended his hand and 
 slightly bent his proud grey head. 
 
 Lifting her blue eyes to him with an expression of ques- 
 tioning thought, Mimi looked at him attentively and kept 
 silence for a few seconds. 
 
 " I must speak to you, Pavel Konstantinovitch . . but 
 no one must hear us." 
 
 "Oh, something mysterious," Volynsky said jestingly 
 with a smile, and pointed to the door from which he had 
 just entered. 
 
 " I bless the mysterious cause which has made you pass 
 the threshold of this room. Such gentle and pure young 
 girls as you bring good fortune," Volynsky continued, 
 leading Mimi into a spacious room furnished with the 
 refined taste of a sybarite. 
 
 Near the enormous bow-window looking out on the 
 Neva, where steamers and barges sailed by, and the Peter- 
 and-Paul fortress showed in the far distance with its gilded 
 upward-tending steeple, stood a large writing-table. 
 Among the numerous things adorning it Mimi caught 
 sight of a picture of the Duchess in a golden frame, which 
 seemed to confirm what she had heard about Volynsky. 
 Volynsky showed her to an armchair and took his seat 
 opposite her. His face, usually so cold and haughty, was 
 friendly and kind. 
 
 " With what pride I would openly call myself the father 
 of this charming young girl," thought he, gazing at Mimi. 
 
 " Pavel Konstantinovitch, I came to tell you that I . , . 
 that I . . . know all," said Mimi in a broken trembling 
 whisper, and bending her head, deathly pale, pressed her 
 hands to her heart. 
 
 "All? . . . What— all? ... I do not understand. . . ." 
 
 "I know that you are my father. . . ." 
 
 " Who told you that ? Who could tell you ? What are 
 you saying, dear child ?" 
 
 Volynsky, in extreme astonishment, bent forward and 
 took her hand.
 
 3i8 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 "Is it not true? Do I not resemble you? Is it not for 
 that reason that he has ceased to love me since he has 
 known it ? . . ." 
 
 Mimi was looking at Volynsky with stern, questioning 
 eyes. He felt that it was impossible to deceive her any 
 longer. 
 
 " A'limi, who told you that ?" 
 
 " I do not know who it was. ... I overheard two ladies 
 talking who did not know that I was near. Since then I 
 have understood many things. I am your daughter . . . 
 you knew it . . . and still you were always so far from me." 
 Volynsky shook his head sadly and sighed heavily. 
 "You have never loved me?" asked Mimi in a scarce 
 audible tone. 
 
 " I have loved you, and love you now, my dear child." 
 "Then why was I surrounded with deceit? Why did 
 you allow it ?" 
 
 " Mimi, I had to act so, notwithstanding that it would 
 have been a great happiness for me to call you my daughter. 
 As you said just nov/, Michail Vladimirovitch only knew 
 the truth but lately." 
 
 " Mamma told him ?" said Mimi half interrogatively, half 
 affirmatively. 
 
 Volynsky was silent. 
 
 "You — my father! . . . How strange! ... I heard 
 of it just before my illness . . . my thoughts are in a whirl 
 when I think of it . . . and I am thinking of it all the time 
 and cannot get used to it." 
 
 Volynsky rose, took a few steps, poured out a glass of 
 water and drank it. This was the only sign of his agitation. 
 "What will happen now?" asked Mimi in a low voice. 
 "All will happen as you would wish." 
 "I will not marry Tchagin ... it is not necessary now. 
 I like him very much, but not as a future husband." 
 " Why, then, my child, did you promise him ?" 
 * For papa . . . that is, for him. ... I saw that my love 
 and my presence were a torture to him, were oppressing 
 him, and I decided to deliver him of them. Now I know all 
 and will not remain in that house any more, because I con-
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 319 
 
 sider that I have the right to do as I wish. My God, my 
 God ! . . . Why did I learn all this ?" 
 
 Mimi hid her face in her hands and burst into tears. 
 
 " Poor dear child ! . . . Dearest child, do not cry . . . 
 don't cry, my Mimi, whom I dared not even caress. . . . 
 Stop, little one; enough, my little daughter." 
 
 Volynsky put his arm round her shoulders and kissed her 
 hair, stroked her head, and, it seemed, could not find words 
 to console her. 
 
 Mimi pressed her htad to his breast and continued to 
 cry softly. 
 
 " My whole heart seems broken ... I cannot change it. 
 All my life I worshipped him, I was so proud of him . . . 
 and even now I love him so ! . . ." 
 
 " My child, can anyone prevent you from continuing to 
 love him, as a man who took the place of a father to you ? 
 Can anyone force you to forget him ? Your heart is free, 
 and I have less right to it than anybody." 
 
 " Yes, but you are . . . you are my father, and neverthe- 
 less, however I struggle with myself, I cannot cease to love 
 him." 
 
 Mimi's voice was scarcely audible, and her tear-stained 
 face, with her hat slightly deranged and her hair crumpled 
 on her forehead, expressed a deep, unchildlike grief. 
 
 " My poor child, the suffering which has fallen on you is 
 greater than you can understand and overcome. You are 
 too young yet. Do not torment yourself or force your 
 heart. Michail Vladimirovitch has deserved your love — 
 love him. If I deserve it maybe you will love me also. . . . 
 You have given me great pleasure by telling me that you 
 are not going to marry Tchagin. Alexander Alexandro- 
 vitch is a kind and good man, but he is much older than 
 you. . . ." 
 
 "Ah, he is very, very good ... he rs a wonderful man, 
 and I know that he will understand me." 
 
 " I am sure of it." 
 
 "May I ask you one more thing?" 
 
 "Anything you wish." 
 
 "Mamma . . . you do not love mamma?"
 
 320 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 " No, I do not love her." 
 
 Volynsky's face took a cold expression. 
 
 Mimi wanted to ask something more, but she changed 
 her mind. Rearranging her hat, she rose to go. 
 
 "How will it be now? Teach me . . . my former father 
 has ceased to love me; with mamma I do not want to 
 remain. ... I would like to live with you ... I would 
 get used to you and learn to love you . . . papa." 
 
 Mimi lifted her eyes to Volynsky's face with a timid and 
 supplicating expression. 
 
 " Dearest child, with time — yes, but at once it is impos- 
 sible. Why give society food for scandalous gossip ? 
 Speak first with Tchagin, and I will hold council with your 
 dear Aunt Marie." 
 
 " But she is not my aunt any more. . . ." 
 
 Mimi's eyes filled with tears again. 
 
 "That does not change her feelings towards you. I 
 know that her whole heart is bound up in you." 
 
 "May I tell her that I came here?" 
 
 " Certainly, and ask her from me to be to-morrow at my 
 friend's, the Baroness Kern. We will talk the whole 
 matter over, and you will know all from her. And for the 
 time being, my darling, I ask you to control your grief. 
 You are my daughter, and you must learn how to control 
 yourself, as I do." 
 
 The same evening Mimi told Tchagin of the drama of 
 her heart, and timidly pressing his hand between her cold 
 little fingers, she begged him to give her back her word 
 and to remain her true and faithful friend. 
 
 " You are free, quite free, my dear Mimi. My feelings 
 to you are unchanged. I am neither hurt nor surprised; 
 I foresaw this. But why did you hide your grief from me ? 
 I would have helped you to bear it." 
 
 Tchagin gazed on Alimi with kind faithful eyes. 
 
 Mimi talked long on that evening with her former 
 betrothed, and when they both appeared at evening tea, no 
 change was to be seen in their relations to one another, 
 and no one could suppose that they were no longer en- 
 gaged. It was decided between them that Tchagin would
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 321 
 
 speak to Michail and tell him all that he had heard from 
 Mimi. 
 
 " Only tell him — be sure to tell him — that I love him as 
 formerly, and will love him so always, all my life long," 
 Mimi urged Tchagin, with burning eyes, when he said 
 good-bye to her to go to Gourakin's rooms. 
 
 Tchagin found Gourakin sitting in his study on the sofa 
 with his legs stretched out and smoking a cigar. 
 
 Lately, even when quite alone with himself, Michail had 
 ceased to suffer. Something had become hard, cold, in 
 him, and he was quite pleased with this new state of his 
 heart, which allowed him to live the fictitious, insincere life 
 so foreign to his real nature. 
 
 On that day Gourakin was in good spirits. In the morn- 
 ing he had received a letter from his steward, who informed 
 him that the rents on his property had been increased, that 
 part of the forests had been sold advantageously, and that 
 the money was being sent him. In the day-time he had 
 called on his uncle, the Prince Alexei, who was suffering 
 from paralysis in both legs. On hearing that after Mimi's 
 wedding Michail intended to live separately from his wife, 
 the Prince proposed to him to occupy the apartments of 
 the Princess, which had now remained empty for many 
 years. Michail was very pleased with this proposal, as 
 his uncle offered him such a luxurious home without 
 charge. Encircled in the rings of smoke from his cigar, 
 which was lightly and pleasantly lulling his brain, Michail 
 was in that happy frame of mind which is experienced by 
 the favourites of fate after a successful day. 
 
 Tchagin, not guessing this, was searching in his mind 
 how to begin the difficult subject, which he was afraid 
 would call forth one of those outbursts of tnrestrained 
 wrath which he could not bear. 
 
 " Were you with Mimi all this time ?" asked Gourakin 
 without changing his easy attitude. 
 
 "Yes, I come from her . . . and I want to speak to you 
 about her very seriously." 
 
 " A-ah ! Something new ?" asked Michail indifferently, 
 trying to calculate how much money would remain to him 
 
 21
 
 322 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 from the sum sent by his steward after the payment of all 
 his debts. 
 
 " Mimi knows much more than we thought. . . ." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "She knows — that is, she has learnt — the real state of 
 affairs." 
 
 Gourakin, without changing his attitude, let out a cloud 
 of smoke and only turned his eyes for a second towards 
 Tchagin. 
 
 " To-day she saw Volynsky and told him that she knows 
 that he is her father, and not you." 
 
 " A resolute act ... I did not expect such independence 
 from her. Well, and what then ?" 
 
 " She has firmly decided to leave this house." 
 
 "Why should she do it? Her wedding is not far 
 off." 
 
 " Mimi gave me back my word : there will be no 
 wedding." 
 
 "Then where is she going?" 
 
 "At present she will go with Maria Arkadievna abroad, 
 and after . . . after, I do not know, but she will not remain 
 here in any case." 
 
 "As I shall not remain here either, I think that she is 
 acting rightly. But why has she broken with you ?" 
 
 " Nothing is broken. We are the best of friends." 
 
 "Tant mieux!" said Michail peacefully. 
 
 He was so tired of all family dramas that however they 
 ended he did not care; he only wanted them to be over and 
 to be free. 
 
 Although Tchagin knew his friend very well and his 
 sudden changes of temper, still he did not expect to meet 
 with such a serene calm in such serious and unexpected 
 circumstances. 
 
 " What's the matter with you to-day ?" 
 
 " With me ? Nothing. I am feeling very well. I called 
 on Prince Alexei. He is offering me all the apartments of 
 his wife; I shall remove thither as soon as Mimi departs. 
 The old man is getting quite bad — it is sad to see him. 
 And what a fine fellow he was in his time I ..."
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 323 
 
 Gourakin stretched out his hand lazily for some matches 
 to rekindle his cigar, which had gone out. 
 
 Tchagin, feeling sad after his conversation with Mimi, 
 listened absently to what Gourakin was saying, easily 
 passing from subject to subject. On leaving Michail he 
 went downstairs, and suddenly heard light quick footsteps 
 behind him. 
 
 "Well, how is papa? . . . how is he?" Mimi asked on 
 overtaking him, with impatience and agitation awaiting 
 his reply. 
 
 "It will be all right. . . . Probably he will speak with 
 you to-morrow. Do not agitate yourself, my angel; you 
 must be very careful of yourself still." 
 
 " Did you tell him what I asked you to ?" 
 
 "Tell him that yourself. When I spoke to him, I felt 
 that it would be better that you tell him that yourself." 
 
 Tchagin could not tell Mimi that Michail was in such a 
 serenely calm state of mind that the yearning of her 
 sorrowing heart would not be understood by him. 
 
 With Nathalie it was Marie's fate to explain matters. 
 Contrary to Michail, the explanation was a very difficult 
 one. On hearing that Mimi had refused Tchagin and 
 decided to go abroad with her aunt first, and afterwards to 
 leave the house to live with her, Nathalie became quite 
 indignant, and even accused Marie of supporting her 
 daughter in her rebellion. 
 
 "If Mimi does not live with me, then I warn you 
 seriously, Nathalie, she will live with her father — that is, 
 with Volynsky. She told me so." 
 
 Nathalie looked at Marie with astonishment. 
 
 " Has Mimi spoken with Volynsky?" 
 
 "Yes, she spoke to him before speaking with us." 
 
 Nathalie was dumbfounded. She never thought that the 
 girl would show such courage and determination in her 
 actions. It seemed to Nathalie as if heavy weights were 
 falling down on her from all sides, pressing on her heart 
 and brains. She did not foresee that a last and most heavy 
 stroke was awaiting her : a final rupture with her husband, 
 for whom she, suspecting nothing, was preparing, together
 
 324 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 with her son and Moissei Borisovitch, a reduction of the 
 sums paid to him for his personal needs. She was con- 
 vinced that by Hmiting his budget she would make him give 
 up the women who always stood between them. 
 
 While all these explanations and nervous attacks of his 
 wife were going on in the house, Marie and Mimi were 
 packing and making their preparations for their journey 
 abroad, and Moissei Borisovitch was holding malignant 
 and venomous conferences with his wife and son. Michail 
 was putting his personal affairs in order, building plans for 
 the immediate future, calling on Prince Alexei, giving 
 orders for the arrangement of his future home, and looking 
 forward with joy and relief to the happy day when he would 
 again be a free and light-hearted man in the house which 
 he had known from childhood.
 
 PART FOUR 
 
 I 
 
 With a tired and displeased expression on her face 
 Nathalie was wandering about the spacious rooms of her 
 house, giving orders that it should be put in order for the 
 winter season. She had returned home on the previous 
 day from Moscow, where she had stopped on her way 
 from her estate at the convent of the Princess Anna 
 Valerianovna, or Mother Alexandra, as she was named 
 since she had been invested with the schema. Her foot- 
 steps resounded with a loud and dull sound in the large 
 rooms without their carpets, with the furniture, vases and 
 ornaments all swaddled up in their covers, and the huge 
 undraped windows, through which the yellow-grey, damp 
 autumn day was peeping in. Nathalie always felt particu- 
 larly lonely during these first days on her return to the 
 capital for the winter, when the disarranged rooms seemed 
 to increase her low spirits. Growing ever more sparing 
 and even stingy as the years went by, she would not allow 
 her house to be put in order in her absence, being convinced 
 that the upholsterers, floor-polishers, and other workmen 
 would send in dishonest bills. Boris was now occupying 
 the rooms downstairs where Marie had lived. He led a 
 very dissipated life, and Nathalie saw him very little, not 
 even every day. Whether the grey, sad-coloured weather 
 were the cause or not, on this morning Nathalie felt her 
 loneliness more keenly than ever. During the last years 
 time had laid with a cruel hand signs of approaching old 
 age on her outward appearance. Although her figure was 
 still slender, the face had grown yellow, small wrinkles had 
 
 325
 
 326 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 planted themselves around the eyes, the corners of the 
 mouth had become drawn down, and betrayed the distinc- 
 tive quaHties of her character — narrow-minded irritability 
 and spitefulness. Not only the passing years were 
 oppressing her, but the feeling of a certain void, which had 
 suddenly disclosed itself at the end of her life, and in which 
 she felt the cold of a lonely, unnecessary existence. She 
 had always loved the world, and was sure that she was also 
 loved by those ladies who in beautiful dresses had come to 
 her dinners, suppers and balls, and all those high-placed 
 statesmen and the flattering youths who pressed respectful 
 kisses on her negligently extended, beringed hands. Her 
 house could not contain all those who desired to be received 
 by her, and she used to invite to her sumptuous dinners and 
 balls certain groups of her friends at a time, was very 
 capricious in her selections, sorted her company, was not 
 very prompt in returning calls, and still all used to come 
 with pleasure and have a good time, and she was quite sure 
 that she had a right to consider herself a brilliant centre 
 round which the men's heads, of all ranks and ages, bowed 
 in respect and admiration, and ladies smiled pleasantly, 
 extending their hands avec une amitie bien sincere, and 
 with so much affection for " cette adorable et elegante 
 Nathalie Gourakin." . . . And suddenly all had changed. 
 Since Michail had removed to Prince Alexei's house, her 
 own house had seemed to lose its attractive power, as if 
 its light had gone out, or its gaiety had flown away. . . . 
 
 When the first outbursts of despair were past, and 
 Nathalie recognized that her husband would not return to 
 her under any conditions whatever, she, although with a 
 deep rent in her heart, had begun to grow used to her new 
 position of abandoned wife. Every day life went on as 
 usual, and she had to adapt herself to it. When, a year 
 after the family catastrophe, Nathalie had resumed her 
 former train de vie, and called on all her acquaintances, 
 everyone found that she was very much faded and had lost 
 her sparkle. When she entered drawing-rooms with the 
 step of a woman tired out and disenchanted with life — 
 demarche trainant le fardeau de la vie^ as someone had
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 327 
 
 expressed it — on her lips a sour-looking grimace instead 
 of a smile, giving vent to cutting remarks on the behaviour 
 of her husband, all those who saw her expressed their 
 sympathy with her grief by a look, a prolonged pressure of 
 her hand, or a stifled sigh full of meaning. She believed 
 all these signs of sympathy, and considered herself sur- 
 rounded by true and devoted friends, but behind her back 
 these same people used to speak of her as dull and weary- 
 ing, and generally concluded all conversations about her 
 with a remark of the following nature : 
 
 " What would you ? With her impossible disposition 
 she has only brought it on herself. . . ." 
 
 Little by little her drawing-rooms began to grow empty, 
 the dinners and evening parties became dull, and at last 
 Nathalie understood that the gaiety which had always 
 reigned at her parties came from her husband, that it was 
 he who, with his inexhaustible enjoyment of life, attracted 
 people, that in the sounds of his sonorous voice trembled 
 living, cheering notes, his jolly laugh infected people with 
 his gaiety, his inborn friendliness and simplicity in his 
 relations with everyone represented a feeling of uncon- 
 scious but large-hearted natural liberalism. The women 
 loved him be"nuse he loved them all together and each one 
 separately, the men loved him because he was a good, 
 obliging comrade, an honourable and cultured man, richly 
 endowed by nature, and chiefly he was loved by everyone 
 because he brought with him a sincere, irresistible gaiety, 
 founded on simple, kind-hearted relations towards people 
 and life itself. 
 
 Nathalie, who had been preparing a blow for her husband 
 by reducing his revenues on a legal ground, was dumb- 
 founded and humiliated by his voluntary withdrawal, not 
 only from the management of her fortune, but even from 
 her fortune itself. After his departure many of his liabil- 
 ities remained in the hands of Moissei Borisovitch; Nathalie 
 caught at them as at an anchor of safety, and notwithstand- 
 ing the objections and protests of the steward, ordered him 
 to pay immediately on all the bills the enormous sum of 
 several hundred thousand roubles. She vas sure that such
 
 328 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 an act of generosity and magnanimity would be rewarded 
 and would lead to a reconciliation, but Gourakin, who had 
 always felt a certain contempt and unconcern in questions 
 of money, did not seem to take her generosity in the spirit 
 that she had hoped he would. He called his son to him 
 and through him transmitted his thanks to his wife. By 
 the payment of the enormous sum of debts Nathalie had 
 helped Michail to wake up one fine morning in his luxurious 
 apartments in Prince Alexei's house and breathe a long 
 breath of relief; he stretched himself, smoked a cigarette, 
 and, prolonging the pleasure of lying in bed a little longer, 
 felt himself to be a happy man, free from all anxieties, 
 unpleasantness, and financial complications. Despite the 
 grey hairs which were silvering his temples he felt the 
 vigour of his body and the same inexhaustible love of life, 
 as in his younger years. 
 
 Nathalie did not avoid meeting her husband, but each 
 casual meeting disturbed her for several days ; in her suffer- 
 ing she recognized that in losing him she had lost all that 
 was most precious for her, that meant life to her. How- 
 ever she might persuade others and herself that Michail 
 had been a bad husband and had left her because he had 
 no moral principles, somewhere deep in her soul she blamed 
 herself (or not having known how to preserve the love of 
 the man whom she still continued to love. 
 
 Boris, her quondam ally in her battle against her hus- 
 band, in whom she had hoped to see a support for her old 
 age, had not justified her hopes. Since she had given him 
 part of her fortune, he had taken to keeping late hours, to 
 squandering money, and plunging into the pleasures of 
 life to such a degree that he very seldom saw his mother, 
 and grew quite cold towards her. 
 
