and the trees grow tall, the way the Lord intended.”
“And he even calls God to witness!” was Miss Wrigley’s comment on this doctrine. “Men are only interested in finding excuses for not doing anything.”
The quarrel, however, was a rather lazy one, with no true heat to it, and in any case the close August evening was not conducive to anger.
There was a lengthy pause, perfectly relaxed, and then Naina Georgievna suddenly spoke, not entirely to the point and addressing no one in particular: “Yes, men are cruel and criminal, but without them there would be absolutely nothing in the world to do.”
Throughout the meal the general’s granddaughter had remained sad and thoughtful, not taking part in the general discussion and apparently not even listening to it. Pelagia had kept looking at her, trying to understand whether this was how she always behaved or if something special was happening to Naina Georgievna today. Perhaps the explanation for her strange aloofness lay in the conversation of which the nun had overheard a fragment just before supper?
And Pelagia marveled at the capricious way in which Providence had treated the brother and sister, arranging the same set of features quite differently. Pyotr Georgievich, still a young man (he looked about thirty years old), had black hair, eyebrows and eyelashes bleached by the sun, and a face as white as flour, with a large red nose stuck clumsily at its center. But in Naina Georgievna the distribution of colors was the precise opposite: golden hair, black brows and eyelashes, tender-pink cheeks, and a fine-chiselled, charmingly aquiline little nose. A beauty like that was certainly capable of turning a man’s head and driving him to commit any act of insanity. From Pelagia’s point of view, the young lady’s looks were rather spoiled by the stubborn curve of her mouth, but it is very probable that this broken line was the feature that drove men out of their minds more certainly than all the others.
Naina Georgievna’s position at Drozdovka appeared to be rather special—the incomprehensible phrase that she had dropped was followed by a tense silence, as if everybody was waiting for her to add something else.
And Naina Georgievna did add something, but since it followed the train of her own inner thoughts, it did not make things any clearer: “Love is always an evil, even if it is happy, because that happiness is inevitably built on someone else’s misery.”
Shiryaev jerked his head as if he had been struck and Poggio smiled in a strangely forced fashion, while the rich man Sytnikov asked: “In what way do you mean, if I might ask?” And he gathered up his gray-streaked reddish beard between his strong, short fingers.
“There is no love without betrayal,” Naina Georgievna continued, staring straight ahead, her black eyes wide. “Because the one who loves betrays his parents, betrays his friends, betrays the entire world for the sake of one person who is perhaps not worthy of this love. Yes, love is also a crime, it is absolutely obvious…”
“What do you mean when you say ‘also’?” Sytnikov asked with a shrug. “What is this strange manner you have of not saying everything you mean?”
“She’s just trying to sound interesting,” the brother snorted. “She read somewhere that modern young ladies always speak in riddles, and she’s practicing on us.”
Just then Tanya came up to Pyotr Georgievich to pour his tea, and Pelagia noticed the young man give her fingers a momentary squeeze.
“Thank you, Tatyana Zotovna,” he said affectionately, and the maid blushed, casting a rapid glance at Marya Afanasievna. “And what do you think about love?”
“It’s not our place to think,” Tanya babbled. “There are educated folk to do that.”
“I must say, our nun has a quite excellent appetite,” observed Krasnov, indicating the empty plate from which Pelagia had just taken the final slice of ham. “Is it permitted to eat meat,
“And he even calls God to witness!” was Miss Wrigley’s comment on this doctrine. “Men are only interested in finding excuses for not doing anything.”
The quarrel, however, was a rather lazy one, with no true heat to it, and in any case the close August evening was not conducive to anger.
There was a lengthy pause, perfectly relaxed, and then Naina Georgievna suddenly spoke, not entirely to the point and addressing no one in particular: “Yes, men are cruel and criminal, but without them there would be absolutely nothing in the world to do.”
Throughout the meal the general’s granddaughter had remained sad and thoughtful, not taking part in the general discussion and apparently not even listening to it. Pelagia had kept looking at her, trying to understand whether this was how she always behaved or if something special was happening to Naina Georgievna today. Perhaps the explanation for her strange aloofness lay in the conversation of which the nun had overheard a fragment just before supper?
And Pelagia marveled at the capricious way in which Providence had treated the brother and sister, arranging the same set of features quite differently. Pyotr Georgievich, still a young man (he looked about thirty years old), had black hair, eyebrows and eyelashes bleached by the sun, and a face as white as flour, with a large red nose stuck clumsily at its center. But in Naina Georgievna the distribution of colors was the precise opposite: golden hair, black brows and eyelashes, tender-pink cheeks, and a fine-chiselled, charmingly aquiline little nose. A beauty like that was certainly capable of turning a man’s head and driving him to commit any act of insanity. From Pelagia’s point of view, the young lady’s looks were rather spoiled by the stubborn curve of her mouth, but it is very probable that this broken line was the feature that drove men out of their minds more certainly than all the others.
Naina Georgievna’s position at Drozdovka appeared to be rather special—the incomprehensible phrase that she had dropped was followed by a tense silence, as if everybody was waiting for her to add something else.
And Naina Georgievna did add something, but since it followed the train of her own inner thoughts, it did not make things any clearer: “Love is always an evil, even if it is happy, because that happiness is inevitably built on someone else’s misery.”
Shiryaev jerked his head as if he had been struck and Poggio smiled in a strangely forced fashion, while the rich man Sytnikov asked: “In what way do you mean, if I might ask?” And he gathered up his gray-streaked reddish beard between his strong, short fingers.
“There is no love without betrayal,” Naina Georgievna continued, staring straight ahead, her black eyes wide. “Because the one who loves betrays his parents, betrays his friends, betrays the entire world for the sake of one person who is perhaps not worthy of this love. Yes, love is also a crime, it is absolutely obvious…”
“What do you mean when you say ‘also’?” Sytnikov asked with a shrug. “What is this strange manner you have of not saying everything you mean?”
“She’s just trying to sound interesting,” the brother snorted. “She read somewhere that modern young ladies always speak in riddles, and she’s practicing on us.”
Just then Tanya came up to Pyotr Georgievich to pour his tea, and Pelagia noticed the young man give her fingers a momentary squeeze.
“Thank you, Tatyana Zotovna,” he said affectionately, and the maid blushed, casting a rapid glance at Marya Afanasievna. “And what do you think about love?”
“It’s not our place to think,” Tanya babbled. “There are educated folk to do that.”
“I must say, our nun has a quite excellent appetite,” observed Krasnov, indicating the empty plate from which Pelagia had just taken the final slice of ham. “Is it permitted to eat meat,
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