A Nervous Breakdown Read online

  Kovrin read on, but he understood nothing and gave up. That same, agreeable feeling of excitement he had had when dancing his mazurka and listening to the music made him weary now and stirred a multitude of thoughts. He stood up and started walking round the room, thinking about the black monk. It occurred to him that if he alone had seen that strange, supernatural apparition, then he must be ill and a prey to hallucinations. This thought frightened him, but not for long.

  ‘In fact I feel fine. I’m not harming anyone. So that means there’s nothing bad in these hallucinations,’ he thought and felt fine again.

  He sat on the couch and clasped his head to hold in check that incomprehensible feeling of joy which filled his whole being; then he paced up and down again and started to work. But the ideas he found in the book left him unsatisfied. He wanted something gigantic, immense, staggering. Towards dawn he undressed and reluctantly got into bed. After all, he had to sleep!

  When he heard Yegor Semyonych’s footsteps receding into the garden, Kovrin rang the bell and told the servant to bring him some wine. After enjoying a few glasses of claret his senses grew dim and he fell asleep.

  IV

  Yegor Semyonych and Tanya had frequent quarrels and said nasty things to each other. One morning, after a squabble about something, Tanya burst into tears and went to her room. She didn’t appear for lunch, or tea. At first Yegor Semyonych walked around solemnly and pompously, as if he wanted to make it known that he considered justice and order more important than anything else in the world. But he could not keep up the pose for long and lost heart. Sadly he wandered through the park, sighing the whole time, ‘Ah, Good Lord, Good Lord!’ and he did not eat a thing for dinner. Finally, full of guilt and remorse, he knocked on the locked door and called out timidly, ‘Tanya! Tanya?’

  A weak voice, drained by tears, but still determined, replied from behind the door, ‘Leave me alone, I beg you.’

  The anguish of the master and mistress was reflected all over the house, even in the gardeners. Kovrin was immersed in his interesting work, but in the end he too felt bored and embarrassed. Trying to dispel the prevailing unpleasant atmosphere, he decided to intervene and towards evening knocked at Tanya’s door. She let him in.

  ‘Come now, you should be ashamed!’ he joked, looking in amazement at Tanya’s tear-stained, mournful face that was covered in red blotches. ‘Surely it’s not as bad as all that? Now, now!’

  ‘If you only knew how he torments me!’ she said and copious, bitter tears welled from her large eyes. ‘He’s tormented the life out of me,’ she went on, wringing her hands. ‘I didn’t say anything to him … nothing at all. I only said we don’t need to keep on extra workers when … when we can engage day-labourers if we want to. You know, our gardeners have been standing idle for a whole week. That’s all I said, but he shouted and said many insulting, deeply offensive things. Why?’

  ‘Now, that’s enough, enough,’ Kovrin said, smoothing her hair. ‘You’ve had your quarrel and a good cry, and that’s enough. You must stop being angry now, it’s not good … especially as he loves you so very much.’

  ‘He’s ruined my whole life,’ Tanya continued, sobbing. ‘All I hear is insults and abuse … He thinks there’s no place for me in this house. Agreed. He’s right. I’ll leave this place tomorrow, get a job as a telegraphist … That’s what I’ll do.’

  ‘Come now, there’s no need to cry, Tanya. Please don’t, my dear … You’re both quick-tempered, easily upset, and you’re both to blame. Come on, I’ll make peace between you.’

  Kovrin spoke with feeling, convincingly, but she kept on crying, her shoulders twitching and her hands clenched as if something really terrible had happened to her. He felt all the more sorry for her because, although her grief was nothing serious, she was suffering deeply. How little it took to make this creature unhappy all day long, for her whole life perhaps! As he comforted Tanya, Kovrin thought that he wouldn’t find two people who loved him so much as Tanya and her father in a month of Sundays. Having lost his father and mother as a small child, but for these two, probably, he would never have known true affection until his dying day. He would never have known that simple, disinterested love that is felt only for those who are very close, for blood relations. And he felt that this weeping, trembling girl’s nerves were reacting to his own half-sick, over-wrought nerves like iron to a magnet. He could never have loved a healthy, strong, rosy-cheeked woman, but that pale, weak, unhappy Tanya attracted him.