 Notwithstanding the week passed in the convent with 
 the Princess Anna Valerianovna and the long comforting 
 talks with her, Nathalie, on returning to her empty house, 
 again gave way to dejection. What had seemed to be full 
 of expiatory meaning in the convent oppressed her here as 
 a burden above her strength. Princess Anna Valerianovna 
 exercised a certain influence over Nathalie; she understood
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 329 
 
 her troubles, as she herself had passed through them; she 
 found the right kind of comforting words with which in 
 times gone by she had disciplined her own heart when it 
 had felt indignant against her own husband. She desired 
 to lead Nathalie along the same path which she had selected 
 at the end of her life, but her efforts were defeated by the 
 narrow-minded, shallow nature of Nathalie, who was not 
 capable even of temporary submission. Nevertheless, her 
 visits to the convent had a beneficial effect on Nathalie, 
 and with no one was she so frank as with Princess Anna 
 Valerianovna. Only on one point they differed : the 
 Princess did not approve of, and even warned Nathalie 
 against, her infatuation in regard to Father Luka 
 Nepoutiovy, who had risen like a turbid scum on to the 
 higher circles of society. 
 
 The Princess had quitted the worldly life, and by prayer 
 and fasting humbled her pride, and she was very severe 
 against Father Luka's actions, which did not correspond 
 to his preachings, nor to the notion of piety. But she 
 might grow as agitated and as angry as she could trying 
 to prove that Father Luka was no more than a skilful and 
 cunning rogue, Nathalie defended him warmly, assuring 
 her that Father Luka was a humble religious fanatic, who 
 had retained his pure primitive nature of a man of God 
 amid all the honours and favours of the higher society, 
 which would inevitably have tempted and spoilt any other 
 man. 
 
 The Princess, listening to Nathalie's earnest defence of 
 her favourite, fidgeted in her armchair with her old plump 
 body, ran her fingers rapidly through her beads, fixed an 
 angry sharp glance on Nathalie, and seemed to be munch- 
 ing something with her old toothless mouth. 
 
 " Your dear Father Luka is a scurvy sheep, which 
 has infected the whole flock," the Princess interrupted 
 Nathalie's long speech. 
 
 Notwithstanding her life in the monastery, the Princess 
 had not lost the habit of persons of her society of mixing 
 the French and Russian languages together. 
 
 "You are all blinded, and do not want to see on what
 
 330 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 unclean, low instincts all this false religious fanaticism is 
 based. He is a dirty — passcs-moi le mot — lustful peasant, 
 who used to run after maidens in his village, and here the 
 ladies themselves have shown him that in playing the reli- 
 gious maniac and humbly calling on God's name, he can 
 penetrate into their chambers, and the mutual love of lust 
 will be invested with a sort of mystery." 
 
 "In heaven's name, Princess, what are you saying? I 
 know him, he comes to my house; we talk together by the 
 hour. . . ." 
 
 " With you he goes no farther than talk, because you are 
 not young, but try to leave him alone with Mimi." 
 
 " And there would be nothing either." 
 
 "Ah, don't!" The Princess made an angry movement 
 with her hand. " Do you think I do not hear of the scanda- 
 lous histories which are connected with his name ? I do 
 not want to sin and mention names . . . but you know 
 them as well as I do. Why must he be closeted for his 
 pious teachings in the bedrooms of Princess Maievsky and 
 numerous other young ladies and girls ? Why does he not 
 shut himself up with you, instead of proclaiming all his 
 nonsense publicly?" 
 
 " Allow me. Princess, one must be just. . . ." 
 
 " No, no, chere amie, better not tell me anything more. 
 You have chosen a false and dangerous path. . . . That 
 scamp and cunning fellow is a seducer, and you are 
 profaning our Church in allowing that lustful peasant to 
 interpret the teachings of our Saviour. Please, Nathalie, 
 do not speak of him any more ; each time I lose my patience, 
 and it leads to nothing." 
 
 "Very well. Princess, I will not speak of him," answered 
 Nathalie coldly; "but to judge so severely of a man one 
 must know him personally." 
 
 " Too much honour, too much honour ! " retorted the 
 Princess angrily. 
 
 After such discussions she used to rise with an effort 
 from her chair and, moving heavily on her swollen feet, 
 pass into her bedroom. There, kneeling down on the high 
 step of the huge ikon-case with the holy ikons, she would
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 331 
 
 repeat her prayers, her Hps moving inaudibly, while she 
 
 counted her beads until she regained calmness of spirit. 
 During the last visit of Nathalie's the Princess was 
 
 specially indignant and agitated, as she had heard rumours 
 
 that Nathalie's name had been scandalously connected 
 
 with that of Father Luka, but Nathalie remained indifferent 
 
 to the exhortations of the Princess. 
 
 " Humility consists in disdaining the evil which is spoken 
 
 against us," said Nathalie calmly after hearing the Princess 
 
 out. 
 
 " Where there is disdain, there is no humility, firstly," 
 
 said the Princess meaningly, " and secondly, if honest 
 
 people call voire Pcre Luka a debauchee, then there is 
 
 something behind it." 
 
 "Most of all I trust my own experience." 
 
 " And there you are wrong, as your own life shows," 
 
 remarked the Princess severely. 
 
 Wearying and disturbing thoughts did not leave Nathalie 
 
 all the time that she was giving orders and receiving 
 reports. The approaching winter frightened her with its 
 loneliness and dulness, which she was not able to cast off. 
 Yesterday Mimi had met her at the statiow and promised 
 to call on her to-day; then she had accepted her promise 
 indifferently, now she kept glancing at her watch with im- 
 patience, fearing that Mimi might not come. On finishing 
 with her orders, Nathalie passed into her large and richly 
 furnished bedroom, which was the only room that it was 
 permitted to put in order in her absence. Sinking into a 
 chair before the toilet-table and mechanically running her 
 hand over her hair and skilfully arranged chignon, she 
 leaned her elbows on the table and with her face between 
 the palms of her hands she gave herself up to her thoughts 
 and sat staring with unseeing eyes at her reflection in the 
 glass. She asked herself with anguish, how was it that all 
 her life seemed over? Why was she so lonely? Why 
 were people like the sea, at the time of the tide running in 
 like the waves, hurrying and overlapping one another to 
 express their admiration and adulation, and then suddenly, 
 like the sea at ebb-tide, retreating hastily and of a common
 
 332 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 accord, from the hospitable shores, leaving them covered 
 with drift and weeds. . . . Loving her husband with a 
 jealous and tormenting love, Nathalie at the same time 
 needed to be in communion with her fellow creatures, and 
 the ever-changing, gay, pleasure-seeking crowd which 
 filled her house was necessary to her as an indispensable 
 element of her life. 
 
 For this crowd she had had beautiful dresses brought 
 over from Paris; for this crowd she had carefully tended 
 her outward appearance, she had had masseuses for her 
 face and body; for the crowd she had smiled when she felt 
 inclined to cry; she had lied, endeavouring to mask her 
 strained relations with her husband, after their quarrels; 
 she had spent thousands for balls and dinners. . . . For 
 some hidden, unknown reasons the ebb-tide had come; the 
 crowd, like the sea-waves, had rolled away, leaving after it 
 slime and drift in the form of evil-speaking, mockery, 
 malevolence, or contemptuous pity. Was not her husband 
 also torn away from his family? But why was he not 
 lonely ? Why was he now — she knew it for certain — as 
 ever, surrounded by a great number of friends, or seekers 
 of his favours ? Why did not he suffer from dulness ? 
 Why did the passing years, although touching his hair 
 with their wings and throwing in some silver threads 
 among his locks, as well as imperceptible wrinkles on his 
 face, not extinguish the fire in his eyes, not take away the 
 jolly careless laughter of youth from his lips, not disfigure 
 the handsome contours of his profile, but just leave him, in 
 spite of all natural laws, the same fascinating, pleasure- 
 loving favourite of fortune? . . . And she? . . . Nathalie 
 started and, looking straight before her, saw a faded, pulled- 
 down face, with dimmed eyes and deep, sharply outlined 
 wrinkles from her nose to the corners of her mouth, with 
 a sour, unfriendly expression. Yes, she was a complete old 
 woman, unneeded by anyone. . . . Her life was over, and 
 nevertheless, the body was alive; memory, as if in a glass, 
 was turning over page after page of her life, her soul was 
 aching with anguish. Nothing to catch hold of, nothing 
 to rest her thoughts on. . . . She was a stranger to every-
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 333 
 
 one, and did not need anyone; no one was dear to her, to 
 no one could she tell her grief and sob out her tears. She 
 had loved the crowd, because the crowd had admired her, 
 curried her favour, but she had not loved mankind ; she had 
 not loved anyone but her husband. . . . And now there 
 was no one near her; neither her husband, nor the crowd of 
 acquaintances, who had occupied her imagination, imposed 
 certain obligations, distracted her thoughts, created an 
 outer life of varied impressions. If her husband had died, 
 it would have been easier for her to bear her retirement 
 from the world, her complete bankruptcy; she would not be 
 tormented and teased by the consciousness that it was she 
 alone who was plunging into the cold and darkness of a 
 gloomy, lonely old age. . . . 
 
 Nathalie pressed her temples with a low moan, closed her 
 eyes with an expression of suffering, and bent her head. 
 
 Neither Princess Anna Valerianovna nor Father Luka 
 had been able to draw aside a corner of the curtain which 
 divided her fruitless splenetic sufferings from the simple 
 and sad truth : she had passed all her life loving only her- 
 self alone; she had neither loved her fellow-creatures nor 
 her husband; in him she had only loved her own passion 
 for him, low-minded and deeply egotistical. Michail's 
 soul, his personality as a human being, were foreign and 
 uninteresting to her; she had loved passionately and tor- 
 mentingly his masculine power over her, and now that she 
 had lost it she was completely bankrupt. 
 
 A hysterical lump was mounting to her throat, and 
 Nathalie felt that in a moment the tears would flow from 
 her eyes. She moved away rapidly from the toilet-table 
 and with a decisive movement pressed the button of a 
 telephone apparatus which was placed near by on a small 
 stand. 
 
 "Stepanida Karpovna ? . . . Yes, my dear, it is I, 
 arrived but yesterday, and, as you see, ringing you up 
 already. ... I am feeling so dejected! . . . Tell Father 
 Luka that if he does not come I shall be ill. . . . Ah, no, I 
 do not want anything or anyone — I want a talk with him. 
 ... He comforts me. . . . Ask him, my dear; I will wait."
 
 334 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 Nathalie passed her hand over her face with a suffering 
 mien and waited impatiently for an answer. After a 
 minute she got the one she desired. 
 
 " Oh, how glad I am ! . . . Thank him ... I will send 
 the motor-car for him at four o'clock. . . . So, now I am 
 feeling easier at heart. ... Au revoir, dear. . . ." 
 
 Nathalie had just hung up the receiver when rapid foot- 
 steps were heard, the heavy silken drapery was lifted, and 
 Mimi stood in the doorway. 
 
 "May I, mamma?" 
 
 " Very glad to see you. How are you, Mimi ? I have 
 been expecting you all the morning. It is so dull in this 
 large unarranged house. Take off your hat and sit down." 
 
 Now Nathalie was less pleased to see her daughter than 
 she would have been half an hour earlier. She did not like 
 anyone to be present at her talks with Father Luka, the 
 more so as, although Mimi had never expressed before her 
 mother her full contempt for him, Nathalie had guessed it, 
 and Mimi never met him in her mother's house. 
 
 These last years Mimi had greatly changed; she had 
 grown older, her features had become more determined, 
 the girlish uncertainty in her movements had disappeared, 
 the shoulders were broader, her bust was fuller, and from 
 a pretty maiden she had grown to be a beautiful, delicate 
 woman. Mimi had been married and lost her husband. 
 She had wedded a young diplomat with a very good career 
 before him. They had loved each other and lived together 
 but two years; he had fallen ill suddenly and died from an 
 unsuccessful operation. Mimi had grieved deeply, but 
 after a year she took off her mourning and became recon- 
 ciled to her fate, and again her peaceful calm demeanour, 
 which had such a beneficial effect on all those who sur- 
 rounded her, came back to her. After the death of her 
 husband she had gone to live with her father, Pavel 
 Konstantinovitch Volynsky, and she filled his large, always 
 empty house with the fragrance of a woman's presence, 
 impregnating everything, and laying on everything its 
 special seal. The large white salon with the gilded chairs 
 seemed quite as empty, but a forgotten gauze scarf on »
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 335 
 
 chair or table, or some music open on tlie piano, and near 
 by a tiny, lace-trimmed batiste handkerchief, seemed to 
 give Hfe to the whole place and whispered to the imagina- 
 tion of each one entering the room that behind any door 
 there might be heard the light footsteps of a woman, and 
 the empty salon might be brightened with the radiance and 
 smile of a woman's eyes and lips. 
 
 Volynsky worshipped his daughter, and gave up to her 
 so much of his time and heart that the Duchess was secretly 
 jealous. 
 
 Mimi took off her small felt hat with the white feather 
 before a glass, and the golden curls, feeling themselves 
 free, fell with a capricious movement on the forehead of 
 her fresh, delicately-tinted face. A black silk skirt en- 
 veloped the narrow hips, a similar blouse adorned with its 
 graceful folds the slender, supple body. Mimi had grown 
 much more like Volynsky : the same features, the same 
 reserved grace of movement; only in the expression of the 
 blue eyes there was more softness and warm-heartedness. 
 
 "Well, relate to me, how have you passed the summer? 
 You are looking exceedingly well, and I am very glad that 
 you have left off wearing full mourning : it gave you une 
 figure tragique. So you are pleased with your trip 
 abroad?" asked Nathalie, examining her daughter at- 
 tentively. 
 
 " Very pleased indeed. The waters have done Aunt 
 Marie much good, and then we, as I wrote to you, went to 
 Switzerland. Our hotel was full of nice foreigners, and 
 Aunt Marie was even jealous of their company." 
 
 Mimi smiled, and looked wonderfully like her father. 
 
 "Was Pavel Konstantinovitch there?" 
 
 " Papa came for a short time." 
 
 " Have you seen Michail lately ?" asked Nathalie, trying 
 to appear indifferent. 
 
 For an instant Mimi's face and neck were suffused with 
 a red flush. She felt unaccountably uncomfortable; it hurt 
 her that her mother could ask about a man who had left 
 her, repulsed the love of her daughter, and was still 
 unalterably loved by both of them.
 
 336 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 " I saw him a few days ago at Aunt Marie's." 
 
 " How is he — well and happy, as usual ?'* 
 
 "Yes, he is just the same." 
 
 Nathalie shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " A wonderful nature ! What an inexhaustible capacity 
 for life, what irrepressible joie de vivre ! ... A sort of 
 exulting god, carried along in a chariot amid life's festiv- 
 ities ... he is borne by white horses, around him are 
 flowers, eternal sunshine, women bacchantes, jollity and 
 gladness. ... It is not life, not our life, with the grey 
 week-days and anguished thoughts. . . ." 
 
 Nathalie became suddenly excited, and two crimson spots 
 burned on her cheeks. 
 
 Mimi looked at her mother with astonishment, 
 
 " Do you know, mamma," she said slowly and thought- 
 fully, "what you have said just now is wonderfully true! 
 ... I have often thought of him, but I have never been able 
 to find such wonderfully true and just expressions ... a god 
 exulting amid life's festivities. . . . Wonderfully true. . . ." 
 
 " You evidently approve of this, while I blame it. . . . 
 He does not care for anyone ; all his life he has concentrated 
 on himself." 
 
 " You are not right " — Mimi shook her head slowly — 
 "he loves mankind very much, and " 
 
 " No, please do not speak to me of this love. All my life 
 I have been paying too dear for this love of mankind. . . . 
 He deprived his nearest and most loving ones in order to 
 carry his heart full of love to the market of humanity. . . . 
 It is dreadful, it is cruel ! There is nothing to admire or 
 be touched about. How many tens of thousands has he 
 thrown away to all kinds of singers and artists, who have 
 nothing to do with him now ! . . . He paid for schools 
 and asylums, climbed up into garrets of beggar artists and 
 would-be poets, and what have they given him ? He does 
 not know himself where they are, nor what they are . . . 
 he has even forgotten them. . . ." 
 
 " Ah, mamma," interrupted Mimi hotly, " but that is the 
 real love of mankind; glad to give, not waiting to be loved 
 in return."
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 337 
 
 "And those who love him, who are ready to bear any 
 sacrifice for his sake, he abandons, and will not hear of ! 
 He gives his heart to mankind, but to his nearest and most 
 loving he turns his back ! . . . Magnificent, glorious 
 love!" cried Nathalie mockingly. 
 
 In her dimmed eyes angry fires were burning, the mouth 
 was awry, and the expression of the whole face was gloomy 
 and disagreeable. 
 
 Mimi glanced at her mother, lowered her eyes, and 
 remained silent. In her mind's eye she saw many heavy 
 scenes that to Nathalie herself were erased from memory, 
 carried away as she was by the idea of the love and sacri- 
 fices which she, "the nearest," had all her life laid at the 
 feet of the heartless husband. She had forgotten the 
 secret councils with the steward and her son, in which the 
 husband's and father's honour were staked. Now she was 
 crying and complaining to her daughter and seeking her 
 sympathy and exculpation for her own self, because she 
 knew that her daughter's heart had been wounded by the 
 same hand which had removed her from its path. But 
 their natures were foreign one to another; they spoke 
 different languages. Mimi bore her grief prcrudly and in 
 silence, and put it out of Michail's way, preserving in her 
 heart all the tenderness and depth of her love untouched. 
 For her Michail — Papa Michail, as she now called him 
 playfully — occupied the same high place where she had 
 enthroned him in the early days of her childhood. As 
 formerly, she admired all that he did, all that he said. 
 Formerly she used ♦o express her feelings of rapture by 
 kissing his hands, looking deeply into his eyes, calling him 
 by tender names, feeling herself happy in the rays of his 
 brightness. Now she was silent, and only in her eyes, 
 always turned on him with tender love, he might read what 
 had remained untouched and whole in her heart towards 
 him. 
 
 Mimi was silent. These quarrels with her mother were 
 distressing to her, and she terminated them generally by 
 keeping silence, in which one could feel the anguish of her 
 heart. 
 
 22
 
 338 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 " None of you can fathom how lonely I am, or even wish 
 to," continued Nathalie, moving about the room and 
 stopping at the toilet-table, or at the window, or before 
 the work-table. 
 
 Her cold fingers kept touching with an unconscious 
 nervous movement first one thing, then another, and 
 putting them from place to place. 
 
 " You are living with your father, who, as I have heard, 
 adores and spoils you; Marie's thoughts are centred in you 
 and her nephew; Boris is wholly absorbed in his pleasures 
 and fancies; only I am alone, quite alone, in this large 
 house, alone with my anguish, my sad thoughts." 
 
 Nathalie put her hands to her head, and with a loud sigh 
 raised her eyes to heaven as if taking it as witness. 
 
 "Mamma dear ... if you find it so unbearable to be 
 here alone, would you wish me to come and live with you? 
 ... I wjll speak to papa about it," proposed Mimi falter- 
 ingly, with a slight hesitation. 
 
 " Ah, what for ? How can you help me ? No, no, it is 
 not necessary." 
 
 At that instant heavy, uneven footsteps were heard in 
 the distance and a loud abrupt voice. Nathalie rushed to 
 the door. 
 
 "Just in time! . . . What a joy for me . . . my kind 
 comforter and friend! Come in here; here all is in order 
 and cosy. . . ." 
 
 Nathalie led into the room a strange personage, whose 
 aspect did not harmonize with his surroundings, nor with 
 those who were in them. Slightly bending his knees as 
 he walked, and dragging his heels along the floor, a 
 peasant entered and stopped in the doorway. He was 
 dressed in a dark blue peasant's jacket over a light blue 
 silk blouse (as usually worn by the Russian peasants), with 
 a girdle of thick white cord with tassels. With a sharp 
 look in the eyes, placed very near to the bridge of the nose, 
 he fixed them on Mimi and for several seconds stood quite 
 still and silent. Mimi bore the stubborn, impudent and 
 cunning gaze. Only her dark eyebrows quivered and drew 
 closer together, forming a fold across the f6rehead.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 339 
 
 "Maiden or married?" asked Luka abruptly, without 
 turning away his eyes. 
 
 "This is my daughter Mimi. Quite young, but already 
 widowed," NathaHe answered hastily, seeing that Mimi 
 was silent. 
 
 "A widow. Living as God wills? . . . Keeping pure? 
 . . . Meek, but proud ! . . . Drive away the angel of pride 
 and he will fall at thy feet. . . . Although thy heart is 
 kind, thy woman's pride is immeasurable. . . ." 
 
 Luka did not take his eyes off Mimi, and in his immov- 
 ably fixed gaze something seemed to quiver and tremble. 
 
