MISSY'S MOTHER.
Princess Sophia Vasilievna, Missy's mother, had finished her very elaborate and nourishing dinner. (She had it always alone, that no one should see her performing this unpoetical function.) By her couch stood a small table with her coffee, and she was smoking a pachitos. Princess Sophia Vasilievna was a long, thin woman, with dark hair, large black eyes and long teeth, and still pretended to be young.
Her intimacy with the doctor was being talked about. Nekhludoff had known that for some time; but when he saw the doctor sitting by her couch, his oily, glistening beard parted in the middle, he not only remembered the rumours about them, but felt greatly disgusted. By the table, on a low, soft, easy chair, next to Sophia Vasilievna, sat Kolosoff, stirring his coffee. A glass of liqueur stood on the table. Missy came in with Nekhludoff, but did not remain in the room.
"When mamma gets tired of you and drives you away, then come to me," she said, turning to Kolosoff and Nekhludoff, speaking as if nothing had occurred; then she went away, smiling merrily and stepping noiselessly on the thick carpet.
"How do you do, dear friend? Sit down and talk," said Princess Sophia Vasilievna, with her affected but very naturally-acted smile, showing her fine, long teeth--a splendid imitation of what her own had once been. "I hear that you have come from the Law Courts very much depressed. I think it must be very trying to a person with a heart," she added in French.
"Yes, that is so," said Nekhludoff. "One often feels one's own de--one feels one has no right to judge."
"Comme, c'est vrai," she cried, as if struck by the truth of this remark. She was in the habit of artfully flattering all those with whom she conversed. "Well, and what of your picture? It does interest me so. If I were not such a sad invalid I should have been to see it long ago," she said.
"I have quite given it up," Nekhludoff replied drily. The falseness of her flattery seemed as evident to him to-day as her age, which she was trying to conceal, and he could not put himself into the right state to behave politely.
"Oh, that _is_ a pity! Why, he has a real talent for art; I have it from Repin's own lips," she added, turning to Kolosoff.
"Why is it she is not ashamed of lying so?" Nekhludoff thought, and frowned.
When she had convinced herself that Nekhludoff was in a bad temper and that one could not get him into an agreeable and clever conversation, Sophia Vasilievna turned to Kolosoff, asking his opinion of a new play. She asked it in a tone as if Kolosoff's opinion would decide all doubts, and each word of this opinion be worthy of being immortalised. Kolosoff found fault both with the play and its author, and that led him to express his views on art. Princess Sophia Vasilievna, while trying at the same time to defend the play, seemed impressed by the truth of his arguments, either giving in at once, or at least modifying her opinion. Nekhludoff looked and listened, but neither saw nor heard what was going on before him.
Listening now to Sophia Vasilievna, now to Kolosoff, Nekhludoff noticed that neither he nor she cared anything about the play or each other, and that if they talked it was only to gratify the physical desire to move the muscles of the throat and tongue after having eaten; and that Kolosoff, having drunk vodka, wine and liqueur, was a little tipsy. Not tipsy like the peasants who drink seldom, but like people to whom drinking wine has become a habit. He did not reel about or talk nonsense, but he was in a state that was not normal; excited and self-satisfied. Nekhludoff also noticed that during the conversation Princess Sophia Vasilievna kept glancing uneasily at the window, through which a slanting ray of sunshine, which might vividly light up her aged face, was beginning to creep up.
"How true," she said in reference to some remark of Kolosoff's, touching the button of an electric bell by the side of her couch. The doctor rose, and, like one who is at home, left the room without saying anything. Sophia Vasilievna followed him with her eyes and continued the conversation.
"Please, Philip, draw these curtains," she said, pointing to the window, when the handsome footman came in answer to the bell. "No; whatever you may say, there is some mysticism in him; without mysticism there can be no poetry," she said, with one of her black eyes angrily following the footman's movements as he was drawing the curtains. "Without poetry, mysticism is superstition; without mysticism, poetry is--prose," she continued, with a sorrowful smile, still not losing sight of the footman and the curtains. "Philip, not that curtain; the one on the large window," she exclaimed, in a suffering tone. Sophia Vasilievna was evidently pitying herself for having to make the effort of saying these words; and, to soothe her feelings, she raised to her lips a scented, smoking cigarette with her jewel- bedecked fingers.
The broad-chested, muscular, handsome Philip bowed slightly, as if begging pardon; and stepping lightly across the carpet with his broad-calved, strong, legs, obediently and silently went to the other window, and, looking at the princess, carefully began to arrange the curtain so that not a single ray dared fall on her. But again he did not satisfy her, and again she had to interrupt the conversation about mysticism, and correct in a martyred tone the unintelligent Philip, who was tormenting her so pitilessly. For a moment a light flashed in Philip's eyes.
