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It was Polina, it was all Polina! Perhaps I shouldn't have behaved hke a schoolboy if it hadn't been for her. Who knows? perhaps I did it out of despair (stupid as it seems, though, to reason like that). And I don't understand, I don't understand what there is fine in her! She is fine, though; she is; I beheve she's fine. She drives other men off their heads, too. She's taU and graceful, only very slender. It seems to me you could tie her in a knot or bend her double. Her foot is long and narrow—^tormenting. Tormenting is just what it is. Her hair has a reddish tint. Her eyes are regular cat's eyes, but how proudly and disdainfully she can look with them. Four months ago, when I had only just come, she was talking hotly for a long while one evening with De Grieux in the drawing-room, and looked at him in such a way . . . that afterwards, when I went up to my room to go to bed, I imagined that she must have just given him a slap in the face. She stood facing him and looked at him. It was from that evening that I loved her.
To come to the point, however.
I stepped off the path into the avenue, and stood waiting for the Baron and the Baroness. When they were five paces from me I took off my hat and bowed.
I remember the Baroness was wearing a light grey dress of immense circumference, with flounces, a crinoline, and a train. She was short and exceptionally stout, with such a fearful double chin that she seemed to have no neck. Her face was crimson. Her eyes were small, spiteful and insolent. She walked as though she were doing an honour to all beholders. The Baron was lean and tall. Like most Germans, he had a wry face covered with thousands of fine wrinkles, and wore spectacles; he was about forty-five. His legs seemed to start from his chest: that's a sign of race. He was as proud as a peacock. He was rather clumsy. There was something like a sheep in the expression of his face that would pass with them for profundity.
All this flashed upon my sight in three seconds.
My bow and the hat in my hand gradually arrested their attention. The Baron slightly knitted his brows. The Baroness simply sailed straight at me.
"Madame la baroitme," I articulated distinctly, emphasising each word, "j'ai I'ho
Then I bowed, replaced my hat, and walked past the Baron, turning my face towards him with a polite smile.
She had told me to take off my hat, but I had bowed and
behaved like an impudent schoolboy on my own account. Goodness knows what impelled me to I I felt as though I were plunging into space.
"Hdn!" cried, or ' rather croaked, the Baron, turning towards me with angry surprise.
I turned and remained in respectful expectation, still gazing at him with a smile. He was evidently perplexed, and raised his eyebrows as high as they would go. His face grew darker and darker. The Baroness, too, turned towards me, and she, too, stared in wrathful surprise. The passers-by began to look on. Some even stop>ped.
"Hdn!" the Baron croaked again, with redoubled guttural-ness and redoubled anger.
"Ja wohU" I drawled, still looking him straight in the face.
"Sind sie rasend?" he cried, waving his stick and begi
"Ja wo-o-ahU" I shouted suddenly at the top of my voice, drawling the o like the Berliners, who use the expression ja wohl in every sentence, and drawl the letter o more or less according to the shade of their thought or feeling.
The Baron and Baroness turned away quickly and almost ran away from me in terror. Of the spectators, some were talking, others were gazing at me in amazement. I don't remember very clearly, though.
I turned and walked at my ordinary pace to Polina Alexan-drovna.
But when I was within a hundred paces of her seat, I saw her get up and walk with the children towards the hotel.
I overtook her at the door.
"I have performed . . . the foolery," I said, when I reached her.
"Well, what of it? Now you can get out of the scrape," she answered. She walked upstciirs without even glancing at me.
I spent the whole evening walking about the park. I crossed the park and then the wood beyond and walked into another state. In a cottage I had an omelette and some wine; for that idyllic repast they extorted a whole thaler and a half.
It was eleven o'clock before I returned home. I was at once summoned before the General.
Our party occupied two suites in the hotel; they have four
rooms. The first is a bag room—a drawing-room with a piano in it. The next, also a large room, is the General's study. Here he was awaiting me, standing in the middle of the room in a majestic pose. De Grieux sat lolling on the sofa.
"Allow me to ask you, sir, what have you been about?" began the General, addressing me.
"I should be glad if you would go straight to the point. General," said I. "You probably mean to refer to my encounter with a German this morning?"
"A German? That German was Baron Burmerhelm, a very important personage I You insulted him and the Baroness."
"Not in the least."
"You alarmed them, sir!" cried the General.
"Not a bit of it. When I was in Berlin the sound was for ever in my ears of that ja wohl, continually repeated at every word and disgustingly drawled put by them. When I met them in the avenue that ja wokl suddenly came into my mind, I don't know why, and—well, it had cin irritating effect on me . . . Besides, the Baroness, who has met me three times, has the habit of walking straight at me as though I were a worm who might be trampled underfoot. You must admit that I, too, may have my proper pride. I took off my hat and said poUtely (I assure you I said it politely): 'Madame, j'ca I'hc
I must own I was intensely delighted at this extremely school-boyish explanation. I had a strange desire to make tiie story as absurd as possible in the telling.
And as I went on, I got more and more to relish it.
"Are you laughing at me?" cried the General. He turned to the Frenchman and explained to him in French tha t I was positively going out of my way to provoke a scandal! De Grieux laughed contemptuously and shrugged his shoulders.
"Oh, don't imagine that; it was not so at all I" I cried. "My conduct was wrong, of course, I confess that with the utmcst candour. My behaviour may even be called a stupid and improper schoolboy prank, but—nothing more. And do you know. General, I heartily regret it. But there is one circumstance which, to my mind at least, almost saves me from repentance. Lately, for the last fortnight, indeed, I've not been feeling well: I have felt ill, nervous, irritable, moody, and on
some occasions I lose all control of myself. Really, I've sometimes had an intense impulse to attack the Marquis de Grieux and . . . However, there's no need to say, he might be offended. In short, it's the sign of illness. I don't know whether the Baroness Burmerhelm will take this fact into consideration when I beg her pardon (for I intend to apologise). I imagine she will not consider it, especially as that line of excuse has been somewhat abused in legal dirles of late. Lawyers have taken to arguing in criminal cases that their dients were not responsible at the moment of their crime, and that it was a form of disease. 'He killed him,' they say, 'and has no memory of it.' And only imagine. General, the medical authorities support them— and actually maintain that there are illnesses, temporary abrara-tions in which a man scarcely remembers anything, or has only a half or a quarter of his memory. But the Baron and Baroness are people of the older generation; besides, they are Prussian junkers and landowners, and so are probably unaware of this advance in the wodd of medical jurisprudence, and wiU not accept my explanation. What do you think, General?"