 " Mamma, it is time for me to go." 
 
 Mimi turned away from Luka with a careless movement 
 and went to the toilet-table, where she had left her hat. 
 She put it on quickly, arranged with customary deftness 
 the escaped ringlets of hair, kissed her mother, and walked 
 with a determined step towards the door, near which Luka 
 stood, barring her passage. 
 
 "Move aside, please," said Mimi firmly, and, without 
 looking at him, quickly left the room. 
 
 Luka tittered naughtily, waved his hand in front of his 
 face with a short gesture, and entered the room. 
 
 "Sit down, my kind friend, here, on the sofa. So — here 
 is better. They will serve tea directly." Nathalie was 
 bustling about, trying to make her visitor comfortable. 
 
 "No, no, I do not want tea. Do not worry. Sit down 
 nearer. Give me your hand. Well, good-morning." 
 
 Luka came nearer to Nathalie, and they kissed three 
 times, moving the head from right to left, as it is done for 
 Easter. 
 
 "Now tell me all; go on, and I will listen and look at 
 you." 
 
 Luka spoke with an accent on the " o" and with an 
 abrupt ending of the words. 
 
 "What is there to look at. Father Luka? I have aged 
 still more from the thoughts that are oppressing me." 
 
 " Do not be a slave to your thoughts . . . drive all 
 thoughts away, and pray to God." 
 
 "I must confess to you. Father Luka; I must disclose to
 
 340 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 you all those thoughts of mine. I know you will under- 
 stand and help me." 
 
 " Lighten your heart, my dear . . . speak as though you 
 were confessing. . . . Does that daughter of yours live 
 with you, or alone by herself?" asked Luka suddenly, and 
 his eyes glittered with cunning and quivered with a strange 
 small shiver which was a peculiarity of his look. 
 
 Luka stayed a long time, listening to Nathalie's weari- 
 some complaints against her bitter fate. With his own 
 thoughts elsewhere, he continued absently to stroke 
 Nathalie's arms and shoulders, emitting meaningless, dis- 
 jointed phrases, which comforted her and, together with the 
 stroking motion, soothed the spleen and irritation which 
 were boiling within her.
 
 II 
 
 Suffering from paralysis in both feet, Prince Alexei 
 Vassilievitch sat in his huge leather armchair on wheels, 
 and with two pairs of pince-nez on his slightly aquiline 
 nose was reading the morning paper. Quite grey, but well 
 preserved, notwithstanding his illness, he gave an idea of 
 a vigorous, handsome and good old age. Elegant and 
 scrupulously tidy, with white, well cared for hands, grey- 
 haired whiskers brushed sideways, and a clean-shaved, 
 sharply prominent chin, he was now only a dear friendly 
 shadow of the former ban vivant, and bore his heavy 
 infirmity bravely and meekly. His long and lean legs, 
 wrapped up in a furry rug, were extended in a lifeless and 
 immovable repose. All was as it used to be in the large 
 light study with the tall sheet glass windows; only from the 
 neighbouring bedroom the squeaking of tiny pups was 
 heard no more. The Prince had just finished his lunch and 
 his servant had wheeled him from the dining-room to the 
 study. Though unable to move the Prince was not lonely; 
 the world remembered and still loved him, and every day 
 his numerous friends, acquaintances, and relations visited 
 him. Since Michail had removed to his house he again 
 felt himself in the former atmosphere of pleasures, late 
 hours, women, and seemed to become stronger and younger 
 himself. 
 
 " Prince Boris Alexeievitch," said the valet, lifting the 
 drapery of the door. 
 
 "Ask him to come in." 
 
 Prince Alexei laid aside his newspaper and took oflf one 
 after another his two pairs of pince-nez, putting them away 
 in their cases. Having found his eyeglass, which was 
 hanging on a broad black ribbon on his breast, he made a 
 
 341
 
 342 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 quick adroit movement and the eyeglass flew as if by itself 
 into the place appointed for it, giving the whole face the 
 special worldly look which an eyeglass produces in some 
 faces. A few seconds later steps were heard in the adjoin- 
 ing room, accompanied by the clank of spurs. Prince 
 Bibiche entered with a vigorous and light step, holding in 
 his left hand his cap and pulling off from the right one a 
 white chamois-leather glove. 
 
 " Well, what a surprise ! And we were just speaking of 
 you yesterday with Michail. You look younger again ! 
 Sit down, sit down nearer." 
 
 Prince Alexei embraced warmly his former comrade, who 
 was much younger than he, but according to the traditions 
 of the regiment they were all equals, and used the pronoun 
 "thou" in speaking to one another. 
 
 " I arrived yesterday, and will not stay long. My wife 
 is building a school, and there are some complications that 
 I must arrange. As you see, I have run away from the 
 country at the most busy time of the autumn accounts." 
 
 "Well, I never supposed to find such qualities in you to 
 see you become a faithful husband and a good landowner." 
 "As to faithful husband, that I still am, but I am a sorry- 
 landowner; AHne knows much more than I, and manages 
 the estate better. 
 
 "Is your wife as handsome and stylish as ever?" 
 "Yes, she does not grow older. A wonderful con- 
 stitution." 
 
 "And you are happy and at peace?" 
 " I confess to it," answered Prince Bibiche, with a playful 
 shrug of his shoulders. 
 
 " In the lottery of marriage you have pulled a lucky 
 number, not like most of us." 
 
 " That is so, but hov/ many years we spent in getting to 
 know each other, allowing each other perfect liberty." 
 
 " Be it as it may, you are at rest and not alone, and 
 Michail and I are lonely and not at rest. However, I can- 
 not complain : I have lived my life. But I am sorry for 
 Michail; all women are crazy about him, but not one has 
 given him great and complete happiness."
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 343 
 
 "Talking about women, guess whose voice I have been 
 hearing during three whole days in Paris on the other side 
 of the wall of my bedroom in the Grand Hotel ? I had 
 come home a little late after a good supper; I was un- 
 dressing, and suddenly I heard a voice that I seemed to 
 know quite well. ... I listened; no, I could not remember 
 whose it was, and went to sleep. On the next morning I 
 woke up, and heard that a quarrel was going on beyond 
 the wall — such a quarrel ! " Scamp, scoundrel, pig ! ..." 
 A woman's voice was going, deep, sonorous. I must say I 
 lost all desire to sleep. I thought to myself, who can it 
 be among our ladies who has acquired such habits in Paris ? 
 And she went on still worse. She began using such words 
 that I lay and nearly burst with laughter. The man's voice 
 was answering phlegmatically and unwillingly, but she 
 went on comme une vraie machine a gros mots, each word 
 strung distinctly, like a pearl — ha-ha-ha ! " 
 
 Prince Bibiche broke into a merry and ringing laugh. 
 
 " Et bien, mon vieux, tu m-'intrigues. How did it go on?" 
 said Prince Alexei, with interest, smiling at the merry 
 souvenirs of Prince Bibiche. 
 
 " Go on ? I soon gathered that she was only just getting 
 into her stride. ' You fancy,' she screamed, ' that for your 
 handsome snout I am going to squander thousands ? 
 We'll see first. ... I am not a "cocotte"; all Petersburg 
 went mad about me. . . . Hand me my stockings, fat- 
 snouted blockhead. . . . Where have you put them?' 
 And here she burst out with " 
 
 Prince Bibiche bent down to Prince Alexei's ear and 
 said something which made the old man throw back his 
 head and burst into a loud merry laugh. 
 
 " C'est impayable . . . c'est impayable !'* he repeated, 
 continuing to laugh more and more. 
 
 The plump solid body of Prince Bibiche also shook from 
 irrestrainable laughter. He got out his perfumed handker- 
 chief and wiped the tears from his eyes. 
 
 " Who was it ?" asked Prince Alexei, when he could 
 speak. 
 
 " What, you don't guess ?'-
 
 344 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 " How ? Conld it be Mashenka ?" 
 
 "She herself! I met her afterwards in the corridor. 
 Chic epatant! Holding her head Hke a queen. What 
 manners, what movements ! But when I remembered the 
 playfulness of her speech I very nearly burst out laughing 
 in her face." 
 
 " Ah, Mashenka, Mashenka ! She always was quick- 
 tempered . . . boiling over like hot water when angry," 
 said the Prince kindly and lovingly, with a tender remem- 
 brance of his years of slavery. 
 
 "Yes, Mashenka!" laughed Prince Bibiche. " Notwith- 
 standing her long sojourn abroad, she evidently has not 
 forgotten the Russian language. To say such a thing!" 
 
 " And with all that, mon cher, she is fascinating. . . . One 
 ought to know her as I knew her. Such fire, such passion- 
 ate earnestness in everything. . . . There was no woman 
 — and I have known many in my life — whose little feet I 
 have kissed with such devotion as hers. Those tiny, capri- 
 cious, authoritative little feet ! . . . I have always forgiven 
 everything to a handsome, exquisite, nice woman. Do not 
 you agree with me ? We are both of the old school." 
 
 "Let us ask Michail," answered Prince Bibiche, rising to 
 meet Gourakin, who had just entered. 
 
 "Whom do I see? Your Excellency! . . . Alone, or 
 with your wife ?" asked Gourakin, embracing Prince 
 Bibiche. 
 
 "Solo, and not for long." 
 
 " Well, we'll have a spree. You come with me this 
 evening to the Jerdins' for a party of bridge, and from 
 there to Medvied's to supper." 
 
 "We have been laughing here without you to such an 
 extent that I got a stitch in my side. Bibiche has told me 
 of Mashenka's bans mots." 
 
 Prince Alexei made the General repeat the whole story, 
 and they all laughed again, the jolly and sonorous laugh of 
 Gourakin ringing out in the large spacious rooms of the 
 Prince's palace.
 
 Ill 
 
 Prince Bibiche refused to go to the Jerdins' to play bridge, 
 and it was decided that they would dine at Medvied's, 
 giving rendezvous there to Tchagin and Aleshka Ivikoff, 
 a madcap and rake, who had already run through two large 
 fortunes of his own, and was now as successfully spending 
 his wife's. 
 
 Prince Bibiche, Tchagin and Aleshka Ivikoff had been 
 sitting a whole quarter of an hour at a small table in the 
 restaurant; they had seen all that were there, had ordered 
 the liors d'ocuvres, and still Gourakin had not put in an 
 appearance. The Tartar servant, with the smooth, rosy 
 bald head, softly smiling mouth, and bent back, went about 
 with an expression of serious attention on his face, born of 
 the consciousness of the sort of people he was dealing with 
 and the knowledge of how to deal with them skilfully and 
 knowingly. Several times he went out into the hall, came 
 back again to the waiting guests, tucked his table napkin 
 under his arm and, pulling it out again, announced with an 
 expression of respect and at the same time with a slight 
 rebuke towards the late guest : " Not arrived yet — a bit 
 iate." All the servants, boys, and even cooks of the 
 restaurant knew Gourakin, liked and respected him. They 
 considered him an appurtenance of the restaurant. His 
 accounts were made up separately; they were drawn up by 
 the maitre d'hotel, and from time to time sent home to him. 
 Gourakin knew that the accounts were not quite right, but 
 he never checked them and never paid them in full. The 
 Roumanian orchestra seemed to rouse up when his stately 
 figure appeared at the other end of the large room with the 
 well-known company. The musicians played the pieces 
 ordered by him willingly and with fire, knowing that the • 
 
 345
 
 346 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 would have champagne or money sent them. The tips, 
 often tens of roubles, bent the servants' backs, but the 
 administration of the restaurant Hked him not only for the 
 money that he spent, but for the inimitable prestige of a 
 real gentleman, who at the same time was remarkably 
 affable in his relations with those of lower rank than 
 himself. Each waiter knew that although Gourakin, like 
 manv others, called him up with a negligent movement 
 of the thumb, and said to him sometimes, "What a brute 
 you are, brother!" or even worse, still he recognized in him 
 not only a servant, but a fellow-creature; and that if he lost 
 his place and came to Gourakin for help, the latter would 
 not only get him work, but also assist him with money if he 
 wanted it. 
 
 Tchagin was just thinking of going to the telephone when 
 Gourakin's powerful form appeared at the other end of the 
 room. He was moving with a lazy gait, his head slightly 
 thrown backwards and looking straight before him. His 
 face was gloomy and haughty. He hardly gave a look to 
 the well-known Tartar waiter, who with a dexterous move- 
 ment served him with a chair and flicked off an imaginary 
 fleck of dust from the snow-white tablecloth. 
 
 " Why are you so late ? We are famished. Alexander 
 Alexandrovitch was just going to call you up on the phone," 
 said Prince Bibiche, shaking hands with Gourakin, and 
 thinking with pleasure of the rich and tasty dinner before 
 them. 
 
 Gourakin shook his friends' hands in silence and took the 
 wine-card from the waiter's hand in an absent way. 
 
 "Has anything happened? As-tu des ennuis?" asked 
 Tchagin, who knew Gourakin well. 
 
 Michail raised his eyes to Tchagin and, following his own 
 thoughts, looked at him several seconds with absent eyes. 
 Then he sighed, passed his hand across his forehead, 
 frowned and threw the card aside, missing the table. The 
 waiter picked it up promptly. Michail poured out a wine- 
 glass of cognac and began to eat. He poured out a second, 
 a third glass, and suddenly looked up with a mocking smile. 
 
 " Guess what devilry my highly respected spouse has
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 34; 
 
 invented," he said, leaning back in the chair. " I wager, 
 Sasha, that even you, who know her well and long, will not 
 be able to do so. . . . A mean woman down to the marrow 
 of her bones ! If she were dead, then even from beyond 
 the grave the old hag would not leave me in peace. . . . 
 About an hour ago she sent me her scoundrel of a Jew 
 with an official request that I pay the debts which she in a 
 burst of generosity has acquitted for me. The Jewish 
 anathema wriggled and wriggled, and at last gave me to 
 understand that if I consent to reinstate myself in the 
 apartments of my lawful owner, then the business might be 
 arranged, otherwise she, protecting the interests of her son, 
 does not deem it necessary to squander her money for a, so 
 to say, stranger. I was simply dumbfounded. 'What does 
 this mean ?' asked I. ' Who asked you to pay my debts at 
 the time, and now, when so many years have passed and I 
 have forgotten to think of them, you again raise the whole 
 dust, the devil take you! . . .' The old scoundrel turned 
 this way and that. 'It will not be convenient for Your 
 Excellency in your position as High Equerry to raise a 
 scandal. All Petersburg will hear of it' ' Ah, you Jewish 
 scamp,' I said, 'remember for your own part, and tell 
 Nathalie Georgievna, that it is just because I am an equerry 
 and not a lackey that I am not for sale, and she will not 
 inveigle me by any means ; at any rate, I do not want to have 
 anything to do with you, and if you come to me again I will 
 give you such a thrashing that you will not forget it to your 
 dying day.'" 
 
 " Well said, brother ! You ought to have done it right 
 away. Fair words butter no parsnips," remarked Ivikoff, 
 swallowing a glassful of cognac and following it up with a 
 piece of balyk. 
 
 Tchagin stopped eating, took off his pince-nez, wiped it 
 with his handkerchief, put it on again — a sign of agitation 
 with him — and glanced at Michail with a half-confused, 
 half-sad expression. 
 
 " Well, I never expected that of Nathalie. Anything you 
 like, but not that." 
 " And I always expected just that sort of thing, and no
 
 348 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 other. A revengeful and mean nature ! The devil knows 
 how she carries on with that vile debauchee Luka, and it 
 seems she wants more. . . . The old hag wants a husband 
 . . . thinks she can buy one with her money. . . ." 
 
 Michail's eyes burned angrily; he was violently excited, 
 drank champagne in large draughts, and ate little. 
 
 " Do you know, Misha, I am sure that it is the steward's 
 doing. Does not he reckon on some commission here 
 from your part ? . . . One ought to find out and see if it 
 is so." 
 
 " No, you just tell me what is it she wants of me ?" con- 
 tinued Gourakin without listening to Tchagin. " I have 
 borne with her all my life; at last I got free and went away, 
 demanding nothing from her, except that she forget all 
 about my existence. Well then, no ! She found a point 
 to attack. . . ." 
 
 "Do not be so hasty and do not excite yourself. If you 
 like, I will go to Nathalie, talk to her and try to make her 
 hear reason," said Tchagin, laying a comforting hand on 
 Michail's sleeve. 
 
 " Be so kind. It is really devil knows what !...** 
 
 Michail's wrath began to be appeased little by little, and 
 soon he was laughing unconcernedly, while listening to the 
 piquant anecdotes which Aleshka Ivikoff was such a good 
 hand at relating. The conversation went on. A third 
 bottle of iced champagne was served. The people come to 
 dine were beginning to disperse. In the large room there 
 was the period of quiet when only some belated diners 
 still remain here and there, and the suppers have not yet 
 commenced. 
 
 Ivikoff took leave of his comrades and went ofif to the 
 ballet. 
 
 Prince Bibiche, a landowner in the same government and 
 district as Tchagin, was exposing his views on the defects 
 of the zemstvo* Tchagin was differing quietly but firmly. 
 Prince Bibiche, a little warmed by the wine, was becoming 
 heated, and by his frequent looks at Gourakin seemed to 
 
 • County Councils. — Translator.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 349 
 
 be calling for his opinion to side with himself, but the latter, 
 moving back his chair and leaning on it, was smoking his 
 cigar and attentively listening to the orchestra, which was 
 executing with great feeling a piece that Gourakin had 
 ordered after having sent the musicians two bottles of 
 champagne. 
 
 Looking round the room, Gourakin noticed behind the 
 columns at the other end of it a stout gentleman with a 
 triple chin, enormous stomach, and very broad back. 
 Gourakin was in financial relations with him; he rose and 
 with a leisurely step advanced towards him. In coming up 
 to the columns he saw, to his surprise, behind one of them 
 Bestoujeva, who was sitting at a small table with a naval 
 officer. He had seen her during the day, and she had not 
 told him she was going to dine at Medvied's. 
 
 Very much spoilt by women's attentions and caresses, 
 Gourakin either did not know how' to be jealous or did not 
 care to be so, and in such cases, when he met with serious 
 cause for it, he generally gave the lady full liberty and 
 stepped aside, but to return no more. 
 
 Bestoujeva knew this. On seeing Michail she called 
 him up to her by a sign, presented to him her companion — 
 just arrived, very old friend, as she took care to inform 
 Gourakin — and asked him to join them, but Gourakin 
 refused, saying that he was not alone, and moved on 
 towards the stout gentleman. Count Stavsky. 
 
 The columns had prevented him from seeing that the 
 Count was not alone, and only on coming quite near he 
 remarked a red-haired, very elegant lady, sitting opposite 
 to the Count and looking about her with a wearied expres- 
 sion. Gourakin wanted to turn back, but Stavsky saw him 
 and with a loud exclamation rose to greet him. 
 
 "A-ah! Very glad to see you! Allow me to present 
 you to my cousin. Madame, this is the famous charmeur, 
 Monsieur Gourakin." 
 
 The lady raised her large brown eyes with a friendly 
 smile. 
 
 " Excuse me for interrupting your conversation," said 
 Gourakin, seating himself and examining with pleasure the
 
 350 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 vivacious, interesting face with the large, Hght brown eyes, 
 ,vhich seemed full of bright merry sparks. 
 
 " On the contrary, I am very glad to make your acquaint- 
 ance. Although I live almost always abroad and am very 
 ieldom in Petersburg, I have heard of you. A lady told me 
 ihat you were the most fascinating man in all Petersburg, 
 and that you were born an Apollo and a bacchant. You 
 must agree that it is very interesting to meet with a 
 son of the Sun, especially when one is in the society 
 of a Lucullus." 
 
 The red-haired woman glanced towards Stavsky with a 
 slight expression of disgust. His head was as bald as a 
 knee, and when it was bent over a plate it seemed to be 
 stuck on to a stout body without a sign of a neck between. 
 He made one think of a sucking pig. His thick, down- 
 hanging lips moved rapidly and with a smacking noise; 
 the small eyes ran greedily from dish to dish, as if he was 
 testing each piece before swallowing it up. 
 
 "Ah, my angel, you know very well that I am of the earth 
 earthy, and that I love to eat; but I know how to appre- 
 ciate beauty, especially in the form of a woman. You 
 cannot imagine, Michail Vladimirovitch, what enjoyment 
 it is to be in my cousin's company," Stavsky said between 
 the mouthfuls and not taking his eyes off the dishes which 
 the waiter was serving. "A wonderful, simply wonderful 
 woman ! . . . Here, this way, place it here . . ." he inter- 
 rupted himself, turning to the waiter. " Yes, I can tell you 
 that my cousin is! . . ." He kissed the tips of his fingers 
 folded together. " Talent, beauty — she has all the graces. 
 How she sings ! What training I . . . No, my friend, you 
 need not put that sauce before me, you know I cannot bear 
 it. Bring some tartar, and quickly. . . . You just look, 
 what hands she has ! My angel, give me your hand to 
 kiss. . . ." 
 