"'The devil take you! What do you want?' was probably what he said to himself," thought Nekhludoff, who had been observing all this scene. But the strong, handsome Philip at once managed to conceal the signs of his impatience, and went on quietly carrying out the orders of the worn, weak, false Sophia Vasilievna.
"Of course, there is a good deal of truth in Lombroso's teaching," said Kolosoff, lolling back in the low chair and looking at Sophia Vasilievna with sleepy eyes; "but he over-stepped the mark. Oh, yes."
"And you? Do you believe in heredity?" asked Sophia Vasilievna, turning to Nekhludoff, whose silence annoyed her. "In heredity?" he asked. "No, I don't." At this moment his whole mind was taken up by strange images that in some unaccountable way rose up in his imagination. By the side of this strong and handsome Philip he seemed at this minute to see the nude figure of Kolosoff as an artist's model; with his stomach like a melon, his bald head, and his arms without muscle, like pestles. In the same dim way the limbs of Sophia Vasilievna, now covered with silks and velvets, rose up in his mind as they must be in reality; but this mental picture was too horrid and he tried to drive it away.
"Well, you know Missy is waiting for you," she said. "Go and find her. She wants to play a new piece by Grieg to you; it is most interesting."
"She did not mean to play anything; the woman is simply lying, for some reason or other," thought Nekhludoff, rising and pressing Sophia Vasilievna's transparent and bony, ringed hand.
Katerina Alexeevna met him in the drawing-room, and at once began, in French, as usual:
"I see the duties of a juryman act depressingly upon you."
"Yes; pardon me, I am in low spirits to-day, and have no right to weary others by my presence," said Nekhludoff.
"Why are you in low spirits?"
"Allow me not to speak about that," he said, looking round for his hat.
"Don't you remember how you used to say that we must always tell the truth? And what cruel truths you used to tell us all! Why do you not wish to speak out now? Don't you remember, Missy?" she said, turning to Missy, who had just come in.
"We were playing a game then," said Nekhludoff, seriously; "one may tell the truth in a game, but in reality we are so bad--I mean I am so bad--that I, at least, cannot tell the truth."
"Oh, do not correct yourself, but rather tell us why _we_ are so bad," said Katerina Alexeevna, playing with her words and pretending not to notice how serious Nekhludoff was.
"Nothing is worse than to confess to being in low spirits," said Missy. "I never do it, and therefore am always in good spirits."
Nekhludoff felt as a horse must feel when it is being caressed to make it submit to having the bit put in its mouth and be harnessed, and to-day he felt less than ever inclined to draw.
"Well, are you coming into my room? We will try to cheer you up."
He excused himself, saying he had to be at home, and began taking leave. Missy kept his hand longer than usual.
"Remember that what is important to you is important to your friends," she said. "Are you coming tomorrow?"
"I hardly expect to," said Nekhludoff; and feeling ashamed, without knowing whether for her or for himself, he blushed and went away.
"What is it? _Comme cela m'intrigue_," said Katerina Alexeevna. "I must find it out. I suppose it is some _affaire d'amour propre; il est tres susceptible, notre cher Mitia_."
"_Plutot une affaire d'amour sale_," Missy was going to say, but stopped and looked down with a face from which all the light had gone--a very different face from the one with which she had looked at him. She would not mention to Katerina Alexeevna even, so vulgar a pun, but only said, "We all have our good and our bad days."
"Is it possible that he, too, will deceive?" she thought; "after all that has happened it would be very bad of him."
If Missy had had to explain what she meant by "after all that has happened," she could have said nothing definite, and yet she knew that he had not only excited her hopes but had almost given her a promise. No definite words had passed between them--only looks and smiles and hints; and yet she considered him as her own, and to lose him would be very hard.