  And he gladly stroked her hair and shoulders, pressed her hands and wiped away the tears … Finally she stopped crying. For a long time she complained about her father and her hard, intolerable life in that house, imploring Kovrin to see things as she did. Then gradually, she began to smile and said sighing that God had given her such a bad character. In the end she laughed out loud, called herself a fool and ran out of the room.

  Shortly afterwards, when Kovrin went into the garden, Yegor Semyonych and Tanya were strolling side by side along the path as if nothing had happened. They were both eating rye bread with salt, as they were hungry.

  V

  Pleased with his success as peacemaker, Kovrin went into the park. As he sat pondering on a bench he heard the clatter of carriages and a woman’s laughter – guests had arrived. As the shadows of evening fell across the garden he heard the vague sounds of a violin, voices singing, which reminded him of the black monk. Where, in what country or on what planet was that optical absurdity wandering now?

  Hardly had he recalled that legend, conjuring up the dark spectre he had seen in the rye field, when quite silently, without the slightest rustling, a man of medium height, his grey head uncovered, all in black, barefoot like a beggar, his black eyebrows sharply defined on his deathly white face, slipped out from behind the pine trees just opposite. Nodding his head welcomingly, this beggar or pilgrim silently came over to the bench and Kovrin could see it was the black monk. For a minute they both eyed each other – Kovrin in amazement, the monk in a friendly way, with that same rather crafty look.

  ‘You’re just a mirage,’ Kovrin murmured. ‘Why are you here, sitting still like that? It doesn’t tally with the legend.’

  ‘Never mind,’ the monk answered softly after a brief pause, turning his face towards him. ‘The legend, myself, the mirage are all products of your overheated imagination. I’m an apparition …’

  ‘That means you don’t exist?’ Kovrin asked.

  ‘Think what you like,’ the monk said with a weak smile. ‘I exist in your imagination, and your imagination is part of nature, so I exist in nature too.’

  ‘You have a very aged, clever and extremely expressive face, as if you really have lived more than a thousand years,’ Kovrin said. ‘I didn’t know my imagination could create such phenomena. But why are you looking at me so rapturously? Do you like me?’

  ‘Yes. You’re one of the few who are rightly called God’s Chosen. You serve Eternal Truth. Your ideas, intentions, your amazing erudition, your whole life – all bear the divine, heavenly stamp, since they are devoted to the Rational and the Beautiful, that is, to the Eternal.’

  ‘You mentioned “Eternal Truth” … But is that within men’s reach, do they need it if there’s no such thing as eternal life?’

  ‘There is eternal life,’ the monk said.

  ‘Do you believe in immortality?’

  ‘Yes, of course. A great, bright future awaits you human beings. And the more men there are like you on earth, the quicker will this future come about. Without men like you serving the highest principles, living intelligently and freely, humanity would be worthless. In the normal course of events it would have to wait a long time for its life upon earth to come to an end. But you will lead it into the Kingdom of Eternal Truth a few thousand years ahead of time – this is your noble service. You are the embodiment of God’s blessing which has come to dwell among men.’

  ‘But what is the purpose of eternal life?’ asked Kovrin.

  ‘Like a
ny other kind of life – pleasure. True pleasure is knowledge, and eternal life will afford innumerable and inexhaustible sources of knowledge: this is the meaning of the saying, “In my Father’s house are many mansions.” ’

  ‘If you only knew how enjoyable it is listening to you!’ Kovrin said, rubbing his hands with pleasure.

  ‘I’m very pleased.’

  ‘But I know one thing: when you’ve gone I’ll start worrying whether you really do exist. You’re a phantom, a hallucination. Does that mean I’m mentally ill, insane?’

  ‘Even if that were so, why let it bother you? You’re ill from overworking, you’ve worn yourself out. I’m trying to say that you’ve sacrificed your health for an idea and it won’t be long before you sacrifice your very life to it. What could be better? All noble spirits blessed with gifts from on high have this as their aim.’

  ‘If I know that I’m mentally ill, how can I have any faith in myself?’