 "Enough, Count . . . eat your fish and do not praise me 
 — you know that I hate it." 
 
 "Well, I will not, I will not. ... Do not knit your 
 pretty brows. Pour some wine to His Excellency," he said 
 to the waiter, who had brought a bottle wrapped in "a
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 351 
 
 napkin. " Let us drink to my beautiful little cousin 
 Sophie." 
 
 " No, I want to drink pour la joie de vivre" Sophie 
 raised her glass with a flashing merry glance into Michail's 
 eyes. 
 
 Gourakin answered her with an admiring, sparkling look, 
 and, touching the edge of her glass with his own, added : 
 "Pour la joie de vivre pres de vous ! . . ." 
 With a scarce perceptible gesture Sophie tossed her head; 
 a subtle smile lurked for a moment on her ripe red lips, and 
 she lowered her eyes, hiding their expression. 
 
 ". . . In my soul a storm is brewing. ... It is surging 
 and rejoicing . . ." sang Gourakin under his voice, follow- 
 ing the skilful and passionate tones of Goulesco's* bow. 
 
 Sophie raised her eyes to Michail's face. He was looking 
 straight into her eyes. A wave of singular power, born 
 instantly from the sudden meeting of two persons, com- 
 plete strangers until that moment, seemed to overflow the 
 young woman's whole being, and she felt a sharp quiver run 
 through her body. She knew herself to be changing 
 colour, and, bending her head low over her fingers, appeared 
 to be examining her rings. 
 
 "Yesterday at the English Club someone was saying that 
 you are selling your race horse," said Stavsky to Gourakin, 
 stuffing his mouth with the juicy green leaves of salad. 
 
 "No, I am not selling him. Who told you? On the 
 contrary, I want to buy a second one." 
 
 "Ah, spendthrift, spendthrift! . . . You will not believe, 
 ma cousine, what a generous nature his is ! . . ." said 
 Stavsky to Sophie, wiping his mouth with his table napkin 
 and taking breath. 
 
 " And even now he is a handsome man, but you should 
 have seen him twenty years ago ! . . . I remember I once 
 entered the theatre in Moscow, and was just exchanging 
 bows with the occupants of the Governor-General's box 
 when I remained simply thunderstruck with amazement; I 
 saw him standing there like a picture. . . . Ah, how hand- 
 some, how handsome he was ! And what was wonderful, 
 * The band conductor. — Translator.
 
 352 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 never a shadow of coxcombry! And how he sings tsigane 
 songs! . . . What valses he writes! . . . Eh, here" — he 
 called to a waiter — "go and tell the orchestra to play a 
 valse of His Excellency." 
 
 " I'll tell them myself." 
 
 Gourakin excused himself, rose and moved towards the 
 orchestra. Bestoujeva stopped him when he was going 
 back. 
 
 " Who is that handsome lady with whom you are sitting?" 
 
 "A cousin of the Count's." 
 
 "A provincial?" 
 
 " I believe so. She lives abroad." 
 
 " We are leaving now. I ask you to tea this evening. 
 Come, we will expect you." 
 
 In Bestoujeva's voice a certain insistence was heard. 
 
 " Maybe I will come, but do not expect me." 
 
 Gourakin kissed Bestoujeva's hand and returned to 
 Stavsky's table. The orchestra played several of the 
 melodious and pretty valses of his composition. Bestou- 
 jeva, with the naval officer, passed on their way out; she 
 tried to catch Michail's eye, but he was so engaged in con- 
 versation with the Count's cousin that he did not notice 
 either her look or her departure. Tchagin and Prince 
 Bibiche had left without waiting for him any longer. 
 Stavsky was looking at his watch, and at last reminded his 
 lady that they were due at a certain house that evening. 
 
 " I am feeling very well here, and I will not go anywhere," 
 answered Sophie, and read Gourakin's thanks in the glance 
 which he fixed on her. 
 
 " Impossible, ma cousine. I am expected there to make 
 up a game of bridge ; I gave my word that I would come," 
 Stavsky remarked, and his fat puffed-up face took a half 
 pitiful, half sullen expression. 
 
 " But I am not keeping you, my brilliant cousin," laughed 
 Sophie. "You are not tied to me. If I feel inclined to 
 come to this evening's party, Michail Vladimirovitch will 
 accompany me." 
 
 " Yes, but what shall I say there ? I promised them to 
 bring you "
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 353 
 
 "Anything you like. However, I know you: you will 
 tell everyone confidentially that you have left me here with 
 Monsieur Gourakin." 
 
 "Ah, what a malignant woman! For whom do you 
 take me ?" 
 
 " For a well-known Petersburg gossip, that's all." 
 
 "You are beginning to be cruel to me, therefore I had 
 really better depart." 
 
 Stavsky went. Gourakin and Sophie did not remark how 
 the time flew, and it was very late when Gourakin brought 
 her home ixx his motor-car.
 
 IV 
 
 Two days later everyone was speaking of Gourakin's new 
 infatuation. Rumours of it reached Nathalie, and added 
 the last drop to her cup of revengeful, jealous suffering. 
 The liaison with Bestoujeva, which had continued several 
 years, had not tormented her lately, because she knew that 
 Michail's love had cooled, and that he did not break with 
 Bestoujeva only because she knew how to keep up their 
 relations. On hearing of her husband's new conquest 
 Nathalie flew into a terrible rage. This fact had proved 
 once more how different their positions were : while she, 
 growvi old and retired from the world, could not find a 
 moment's rest from her sad thoughts and deep dejection, 
 he continued to enjoy life and all its pleasures. The spirit 
 of evil and revenge entered into her. Not receiving any 
 answer to the letter written by the hand of Moissei Boriso- 
 vitch, Nathalie, led on by spite, wrote to her husband 
 herself, and indicated the term for the payment of the bills, 
 threatening, in case of non-payment, to summon him before 
 a court of law. 
 
 Mimi, to whom Gourakin showed the letter, was terribly 
 indignant, and with her temper up hastened to her mother 
 for an explanation. Nathalie met her with reproaches for 
 pampering Michail's vices. 
 
 " You are saying all this, mamma, only to hurt me, and 
 I will not attach much importance to your words; but I am 
 surprised how you can threaten with a public scandal a 
 man whose name you and your son bear now, and your 
 daughter used to bear." 
 
 Mimi, always very equable, was strongly excited. 
 
 " Oh, je ni'en fiche, je m'en fiche de ce que dira le motide," 
 screamed Nathalie, beside herself, giving vent to her 
 
 354
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 355 
 
 increasing wrath, "/^ m'en fiche de vous tous. The cup 
 of my patience is overfull. ... I have had enough of the 
 role of a victim. ... I will revenge myself at last. . . . Let 
 him become a beggar, let him know sadness and dejection, 
 as I know them. . . . He has infected all of you with a 
 certain poison. . . . You, and Aunt Marie, and Prince 
 Alexei, and Tchagin, and all, all are ready to defend his 
 profligacy and worship his craziness. But I've had 
 enough." 
 
 Nathalie's face was covered with red patches; she kept 
 starting up and sitting down again, and was beside herself 
 with excitement. Mimi tried to reason with her, but 
 Nathalie put up her hands as if to ward her off, and ordered 
 her to leave her in peace and go away. After Mimi's 
 departure she had a nervous attack, and the doctor had to 
 attend her. 
 
 On the next day Tchagin, who had acquired the name of 
 peacemaker among his friends and many acquaintances, 
 called on Nathalie. 
 
 The porter told him the orders had been given that no 
 one was to be received, but Tchagin enjoyed special privi- 
 leges in the Gourakin family, and therefore he sent the man 
 to announce his arrival, and was invited to enter. Nathalie 
 was reclining on a lounge chair; her face looked pale and 
 drawn, and the hand she extended to him was very hot. 
 
 " Well, Sasha, have you also come to me as a mediator ?" 
 
 " I met your doctor this morning, and he complained to 
 me very seriously about you," said Tchagin, not taking any 
 notice of the leading question and seating himself near her 
 sofa. " He told me that your nerves are in a state of perfect 
 anarchy, and that, instead of mastering them, you are 
 constantly agitating and exciting yourself." 
 
 " Certainly it is very easy to give advice. All my life is 
 a burning slow fire. ... I wonder that I live so long. 
 Even Mimi has learnt to unnerve me. All are pitiless 
 toward" -^le, while to him all is forgiven, and he is even 
 encouragviJ. . . ." 
 
 Nathalie reached forward to take some smelling-salts 
 from the table near by, and nearly dropped them.
 
 356 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 " If you excite yourself so, dear Nathalie, then I will go 
 away," said Tchagin, noticing how her fingers were 
 trembling. 
 
 "No, please stay; you understand me better than the 
 others, and it is easier to talk to you. Cover my feet with 
 the fur rug. There, you see, my hands are quite hot, and 
 my feet are like ice." 
 
 Tchagin wrapped up her feet carefully, ordered hot tea 
 to be brought, and little by little led her on to speak of her 
 husband without angry irritation. Having found her feeble 
 point, Tchagin spoke of Michail without defending him or 
 taking his part. He only endeavoured to prove by logic 
 that in raising a family scandal she was complicating still 
 more her position towards her relations and in respect to 
 her own personal life. 
 
 "Personal life? My dear Sasha, have I ever had any 
 personal life with Michail ? I will admit to you that I lived 
 for myself with Volynsky, and if I was not perfectly happy 
 with him, at least I had peace of mind. From the moment 
 that I met Michail I lost my own personality, I gave up all 
 my thoughts, wishes, all my love to him. Sasha, you must 
 know how I loved him . . ." said Nathalie with a moan. 
 
 Tchagin was silent. 
 
 "Tell me, could anyone love more than I loved him? 
 And what have I in return ?" 
 
 Tchagin continued to keep silence. 
 
 " Am I not right ? Is it not so ?" 
 
 "No, my dear friend, no, it is not so," said Tchagin at 
 last, firmly and distinctly. 
 
 " What is not so ? I do not understand you." 
 
 "You never loved him. You loved yourself, and only 
 yourself." 
 
 "Mais . . . mats vous divagucs, Sasha. . . , Think 
 what you are saying! . . ." 
 
 Tchagin took Nathalie's hot hand in his and slowly 
 disclosed before her the whole history of her life since the 
 moment that she had fallen in love with Gourakin, and in 
 spite of the harm to his career, in spite of the displeasure 
 of his grandmother and father, whom he deeply respected,
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 357 
 
 despite even her own conscience, with which she had com- 
 promised by lying to him and calHng him the father of the 
 expected child, she had striven for and obtained her divorce 
 and made him marry her. Tchagin told her how Michail 
 had suffered at first, feeling Nathalie's complete indifference 
 to everything that interested him and that he loved. 
 
 " To love anyone means to strive to make our beloved 
 one happy, so that our love should bring him joy — that is, 
 good, and not suffering. You, Nathalie, only thought of 
 yourself; and your happiness demanded that Michail should 
 be interested in no one nor in anything but yourself. That 
 is where the discord commenced. If you had loved him 
 with a real earnest love, could you ever have conceived the 
 wish to revenge yourself on him so cruelly, so shamefully, 
 as you are doing now ?" 
 
 While Tchagin was speaking Nathalie did not once 
 interrupt him. She lay back with closed eyes, and only her 
 quivering eyelids betrayed her agitation. When Tchagin 
 stopped speaking, she raised herself very slowly, and with 
 a changed strange face looked him straight in the eyes. 
 
 " That means that I have lived my life, so to say, in vain ? 
 ... I have loved no one ? . . . I must admit that I have 
 really loved no one, except Michail ; but, according to you, 
 I have not even loved him. . . . Listen, Sasha, if I am 
 willing to raise such a family scandal, believe me, I alone 
 know what is guiding me. You think it is a desire to 
 revenge myself ? You believe that ? . . . It is not so — no, 
 no ... I want to get him back ... to get him to come 
 back by any means whatever. He cannot, I know very 
 well, pay the amount of those bills, he will have to enter 
 into negotiations with me, he will try to discover ways and 
 means, and I will carefully lead him to think of a recon- 
 ciliation. . . ." 
 
 "What have you devised? Does there exist anywhere 
 in the whole world a logical law which would permit a cruel 
 revengeful act to bring about beneficial results ? Was I 
 not right in saying that you have ever been, and are 
 now, guided exclusively by a selfish desire for your own 
 happ'ness?"
 
 358 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 Nathalie again laid her head on the cushions and, knitting 
 her brows, remained silent a long- time with her eyes fixed 
 on one spot. 
 
 "To have lived a whole life in vain! . . . How dreadful 
 . . . how cruel ... if it is so ! " 
 
 Nathalie did not say anything else, and Tchagin soon left 
 her. He was sure that their conversation would produce 
 its effect : she would listen to reason and desist from 
 beginning a lawsuit. However, he was mistaken. A few 
 days before the term Moissei Borisovitch wrote to Gourakin 
 in his wife's name, reminding him of the date for the 
 payment of the bills. For the first time in his life Michail 
 felt himself in a position from which there was no outlet. 
 After Moissei Borisovitch's visit he had been indignant at 
 his wife's action, but he had felt convinced that it would 
 all end in negotiations, in the course of which Nathalie 
 would understand that no threats of hers could make him 
 cross the threshold of her house for even half an hour. 
 The total amount of the bills paid several years ago was so 
 considerable that he could not refund it at present, the more 
 so as, since he had left her, being unaccustomed to deprive 
 himself of anything, he had incurred new and heavy debts. 
 This second reminder produced an ovei'whelming effect on 
 Gourakin. He understood that Nathalie would follow up 
 her cruel determination to the end. For the first time in 
 his life he felt the ground giving way under his feet; he 
 had such outbursts of rage that the doctors feared some 
 serious nervous attack. He raged like a wounded wild 
 beast, and even Tchagin, who always had had a certain 
 influence on him, used to leave his rooms quite disheartened, 
 and say with a shrug of his shoulders: 
 
 " It's a bad business, I'm afraid." 
 
 At last, after an irrepressible burst of fury Michail had a 
 serious heart attack, and was obliged to keep his bed 
 Marie and Mimi, thoroughly frightened and suffering for 
 him, stayed near him all the time.
 
 The last term for the payment of the bills arrived. After 
 her conversation with Tchagin NathaHe had given strict 
 orders that neither Marie nor Mimi should be received; 
 she feared their entreaties and exhortations, to which she 
 had firmly decided not to listen. All these days she had 
 been living in a state of nervous excitement. Sometimes 
 it seemed to her that she would not be able to bear this 
 chaos of thoughts, this tense expectation of events. Only 
 Moissei Borisovitch, with his cool and calm assurance, 
 brought her a little encouragement. 
 
 "Rest assured. Your Excellency," he would say with a 
 venomous smile. "Michail Vladimirovitch will rave and 
 storm, and in the end he will deign to have recourse to 
 negotiations. Believe me that it will be so. He will wait 
 until the term comes, and if he sees that you are not giving 
 way, then he will either come himself, or send his attorney." 
 
 The steward's words seemed to comfort Nathalie, and 
 made her think that he must be right and the result could 
 be no other. The night before the fatal day Nathalie 
 passed without a wink of sleep. Her over-excited brain 
 pictured to her the different scenes of the forthcoming 
 meeting with her husband. She tried to foresee what he 
 would say, and what she would answer him; she composed 
 and learnt by heart whole sentences, which a moment later 
 she found not sufficiently convincing. . . . Sometimes she 
 pictured the meeting as stormy, and she prepared cutting, 
 well-deserved reproaches against her husband; then again 
 she seemed to see him defeated and broken down, and 
 herself extending her hand to him in reconciliation and 
 crying on his breast. . . . Her thoughts were in a whirl, 
 her head burned; she rose several times, walked about the 
 room; then she would ring up her son by telephone in his 
 
 359
 
 36o THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 Apartments downstairs, and each time with a painful twinge 
 it her heart she would hear the same answer from his valet : 
 " Boris Michailovitch has not come home yet." 
 "Tell him that I ask him to see me to-morrow morning 
 early. . . . Say that I rang him up in the night, that I am 
 ill and want to speak to him. . . ." 
 
 Nathalie would hang up the receiver with aching heart 
 and a feeling of complete loneliness, and again the tortur- 
 ing brain-work, the whirl of thoughts, would go on. Morn- 
 ing found her sitting in her armchair, with a drawn grey 
 face and dark circles under her eyes. Her hands, hot and 
 dry, lay helplessly on her lap, her temples ached. Her 
 greatest desire was to be able to forget herself in sleep; 
 but the nervous system had reached a point of over-excite- 
 ment, when the exhausted body and brain long for rest, but 
 sleep flees away and will not ease the tired head for a 
 single moment. 
 
 In the maid's room the electric bell rang earlier than 
 usual from Nathalie's chamber. She ordered her bath to 
 be prepared, hoping it would soothe and refresh her. At 
 present, with the awakened day, its movement and noise, 
 the tedious and torturing brain-work had ceased and only 
 bits of phrases mechanically retained by the memory kept 
 repeating themselves wearisomely and insistently, without 
 calling up any pictures or images. 
 
 "... You have lived all your life trampling on the suffer- 
 ing of a woman's heart . . . trampling on the suffering of 
 a woman's heart . . . woman's heart . . . suffering of a 
 woman's heart . . .'* whispered Nathalie to herself, comb- 
 ing her hair, and not noticing that it did not need any 
 further combing, or that the comb did not even touch it. 
 This phrase, composed during the night, was part of a long 
 tirade which she imagined herself saying to her husband. 
 Now she had forgotten it all, and was only mechanically 
 repeating disjointed bits. . . . "She remained alone in a 
 cold desert . . . alone in a desert . . ." another such phrase 
 hammered at her brain, until by an effort of her will she 
 drove it away, but it was followed by yet another one, and 
 so on, without end. . . ,
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 361 
 
 Sine took her bath and ordered her breakfast to be served 
 in her room. At the same time they brought her the morn- 
 ing papers and letters, but with a tired gesture Nathahe 
 laid them aside, with no strength to read them. 
 
 "Go downstairs," she said to her maid, "and find out 
 whether Boris Michailovitch has come back, and if Semen 
 has told him that I desire to see him." 
 
 The maid came back with the answer that Boris Michailo- 
 vitch had returned with two comrades, that Semen had 
 transmitted Her Excellency's order, but that he had 
 answered that he would come later on, after he had had a 
 rest; and that now he and his friends were asleep. 
 
 Nathalie stifled a sigh. 
 
 "She remained alone in a cold desert . . . alone in a 
 cold desert, cold desert . . ." whispered the lips. 
 
 After her breakfast Nathalie gave orders to receive no 
 one. She hoped that after her bath she would be able to 
 have some sleep. The maid, after drawing the heavy cur- 
 tains and shutting the door, left her alone. All was quiet 
 around her, only the noise of the street was heard dully 
 through the double panes of the huge windows. Nathalie 
 sat quite still in her armchair, with closed eyes, trying to 
 sleep, but in the silence and inaction the scenes of the forth- 
 coming day began to picture themselves again, mixing the 
 possible with the impossible, fancy with real life. In this 
 state of semi-delirium she passed a long time. Someone 
 knocked at her door softly. Nathalie opened her eyes. 
 
 " Come in. What is wanted ?" she asked in a vexed voice. 
 
 " Your Excellency, this was to be given you immediately." 
 
 The maid was cari-ying a letter on a silver tray. Nathalie 
 recognized from afar the well-known envelope of thick 
 English paper. 
 
 "Any answer waiting?" she asked, taking up the letter 
 with trembling fingers. 
 
 "No answer." 
 
 " Very well. You may go. Shut the door." 
 
 Nathalie's heart beat so violently that for several minutes 
 she pressed both hands to it and remained immovable, with 
 cold hands and feet, gasping for breath. What was he
 
 362 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 writing? . . , What was he asking her? . . . What will 
 she learn directly, this minute ? . . . "Lord, help . . . give 
 me strength! . . ." 
 
 Letting her long fur pelerine slip from her shoulders, she 
 raised herself from her armchair and, feeling her knees 
 trembling and bending under her, moved towards the 
 writing-table. Hurriedly cutting open the hard thick paper 
 of the envelope, she opened it and, catching her breath, ran 
 her eyes greedily and rapidly over the lines, written in a 
 firm, distinct hand : 
 
 "Simultaneously with this letter my attorney will pay into 
 your office the money which Aunt Marie brought me to-day 
 from herself and from Mimi. With the deepest contempt 
 that one can feel towards a woman and a human being, I 
 throw it in your face. — Michail Gourakin." 
 
