Kabanata Kabanata 1 · Chapter I

. Chapter I

Travellers left and entered our car at every stopping of the train.

Three persons, however, remained, bound, like myself, for the farthest

station: a lady neither young nor pretty, smoking cigarettes, with a

thin face, a cap on her head, and wearing a semi-masculine outer

garment; then her companion, a very loquacious gentleman of about forty

years, with baggage entirely new and arranged in an orderly manner;

then a gentleman who held himself entirely aloof, short in stature,

very nervous, of uncertain age, with bright eyes, not pronounced in

color, but extremely attractive,—eyes that darted with rapidity from

one object to another.

This gentleman, during almost all the journey thus far, had entered

into conversation with no fellow-traveller, as if he carefully avoided

all acquaintance. When spoken to, he answered curtly and decisively,

and began to look out of the car window obstinately.

Yet it seemed to me that the solitude weighed upon him. He seemed to

perceive that I understood this, and when our eyes met, as happened

frequently, since we were sitting almost opposite each other, he turned

away his head, and avoided conversation with me as much as with the

others. At nightfall, during a stop at a large station, the gentleman

with the fine baggage—a lawyer, as I have since learned—got out with

his companion to drink some tea at the restaurant. During their absence

several new travellers entered the car, among whom was a tall old man,

shaven and wrinkled, evidently a merchant, wearing a large

heavily-lined cloak and a big cap. This merchant sat down opposite the

empty seats of the lawyer and his companion, and straightway entered

into conversation with a young man who seemed like an employee in some

commercial house, and who had likewise just boarded the train. At first

the clerk had remarked that the seat opposite was occupied, and the old

man had answered that he should get out at the first station. Thus

their conversation started.

I was sitting not far from these two travellers, and, as the train was

not in motion, I could catch bits of their conversation when others

were not talking.

They talked first of the prices of goods and the condition of business;

they referred to a person whom they both knew; then they plunged into

the fair at Nijni Novgorod. The clerk boasted of knowing people who

were leading a gay life there, but the old man did not allow him to

continue, and, interrupting him, began to describe the festivities of

the previous year at Kounavino, in which he had taken part. He was

evidently proud of these recollections, and, probably thinking that

this would detract nothing from the gravity which his face and manners

expressed, he related with pride how, when drunk, he had fired, at

Kounavino, such a broadside that he could describe it only in the

other’s ear.

The clerk began to laugh noisily. The old man laughed too, showing two

long yellow teeth. Their conversation not interesting me, I left the

car to stretch my legs. At the door I met the lawyer and his lady.

“You have no more time,” the lawyer said to me. “The second bell is

about to ring.”

Indeed I had scarcely reached the rear of the train when the bell

sounded. As I entered the car again, the lawyer was talking with his

companion in an animated fashion. The merchant, sitting opposite them,

was taciturn.

“And then she squarely declared to her husband,” said the lawyer with a

smile, as I passed by them, “that she neither could nor would live with

him, because” . . .

And he continued, but I did not hear the rest of the sentence, my

attention being distracted by the passing of the conductor and a new

traveller. When silence was restored, I again heard the lawyer’s voice.

The conversation had passed from a special case to general

considerations.

“And afterward comes discord, financial difficulties, disputes between

the two parties, and the couple separate. In the good old days that

seldom happened. Is it not so?” asked the lawyer of the two merchants,

evidently trying to drag them into the conversation.

Just then the train started, and the old man, without answering, took

off his cap, and crossed himself three times while muttering a prayer.

When he had finished, he clapped his cap far down on his head, and

said:

“Yes, sir, that happened in former times also, but not as often. In the

present day it is bound to happen more frequently. People have become

too learned.”

The lawyer made some reply to the old man, but the train, ever

increasing its speed, made such a clatter upon the rails that I could

no longer hear distinctly. As I was interested in what the old man was

saying, I drew nearer. My neighbor, the nervous gentleman, was

evidently interested also, and, without changing his seat, he lent an

ear.

“But what harm is there in education?” asked the lady, with a smile

that was scarcely perceptible. “Would it be better to marry as in the

old days, when the bride and bridegroom did not even see each other

before marriage?” she continued, answering, as is the habit of our

ladies, not the words that her interlocutor had spoken, but the words

she believed he was going to speak. “Women did not know whether they

would love or would be loved, and they were married to the first comer,

and suffered all their lives. Then you think it was better so?” she

continued, evidently addressing the lawyer and myself, and not at all

the old man.

“People have become too learned,” repeated the last, looking at the

lady with contempt, and leaving her question unanswered.

“I should be curious to know how you explain the correlation between

education and conjugal differences,” said the lawyer, with a slight

smile.

