The Diary of a Superfluous Man and Other Stories | Page 8

reflect on his sensations! The happy man is
what the fly is in the sunshine. And so it is that, when I recall those
three weeks, it is almost impossible for me to retain in my mind any
exact and definite impression, all the more so as during that time
nothing very remarkable took place between us.... Those twenty days
are present to my imagination as something warm, and young, and
fragrant, a sort of streak of light in my dingy, greyish life. My memory
becomes all at once remorselessly clear and trustworthy, only from the
instant when, to use the phrase of badly-educated writers, the blows of
destiny began to fall upon me.
Yes, those three weeks.... Not but what they have left some images in
my mind. Sometimes when it happens to me to brood a long while on

that time, some memories suddenly float up out of the darkness of the
past--like stars which suddenly come out against the evening sky to
meet the eyes straining to catch sight of them. One country walk in a
wood has remained particularly distinct in my memory. There were
four of us, old Madame Ozhogin, Liza, I, and a certain Bizmyonkov, a
petty official of the town of O----, a light-haired, good-natured, and
harmless person. I shall have more to say of him later. Mr. Ozhogin had
stayed at home; he had a headache, from sleeping too long. The day
was exquisite; warm and soft. I must observe that pleasure-gardens and
picnic-parties are not to the taste of the average Russian. In district
towns, in the so-called public gardens, you never meet a living soul at
any time of the year; at the most, some old woman sits sighing and
moaning on a green garden seat, broiling in the sun, not far from a
sickly tree--and that, only if there is no greasy little bench in the
gateway near. But if there happens to be a scraggy birchwood in the
neighbourhood of the town, tradespeople and even officials gladly
make excursions thither on Sundays and holidays, with samovars, pies,
and melons; set all this abundance on the dusty grass, close by the road,
sit round, and eat and drink tea in the sweat of their brows till evening.
Just such a wood there was at that time a mile and a half from the town
of O---. We repaired there after dinner, duly drank our fill of tea, and
then all four began to wander about the wood. Bizmyonkov walked
with Madame Ozhogin on his arm, I with Liza on mine. The day was
already drawing to evening. I was at that time in the very fire of first
love (not more than a fortnight had passed since our first meeting), in
that condition of passionate and concentrated adoration, when your
whole soul innocently and unconsciously follows every movement of
the beloved being, when you can never have enough of her presence,
listen enough to her voice, when you smile with the look of a child
convalescent after sickness, and a man of the smallest experience
cannot fail at the first glance to recognise a hundred yards off what is
the matter with you. Till that day I had never happened to have Liza on
my arm. We walked side by side, stepping slowly over the green grass.
A light breeze, as it were, flitted about us between the white stems of
the birches, every now and then flapping the ribbon of her hat into my
face. I incessantly followed her eyes, until at last she turned gaily to me
and we both smiled at each other. The birds were chirping approvingly

above us, the blue sky peeped caressingly at us through the delicate
foliage. My head was going round with excess of bliss. I hasten to
remark, Liza was not a bit in love with me. She liked me; she was
never shy with any one, but it was not reserved for me to trouble her
childlike peace of mind. She walked arm in arm with me, as she would
with a brother. She was seventeen then.... And meanwhile, that very
evening, before my eyes, there began that soft inward ferment which
precedes the metamorphosis of the child into the woman.... I was
witness of that transformation of the whole being, that guileless
bewilderment, that agitated dreaminess; I was the first to detect the
sudden softness of the glance, the sudden ring in the voice--and oh, fool!
oh, superfluous man! For a whole week I had the face to imagine that I,
I was the cause of this transformation!
This was how it happened.
We walked rather a long while, till evening, and talked little. I was
silent, like all inexperienced lovers, and she, probably, had nothing to
say to me.