 The letter fell from her hands. With a stifled groan 
 Nathalie pressed her hands to her head and rushed blindly 
 hither and thither. In her white flannel dressing-gown, 
 with the long train and broad sleeves, with wide open eyes 
 full of despair, she looked like a fearsome ghost caught on 
 the earth after sunrise, having lost her way to her home 
 underground. Without reasoning, moved by a blind in- 
 stinct, Nathalie sped out of her bedroom; moaning pitifully, 
 and pressing her head in her hands, she passed the drawing- 
 rooms and the salon with extraordinary lightness and 
 swiftness, descended the stairs, and found herself in her 
 son's apartments. She ran into his bedroom, and suddenly 
 stopped as if thunderstruck. The disarranged room, with 
 the appurtenances of a man's toilet lying about, the creased 
 bed, were empty, but from the adjoining room, through the 
 half-open door, the melodious tender notes of Chopin's 
 valse in B minor were heard. The sounds were flowing like 
 pearls, rolling from under the fingers on the keys of the 
 piano, filling the air with delicate flowery designs. . . . 
 For the first time in her life Nathalie understood the power 
 of sounds. They surrounded her, they flowed into her soul, 
 full of des| air and sadness, and drowned in their sorrowful 
 waves all her world, all her life, with its cold dark fog of a
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 363 
 
 solitary existence unneeded by anyone, full of grief, despair 
 and bitter fruitless regrets. It seemed to her that not 
 sounds, but tears, were rolling and pouring over her . . . 
 they were reaching up to her throat, choking her, overflow- 
 ing her brain. . . . Her ear caught the careless merry laugh 
 of her son; the feeling of loneliness penetrated still deeper 
 into her soul, shaken and hovering over the chasm of a 
 mortal despair . . . and the sounds continued to rush on 
 and roll up to her, flowing over and scattering about like 
 the pearly drops of inexhaustible tears. . . . 
 
 Her dry fixed gaze suddenly became dim, as if a cloud 
 passed over it; then suddenly it flashed brighter again. 
 Despair, horror and determination gleamed with a glare 
 like lightning . . . the eyelids, like butterflies, fluttered 
 above this flash of madness. Nathalie stretched out her 
 hand to a small table near by, shivered from head to foot, 
 took up a tiny revolver like a plaything, and pressed it to 
 her temple. Amid the running, rippling, rushing pearly 
 notes the sharp dry crack of a discharged revolver was 
 heard. Nathalie staggered weakly forward, swayed, and 
 fell backward, dead. . . .
 
 VI 
 
 More than six months had gone by. The train from 
 Berlin^ overfilled with people, was slowly approaching the 
 Russian frontier. In a compartment of the first class Mimi, 
 in mourning for her mother, and Marie Gourakina were 
 hastily collecting their things. Marie seemed very much 
 excited. Her plump face was flushed with two red spots, 
 she was breathing heavily, and sat in moody silence. Mimi, 
 with a serious face and drawn eyebrows, kept watching her 
 aunt, or leaning her forehead against the window-pane and 
 protecting her eyes from the light by means of her hands 
 pressed to her temples, trying to see something in the 
 darkness outside through which the train was moving 
 slowly, as if carefully picking its way. 
 
 " Nothing to be seen ?" asked Marie, seating herself and 
 folding her hands with an air of tired and ready-for- 
 anything submission. 
 
 "No, auntie, one can see nothing; it is dark all round." 
 
 " Lord, if only we would arrive ! If only we were in our 
 own land!" sighed Marie, and closed her eyes with a tired 
 air. 
 
 " We are approaching, gentlemen and ladies. . . . 
 Verjbolovo is quite near," said someone's jolly loud voice in 
 the corridor. 
 
 In the compartment all became alert. Besides Mimi and 
 Marie there were four more ladies. 
 
 "Thank God! . . . Dieu soit loue !" Marie opened her 
 eyes quickly and made the sign of the cross. Mimi again 
 pressed her face to the window, behind which the same 
 darkness reigned. 
 
 " No lights to be seen," said she, and began to put on her 
 hat. "Aunt dear, here are your gloves. . . . Where is 
 
 364
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 365 
 
 my scarf? . . . Ah yes, we must prepare our passports; 
 they are in the httle bag, I think, auntie. Now, that is all. 
 . . . Let me arrange your hair." 
 
 Mimi rapidly, but without undue haste, took out her aunt's 
 and her own passports and placed them in her pocket, 
 arranged a lock of Marie's hair that had escaped from under 
 the hat, tied on her veil, put on her gloves, took up her 
 umbrella, and with an anxious feeling of expectation placed 
 herself at the doors of the compartment, gazing beyond the 
 crowd in the corridor at the window of the wagon. 
 
 " Why are we moving so slowly ?" In Marie's voice a 
 note of anxiety was again heard. 
 
 "We will stop soon now, auntie; do not let us worry 
 beforehand; it will not be long now," answered Mimi, 
 turning a troubled face towards her aunt, and endeavouring 
 in vain to give it an unconcerned expression. 
 
 The train was moving more and more slowly, and came 
 to a stop at last. The passengers were bustling about and 
 hurriedly, pushing and pressing on one another, coming 
 out on the platform. All round reigned a fearsome, inex- 
 plicable darkness. Only in the distance, out of an open 
 door of the station building a dim ray of light stretched 
 across the way. The whole place was encumbered with 
 boxes, chests, and luggage. The travellers, on reaching 
 the frontier which all had been waiting for with such 
 impatience, were quite subdued and still now, and carrying 
 silently in their hands their bags and portmanteaux, moved 
 towards the lighted doors of the station house. 
 
 " D n ! what darkness ! One can break one's head 
 
 against these chests 1 ..." a man's voice ejaculated with 
 petulance. 
 
 Marie, breathing heavily, was groping her way carefully. 
 Mimi was leading her by the arm. 
 
 "Why is it so dark here?" asked Marie of a railway 
 porter who was near. 
 
 " It was ordered not to light the lamps," he answered 
 unwillingly. 
 
 " Why not ?" insisted Marie. 
 
 « I don't know.**
 
 366 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 The passports had been taken from the passengers, but 
 there was no one in the inspection-room. People began 
 to feel perplexed, and the anxiety increased. 
 
 Although the door leading into the restaurant was not 
 shut, all was dark and empty. On every side anxious 
 questions were heard regarding the time of departure of 
 the train, and no one could obtain a definite answer. 
 The disturbed travellers, who had survived the fear of 
 internment in Berlin, and with great trouble found places 
 in the train that had just arrived, and who had been hoping 
 for rest in their own land, were now perplexed and dis- 
 turbed at the aspect of the empty dark station. The train 
 had disappeared noiselessly, and in the warm evening dark- 
 ness everything seemed to be full of silence and mystery. 
 Only the far-away dark blue heavens were strewn with 
 brightly twinkling stars and seemed quite indifferent to 
 what was going on on the small, eternally troubled earth. 
 
 "Mimi, what does this mean? How long shall we have 
 to wait here ?" asked Marie disconcertedly. 
 
 "They say the Germans are advancing this way . . .'* 
 said someone in a tone of weight and meaning. 
 
 " What do you say ? Coming here ?" Marie's voice 
 broke, and she caught Mimi's hand. " Mimi dearest, what 
 will become of us ? I am not afraid for myself ... I am 
 an old woman, T need have no fear, but you . . ." 
 
 "Auntie, for God's sake, do not agitate yourself. We 
 must consider. Let us ask someone . . ." Mimi comforted 
 her, feeling at the same time an increasing alarm. 
 
 "Stay here with the things; I shall go and try to find the 
 Colonel of the gendarmes." 
 
 Marie entered the inspection-room and from there the 
 offices of the station staff. In the half-dark corridor she 
 met the Colonel, who looked pale and unlike his usual self. 
 He knew Mimi well and always tried to be specially polite 
 and attentive to her as the daughter of a high-placed 
 personage. 
 
 "Colonel, what is happening?" Marie turned to him 
 excitedly. " Where is the train ? When is it starting ?" 
 
 "I know nothing, nothing, madame. . . . The trains are
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 367 
 
 not my department. ... I am losing my head ... I have 
 sent three telegrams, I cannot do more. There are no 
 trains." 
 
 " But what is to be done ? I am with Volynsky's 
 daughter. . . . We cannot remain here ! " 
 
 The Colonel shrugged his shoulders with a nervous 
 smile. 
 
 , At that moment a strange dull roar was heard and some- 
 thing seemed to burst quite near to the station. Marie 
 pressed her hand to her heart and with a dumb question in 
 her wide open, frightened eyes glanced at the Colonel. 
 
 With a gesture of despair he thrust his hand in his hair 
 and clenched it hardly, painfully. His face was quite 
 pale. He bent down to Marie and said in a rapid 
 undertone : 
 
 " I can only say one thing : flee, flee from here, and as 
 quickly as possible. . . ." 
 
 " But how ? How can we flee. Colonel, in this darkness ? 
 Help us . . . bestir yourself . . . find an engine-driver . . . 
 we will pay. . . ." 
 
 " That is not the question ! " he cried impatiently. " There 
 are no engines. Go out on the platform; I will ask directly, 
 I will do all that is in my power . . . wait there. . . . There 
 they go again, the scoundrels !" 
 
 The same dull, dismal and awesome roar was heard; the 
 windows rattled in reply. The Colonel disappeared in a 
 moment. Marie hurried out on to the platform, where the 
 crowd, half in astonishment, half in consternation, was 
 listening to the repeated discharges of the guns. These 
 menacing sounds, rushing through the blackness of the 
 night, seemed to fill it with the ominous phantoms of death 
 and blood. All were still, and everyone's face wore an 
 expression of concentrated consciousness of the importance 
 of the present moment. There was no crowding together, 
 no loud exclamations. They mustered close to one another 
 and felt that all were brothers. Several men, talking softly 
 about the necessity of obtaining a train, moved along the 
 railway line in the direction from whence came a sound of 
 ■soices. They soon disappeared, as if drowned, beyond the
 
 368 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 ray of light which fell through the open door of the 
 inspection-room. Two little girls in white straw hats and 
 white pique cloaks were crying softly, huddled up against a 
 tall young lady. At each volley of the guns Mimi pressed 
 her aunt's hand firmly and tried to control herself, but her 
 face was very pale. The men were comforting the ladies 
 and children and, one after another passing the ray of light, 
 disappeared in the darkness, joining the far-away talking 
 voices. Suddenly the figure of a stout blond man in a soft 
 felt hat emerged out of the night : 
 
 "It seems there will be a train; an engine and an engine- 
 driver have been found." 
 
 In the deep stillness his voice sounded very loud. He 
 leaped upon the platform, and was instantly surrounded. 
 Taking up his hand luggage, he reminded everyone of the 
 necessity of getting their passports, and the passengers 
 moved in a thick crowd through the inspection-room. At 
 the end of the corridor, in a small, dimly-lighted office, the 
 passports and a few corded books and papers were lying in 
 disorder on a large table. The travellers crowded round 
 the latter, and everyone began to search for his own pass- 
 port with difficulty. Some of them appeared to have fallen 
 under the table. Mimi was lucky enough to find hers and 
 her aunt's very soon, and she hurried back to Marie, who 
 had remained outside. 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen, I advise you to follow me," 
 
 The blond gentleman was standing at the end of the 
 platform and peering intently into the distance, wrapped up 
 in a fearful and gruesome darkness. 
 
 " The train is on the reserve track, and we shall have far 
 to go. We shall have to find our places in the dark; no 
 lights will be allowed." 
 
 He spoke hurriedly, but his movements were sure, and 
 all seemed to breathe easier, all believed that there would 
 be a train. 
 
 With hand-bags and travelling sacks in their hands the 
 passengers, stepping carefully on the railway sleepers in the 
 darkness, moved in a vacillating, hardly visible crowd along 
 the line of the railway.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 369 
 
 ", . . Oh, Lord, if we only could get there somehow!" 
 soft sighs were heard. 
 
 A great black immovable mass cut off their path. It was 
 a long row of railway cars. A conductor, hiding his 
 lantern under the lappet of his coat, passed by Marie and 
 Mimi. Someone asked him a question. 
 
 " Get in, ladies and gentlemen, let's hope we'll be ofiF," he 
 answered, and the long-suffering travellers seemed to 
 gather courage from the cheery tone of his voice. 
 
 One of the passengers who had got in first lit up the 
 corridor of the car with an electric pocket-lamp, and Mimi, 
 leading Marie by the arm, espied a compartment with soft 
 seats. They entered it, laid down their things gropingly, 
 and sat down. The passengers were finding places, 
 cautiously lighting matches and talking softly and in 
 whispers. A sudden sharp volley from the guns made all 
 the panes in the windows tremble. An invisible baby began 
 to cry in a loud and frightened voice. Little by little all 
 were seated. Marie took off her hat, placed it on her lap, 
 and, making the sign of the cross, softly said some prayers. 
 Mimi, closing her eyes, and reposing her tired head against 
 the cushioned back of the seat, was intently listening to 
 what was going on there in the darkness beyond the open 
 window of the train, and at the same time her thoughts 
 were running over all that had happened with the rapidity 
 of a whirlwind during the last days. If it were not for the 
 ominous volleys from the guns, breaking through the 
 darkness and reminding one of what had irrevocably 
 occurred, she was ready to think of the last two days as of 
 a nightmare, they had been so strange, so different from 
 her ordinary experience. Before her mind's eyes there 
 passed as in a picture the cruel faces of the Germans at 
 the Friedrichsbahnhof, their rude broken speech, their 
 threats and insults. A gloomy hostile shadow had lain on 
 their way up to the frontier. 
 
 War ! . . . Why ? From where had this terrible phan- 
 tom arisen? How could it have happened that his death- 
 bringing breath had infected with the poison of mean spite 
 and low revenge a nation of centuries of culture, of tradi- 
 
 24
 
 370 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 tions, a nation of deep and great thinkers, a nation which 
 had reached the heights of civihzation? Another volley! 
 . . . Again the night's blackness had been broken by a 
 savage call to destruction and fratricide. . . . Boris . . . 
 he will also go to the war . . . probably he is going already 
 . . . and p"pa? . . . 
 
 Mimi started. In her heart she called only Gourakin by 
 the name of father. For her he was invariably the same 
 tenderly beloved father of her far-away and happy 
 childhood. 
 
 " Aunt, how do you think — is Boris still in Petersburg ?" 
 
 " I hope so, my dear." 
 
 " And what do you think of papa ?" 
 
 " You mean, is he in Petersburg ?" 
 
 " No, not that. I am afraid he will go to the war," 
 
 "I have thought of that already," sighed Marie. 
 
 Someone running past the car called out something. . . . 
 "Telegram sent" . . . was heard out of the distance. The 
 train moved. The steel of the chains and wheels clanked 
 with a metallic sound, and the train, very slowly, as if 
 feeling its way in the dark, without a whistle or a signal, 
 smoothly sped forward. A sigh of relief burst from the 
 breasts of the invisible passengers. The black silhouettes 
 of the water-pumps and the station buildings moved silently 
 past the open windows, then the darkness seemed to be 
 lifted, and the deep blue sky, stretching over a wide expanse 
 and strewn with the brightly twinkling far-away stars, 
 seemed to lower itself over the earth and looked in at the 
 windows of the dark train speeding on its way among the 
 fields.
 
 VII 
 
 'A TELEGRAM sent on the way did not arrive at its destination, 
 and when the train with the tired passengers arrived in 
 Petersburg there was no one at the station to meet Marie 
 and Mimi. Marie, with a terrible headache after the sleep- 
 less nights spent in a sitting position, with nerves unstrung, 
 sank into a chair overcome with exhaustion, while waiting 
 for Volynsky's motor-car, which Mimi had called up on 
 the telephone. Mimi was just going out to see if 
 it had arrived when the door opened and Volynsky 
 entered. 
 
 " My God, my God, what anxiety I have been through ! " 
 he cried, kissing Marie's hand and embracing Mimi. 
 
 " Like a thunderclap all this dreadful catastrophe and 
 mobilization. I was losing my head fearing for you. . . . 
 What happiness that you are safe ! Both I and Michail 
 Vladimirovitch telegraphed to Verjbolovo, and got no 
 answer." 
 
 Carefully leading Marie, Volynsky placed her and Mimi 
 in the automobile. 
 
 " And your luggage ?" he asked. 
 
 "All lost. We are happy that we are safe and sound 
 ourselves. It is impossible to describe what is going on 
 in Berlin." 
 
 Mimi began to relate warmly to her father all the rude 
 and cruel things that the Germans had done to Russian 
 travellers, and of which she had been a witness. 
 
 " A nightmare ... a wild nightmare ! " said Volynsky 
 with horror, gazing intently into the tired face of his 
 daughter, happy to see her safe again. Mimi took Marie 
 home first and handed her over into the hands of her com- 
 panion, an Englijhwoman of middle age, reserved, con- 
 
 371
 
 372 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 scientious and very kind-hearted, who had replaced since 
 three years Miss Jones, who had passed away into a better 
 world without sufifering. 
 
 Reassured about her aunt, having kissed Miss Robinson 
 and promised to let Michail know of their return by tele- 
 phone, Mimi hurried downstairs, where Volynsky was 
 awaiting her in the automobile. Notwithstanding her 
 fatigue, she refreshed herself after her journey, had lunch 
 with her father, and went to Gourakin, who, on hearing of 
 their return, had asked her to come to him. Mimi found 
 him at lunch. He rose to meet her and gave her a friendly 
 kiss on the forehead. 
 
 " I am glad, very glad to know that you have returned. I 
 have been very much frightened for both of you," he said, 
 turning to the table and indicating a place beside him. 
 
 "And so it is war. Well, we shall go to beat the 
 Germans. . . ." 
 
 Gourakin's face was serious. In the eyes, always spark- 
 ling with a careless joyfulness, there had appeared since 
 the catastrophe with Nathalie a deeper and graver expres- 
 sion. It could not be said of him that he looked much 
 older, but in all his personality there seemed to have been 
 born a new, definite thoughtfulness, which had lent to the 
 tone of his voice, his movements, and his glance the finish- 
 ing touch of life, which speaks of hidden suffering, told to 
 no one, and buried deep at the bottom of the soul. It 
 seemed he had begun to take less notice of the people who 
 crowded round him greedy for pleasures, and held com- 
 munion with his own self. 
 
 " Are you troubled, papa ?" asked Mimi, catching a 
 certain look in his eyes. 
 
 " Certainly. Boris is leaving to-morrow evening." 
 
 " How already ?" asked Mimi in a frightened voice. 
 
 "All the Guards have gone. Not a minute to be lost," 
 said Gourakin seriously. "Yes, we have a strong and bold 
 enemy to deal with. Russia understands the importance of 
 this war and has risen like one man. All the disturbances, 
 all the agitations, created by the initiative of these same base 
 Germans, have instantly ceased at the first rumour of war.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 373 
 
 I always affirmed that the national spirit in Russia is great 
 and straightforward. If you could have seen what was 
 going on in the square before the Palace on the day of the 
 declaration of war, when the people, moved by the high, 
 sincere, patriotic feeling of love for their native country and 
 the Tsar, went down on their knees before the Emperor as 
 he came out on the balcony. The silence was deep, solemn, 
 absolute, no exclamations, no speeches, no cheap effects. It 
 was a grand historical moment of close union between the 
 Tsar and his people. Such a nation cannot be defeated. 
 I am proud to bear the name of a Russian." 
 
 Gourakin had stopped eating and sat looking straight 
 before him with a thoughtful and serious gaze. 
 
 Mimi was listening and looking at him, and in her heart 
 rose and grew a feeling of emotion and deep respect for 
 this man, so near and dear to her, who was showing her the 
 unknown side of his multiform personality, 
 
 " I have great news for you, my dear," said Gourakin 
 after a short silence. " Boris is going to the war, the house 
 will be free, and I have decided to organize a hospital in it 
 for, say, seventy-five beds. Naturally, I shall undertake the 
 equipment and maintenance. . . ." 
 
 "Take me as partner," interrupted Mimi. 
 
 " Excellent. Well, you see, I hope that you will under- 
 take the role of organizer and manager of the hospital, as 
 I certainly will be going to the war." 
 
 "You are going ?" said Mimi in a low voice, with changed 
 face. 
 
 " Could you doubt it ? I am strong and healthy, and it 
 seems to me not so very old," smiled Gourakin. 
 
 " Yes . . . yes, certainly . . ." answered Mimi absently, 
 her thoughts intent on something else. "Listen, papa; in 
 that case address yourself to Aunt Marie regarding the 
 hospital ; I am certain she will gladly consent to arrange it, 
 and with Miss Robinson's help will be able to set it going 
 in the best order. If you are going then I also shall go, 
 as Sister of Charity . . . my place is there. . , ." 
 
 " Right you are . . . quite right," said Michail in a moved 
 voice, laying his hand on Mimi's shoulder. " Yes, my
 
 374 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 darling, our place is there; I am happy and proud that you 
 so understand it." 
 