The merchant wanted to make some reply, but the lady interrupted him.

“No, those days are past.”

The lawyer cut short her words:—

“Let him express his thought.”

“Because there is no more fear,” replied the old man.

“But how will you marry people who do not love each other? Only animals

can be coupled at the will of a proprietor. But people have

inclinations, attachments,” the lady hastened to say, casting a glance

at the lawyer, at me, and even at the clerk, who, standing up and

leaning his elbow on the back of a seat, was listening to the

conversation with a smile.

“You are wrong to say that, madam,” said the old man. “The animals are

beasts, but man has received the law.”

“But, nevertheless, how is one to live with a man when there is no

love?” said the lady, evidently excited by the general sympathy and

attention.

“Formerly no such distinctions were made,” said the old man, gravely.

“Only now have they become a part of our habits. As soon as the least

thing happens, the wife says: ‘I release you. I am going to leave your

house.’ Even among the moujiks this fashion has become acclimated.

‘There,’ she says, ‘here are your shirts and drawers. I am going off

with Vanka. His hair is curlier than yours.’ Just go talk with them.

And yet the first rule for the wife should be fear.”

The clerk looked at the lawyer, the lady, and myself, evidently

repressing a smile, and all ready to deride or approve the merchant’s

words, according to the attitude of the others.

“What fear?” said the lady.

“This fear,—the wife must fear her husband; that is what fear.”

“Oh, that, my little father, that is ended.”

“No, madam, that cannot end. As she, Eve, the woman, was taken from

man’s ribs, so she will remain unto the end of the world,” said the old

man, shaking his head so triumphantly and so severely that the clerk,

deciding that the victory was on his side, burst into a loud laugh.

“Yes, you men think so,” replied the lady, without surrendering, and

turning toward us. “You have given yourself liberty. As for woman, you

wish to keep her in the seraglio. To you, everything is permissible. Is

it not so?”

“Oh, man,—that’s another affair.”

“Then, according to you, to man everything is permissible?”

“No one gives him this permission; only, if the man behaves badly

outside, the family is not increased thereby; but the woman, the wife,

is a fragile vessel,” continued the merchant, severely.

His tone of authority evidently subjugated his hearers. Even the lady

felt crushed, but she did not surrender.

“Yes, but you will admit, I think, that woman is a human being, and has

feelings like her husband. What should she do if she does not love her

husband?”

“If she does not love him!” repeated the old man, stormily, and

knitting his brows; “why, she will be made to love him.”

This unexpected argument pleased the clerk, and he uttered a murmur of

approbation.

“Oh, no, she will not be forced,” said the lady. “Where there is no

love, one cannot be obliged to love in spite of herself.”

“And if the wife deceives her husband, what is to be done?” said the

lawyer.

“That should not happen,” said the old man. “He must have his eyes

about him.”

“And if it does happen, all the same? You will admit that it does

happen?”

“It happens among the upper classes, not among us,” answered the old

man. “And if any husband is found who is such a fool as not to rule his

wife, he will not have robbed her. But no scandal, nevertheless. Love

or not, but do not disturb the household. Every husband can govern his

wife. He has the necessary power. It is only the imbecile who does not

succeed in doing so.”

Everybody was silent. The clerk moved, advanced, and, not wishing to

lag behind the others in the conversation, began with his eternal

smile:

“Yes, in the house of our employer, a scandal has arisen, and it is

very difficult to view the matter clearly. The wife loved to amuse

herself, and began to go astray. He is a capable and serious man.

First, it was with the book-keeper. The husband tried to bring her back

to reason through kindness. She did not change her conduct. She plunged

into all sorts of beastliness. She began to steal his money. He beat

her, but she grew worse and worse. To an unbaptized, to a pagan, to a

Jew (saving your permission), she went in succession for her caresses.

What could the employer do? He has dropped her entirely, and now he

lives as a bachelor. As for her, she is dragging in the depths.”

“He is an imbecile,” said the old man. “If from the first he had not

allowed her to go in her own fashion, and had kept a firm hand upon

her, she would be living honestly, no danger. Liberty must be taken

away from the beginning. Do not trust yourself to your horse upon the

highway. Do not trust yourself to your wife at home.”

At that moment the conductor passed, asking for the tickets for the

next station. The old man gave up his.

“Yes, the feminine sex must be dominated in season, else all will

perish.”

“And you yourselves, at Kounavino, did you not lead a gay life with the

pretty girls?” asked the lawyer with a smile.

“Oh, that’s another matter,” said the merchant, severely. “Good-by,” he

added, rising. He wrapped himself in his cloak, lifted his cap, and,

taking his bag, left the car.