  ‘But how do you know that men of genius, in whom the whole world puts its faith, haven’t seen ghosts too? Nowadays scientists say genius is akin to madness. My friend, only the mediocre, the common herd are healthy and normal. Thoughts about an age of neurosis, overwork, degeneracy and so on can seriously worry only those for whom the purpose of life lies in the present – that is, the common herd.’

  ‘The Romans used to speak of mens sana in corpore sano.’

  ‘Not all that the Greeks and Romans said is true. Heightened awareness, excitement, ecstasy – everything that distinguishes prophets, poets, martyrs to an idea, from ordinary people is hostile to man’s animal side – I mean, his physical health. I repeat: if you want to be healthy and normal, go and join the herd.’

  ‘It’s strange the way you repeat things I think of myself very often,’ Kovrin said. ‘It’s as though you spied out and eavesdropped on my most secret thoughts. But let’s not talk about me. What do you mean by Eternal Truth?’

  The monk did not answer. Kovrin looked at him and could not make out his face – its features had become hazy and indistinct. Then the monk’s head and arms began to disappear. His torso merged with the bench and the twilight shadows, and he vanished completely.

  ‘The hallucination’s over!’ Kovrin said laughing. ‘A pity!’

  He went back to the house happy and cheerful. The monk’s few words had flattered not his pride, but his very soul, his whole being. To be one of the Chosen, to serve Eternal Truth, to stand in the ranks of those who, a thousand years ahead of time, would make men worthy of the Kingdom of God, thereby saving them from several thousand years of needless struggle, sin and suffering, to surrender, to surrender everything – youth, strength, health – to an idea, to be ready to die for the common weal – what a noble, blissful destiny! The memory of his pure, chaste, hardworking past flashed through his mind; he remembered what he had learned, what he had taught others, and he decided that the monk had not been exaggerating.

  As he went through the park he met Tanya. She was wearing a different dress now.

  ‘So you’re here,’ she said. ‘We’ve all been looking for you, looking everywhere … But what’s the matter?’ she asked in surprise, studying his radiant, glowing face. ‘How strange you are, Andrey.’

  ‘I’m contented, Tanya,’ Kovrin said as he put his hands on her shoulders. ‘I’m more than contented, I’m happy! Tanya, dear Tanya, you’re such a likeable person! Dear Tanya, I’m so glad, so glad!’

  He kissed both her hands passionately and went on, ‘I’ve just experienced some bright, wonderful, divine moments. But I can’t tell you everything, because you’d call me mad or disbelieve me. Let’s talk about you. Dear, wonderful Tanya! I love you. I’m used to loving you now. Having you near me, meeting you ten times a day has become a spiritual necessity. I don’t know how I will cope when I go home.’

  ‘Well!’ Tanya laughed. ‘You’ll forget about us in a couple of days. We’re small fry and you’re a great man.’

  ‘No, let’s be serious!’ he said. ‘I shall take you with me, Tanya. Will you say yes? Will you come with me? Will you be mine?’

  ‘Well!’ Tanya said and felt like laughing again. But she could not and her face came out in red blotches. Her breath came faster and she quickly went away, not towards the house, but further into the park. ‘I hadn’t given it any thought … I hadn’t thought …’ she said, wringing her hands despairingly.

  But Kovrin kept following her, still speaking with that same radiant, rapturous expression on his face, ‘I want a love which will completely transport me, and only you can give me that love, Tanya! I’m happy, so happy!’

  Quite stunned, she stooped, shrank and suddenly seemed to have aged ten years. But he found her beautiful and shouted out in delight, ‘How beautiful she is!’

  VI

  When he heard from Kovrin that not only were they enamoured of each other, but that there was even going to be a wedding, Yegor Semyonych paced up and down for a long time, trying to conceal his excitement. His hands started shaking, his neck swelled up and turned crimson. He ordered his racing droshky to be harnessed and drove off somewhere. When Tanya saw him whipping the horses and pulling his cap almost onto his ears, she realized the kind of mood he was in, locked herself in her room and cried all day long.