 He was gazing at Mimi with the deep, intent, caressing 
 look that was one of his chief charms. 
 
 "It seems to me," he continued with a slight smile, "that 
 your late mother was mistaken, and that you are still my 
 own daughter. We have so much in common together." 
 
 Mimi could find no answer. She took his hand from her 
 shoulder and softly rubbed her cheek against the palm. It 
 seemed to her that the far-off days of their heart-union and 
 tenderness had again revived. 
 
 "And so — 'Allans, enfants de la patrie, le jour de gloirc 
 est arrive ' . . ." sang Michail softly, rising from the table. 
 " I am going to Aunt Marie now; where shall I leave you ?" 
 
 "I am going there with you." 
 
 Mimi did not want to part with Michail, so as not to 
 destroy the suddenly revived intimacy of their former 
 relations. 
 
 " Very well, let us go to Aunt Marie and discuss the 
 hospital question at once." 
 
 Half an hour later they were entering Marie's room. 
 Refreshed by a bath, well tended by the English lady, Marie 
 was reclining on a sofa, her feet covered with a rug, and 
 sipping tea of fleurs d'oranger. Very much aged she 
 looked, and resembled her mother to such a degree that 
 Gourakin, struck by the likeness, stopped in the doorway. 
 
 "Aunt Marie, I feel as if I see grand'maman before me. 
 . . , How you are like her ! ..." 
 
 " Mishenka, how are you, my dearest? Oh, what happi- 
 ness to be here with you all once more ! What a nightmare 
 we have been through ! Sit down — sit down nearer." 
 
 Marie embraced her nephew fondly, and could not 
 restrain her tears. 
 
 "Mimisha has come also? Fresh as a rose, while I am 
 quite undone, quite old. . . . Ah, Misha, how terrible a 
 misfortune is this war I The Germans have become 
 brutes. Do you remember how mamma never liked them, 
 and was always disputing with Baroness Kern concerning 
 their civilization- She was right, quite right. On leaving
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 375 
 
 Ems, we were obliged to pass the night in a shed ! Ah, 
 what a night it was ! We were driven in, a guard was 
 placed over us, as over criminals. If you had seen our dear 
 old Lvoff! He came with us from Ems. Always so 
 elegant, tire a quatre epingles, smelling of violets, and 
 suddenly — a night in a shed on dusty straw ! He was 
 pitiable, poor old man ! " 
 
 Marie relieved her heart by relating all the details of their 
 .risky voyage, in which by a lucky chance they had managed 
 to escape many of the indignities suffered by other Russian 
 travellers. 
 
 Through the open window a distant rumbling sound was 
 heard. 
 
 " What is that ?" asked Marie anxiously. 
 
 " Probably a patriotic manifestation." 
 
 Gourakin leaned out of the window. A numerous crowd 
 was coming up from afar, slowly filling the whole street. 
 The noise became more distinct, and soon the solemn 
 strains of the National Anthem were heard; the sounds 
 grew and grew until they burst out into one powerful and 
 unanimous chord, which was borne high up in the bright 
 sunshiny day towards the blue heavens, and filled the hearts 
 of the people with a wave of conscious and high-strung 
 patriotism. 
 
 " Our Lord, help them ! " whispered Marie, making the 
 sign of the cross with her old hand, so like her mother's, 
 and shedding tears. 
 
 Mimi stood beside Gourakin, very erect, greatly touched, 
 with pale face and trembling lips. Tears welled up in her 
 eyes. She raised her eyes to Michail and could hardly keep 
 from throwing herself into his arms in a passionate im- 
 pulse; he was standing there so straight, and solemnly 
 stern. " Will he come back from there ?" The thought 
 rushed through Mimi's brain, and something seemed to 
 quiver and turn cold in her heart. For one imperceptible 
 moment, of which she was hardly conscious, it seemed to 
 her that a fateful shadow had hovered over his high serene 
 forehead. 
 
 The crowd with the flags was growing and moving on-
 
 376 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 ward like an irrepressible stream, and now the words of the 
 anthem were heard distinctly. The waves of sound seemed 
 to overflow and fill all the space between the earth and the 
 heavens. Several students, walking in front, were carrying 
 a large portrait of the Emperor, and with bared heads, bright 
 inspired faces, eyes luminous with faith and determination, 
 were gazing forward into the far distance, beyond which 
 was hidden the imminent and inevitable fate of each of 
 these young boys who were giving up, for love of their 
 country, their most precious gift — their young life. 
 
 On the next day Mimi, Marie, Michail Gourakin,andalarge 
 crowd of friends and relations were at the station to see ofiF 
 Boris, who was starting for the front. Boris, in his campaign 
 uniform, handsome, excited, and full of faith in himself and 
 all those who were surrounding him, was gazing with glad 
 astonished eyes at the sad faces of his aunt and Mimi. He 
 was sure that he was going forth to a heroic and victorious 
 future, and in everything and all around him he seemed to 
 see lucky and joyful omens. 
 
 Owing to the difference in their characters there was no 
 close union between brother and sister. Mimi had a 
 sensitive heart, capable of deep attachment, whereas Boris 
 was of a colder and more egotistical nature. However, in 
 this hour of separation Mimi gazed with deep sadness at 
 her brother, the comrade of her childhood and early youth. 
 She foresaw the parting with another big strong man, 
 under whose wing her childhood, adolescence and youth 
 had passed so happily. 
 
 When the second bell sounded all those who were stand- 
 ing in groups round the departing ones seemed to rouse 
 up. A young wrman, with her arms round the neck of a 
 handsome Horse Guardsman, was sobbing loudly, pressing 
 her face to his breast. In another group a small grey- 
 haired old woman, the tears falling from her faded, dimmed 
 eyes as she gazed with a hopelessly sad, heartrending look 
 into the face of a boy-officer, was silently with a trembling 
 old hand making the sign of the cross and blessing his 
 curly young head. This silent grief of old age, without 
 any hopes for the morrow, was more terrible and tragic
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 377 
 
 than the loud sobs of the young and blooming woman. A 
 stout gentleman with blue eyes and rosy cheeks, resplendent 
 with health and self-importance, was beating his breast 
 with his fist on the well-starched shirt-front and loudly 
 proclaiming his intention to give up to Russia all his 
 strength, to go as a soldier and die for the honour of his 
 native country. He spoke so loudly that everyone turned 
 towards him involuntarily and listened. 
 
 " Such a one will talk, and cry out, and remain at home," 
 smiled Gourakin. 
 
 The third bell rung. A quiver of pain rang through 
 every heart. Mimi pressed her brother tightly to her 
 heart. 
 "Write, write, for God's sake, Borenka." 
 Michail made the sign of the cross over his son. 
 " With God, my boy. We shall meet soon." 
 Marie was crying softly, embracing and crossing Boris. 
 A whistle. The train started . . . another minute . . . and 
 noiselessly and smoothly it began to move away. Hun- 
 dreds of eyes were striving through dimming tears to 
 engrave in the memory the beloved features of the depart- 
 ing ones who were being carried away into the unfathom- 
 able distance towards bloodshed, suffering and death.
 
 mil 
 
 In Volynsky's dining-room several persons were seated 
 round a large tea-table. Mimi, grown very thin, with sad 
 and tired eyes, was sitting before the silver samovar and 
 pouring out the tea, which the servant was handing round. 
 Tchagin was there, with his chair very near hers; Volynsky 
 sat at the other end of the table. 
 
 "Let me take your place, Mimi ; I assure you that I know 
 how to pour out the tea most cleverly," said Tchagin in a 
 low voice, bending over to her so as not to disturb the 
 conversation. 
 
 " Why ?" — Mimi looked at him with surprise — " do you 
 think that I have forgotten how to do it ?" 
 
 "Oh no, I only want to help you. You look so tired out. 
 It seems to me you are over-tiring yourself." 
 
 "That is true — I am rather tired, but not from work; it 
 is the sight of these poor suffering people. Do you know, 
 they brought us a wounded man to-day, all his thigh 
 was torn out. And his wide-open, suffering eyes ! . . . 
 Dreadful!" 
 
 Mimi passed her hand over her eyes as if to dispel the 
 vision. 
 
 " Have you heard that the Servian Mission has received a 
 communication that the Austrians in bombarding Belgrade 
 have destroyed an infant asylum, over which hung the flag 
 of the Red Cross, and the shells have killed over a hundred 
 children ?" 
 
 "It is incredible!" said Mimi bitterly. 
 
 "We are now witnessing events which for importance 
 and grandeur are unequalled in history," a grey-haired, very 
 pleasant, fresh and vigorous old man was saying in a slow, 
 monotonous voice. He was a member of the Council of 
 Empire and a Marshal of nobility of one of the most im- 
 
 378
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 379 
 
 portant provinces. He had clever eyes and wore a small 
 beard; all his life had passed in hard, systematic work, 
 without which he could not conceive the possibility of 
 existence. Even now, with a mortal anxiety in his heart 
 for his son, who had gone to the war, not forgetting for a 
 moment his sufferings, he continued to lead his habitual 
 life, full of work and cares. 
 
 " For Germany," he continued, sipping his tea out of a 
 glass, "the object of the war is the dismembering and 
 annihilation of Russia. Praise be to God, the circumstances 
 are for the time in our favour; the spirit of the troops is 
 excellent, the battle front in Eastern Prussia extends to a 
 distance of forty versts. Goldap and Arys are occupied by 
 our troops. The retreat of the German corps seemed more 
 like a flight, they say." 
 
 " Brussels is taken. That wonderful charming town, they 
 say, is destroyed by the German vandals," said Volynsky, 
 shaking his head sadly, and at the same time gazing intently 
 at Mimi's pale little face across the table. 
 
 Her sorrowful, tired aspect was troubling him. 
 
 ** Yes, Brussels is taken, but centuries will pass and his- 
 tory will keep immortal the memory of the legendary 
 heroic little nation with the great soul," said an old man with 
 overhanging grey eyebrows and enormous moustache, a 
 wealthy landed proprietor. Prince Niejin, a representative 
 of the Red Cross; in a few days he was starting with a 
 hospital to the front. 
 
 " God grant," continued Niejin, "that the English troops 
 arrive in Belgium ! No words can express the indignation 
 that one feels against the cynical conduct of Germany and 
 her infringement of Belgian neutrality which she herself 
 had guaranteed." 
 
 The old man knit his grey eyebrows and puffed angrily 
 at his cigarette. 
 
 " I consider this cynical infringement of Belgium's 
 neutrality perfectly prepared and preconceived. Germany 
 has attacked Russia, Luxemburg, Belgium, France and 
 Holland for the purpose of supporting Austria's inter- 
 national robberv."
 
 38o THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 The Member of the Council of State spoke methodically 
 and very slowly, with pauses between the words and a dis- 
 tinct enunciation of each syllable. Laying his hands on the 
 table, he looked straight into the eyes of his interlocutors; 
 his speeches were always listened to with attention and his 
 opinion was greatly prized. 
 
 " It is quite right," Volynsky affirmed warmly, " and 
 relying on the words of our Emperor, who promised to 
 carry on the war to the end, we must hope that with the 
 moral sentiments of peace there will be given guarantees 
 against the possibility in future of such international 
 robberies. This war, in which Germany has involved the 
 whole of Europe, will bring an incalculable harm to civiliza- 
 tion and culture, and the barbarous methods with which it 
 is conducted by Germany will place the latter outside the 
 pale of international relations." 
 
 " Yes, Wilhelm Hohenzollern is personally responsible 
 for the terrible ocean of blood which will flow throughout 
 Europe by his fault," said Tchagin thoughtfully. 
 
 The Member of the Council of Empire bent his head for 
 a second and remained silent. The image of blood flowing 
 called up before his mind's eye the figure of his beloved 
 son, and a sharp incontrollable feeling of fear for his life 
 shot through his heart. 
 
 " Where is he ? How is he ? Maybe now, at this very 
 instant, he is wounded, or . . . Lord, save him. Lord, do 
 not let it be!" he cried to God inwardly, with all his heart. 
 
 "And to think only that Wilhelm nearly got the Nobel 
 prize for peace, thanks to the intrigues of the Austrian 
 Fried!" said Niejin, with indignation in his voice, angrily 
 flashing his eyes under their overhanging grey brows. 
 " This man has sullied his people's honour and the honour 
 and dignity of a monarch by the cynical lie that the war was 
 called forth by an attack against Germany. What base- 
 ness ! A few days ago I had occasion to read the text of 
 the telegrams which were exchanged between our Emperor 
 and Wilhelm on the 17th, i8th and 19th of July. Wilhelm's 
 telegrams bear witness to his Machiavellian capacities. 
 After pressing all the springs of war he warns our Emperor
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 381 
 
 against the responsibility which the latter is incurring by 
 leading to a rupture of the peace." 
 
 "Certainly one may say what one wishes, but there are 
 incontestable documents — namely, I saw with my own eyes 
 a report dated March 19, 1913, drawn up by the German 
 general staff regarding the reinforcement of the German 
 army. There are some clauses which relate to Russia and 
 remove all doubts concerning any so-called fatal combina- 
 tion of circumstances or diplomatic errors. This document, 
 , although invested with the strictest secrecy, was, however, 
 at the disposition of the French Ambassador in Berlin." 
 
 Volynsky stopped speaking and watched Mimi anxiously, 
 to whom a servant was handing a letter on a silver tray. 
 He noticed that her face flushed when she opened the 
 envelope. 
 
 " Nothing bad ?" he asked with a slight anxiety. 
 
 " On the contrary," said Mimi quickly. " Aunt Marie has 
 sent me a letter from Boris and a telegram from papa — that 
 is, from Michail Vladimirovitch" — she corrected herself 
 and stopped, sHghtly confused. " Listen to what Boris 
 writes among other things," she said, addressing the whole 
 company and laughing merrily. . . . 'Mostly one feels 
 dull, at times a slight touch of fear, but one is always ready 
 to eat and to sleep!' . . ." 
 
 " Certainly that is quite right and very characteristically 
 expressed," said Niejin with animation. "At the war, if 
 one is not face to face with danger, then one feels dull, and 
 when one is going into battle, then one knows what fear is." 
 
 Volynsky rose and passed with his guests into the study, 
 where the conversation ran on the same theme which was 
 occupying the mind of everyone. Tchagin related a revolt- 
 ing story of the rude and inhuman treatment which the 
 Germans inflicted on some of the Russian travellers who 
 had spent thousands in their health resorts. His friend, a 
 chamberlain at the Court, was detained on the way, put 
 into a cattle-waggon in company with some other Russians, 
 shut in, and after a torturous twelve hours' voyage brought 
 to Rostok, where /he whole party of forty people were 
 installed in a boys' school, which had been turned into a
 
 382 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 prison. There they were all placed together, men and 
 women in one room, and kept so during eleven days. One 
 can imagine the horror of such a situation. When, driven 
 to despair, they asked the officer on guard at least to 
 separate the women from the men by a partition wall, this 
 civilized representative of military discipline answered 
 rudely that for Russian swine this was good enough, as at 
 home they lived much worse. After eleven days of such 
 torture they were separated. The food was worse than for 
 criminals. In a disgusting broth of foul meat they often 
 found worms. All the company consisted of persons of 
 education, who learnt through bitter personal experience 
 how civilized the German nation is. 
 
 Mimi, and Tchagin behind her, left the study and w^ent 
 into the adjoining salon. The huge sheet-glass windows 
 were open. A warm September night had wrapped the 
 granite of the quay and the Neva in indistinct shadows. 
 The bright lights of the steamers were gliding on the river. 
 It was very still, but this beautiful night did not bring peace 
 to the hearts of people before whose spiritual eyes stood 
 the constant phantom of a cruel and bloody war, brought 
 on by the savage fantasy of a monarch who is staking his 
 own and his people's honour in the intoxication of a non- 
 existent universal power. 
 
 It was dark in the room, and only the light from an 
 electric lamp on the quay lay across the parquet of the f^oor 
 in a dull broad stripe. Mimi went up to the open window 
 and looked out in silence. Tchagin stood beside her, and 
 both were silent several minutes. 
 
 " I am sad, Alexander Alexandrovitch — sick at heart. If 
 I could only be off quicker ! ..." 
 
 " Yes, I see that you are grieving. But why such faint- 
 heartedness, my dear friend, when it is necessary to preserve 
 all your courage ? See, all the Gourakins are offering up 
 in the service of their country their love, forces and wealth : 
 Michail and Boris are fighting, you are going as a Sister of 
 Charity, and even your dear old aunt, forgetting her weak- 
 ness, gives herself up to the hospital created by your family. 
 You must be happy and proud. ... I think that your
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 383 
 
 sadness is the result of a nervous and physical over- 
 exhaustion. You must take more care of yourself and 
 have a rest, especially in view of your coming departure." 
 
 Tchagin spoke in a low voice full of sympathy. He took 
 Mimi's hand and pressed it in a friendly grasp. No one 
 knew how to calm and soothe anxiety and sadness like 
 Tchagin. Mimi answered his pressure and sighed deeply. 
 
 " No, Alexander Alexandrovitch, it is not that. I feel a 
 sort of sadness without any reason. I experienced some- 
 thing of the sort, not for long, before the catastrophe with 
 mamma. You know well that I was not very deeply attached 
 to mamma, and yet I had a kind of presentiment, especially 
 after our last interview with her. And now again I feel the 
 same sadness, but more insistent, something dark and 
 dreary. . . . Ah, Alexander Alexandrovitch, I am afraid 
 to say out loud what I fear so much. ... I am afraid for 
 him, for papa. . . . There was something in him, when he 
 was leaving, something so strange, so new." 
 
 Mimi's lips trembled, and Tchagin guessed that she was 
 crying by her uneven, gasping breath. 
 
 " Don't, Mimi ! . . . Why should you explain your sad- 
 ness in this way? I agree with you that Michail was not 
 the same man we were accustomed to see. You know not 
 less than I that he has a sensitive and very impressionable 
 soul. He has been wholly taken up by the grand and 
 terrible events in the fate of Russia and has completely 
 given himsf-lf up in her service. Without the least trouble, 
 even without an effort of his will, he has put aside his own 
 personal life. All his past and present have become swal- 
 lowed up in the idea of defending the honour of his country. 
 In his most madcap action there was always hidden the 
 large, generous nature of a Russian gentleman, a great soul 
 capable of glorious exploits. The hospital, the droujina* 
 which have swallowed up all his fortune — do not they con- 
 firm my words ? . . . You fear the something new and 
 stern that yor. have noticed in him, but it is nothing else 
 than a certain side of his nature which in ordinary life was 
 hidden from us. He has infused into you also the great 
 * A military unit. — Translator.
 
 384 
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 and glorious qualities of the Gourakin race : you too are 
 brave of heart and carry your head high and valiantly to 
 meet your fate. I admire you, I rejoice when I look at you, 
 and you see I do not dissuade you from going there, where 
 you will meet with death and terror. In this year of cruel 
 and, as I foresee, heavy trials you must be valiant of heart. 
 Like sound-waves, from each one of us there emanate 
 certain fluids which follow our thoughts as they fly to our 
 fighting brothers. It is not dejection, but vigour, that we 
 must send with those fluids in order to sustain an indis- 
 soluble current of moral energy, not only with those nearest 
 to us, but with the whole nation." 
 
 " You are right, you are always right, my kind friend. I 
 will throw off this sadness of mine, I will do as you tell me." 
 
 Mimi pressed Tchagin's hand again, and was conscious 
 of a flow of warm friendly feeling to this unalterable friend 
 of their family.
 
 IX 
 
 After all the troubles and worries connected with their 
 dangerous voyage from Germany to Russia, and the 
 nervous strain, a reaction set in, and Marie Gourakina fell 
 seriously ill. The departure of Boris and Michail to the 
 war, the anxiety about them, the forthcoming parting with 
 Mimi, all helped to increase the strain on the sick nerves, 
 and Mimi, in spite of her passionate desire to follow Michail, 
 put off her voyage until the recovery of her aunt. 
 
 The war events developed rapidly. The whole Russian 
 Empire was joined in one great tense effort of the will, bom 
 of patriotic feeling and the consciousness of a common 
 responsibility for the issue of the national war. Political 
 parties had disappeared, dispersed were different societies 
 of grimacing persons, lovers of cheap stage effects with 
 flabby imagination, lacking the ethics of beauty, always 
 tormented by the desire to draw on themselves the atten- 
 tion of the crowd, no matter what degree of development it 
 had attained. Allayed were enmity and discords. All 
 Russia, tense and thoughtful in the days of anxiety and 
 trouble which had united everyone, roused herself, made 
 the sign of the cross, and simply and piously set forth to 
 take her place on the grand historic battle-field. 
 
 Young girls and women of all conditions, on all the 
 degrees of the social ladder, with feverish haste went in for 
 training, donned the garb of Sisters of Mercy, and with 
 meekness and patience tended the wounds of the suffering 
 heroes of Russia. All Russia, from palaces to the poorest 
 huts, seemed to be united in one large sorrowing heart. . . . 
 