沙斐雅公爵夫人刚吃完她那顿烹调讲究、营养丰富的午饭。她总是单独吃饭，免得人家看见她在做这种毫无诗意的俗事时的模样。她的卧榻旁边有一张小桌，上面摆着咖啡。她在吸烟。沙斐雅公爵夫人身材瘦长，黑头发，牙齿很长，眼睛又黑又大。她总是竭力打扮成年轻的模样。
关于她同医生的关系，有不少流言蜚语。聂赫留朵夫以前没把它放在心上，但今天他不仅想了起来，而且看见那个油光光的大一胡一子分成两半的医生坐在她旁边的软椅上，他感到有说不出的恶心。
沙斐雅公爵夫人身边的矮沙发上坐着柯洛索夫，他正在搅动小桌上的咖啡。小桌上还放着一杯甜酒。
米西陪聂赫留朵夫走到母亲屋里，但她自己没有留下来。
“等一妈一妈一累了，赶你们走，你们再来找我，”她对柯洛索夫和聂赫留朵夫说，那语气仿佛她跟聂赫留朵夫根本没有闹过什么别扭。她快乐地嫣然一笑，悄悄地踩着厚地毯走了出去。
“哦，您好，我的朋友，请坐，来给我们讲讲，”沙斐雅公爵夫人说，脸上挂着一种简直可以乱真的假笑，露出一口同真牙一模一样一精一致好看的长长的假牙。“听说您从法院出来，心里十分愁闷。我明白，一个心地善良的人干这种事是很痛苦的，”她用法语说。
“对，这话一点也不错，”聂赫留朵夫说，“你会常常感到你没有……你没有权利去审判……”
“这话说得太对了！”她仿佛因为他的话正确而深受感动，其实她一向就是这样巧妙地讨好同她谈话的人的。
“那么，您那幅画怎么样了？我对它很感兴趣，”她又说。
“要不是我有病，我早就到府上去欣赏欣赏了。”
“我完全把它丢下了，”聂赫留朵夫干巴巴地回答，今天他觉得她的假意奉承就跟她的老态一样使人一目了然。他怎么也不能勉强装出亲切的样子。
“这可不行！不瞒您说，列宾亲口对我说过，他很有才能，”
她对柯洛索夫说。
“她这样撒谎怎么不害臊，”聂赫留朵夫皱着眉头暗想。
等到沙斐雅公爵夫人确信聂赫留朵夫心情不佳，不可能吸引他参加愉快知趣的谈话，她就把身一子转向柯洛索夫，征求他对一出新戏的意见，仿佛柯洛索夫的意见能消除一切疑问，他的每一句话都将永垂不朽。柯洛索夫对这出戏批评了一通，还乘机发挥了他的艺术观。沙斐雅公爵夫人对他的一精一辟见解大为惊讶，试图为剧本作者辩护几句，但立刻就认输了，最多只能提出折衷看法。聂赫留朵夫看着，听着，可是他所看见和听见的同眼前的情景完全不一样。
聂赫留朵夫时而听听沙斐雅公爵夫人说话，时而听听柯洛索夫说话，他发现：第一，沙斐雅公爵夫人也好，柯洛索夫也好，他们对戏剧都毫无兴趣，彼此也漠不关心，他们之所以要说说话，无非是为了满足饭后活动活动舌头和喉咙肌肉的生理要求罢了；第二，柯洛索夫喝过伏特加、葡萄酒和甜酒，有了几分酒意，但不象难得喝酒的农民那样烂醉如泥，而是嗜酒成癖的那种人的微醺。他身一子并不摇晃，嘴里也不一胡一言乱语，只是情绪有点反常，扬扬自得，十分兴奋；第三，聂赫留朵夫看到，沙斐雅公爵夫人在谈话时总是心神不定地望望窗子，因为有一道一陽一光斜射进窗口，这样就可能把她的老态照得一清二楚。
“这话真对，”她就柯洛索夫的一句评语说，接着按了按一床一边的电铃。
这时医生站起身来，一句话不说就走了出去，仿佛是家里人一样。沙斐雅公爵夫人边说话边目送他出去。
“菲利浦，请您把这窗帘放下来，”那个模样漂亮的侍仆听到铃声走进来，公爵夫人用眼睛示意那窗帘说。
“不，不管您怎么说，其中总有点神秘的地方，没有神秘就不成其为诗，”她说，同时斜着一只黑眼睛怒容满面地瞅着那个正在放窗帘的侍仆。
“没有诗意的神秘主义是迷信，而没有神秘主义的诗就成了散文，”她忧郁地微笑着，眼睛没有离开那正在拉直窗帘的侍仆。
“菲利浦，您不该放那块窗帘，要放大窗子上的窗帘，”沙斐雅公爵夫人痛苦地说，为了说出这两句话得费那么大的劲，她显然很怜惜自己。接着提起戴满戒指的手，把那支冒烟的香气扑鼻的纸烟送到嘴边，使自己平静下来。
