“And how do you know that you will have no children? Are you so well acquainted with the decrees of the celestial chancery? Be sincere and say that the thought of marriage disgusts you. That will be nearer the truth.”
XII
This conversation greatly perturbed Irene. She tried to assure herself that it was all nonsense; but, somehow, truth seemed to look reproachfully at her through Gzhatski’s words. Many disquieting remembrances came to her mind, and for the first time in her life she made an effort to see herself as others saw her. Life had certainly, till now, never required of her any particular activity or decision. Everything had always arranged itself without trouble. She had lived for years in the flat in which her father had died, and to which she was so accustomed. Her maids had served her mechanically, and whenever one had left, friends or neighbours had immediately recommended another to take her place, so that Irene had hardly noticed the change. When she had given parties, she had ordered the supper at a restaurant, the French manager of which had known exactly what would please her guests.
“Rapportez vous en à moi, Mademoiselle,” he had usually remarked with confidence; “et vos invités n’auront pas lieu de se plaindre.”
In the same way, her French dressmaker had known exactly what she should wear, and Irene had relied entirely on the Frenchwoman’s good taste. In addition, she had really never had time to think out her own dresses, for, each time she had ordered one, her thoughts had rushed off to the trousseau she would some day provide for her future daughter; and the colour and fabric and fashion of all those future dresses, hats, and furs had engrossed her, for the time being, so completely that there had not been a moment left for her own immediate attire!
The greatest amount of energy Irene had ever expended had been in connection with her travels abroad—though, indeed, here also everything seemed to arrange itself without her guidance. On arriving in a strange town, she had never been allowed even to wonder for a moment where she should stay. Having hardly set foot on the railway arrival platform, an energetic porter had invariably seized all her belongings, passed them on to some still more energetic commissionaire, and before she had had time to rub her eyes, she had been packed into an omnibus, and was comfortably driving off to some hotel. She had often reflected that there were indeed numberless kind-hearted people in the world. How many of them troubled themselves to see that she was well dressed, well fed, well housed, etc.! The money that she gave in exchange for these services seemed to her a very small matter indeed in comparison to the enormous efforts they involved.
At one time, she had greatly occupied herself with this thought. Sitting comfortably in her box at the theatre, she had wondered whether it was right that the actors should play, sing, and dance for her amusement; that cab-drivers should freeze for hours outside the theatre doors, on the chance of driving her home; that the night porter of her house should get out of bed to let her in—all this for trifling sums of money that she could never even miss, and that she had received from her father. Was it not an impossible arrangement of society, by which so many people worked for one idler? The question had greatly disturbed Irene’s peace of mind; but just at that time she had been asked to join a society for providing poor young mothers with layettes for their babies. The object of this society was pleasing to Irene, and all her disturbing thoughts had lost themselves in an enormous ardour for knitting babies’ counterpanes. There is scarcely another manual occupation that needs as little attention as knitting. One can knit a whole counterpane so mechanically that one has hardly noticed how it happened. And so, Irene had knitted and knitted during all the long winter evenings, while her thoughts had rushed from one fancy to another. She had reorganized the Russian army and fleet; she had thought out schools of a new type, from which issued the most remarkable, active, energetic people; she had rebuilt Petrograd; she had planned new railways and laid out a new network of canals, uniting all Russia’s inland seas.
And all the time, the counterpanes had grown and grown, till at last Irene had been able proudly to present an enormous number of completed ones to the society. She had been happy in the thought that if the workmen of Petrograd provided her with all the necessaries of life, she in return provided their children with counterpanes. In this way, justice and an even balance had been restored.