 By the end of September Marie Gourakina began to 
 recover, and Mimu fixed the day of her departure for the 
 beginning of October. Her preparations were simple. 
 Besides the joy of having attained her object, Mimi was 
 
 385 25
 
 386 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 buoyed by the hope of seeing her brother and father, who, 
 according to certain calculations, were supposed to be in 
 the same region where she was going. 
 
 Volynsky appeared to be suffering most deeply of all at 
 the thought of the coming separation from his daughter, 
 who had given him the warmth and beauty of a real home. 
 He was very much excited over her preparations, repeating 
 that she was not taking enough with her, ordering her 
 campaign trunks and bags himself, and often breaking off 
 suddenly in the midst of a conversation to fix on her a sad 
 intent look. All his life he had hidden deep in his soul any 
 feelings of his, and worn a mask of cold, impenetrable 
 reserve, and now it seemed he was tired of submitting his 
 love for his daughter to cold reasoning and he surrounded 
 her with the most tender care and solicitude. 
 
 Mimi was looking forward to the day of her departure 
 with a feeling of dread. She feared the parting at the 
 station, the tears which would be shed on her account, the 
 void which she would leave in the hearts of Volynsky, Marie 
 and Tchagin. Notwithstanding all the preparations, the 
 day of departure passed as in a dream, owing to the hurry 
 and the chaos of different unfinished affairs. A sigh of 
 relief burst from Mimi's breast when at last the train began 
 to move and she, in her costume of Sister of Mercy, with 
 burning, tear-stained eyes and two hectic spots of fatigue 
 on her cheeks, sank down on the seat in the compartment 
 and looked around her. Beside her sat a small, wrinkled 
 old woman, thin, pale, in deep mourning. Two weeks ago 
 her eldest son had been killed, and she was now going to 
 Grodno to her second boy, w^ho was dangerously wounded. 
 Sorrow, deep and silent, without wailing or tears, was to 
 be felt not only in each feature of her face, but also in each 
 movement, in the intonation of her low sad voice, with the 
 sound of stifled tears in it, in the soft folds of her black 
 gown. 
 
 The other lady, solid, not young, and energetic, with a 
 faded but attractive face, was going to Bielostok also to see 
 a wounded son. She was the first to engage in a conversa- 
 tion with Mimi and the old lady, and all the way she kept
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 387 
 
 up the spirits of the company in the car. The knitting- 
 needles were flying' in and out between her quick, short and 
 strong fingers. With skill and dexterity she unpacked the 
 tea things out of a capacious bottle-case and hospitably 
 treated her companions to tea and a whole supply of good 
 things. The fourth occupant of the compartment was a 
 handsome Cossack with black eyes, white, even, strong 
 teeth and a noble-looking profile. He was returning to 
 the front after a short leave of absence, during which he 
 had gone to Petrograd to bury his old father. 
 
 Each of them had his own personal grief, and one in 
 common, which united them all. The only theme for con- 
 versation was the war. At each stoppage the people return- 
 ing from the army com.municated some news, sometimes 
 joyful, sometimes alarming. The name of the High Com- 
 mander-in-Chief was mentioned by all with feelings of 
 admiration and gratitude. The journey to Warsaw took a 
 tedious forty-four hours. The way was constantly blocked 
 up by military transports. The train had to stop during 
 long dull hours at railway-stations encumbered by other 
 trains with cargoes and troops. Anxious-looking men in 
 uniform and sheepskin coats moved to and fro; Sisters of 
 Mercy, with black and v.-hite kerchiefs on their heads and 
 the red cross on their breasts or sleeves, were conferring 
 with officials, proffering requests, or patiently awaiting 
 events seated on their travelling bags. The railway admin- 
 istration was quite knocked up trying to satisfy and to help 
 everyone. At Vilna the sad news arrived of the death of 
 the youthful Grand Duke owing to a mortal wound. All 
 the faces looked grieved, all were sorry for the valiant 
 youth, stricken down by the enemy's bullet. 
 
 At the stations between Vilna and Warsaw the public 
 was exclusively military, and one felt the throbbing pulse 
 of the war. The most contradictory, nonsensical reports 
 of our colossal victories or our defeats were caught on the 
 wing, and in a moment made known to all the crowd, 
 greedily listening for any news from the battlefield. 
 
 Mimi decided to stop for a day in Warsaw, to ascertain 
 where the army was in which Michail and Boris were serv-
 
 388 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 ing. The aspect of the station, encumbered by a croAvd of 
 moving, hurrying, frightened people, astonished Mimi. 
 The enemy had approaclied to a distance of nine versts, 
 and the inhabitants were fleeing in a panic out of the town, 
 carrying with them all that they possibly could. Those 
 who lived near Warsaw fled to the town from their estates. 
 Mimi, nearly lost in this ocean of frightened people, with 
 her hand luggage in her hand, moved slowly step by step, 
 reached the doors at last, found a cab, and ordered the 
 coachman to drive to an hotel. The streets of the town 
 presented an aspect of indescribable chaos and confusion. 
 Endless baggage trains were moving, crowds of frightened 
 people carrying most extraordinary things were hurrying 
 by, military automobiles were droning piercingly in high 
 or hoarse sounds, a continuous, uninterrupted hum from 
 the crowd and noise of wheels filled the air. Mimi's cab- 
 man made his way to the bridge with the utmost difficulty, 
 but the bridge itself was encumbered with the baggage 
 trains, troops of soldiers, and intermixed with all this was 
 the common crowd, screaming, swearing, or making trivial, 
 spiteful jokes in regard to the trains or the advancing 
 enemy. For one second the cabman drew in the reins and 
 then deviated slightly from his way; Mimi saw a dying 
 horse lying heavily on his side, with sunken flanks and a 
 pitifully, helplessly extended thin face. With its lank 
 benumbed lips the poor animal had caught up a handful of 
 hay that some pitying hand had throw^n to him in the last 
 minutes of his life. 
 
 " Eh-ma, thou poor one ! What a place thou hast found 
 to die!" a young and vigorous voice, full of compassion, 
 was heard to say quite near to the carriage. Mimi looked 
 towards the voice; it came from a rosy-cheeked young 
 soldier with merry eyes and an unconcerned expression on 
 his face totally out of conformity with the general con- 
 fusion and alarm. 
 
 Mimi drove from hotel to hotel and could not find a 
 single room. They were all overfull. She called up several 
 of her acquaintances on the telephone, but everywhere she 
 heard the same answer — " Gone."
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 389 
 
 At last, in a distant by-street, in a dirty and miserable- 
 looking hotel, she managed to obtained a small, disgusting- 
 looking room with torn faded paper on the walls, a crooked 
 mirror, suspicious bed-linen, and a close, sickening smell in 
 the corridor. She took the room for a fabulous price and 
 went off immediately to the Governor-General, hoping to 
 ascertain from him something regarding the whereabouts 
 of Michail and her brother. A tremendous crowd of Jews 
 were besieging the citadel, clamouring for their documents. 
 They were Jews of all ages and conditions. Their chang- 
 ing and mobile faces expressed alarm and humiliation. 
 Pale, in their long national coats, with the curls behind their 
 ears, skull-caps, guttural speech and angular movements, 
 they produced an oppressive effect on Mimi. 
 
 The Governor-General did not make Mimi wait. He 
 advised her not to lose a minute in leaving Warsaw for 
 Lublin, where at that moment Gourakin's army was sure to 
 be. Half an hour later Mimi was driving up to another 
 station after having fetched her things from the hotel. It 
 was getting dark, and the dreadful, unimaginable uproar 
 and commotion of the many-thousand crowd oppressed her 
 like a nightmare. The cabman had to stop at a distance 
 from the station, as it was only possible to press through 
 the multitude of baggage trains, automobiles, Red-Cross 
 carts and cabs on foot. In a fever of haste, fearing to be 
 late for the train, her white head-shawl floating behind her, 
 Mimi plunged into the chaos of men, horses and vehicles. 
 At the station she got hold of the station-master and asked 
 him to assist her and get her a place. This functionary, a 
 friendly and energetic man, called for his assistant and 
 charged him to do his best for the " little Sister." 
 
 At midnight, deafened by the noise, Mimi, thanks to the 
 kind attentions of the railway administration towards 
 Sisters of Mercy, found herself in a waggon. Women, 
 men, children, dogs, were streaming in, pushing and 
 pressing on one another in their fear of being left behind. 
 Through the windows bags, sacks, bundles, carpets, cur- 
 tains, cases were being thrown in anyhow. They all lay in 
 heaps in the corridors, frightening the little ones and
 
 390 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 making them cry; all seemed to be talking at once, all the 
 faces wore an excited, alarmed look. The lucky ones 
 managed to secure seats. Most of the people were stand- 
 ing in a compact crowd in the corridors and on the plat- 
 forms of the cars. 
 
 At eight in the morning the train stopped at Siedletz. 
 Again an enormous crowd, again a rush and press, feverish 
 anxiety and alarm on all the faces. Mimi, with the help of 
 an officer, managed to obtain a glass of tea and some bread. 
 In the refreshment-room the crowd was intense. Hands 
 were extended over the heads of those in front trying to get 
 a piece of bread or cake; the fee was laid down on the 
 counter without being counted. The whole stock of provi- 
 sions was swept up in a few minutes. 
 
 With stoppages and delays the train arrived at midnight 
 at the junction Lukoff, where Mimi had to take another 
 train. 
 
 Pushing her way through a crowd of excited, noisy Jews, 
 Mimi managed to find a place for her things. It seemed 
 totally impossible to ascertain when a train was starting, 
 some said that it would be in the morning, others spoke oi 
 the next day. It was cold and piercingly damp. Mimi was 
 shivering, her teeth chattering as if with fever. She fell 
 immeasurably tired. The station-master, hearing her re- 
 quest, promised to get her a place, but he could not under- 
 take positively to do so in a short time. 
 
 After many trials, and without the possibility of finding 
 a seat for even a few minutes, Mimi at last met with twc 
 officers of the Grodno Hussars and turned to them for heli 
 and advice. She was simply dying of fatigue and exhaus 
 tion, and, like everyone else in this time of calamity, shi 
 did not make any distinction between friends or strangers 
 all seemed to have become near to "each other and easy o 
 access. 
 
 "To Lublin? Very well," said one of the Hussars witl 
 a polite bow. " We are going the same way. The station 
 master has just told us that he will try to send us off witl 
 his wife and a Sister of Mercy. Evidently he spoke of yot 
 little Sister 1"
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 391 
 
 After several hours of anxious waiting the station-master 
 announced, with a pleasant smile at the handsome "little 
 Sister," that an engine and a goods-waggon was ready for 
 them. He conducted them through by-ways along a dis- 
 tance of reserve tracks, and amid the darkness and noise of 
 clashing buffers, the smoke and steam of engines, whistles 
 and signals, he found an engine with a luggage-van attached 
 to it. With great difficulty Mimi managed to scramble in. 
 Besides herself and the two Hussar officers, there was the 
 young wife of the station-master and the tall Colonel whom 
 Mimi had seen all the way from Petrograd to Warsaw. 
 The door of the van was rolled to with great clatter, and 
 the whole company found themselves in complete darkness. 
 By the help of' a pocket-lamp some ends of candles were 
 found. In their dim light the men proceeded hastily to turn 
 out their camp beds and get out some warm wraps and 
 things. It was terribly cold in the car. The Hussars were 
 putting up a bed for Mimi with brotherly solicitude; the 
 Colonel was doing the same for the station-master's wife. 
 
 "A regular infernal cold! Devil take them, putting 
 ladies into such an ice cellar ! " one of the officers was swear- 
 ing while wrapping Mimi's feet in a warm rug. Mimi, 
 smiling feebly, thanked them for their care of her and 
 assured them that she was not cold, and feeling very com- 
 fortable on the narrow camp bed which one of them had 
 lent her; but in reality the frost seemed to pierce the very 
 marrow of her bones, and, notwithstanding her great 
 fatigue, she could not sleep. The candle-ends soon burned 
 out, and the darkness filled the cold frozen wooden waggon. 
 Thoroughly chilled, Mimi forgot herself in a heavy doze, 
 but when she opened her eyes in the utter blackness of the 
 night she could not make out where she was. What was 
 rumbling so ? Why was it so cold and so dreadfully dark ? 
 
 In the early morning their train stopped. It appeared 
 that they were not far from Lublin, but tTie way was 
 blocked and they had to wait. All were thoroughly be- 
 numbed with the cold. With pale tired faces, trying to put 
 themselves in order, the two ladies, wrapped up in the felt 
 cloaks which had been lent them, sat on the folded camp
 
 393 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 beds and waited patiently for the end of their trying 
 journey. 
 
 At last the train moved on again, and at eight in the 
 morning it stopped at Lublin. The Hussars, on hearing 
 that their regiment was in the neighbourhood of the town, 
 bade a hearty adieu to Mimi and went ofif in search of it. 
 
 At the station Mimi learnt that the staff of the army, in 
 which Gourakin's troops were incorporated, had arrived 
 at Lublin the day before, and this information gave her 
 added courage. She decided, after a rest, to resume her 
 inquiries. But a new impediment arose : she could not find 
 a cab. A long time elapsed, until at length some workman, 
 for a considerable sum, brought her one. The aspect of the 
 small provincial town astonished Mimi — it was boiling over 
 with life. Elegant automobiles were rushing hither and 
 thither; the streets were filled with officers of the Guards. 
 Again there were long trains of luggage-vans, soldiers 
 were passing on, but there was none of the blind, disorderly 
 chaos that was felt in Warsaw. Here life was flowing on in 
 an energetic stream. It was not easy to find a shelter; not 
 only all the hotels but all the private apartments were over- 
 filled with people. Suddenly Mimi saw a Horse Guards- 
 man in the street, a comrade of Boris, who had just re- 
 covered from his wounds, and was in Lublin on the way to 
 the army. Mimi was very glad to meet him. From him 
 she learnt that according to all probability the division of 
 her father was not far from there. He gave her the address 
 of a house where she would be able to find a room in a 
 family of his acquaintance, and promised to call on her 
 after midday to assist her in ascertaining where and how 
 she could find Gourakin.
 
 The halting stage hospital of the Lublin Red Cross 
 section was established in the building of an ancient former 
 Catholic Church, and was divided by a small garden from 
 the public square. On receiving information regarding the 
 whereabouts of Gourakin's division, Mimi hastened to the 
 hospital to obtain leave of absence for several days. The 
 old building was very gloomy. The gate, ensconced in a 
 deep dark niche in the wall, opened into a courtyard planted 
 around with old shady trees. Directly opposite this gate 
 a heavy door led to a steep dark staircase. The windows 
 of the hospital looked out on one side into this courtyard 
 and on the other into a large shady garden. 
 
 In the reception-room Mimi was met by the founder of 
 the hospital, a lady greatly loved and respected by the 
 whole town. She fully sympathized with Mimi's wish to 
 see her father, showed her over the whole well-organized 
 hospital, where there were about a hundred wounded men, 
 wished her a speedy return, as the number of Sisters of 
 Mercy in the hospital was insufficient, and bade her a hearty 
 good-bye. 
 
 As it was impossible to get an automobile in the town, 
 either for love or money, Mimi without losing time set out 
 beyond its precincts to where the last Automobile Company 
 still remained. 
 
 It was quite dark when, after a muddy shaky drive, she 
 reached the house where the chief of the Automobile Com- 
 pany was quartered. He was not there, and she sat for 
 more than an hour in tedious waiting in a cold half-empty 
 room lit by a solitary candle. At last an officer entered 
 with an energetic expression of the face. On the follow- 
 ing morning at daybreak the Company was to start for 
 Radom, where Mimi was going. 
 
 393
 
 394 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 The officer promised to take her there. Thoroughly tired 
 out, but very pleased with the results attained, Mimi went 
 back to the small clean room which she had engaged in the 
 house of a solitary lady. 
 
 For about three hours Mimi slept like one dead, but the 
 moment that dawn began to break she jumped up, dressed 
 quickly, and moving softly down the squeakmg, winding 
 stairs she brought down her portmanteau and travelling 
 bag, opened the house door noiselessly, and went out into 
 the street. The cold autumn air pierced her to the bones. 
 Tired out by a whole series of sleepless and anxious nights, 
 Mimi felt herself trembling all over. After waiting several 
 minutes and beginning to feel alarmed, she at last heard 
 the noise of approaching wheels. The cabman whom she 
 had engaged the day before drove up. It was not yet five 
 o'clock when Mimi reached the barracks of the Automobile 
 Company. All around was dark and silent; no sign of 
 movement anywhere. 
 
 Mimi learnt from a sullen sleepy soldier who was carry- 
 ing a pail of water that they were not starting before seven 
 o'clock, as there had been so much to do last evening that 
 the chief of the Company had only gone to rest after three 
 in the morning. Having paid the cabman, and placing her 
 luggage on the ground, Mimi sat down on a large stone 
 near the building. Lifting up her shoulders and drawing 
 in her neck, with her hands thrust into the sleeves of her 
 coat, Mimi sat there with closed eyes and a pale tired face. 
 All around was grey, dim and cold. Scraps of clouds were 
 moving low and rapidly. The lonely house in the midst 
 of the empty expanse stood out like a dark spot. The wind 
 was raising the dust and seemed to be bringing up rain. 
 Mimi was full of a heavy, heartrending sadness. All her 
 surroundings were so unlike what she had seen all her life. 
 . . . How could it have come about that she, brought up in 
 a rich home, surrounded with luxury and care, was sitting 
 cold, tired and lonely on a stone in the middle of a field and 
 waiting anxiously the awakening of a stranger officer to go 
 off far away, into a distance full of the dread, mysterious 
 terrors of war, where the guns were roaring, shrapnel and
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 395 
 
 bcmbs bursting, where every second her father — yes, he 
 was her father in her heart — might meet with his death. 
 "And this is not a dream . . . this is not dehrium . . . this 
 is life! . . . Oh, my God, what a terrible word — life!" 
 thought Mimi and, opening her eyes, looked with an in- 
 definite unknown feeling of awe into the far sky. Dark, 
 lowering, it was silent, cold and unfriendly. 
 
 At that moment human life seemed to Mimi so insigni- 
 ficant, so transient, so indistinct and confused. In her 
 strained, nervous state, she seemed to see the invisible, to 
 embrace with her glance vast spaces. In the damp day- 
 break cowering over the earth, she saw countless crowds 
 of tired, chilled, tortured men, made unhappy by a mys- 
 terious bondage, which sent them forth from their homes 
 into damp trenches, with heavy jingling weapons in their 
 benumbed and frozen hands. . . . To-day, to-morrow, the 
 day after, for weeks, for months, these unhappy men, 
 obedient slaves of their own errors and deviations from the 
 simple clear laws of nature, will destroy each other and, 
 dying, ask themselves with sorrow and horror, " Why ? 
 What for?'* And never, even with their last breath, will 
 they find an answer, even as she cannot find it in the far 
 heavens on which she is gazing. . . . 
 
 At seven o'clock an automobile was allotted to Mimi. A 
 dexterous soldier chauffeur, placing some things on the 
 front seat, worked the engine quickly and adroitly and 
 declared that it was ready to start. Mimi shook hands with 
 the chief of the Company and thanked him, and, wrapping 
 her feet in a rug, ensconced herself into a comer of the 
 motor-car. They drove out on a bad causeway, and very 
 soon the feeling of sadness in Mimi's heart increased from 
 all that she saw out of the window of the car. Long rows 
 of carts were dragging along the road; inside, huddled 
 together, with pale anxious faces, sat whole families of 
 refugee Jews — old men, young men and children, and 
 behind them their poor belongings, old and shabby. The 
 poor horses and cows, the last blessings of the refugees, 
 v:ere attached to the waggons and moving sadly along. 
 Crowds of Austrian prisoners, with stolid misery, were
 
 396 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 marching by apathetically; some were lagging behind, 
 others catching them up. One was munching a piece of 
 bread, another was gnawing at a bit of foul carrot which 
 he had pulled out of his pocket, a third, covering the small 
 flame with his palm, was endeavouring to smoke a cigar- 
 ette which he had made. In their faded grey-blue cloaks 
 and caps they looked pale, weary and pitiful. 
 
 Sometimes Mimi met automobiles with officers, Sisters of 
 Mercy, and wounded, and then again rows of waggons with 
 straw at the bottom. These were full of wounded soldiers, 
 covered with their coats. Bound up heads, arms, feet . . . 
 it seemed as if they were all pale ghosts, not living men. 
 
 " My God, my God, what horror, what suffering ! " whis- 
 pered Mimi, and tears of pity for all these tortured maimed 
 men poured down her cheeks. 
 
