Translated from the Russian by Constance Garnett
Russian Literature – Children Books – Russian Poetry – Ivan Turgenev – Acia – Contents
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XXI
When next morning I began to approach the little house I knew so well, I was struck with one circumstance; all the windows in it were open, and the door too stood open; some bits of paper were lying about in front of the doorway; a maidservant appeared with a broom at the door.
I went up to her.…
‘They are gone!’ she bawled, before I had time to inquire whether Gagin was at home.
‘Gone?…’ I repeated. ‘What do you mean by gone? Where?’
‘They went away this morning at six o’clock, and didn’t say where. Wait a minute, I believe you’re Mr. N——, aren’t you?’
‘I’m Mr. N——, yes.’
‘The mistress has a letter for you.’ The maid went upstairs and returned with a letter. ‘Here it is, if you please, sir.’
‘But it’s impossible … how can it be?…’ I was beginning. The servant stared blankly at me, and began sweeping.
I opened the letter. Gagin had written it; there was not one word from Acia. He began with begging me not to be angry at his sudden departure; he felt sure that, on mature consideration, I should approve of his decision. He could find no other way out of a position which might become difficult and dangerous. ‘Yesterday evening,’ he wrote, ‘while we were both waiting in silence for Acia, I realised conclusively the necessity of separation. There are prejudices I respect; I can understand that it’s impossible for you to marry Acia. She has told me everything; for the sake of her peace of mind, I was bound to yield to her reiterated urgent entreaties.’ At the end of the letter he expressed his regret that our acquaintance had come to such a speedy termination, wished me every happiness, shook my hand in friendship, and besought me not to try to seek them out.
‘What prejudices?’ I cried aloud, as though he could hear me; ‘what rubbish! What right has he to snatch her from me?…’ I clutched at my head.
The servant began loudly calling for her mistress; her alarm forced me to control myself. One idea was aflame within me; to find them, to find them wherever they might be. To accept this blow, to resign myself to such a calamity was impossible. I learnt from the landlady that they had got on to a steamer at six o’clock in the morning, and were going down the Rhine. I went to the ticket-office; there I was told they had taken tickets for Cologne. I was going home to pack up at once and follow them. I happened to pass the house of Frau Luise.… Suddenly I heard some one calling me. I raised my head, and at the window of the very room where I had met Acia the day before, I saw the burgomaster’s widow. She smiled her loathsome smile, and called me. I turned away, and was going on; but she called after me that she had something for me. These words brought me to a halt, and I went into her house. How can I describe my feelings when I saw that room again?…
‘By rights,’ began the old woman, showing me a little note; ‘I oughtn’t to have given you this unless you’d come to me of your own accord, but you are such a fine young man. Take it.’
I took the note.
On a tiny scrap of paper stood the following words, hurriedly scribbled in pencil:
‘Good-bye, we shall not see each other again. It is not through pride that I’m going away—no, I can’t help it. Yesterday when I was crying before you, if you had said one word to me, only one word—I should have stayed. You did not say it. It seems it is better so.… Good-bye for ever!’
One word.… Oh, madman that I was! That word … I had repeated it the night before with tears, I had flung it to the wind, I had said it over and over again among the empty fields … but I did not say it to her, I did not tell her I loved her.… Indeed, I could not have uttered that word then. When I met her in that fatal room, I had as yet no clear consciousness of my love; it had not fully awakened even when I was sitting with her brother in senseless and burdensome silence … it flamed up with irrepressible force only a few instants later, when, terrified by the possibility of misfortune, I began to seek and call her … but then it was already too late. ‘But that’s impossible!’ I shall be told; I don’t know whether it’s possible, I know that it’s the truth. Acia would not have gone away if there had been the faintest shade of coquetry in her, and if her position had not been a false one. She could not put up with what any other girl would have endured; I did not realise that. My evil genius had arrested an avowal on my lips at my last interview with Gagin at the darkened window, and the last thread I might have caught at, had slipped out of my fingers.
The same day I went back with my portmanteau packed, to L., and started for Cologne. I remember the steamer was already off, and I was taking a mental farewell of those streets, all those spots which I was never to forget—when I caught sight of Hannchen. She was sitting on a seat near the river. Her face was pale but not sad; a handsome young fellow was standing beside her, laughing and telling her some story; while on the other side of the Rhine my little Madonna peeped out of the green of the old ash-tree as mournfully as ever.
< < < Chapter XX
Chapter XXII > > >
Russian Literature – Children Books – Russian Poetry – Ivan Turgenev – Acia – Contents
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