胸膛宽阔、肌肉发达的美男子菲利浦仿佛表示歉意似地微微鞠了一躬，在地毯上轻轻迈动两条腿肚发达的强壮的腿，一言不发，顺从地走到另一个窗口，留神瞧着公爵夫人，动手拉窗帘，使她的身上照不到一丝一陽一光。可他还是没有做对，害得苦恼不堪的沙斐雅公爵夫人不得不放下关于神秘主义的谈话，去纠正头脑迟钝、无情地使她烦恼的菲利浦。菲利浦的眼睛里有个火星亮了一亮。
“‘鬼才知道你要怎么样！’——他心里大概在这么说吧，”聂赫留朵夫冷眼旁观着这一幕，暗自想着。不过，菲利浦，这个美男子和大力士，立刻掩藏住不耐烦的态度，沉住气，按照这位筋疲力尽、虚弱不堪而又矫一揉一造作的沙斐雅公爵夫人的话做去。
“达尔文学说自然有部分道理，”柯洛索夫说，伸开手脚懒洋洋地靠在矮沙发上，同时睡眼蒙眬地瞧着沙斐雅公爵夫人，“但他有点过头了。对了。”
“那么您相信遗传吗？”沙斐雅公爵夫人问聂赫留朵夫，对他的沉默感到难受。
“遗传？”聂赫留朵夫反问道。“不，不信，”他嘴里这样说，头脑里不知怎的却充满了各种古怪的形象。他想象大力士和美男子菲利浦赤身露体，旁边则是一丝不挂的柯洛索夫，肚子象个西瓜，脑袋光秃，两条没有肌肉的手臂好象两根枯藤。他还模模糊糊地想象着，沙斐雅公爵夫人用绸缎和丝绒裹一着的肩膀其实是什么样子，不过这种想象太可怕了，他连忙把它驱除。
沙斐雅公爵夫人却用眼睛上一上一下一下打量着他。
“米西可在等您了，”她说。“您到她那里去吧，她要给您弹舒曼的新作呢……挺有意思。”
“她根本不想弹什么琴。她这都是有意撒谎，”聂赫留朵夫暗自想，站起身来，握了握沙斐雅公爵夫人戴满戒指的枯瘦的手。
卡吉琳娜在客厅里迎接他，立刻就同他谈了起来。
“我看得出来，陪审员的职务可把您累坏了，”她照例用法语说。
“哦，对不起，我今天情绪不好，可我也没有权利使别人难受，”聂赫留朵夫说。
“您为什么情绪不好哇？”
“我不愿意说，请您原谅，”他一面说，一面找他的帽子。
“您该记得，您曾经说过做人要永远说实话，而且您还给我们讲过一些极其可怕的事。为什么您今天就不愿意说呢？你还记得吗，米西？”卡吉琳娜对走近来的米西说。
“因为当时只是开开玩笑，”聂赫留朵夫一本正经地回答。
“开开玩笑是可以的。可是在实际生活里我们太糟糕了，我是说，我太糟糕了，至少我无法说实话。”
“您不用改口，最好还是说说，我们糟在什么地方，”卡吉琳娜说。她抓住聂赫留朵夫的语病，仿佛没有注意到他的脸色是那么严肃。
“再没有比承认自己情绪不好更糟的事了，”米西说。“我就从来不承认，因此情绪总是很好。走，到我那儿去吧。让我们来努力驱散你的不佳情绪。”
聂赫留朵夫觉得他好象一匹被人抚一摩着而要它戴上笼头、套一上车子的马。今天他特别不高兴拉车。他道歉说他得回家去，就向大家告辞。米西比平时更长久地握住他的手。
“您要记住，凡是对您重要的事，对您的朋友也同样重要，”她说。“明天您来吗？”
“多半不来，”聂赫留朵夫说着感到害臊，但他自己也不知道，究竟是为自己害臊还是为她害臊。他涨红了脸，匆匆走了。
“这是怎么回事？我可很感兴趣呢，”等聂赫留朵夫一走，卡吉琳娜说。“我一定要弄个明白。准是一件有关体面的事：
我们的米哈伊尔怄气了。”
“恐怕是件不体面的桃色案件吧，”米西原想这样说，但是没有出口，她痴呆呆地瞪着前方，那一陰一郁的神色同刚才望着他时完全不同。不过，即使对卡吉琳娜她也没有把这句酸溜溜的俏皮话说出来，而只是说：
“我们人人都有开心的日子，也有不开心的日子。”
“难道连这个人都要欺骗我吗？”米西暗自想。“事到如今他还要这样，未免太不象话了。”
要是叫米西解释一下她所谓的“事到如今”是什么意思，她准说不出一个所以然来。不过她无疑知道，他不仅使她心里存着希望，而且简直已经答应她了。倒不是说他已经明确对她说过，而是通过眼神、微笑、暗示和默许表明了这一点。她始终认为他是属于她的，要是失掉他，那她真是太难堪了。