 The waggons and the automobile had to stop at times, to 
 let pass some cart in which sat a doctor. Sisters of Mercy, 
 or a priest. 
 
 With a movement of horror and d-sgust Mimi saw in a 
 ditch near which they had stopped a dead horse with one 
 side torn out. Two dogs, with gnashing teeth and tucked- 
 in tails, were tearing away bits of flesh, propping themselves 
 with their forepaws against the bared bones. The auto- 
 mobile moved onwards. They passed the abandoned 
 houses of deserted villages ... a country seat — white 
 columns, nailed windows, an avenue of shady trees a 
 century old, a moss-grown pond — the sadness of ruin and 
 desolation; farther still, a destroyed factory. They passed 
 Kuroff and the Jewish cemetery. Other scenes of ruin and 
 dilapidation began to appear more frequently. The signs 
 of the passage of the enemy were more visible and heavily 
 felt. The automobile turned to the left and took the road 
 to Novo-Alexandria and Ivangorod. They passed through 
 villages with numerous isolated soldiers, who were catch- 
 ing up their units, some lounging about or occupied in 
 mending their clothes or cooking their food. In the Jewish 
 hamlets Mimi was deafened by the dreadful noise and 
 hubbub. Everyone seemed to be screaming, crying, stamp- 
 ing about in the mud amid the ruined houses; dogs were
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 397 
 
 barking, children crying; the automobile was surrounded 
 by them, and could not move forward. 
 
 They entered a dirty little town with nailed-up houses, 
 a great number of hospitals, and crowds of soldiers. It was 
 Novo-Alexandria. Traces of the enemy's passage were 
 seen at every step. Everything was partly ruined and 
 destroyed. Soldiers were bustling about and moving to 
 and fro in the streets; one of them was carrying a teapot 
 with boiling water, another was squatting down before a 
 small fire and cooking some food; near the halting-station 
 wounded men in their bandages were sitting or crawling 
 about. The automobile cautiously passed down the descent 
 to the Vistula, and Mimi saw the funnels of two drowned 
 steamers sticking out of the water. The bridge across the 
 Vistula had been destroyed, and they had to cross on a 
 pontoon bridge. Mimi got out of the automobile and went 
 on foot. The sun looked out from behind the clouds, and 
 the scene of desolation looked still sadder under the bright 
 caressing rays. 
 
 As soon as they had crossed the Vistula Mimi was 
 astonished to see the endless number of trenches. They 
 ran along the whole chaussee and in all directions; inter- 
 secting each other, they encircled the forest which was seen 
 in the distance. The causeway was so dug up and mutilated 
 by the enormous shells of the German guns that the car 
 could only move very carefully; nearly at every step they 
 came upon deep, treacherous holes. The field, all over- 
 turned, not by the diligent hand of the ploughman, but 
 the revengeful hand of fratricide, lay black and gloomy, 
 encircled by the line of forest in the distance. 
 
 Mimi constantly shut her eyes and frowned with pain at 
 the sight of the dead horses lying on both sides of the road, 
 with their sunken sides and terrible outstretched faces with 
 bared teeth. Very often they now met with parties of 
 workmen repairing the road. The villages were totally 
 burnt down; instead of a row of cottages only the dark, 
 half-burnt chimneys were to be seen. Along the road they 
 saw many Catholic crosses and " brother " graves. Some of 
 them bore simple wooden crosses, others only a stick—
 
 398 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 grave after grave, making the heart still sadder, calling to 
 Someone in dumb sorrowful protest. . . . Undci the fresh 
 mounds of earth lay hundreds, thousands of men, who had 
 silently and meekly given up for the sake of an idea the 
 most precious gift of nature — life. . . . Mimi crossed her- 
 self, and the tears ran and ran down her cheeks. 
 
 They reached the halting stage, Zvolen. Endless mud 
 and countless numbers of shouting, gesticulating and 
 excited Jews. From here the wounded were sent ofif in 
 different directions. The soldier chauffeur asked permis- 
 sion to stop to ascertain the way to Radom. Mimi opened 
 the door and was just stepping out when a very youthful 
 volunteer approached her. 
 
 " Excuse me, little Sister, that I address you," said he, 
 blushing and looking rather confused. " I have been 
 wounded; now I am recovering, and I want to catch up my 
 company. Your chauffeur told me that you are going to 
 Radom. For God's sake, take me with you. There is such 
 a chaos here that I cannot get even a simple cart." 
 
 The volunteer was looking at Alimi with such entreating 
 eyes that she hastened to reassure him, and gladly offered 
 him a seat in her motor-car. 
 
 On ascertaining the way they moved on farther. The 
 volunteer appeared to be a very nice young man. They 
 found that they had some friends in common. Mimi felt 
 cheered, and the time passed quicker in conversation. She 
 produced chocolnte, biscuits, caramels. 
 
 "Ah, look, what a horrible sight!" cried Mimi, pointing 
 to a small house razed to the ground and destroyed by 
 shells. 
 
 "Do you call that horrible?" The young man smiled a 
 pale and pitifu: sm.ile. "We have seen sights much more 
 horrible than that." 
 
 Mimi's heart beat very strongly when they were ap- 
 proaching Radom. Her head was feeling giddy from the 
 endless rows of waggons, the shouts and noise. The car 
 moved on with difficulty. The Automobile Company, 
 which had caught them up, was seeking for a shelter and 
 could not find any. Mimi and the volunteer descended on
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 399 
 
 to the square and made inquiries right and left regarding 
 the whereabouts of the different regiments. Mimi very 
 soon ascertained that Gourakin's division had moved 
 farther on, but no one could indicate where it was at the 
 given moment. Her heart sank, and she suddenly felt such 
 an insurmountable moral and physical exhaustion that it 
 seemed to her that she could not make another step. 
 Driving back her tears, she desired only one thing at that 
 moment — to find some refuge and have a long sleep. She 
 had to search for one a long time. The volunteer did not 
 leave her side. At last, through the intermediary of the 
 chief of the Automobile Company, also a very obliging and 
 nice man, Mimi found a room with a Polish family, where 
 the daughter, a pretty, quiet young girl, gave up her own 
 bedroom to her. Totally broken in spirit from all that she 
 had seen on the way, Mimi bade farewell to her young com- 
 panion and, undressing and washing herself, lay down on 
 the soft clean bed, where she was soon sound asleep for the 
 first time after many nights. 
 
 It was past one o'clock when a quiet knock was heard at 
 her door. Mimi could not understand at once where she 
 was and whose was the unknown pretty and gay little room. 
 Then memory came to her; she jumped up and put on her 
 dressing-gown. 
 
 " I had to wake you, little Sister," she heard the voice of 
 the pretty little Polish girl behind the door. " In an hour's 
 time your friend, the officer of the Automobile Company, 
 Vastchenko, will be here. He asked us to tell you that he 
 has some commissions in Lublin and that he has to start 
 back there to-day; perhaps you would like to go with him." 
 
 " Oh yes, certainly. . , . How kind of him ! I shall 
 give you a hearty, grateful kiss,'" said Mimi, combing her 
 golden hair, which was hanging in long waves down her 
 back. 
 
 Pretty little Yuzia hurried to the dining-room to get 
 some breakfast for Mimi, who had inspired her with great 
 admiration for her handsome face and her costume of 
 Sister of Mercy. Mimi was touched by the cordiality of 
 these strangers. The old parents of Yuzia were kind and
 
 400 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 friendly people. While Mimi was lunching they related to 
 her all the horrors that they had gone through. The old 
 lady, wiping the tears from her eyes, stroked with a 
 trembling hand the black locks of her little daughter. 
 
 " She is our only one, all our joy is in her. . . How we 
 have feared and suffered for her God alone knows!" said 
 the old lady. 
 
 Soon after lunch Vastchenko came and told Mimi that 
 if she wanted to go with him she was to be at the station, 
 where the automobile would be awaiting them. Again 
 Mimi plunged into the noise and commotion of the crowd, 
 of endless officers' and soldiers' caps, shawls of the Sisters 
 of Mercy, Jewish long-tailed coats, automobiles, filling the 
 narrow streets with their piercing calls. 
 
 The oflficer of the Automobile Company was waiting for 
 Mimi at the doors of the station. He helped her to take 
 down her things from the cab and asked her to wait for him 
 a few minutes in the waiting-room while he went to give 
 some last orders before starting. 
 
 "The railway has been so destroyed by the enemy," said 
 he, catching up with his strong muscular hands Mimi's 
 portmanteau and travelling-bag, " that there is no other 
 communication with Lublin than by motor. I will now 
 arrange all and come for you, little Sister." 
 
 Mimi passed into the waiting-room, and there she at once 
 xiade out the Colonel of Gourakin's division standing with 
 his back to her. Full of joy, she ran up to him and touched 
 him on the sleeve of his coat. He turned to her with his 
 hand to his cap. 
 
 "Colonel, what luck to meet you!" said Mimi with a red 
 flush of excitement which made her pale face look suddenly 
 animated. " I am here seeking for my father — he is the 
 Commander of a droujina — Michail Vladimirovitch Goura- 
 kin. Cannot you give me some news of him? I arrived 
 here yesterday, and heard with despair that your army had 
 moved somewhere further. Will you not help me, Colonel, 
 to find my father?" 
 
 Mimi spoke rapidly, trying to make him understand as 
 quickly ar oossible.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 401 
 
 "You are his daughter? Allow me to present myself," 
 the Colonel gave his name. " We are great friends with 
 your father. I think that it would be best to go to Lublin, 
 as he was slightly wounded and taken there." 
 
 "Wounded? . . . Papa wounded? . . . Oh, my God!" 
 Mimi turned so pale that her face looked quite white. 
 
 "Tell me the whole truth — he is killed? Do not torture 
 me. 
 
 " I give you my word of honour that he was wounded. I 
 was near him yesterday when he was being taken away in 
 an automobile." 
 
 Mimi's lips were trembling and her eyes were dim with 
 tears. She did not notice a slight hesitation in the Colonel's 
 answer. 
 
 " He was wounded in the legs. I am happy to make the 
 acquaintance of Michail Vladimirovitch's daughter and to 
 tell her that her father is a hero. In the open field, with the 
 bullets raining on all sides, he saved three wounded soldiers, 
 carrying them out of the region of fire on his giant 
 shoulders; while he was carrying the fourth one a shell 
 burst near his legs and he was struck down." 
 
 Mimi listened with emotion and despair at her heart. 
 Now she had only one acute, torturing desire — to get back 
 to Lublin, find Michail as soon as possible, and not leave 
 him any more. All the impressions of the last days, all her 
 thoughts, were centred now in the fear for the life of her 
 dearest and nearest one. The whole world, with all its 
 horrors and sorrows, seemed to pass away beyond Mimi's 
 consciousness. It seemed to her that the whole complicated 
 chain of events of the great war was leading only to this 
 event, which was of so awful an importance to her. 
 
 " Is he seriously wounded ?" asked Mimi in a stifled voice, 
 raising a singularly absent look to the Colonel. 
 " Yes, it seems he was seriously wounded." 
 Catching sight of Vastchenko, who was looking for her, 
 Mimi bade good-bye to the Colonel and with a feeling of 
 cold and void in her heart rapidly went out at the door. 
 
 36
 
 XI 
 
 On returning to Lublin and leaving her things with the 
 owner of the room she had engaged, Mimi went in the auto- 
 mobile to the Red Cross hospital, where she hoped to find 
 out by telephone whither Michail had been taken. 
 
 The door in the niche fell to with a dull sound as Mimi 
 entered into the courtyard of the hospital. The trees were 
 swaying with a mournful sound, and the dry leaves rustled 
 in the dark under Mimi's light and swift footsteps. The 
 second door leading to the dimly lighted staircase closed 
 behind Mimi, and she ran up the steep steps with an anxious 
 feeling of something dreadful and important before her. 
 She pushed open a door in front of her and stopped on the 
 threshold. 
 
 " Help, quicker, hold him . . . the head, the head — hold 
 it!" a Sister bending down over one of the beds whispered 
 to her in a hurried whisper. 
 
 Mimi took a step forward and suddenly saw a deathly 
 pale head hanging on one side, with large horror-stricken 
 black eyes, and clenched teeth shining strangely white 
 between the thin bluish lips. Black locks of hair fell on a 
 white high forehead, cold as marble. Quickly and care- 
 fully she took in her warm dexterous hands the head of the 
 dying man. The Sisters were trying to rid him of his torn, 
 muddy blue cloak. He was not groaning, but his eyes, full 
 of terrible suffering, were more tragic than the moans and 
 groans which were issuing from the breasts of the wounded 
 just being carried into the hospital. Near them the Sisters 
 of Mercy were bustling about noiselessly and hurriedly. 
 
 "The syringe — quicker with the syringe . . . scissors 
 . , . cut the cloth . . . help me . . . held here . . . wad- 
 ding — wadding for God's sake," one of the Sisiers, with a 
 
 40a
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 403 
 
 severe tense expression of suppressed agitation on her face, 
 was saying to someone. 
 
 Mimi did not hear anything; she only saw those dreadful 
 eyes of a man dying in awful suffering fixed on her and at 
 the same time the acute and aching pain in her brain, which 
 she had felt from the moment of her meeting with the 
 Colonel at the station of Radom, grew worse and worse. 
 It seemed to her that ill-omened signs were enveloping her, 
 that someone's cold, inexorable hand was leading her, as 
 though in a nightmare, to some awful depth, full of terrors 
 and darkness. Something heavy and gloomy was coming 
 down on her, and she was conscious that she had no power 
 to avert it, and struggle and avoid it as she might, it would 
 reach and crush her. Without turning her eyes away she 
 gazed into the distended pupils full of a mortal agony, and 
 the horror of the inevitable filled her soul. 
 
 " Put down his head, you need not hold it any more . . . 
 he is dying," someone said near Mimi's ear. 
 
 She obediently lay down this head, already touched with 
 the coldness of death, on the pillow, and without looking 
 around her went out into the waiting-room. A doctor was 
 sitting there, and by the light of a lamp under a green shade 
 was writing something on a large sheet ot paper. 
 
 " Doctor, please advise me how to find out this very 
 minute where I may find my wounded father — Michail 
 Gourakin." 
 
 The doctor raised his eyes to Mimi. She stood before 
 him so white and pale and cold that he looked at her 
 attentively. 
 
 "Michail Gourakin — the commander of the droujinaf 
 The Equerry at the Court ? Is he your father ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " He is here. . . * 
 
 "Ah! . . ." Mimi caught at her heart and swayed, but 
 controlled herself immediately. " Seriously wounded ?" she 
 asked, scarcely audibly. 
 
 "Yes, he is very seriously wounded ... in the stomach 
 ... be brave. . . ."
 
 404 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 How she got to Gourakin's room, who conducted her 
 there, how she entered, IMimi did not know. Something 
 was carrying her, pushing her towards the inevitable, which 
 was going to crush her with its weight. And she was going, 
 hurrying to meet it . . . and suddenly she saw a pale, stern- 
 looking profile, with the aquiline nose, and two arms 
 extended along the counterpane. Without a tear, without 
 an exclamation, Mimi fell on her knees at the bedside of her 
 father, her only father, and seemed to comprehend suddenly 
 that the inevitable had occurred. . . . Laying both hands 
 on the immovable one on the bed and hiding her face in a 
 corner of the pillow, Mimi seemed turned to stone, struck 
 down, annihilated by grief. The Sister of Mercy who was 
 nursing Gourakin stood over her and with her hand on 
 Mimi's hair looked on with silent sympathy at this scene of 
 dumb despair. . . . 
 
 When Mimi rose from her knees her eyes were dry and 
 burned with a strange weird light. 
 
 " Thank you, dear Sister; now I will stay with my father," 
 she said. " Does he suffer much ?" 
 
 "Yes. He is unconscious now. We have just made an 
 injection. He has peritonitis." 
 
 The Sister gave Mimi the necessary instructions and left 
 her alone. Moving her chair near the bed, Mimi sat down 
 and without taking her eyes off Michail's face sat thus one, 
 two, three hours. . . . Sometimes he moved his head and 
 moaned weakly. Mimi, keeping her breath, bent over him, 
 but his face, pale and stem, remained unchanged, and his 
 eyes closed. The minutes and hours went by. . . . The 
 light of the small electric lamp hanging from the ceiling 
 was shaded by a piece of green tissue paper on the side 
 where the bed stood, so that the room was divided into two 
 parts — one full of light, the other in a soft semi-obscurity. 
 Behind the windows the wind was rustling the branches of 
 the tall old trees which stretched their half-bare arms 
 towards the window. All the noises of the night outside, 
 all the sounds and low moans in the house, spoke to 
 Mimi of something that she could not understand, but
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 405 
 
 to which her frightened, grief-benumbed soul had to 
 submit. 
 
 Suddenly Gourakin opened his eyes and looked straight 
 at Mimi. 
 
 " Papa I . . . Papa ! ..." 
 
 Mimi bent low over him. 
 
 " Lit . . . tie . . . Sister," said Michail in a very low voice. 
 
 "Papa, dearest, my own . . it is I — Mimi." 
 
 For a second Michail shut his eyes. 
 
 " Ravings . . . again . . . Sister. . . ." 
 
 " It is not delirium ... I have come, I am here with you, 
 my dearest papa." 
 
 Mimi's tears were falling with a slight sound on the 
 pillow of the sick man. 
 
 " The Sister of Mercy on duty has gone, my darling, and 
 now I am going to be with you all the time — not a moment 
 will I leave you ... it is I, it is Mimi." 
 
 Michail, as if verifying his own impressions, and to be 
 sure that he was not delirious, looked intently at Mimi. 
 
 " And where is Aunt Marie ? . . . Where is Boris ?" he 
 asked distinctly and scarcely audibly. 
 
 " Aunt Marie is in Petrograd. She does not know yet 
 that you have been wounded. When it will be possible I 
 will take you there. Boris is all right, but I have had no 
 time to see him. I have just comxC." 
 
 " My darling . . , you are with me ... I shall not die 
 alone. . . ." 
 
 With sad eyes, in which, beside love, there was shining 
 something else, new and awesome, Michail was gazing into 
 Mimi's eyes and v/ith weak fingers pressing her hand. 
 
 "Papa darling, are you suffering?" 
 
 "At present . . . no. . . ." 
 
 Michail sighed, closed his eyes for one moment, and was 
 still, but the light pressure of his fingers on Mimi's haYid 
 told her that he was conscious. 
 
 " Life is over ... I am dying . . . my child . . . always 
 dear and near to my heart . . . remember always that I 
 loved you most of all in life. . . ."
 
 406 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 
 
 The slight semblance of a smile illumined the stern face 
 of the dying man. 
 
 "As I have loved you, my beloved, my only papa," 
 answered Mimi, keeping back the up-welling, disobedient 
 tears and tenderly pressing her lips to Michail's hand. 
 
 " I have a weight on my soul. ... If I only could . . , 
 take back the letter . . . my last letter to your mother ! . . , 
 That is my sin . . . my heavy sin. . . ." 
 
 "The Lord will forgive you, my dearest one. You have 
 done no harm to anyone, you always have been kind. You 
 are wounded because you have been saving others. You 
 will be forgiven — I believe firmly, I know the Lord will 
 forgive you. I will pray for you, all my life I will pray for 
 you. . . ." 
 
 "Yes . . . darling , . . pray for me. I believe and I 
 repent. ... In the morning call the Father-confessor. . . ." 
 
 Evidently he was losing strength. The last words were 
 hardly to be heard. In a few minutes Michail began to 
 moan weakly, to toss his head about on the pillow, and to 
 rave indistinctly, pronouncing short, incomprehensible 
 phrases. His face looked sterner, the nose became sharper 
 and looked as though it were carved in delicate ivory. In 
 the middle of the night the sufferings increased. Mimi 
 rang. The Sister of Mercy who had been nursing him 
 entered quietly, stood a little while over him, and told Mimi 
 that she would call the doctor. The doctor came in, and 
 the sick man became suddenly quiet. The doctor felt his 
 pulse, and without a word looked at Mimi; seeing on her 
 stony face a speechless, terrible despair, he sat down on the 
 chair near the bed. 
 
 Out of the dying lips came one or two moans, disjointed 
 ravings, the name of Mimi. . . . He threw his head back 
 and opened wide his eyes. In the distended pupils fixed on 
 Mimi was the same expression of suffering, the terror of 
 death that she had seen a few hours ago in the eyes of the 
 dying Austrian officer. Then the eyes grew dim, closed, 
 the whole body quivered once, and stretched. . . , 
 
 The doctor touched Mimi's shoulder softly.
 
 THE HEART OF A RUSSIAN 40; 
 
 " The sufferings are over. . . , He is dead." 
 
 Mimi looked at the doctor with a sharp dry look. Her 
 
 face did not move. 
 " Your father is dead, Sister. . . . Come away," said the 
 
 doctor in a louder tone, and took Mimi by the hand.
 
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