Fyodor Dostoyevsky - The Complete Works of Fyodor Dostoyevsky - Novels, Short Stories and Autobiographical Writings

“You are nicer,” said Katya earnestly and decisively. “And I thought you would be nicer.”

“Really? And I keep looking at you. How pretty you are!” “Me! How can you…! You darling!” she added, taking Natasha’s hand with her own, which trembled, and both relapsed into silence, gazing at each other.

“I must tell you, my angel,” Katya broke the silence, “we have only half an hour to be together; Mme. Albert would hardly consent to that, and we have a great deal to discuss…. I want…I must…. Well, I’ll simply ask you — do you care very much for Alyosha?”

“Yes, very much.”

“If so … if you care very much for Alyosha … then … you must care for his happiness too,” she added timidly, in a whisper.

“Yes. I want him to be happy….”

“Yes…. But this is the question — shall I make him happy? Have I the right to say so, for I’m taking him away from you. If you think, and we decide now, that he will be happier with you, then…then….”

“That’s settled already, Katya dear. You see yourself that it’s all settled,” Natasha answered softly, and she bowed her head. It was evidently difficult for her to continue the conversation.

Katya, I fancy, was prepared for a lengthy discussion on the question which of them would make Alyosha happy and which of them ought to give him up. But after Natasha’s answer she understood that everything was settled already and there was nothing to discuss. With her pretty lips half opened, she gazed with sorrow and perplexity at Natasha, still holding her hand.

“And you love him very much?” Natasha asked suddenly. “Yes; and there’s another thing I wanted to ask you, and I came on purpose: tell me, what do you love him for exactly?” “I don’t know,” answered Natasha, and there was a note of bitter impatience in her voice.

“Is he clever; what do you think?” asked Katya.

“No, I simply love him….”

“And I too. I always feel somehow sorry for him.”

“So do I,” answered Natasha.

“What’s to be done with him now? And how he could leave you for me I can’t understand!” cried Katya. “Now that I’ve seen you I can’t understand!”

Natasha looked on the ground and did not answer. Katya was silent for a time, and then getting up from her chair she gently embraced her. They embraced each other and both shed tears. Katya sat on the arm of Natasha’s chair still holding her in her embrace, and began kissing her hands.

“If you only knew how I love you! “ she said, weeping. “Let us be sisters, let us always write to one another … and I will always love you…. I shall love you so…love you so….”

“Did he speak to you of our marriage in June?” asked Natasha.

“Yes. He said you’d consented. That’s all just…to comfort him, isn’t it?”

“Of course.”

“That’s how I understood it. I will love him truly, Natasha, and write to you about everything. It seems as though he will soon be my husband; it’s coming to that; and they all say so. Darling Natasha,

surely you will go … home now?”

Natasha did not answer, but kissed her warmly in silence.

“Be happy!” she said.

“And … and you … and you too!” said Katya.

At that moment the door opened and Alyosha came in. He had been unable to wait the whole half-hour, and seeing them in each other’s arms and both crying, he fell on his knees before Natasha and Katya in impotent anguish.

“Why are you crying?” Natasha said to him. “Because you’re parting from me? But it’s not for long. Won’t you be back in June?”

“And then your marriage,” Katya hastened to add through her tears, also to comfort Alyosha.

“But I can’t leave you, I can’t leave you for one day, Natasha. I shall die without you … You don’t know how precious you are to me now! especially now!”

“Well, then, this is what you must do,” said Natasha, suddenly reviving, “the countess will stay for a little while in Moscow, won’t she?”

“Yes, almost a week,” put in Katya.

“A week! Then what could be better: you’ll escort her to Moscow tomorrow; that will only take one day and then you can come back here at once. When they have to leave Moscow, we will part finally for a month and you will go back to Moscow to accompany them.”

“Yes, that’s it, that’s it … and you will have an extra four days to be together, anyway,” said Katya, enchanted, exchanging a significant glance with Natasha.

I cannot describe Alyosha’s rapture at this new project. He was at once completely comforted. His face was radiant with delight, he embraced Natasha, kissed Katya’s hands, embraced me. Natasha looked at him with a mournful smile, but Katya could not endure it. She looked at me with feverish and glittering eyes, embraced Natasha, and got up to go. At that moment the Frenchwoman appropriately sent a servant to request her to cut the interview short and to tell her that the half-hour agreed upon was over.

Natasha got up. The two stood facing one another, holding hands, and seemed trying to convey with their eyes all that was stored up in their souls.

“We shall never see each other again, I suppose,” said Katya.

“Never, Katya,” answered Natasha.

“Well, then, let us say goodbye!

They embraced each other.

“Do not curse me,” Katya whispered hurriedly, I’ll… always…you may trust me…he shall be happy…. Come, Alyosha, take me down!” she articulated rapidly, taking his arm.

“Vanya,” Natasha said to me in agitation and distress when they had gone, “you follow them … and don’t come back. Alyosha will be with me till the evening, till eight o’clock.But

he can’t stay after. He’s going away. I shall be left alone come at nine o’clock, please!”

When at nine o’clock, leaving Nellie with Alexandra Semyonovna (after the incident with the broken cup), I reached Natasha’s, she was alone and impatiently expecting me. Mavra set the samovar for us. Natasha poured me out tea, sat down on the sofa, and motioned me to come near her. “So everything is over,” she said, looking intently at me. Never shall I forget that look.

“Now our love, too, is over. Half a year of life! And it’s my whole life,” she added, gripping my hands.

Her hand was burning. I began persuading her to wrap herself up and go to bed.

“Presently, Vanya, presently, dear friend. Let me talk and recall things a little. I feel as though I were broken to pieces now…tomorrow I shall see him for the last time at ten o’clock, for the last time!”

“Natasha, you’re in a fever. You’ll be shivering directly.… Do think of yourself.”

“Well, I’ve been waiting for you now, Vanya, for this half-hour, since he went away. And what do you think I’ve been thinking about? What do you think I’ve been wondering? I’ve been wondering, did I love him? Or didn’t I? And what sort of thing our love was? What, do you think it’s absurd, Vanya, that I should only ask myself that now?”

“Don’t agitate yourself, Natasha.”

“You see, Vanya, I decided that I didn’t love him as an equal, as a woman usually loves a man. I loved him like… almost like a mother…. I even fancy that there’s no love in the world in which two love each other like equals. What do you think?”

I looked at her with anxiety, and was afraid that it might be the beginning of brainfever. Something seemed to carry her away. She seemed to be impelled to speech. Some of her words were quite incoherent, and at times she even pronounced them indistinctly. I was very much alarmed.

“He was mine,” she went on. “Almost from the first time I met him I had an overwhelming desire that he should be mine, mine at once, and that he should not look at anyone, should not know anyone but me…. Katya expressed it very well this morning. I loved him, too, as though I were always sorry for him…. I always had an intense longing, a perfect agony of longing when I was alone that he should be always happy, awfully happy. His face (you know the expression of his face, Vanya), I can’t look at it without being moved; no one else has such an expression, and when he laughs it makes me turn cold and shudder… Really!…”