  The peaches and plums in the hothouses were already ripe. The packing and despatch of this delicate, temperamental cargo required a great deal of care, labour and trouble. Because of the very hot, dry summer, each tree needed watering, which involved a great deal of the gardeners’ time. Swarms of caterpillars appeared, which the gardeners – even Yegor Semyonych and Tanya – squashed with their bare fingers, much to Kovrin’s disgust. Besides this, they had to take orders for fruit and trees for the autumn and conduct an extensive correspondence. And at the most critical time, when no one seemed to have a moment to spare, the harvesting started and this took half the workforce away from the garden. Extremely sunburnt, worn-out and in a dreadful mood, Yegor Semyonych would tear off into the garden, then out into the fields, shouting that they were tearing him to pieces and that he was going to put a bullet in his head.

  And now there were rows about the trousseau, to which the Pesotskys attached no little importance. The snipping of scissors, the rattle of sewing-machines, the fumes from the hot-irons, the tantrums of the dressmaker – a nervous, touchy woman – had everyone’s head in a whirl in that household. And as ill luck would have it, guests turned up every day and had to be amused, fed, even put up for the night. But all this toil passed by unnoticed, as though in a mist. Tanya felt as if she had been caught quite unawares by love and happiness, although, from the age of fourteen, she had been somehow sure that Kovrin would marry her, and no one else. She was amazed, bewildered and could not believe what had happened. One moment she would feel such joy that she wanted to fly up into the clouds and offer prayers to God; another time she would suddenly remember that she would have to leave her little nest and part from her father in August; on another occasion the thought would come to her, God knows from where, that she was an insignificant, trivial sort of woman, unworthy of a great man like Kovrin, and she would go to her room, lock the door and cry bitterly for several hours. When they had visitors she would suddenly find Kovrin extremely handsome and think that all the women were in love with him and jealous of her. And her heart would fill with rapturous pride, as if she had conquered the whole world. But he only had to give some young woman a welcoming smile and she would tremble with jealousy, go to her room – and there would be tears again. These new feelings took complete hold of her, she helped her father as though she were a machine and was blind to peaches, caterpillars, workers, oblivious of how swiftly the time was passing.

  Almost exactly the same thing was happening to Yegor Semyonych. He worked from morning till night, was always hurrying off somewhere, would boil over and lose his temper, but all this in some kind of magical half-sleep. He seemed to be two different persons at once: one was the real Yegor Semyonych, listening to the he
ad gardener Ivan Karlych’s reports of things going wrong, flaring up and clutching his head in despair; the other was not the real Yegor Semyonych, a half-intoxicated person who would suddenly break off a conversation about business in the middle of a sentence, tap the head gardener on the shoulder and mutter, ‘Whatever you say, good stock matters. His mother was an amazing, noble, brilliant woman. It was a pleasure looking at her kind, bright, pure face, the face of an angel. She was excellent at drawing, wrote poetry, spoke five languages, sang … The poor woman, God rest her soul, died of consumption.’

  The unreal Yegor Semyonych would continue after a brief silence, ‘When he was a boy, growing up in my house, he had the same angelic, bright, kind face. And his look, his movements and his conversation were like his mother’s – gentle and refined. And as for his intellect, he always staggered us with his intellect. By the way, he didn’t become an MA for nothing, oh no! But you wait and see, Ivan Karlych, what he’ll be like in ten years’ time! There’ll be no touching him!’

  But at this point the real Yegor Semyonych would suddenly take charge, pull a terrifying face, clutch his head and shout, ‘The swines! They’ve polluted, fouled, frozen everything solid! The garden’s ruined! It’s finished!’

  But Kovrin kept on working with his former enthusiasm and did not notice all the commotion around him. Love only added fuel to the flames. After every meeting with Tanya he would return to his room feeling happy, exultant and would pick up a book or manuscript with the same passion with which he had just kissed Tanya and declared his love. What the black monk had told him about God’s Chosen, Eternal Truth, humanity’s glittering future and so on lent his work a special, remarkable significance and filled his heart with pride and awareness of his own outstanding qualities. Once or twice a week he met the black monk in the park or in the house, had a talk with him, but it did not frighten him. On the contrary, it delighted him, as he was now firmly convinced that these kinds of visions visited only the select few, only outstanding men who had dedicated themselves to an idea.