Part 61

“I would not DO in Cambridge,” she said with an infinitesimal glance at Prothero.

“Mr. Benham,” she said, and her manner had the gravity of a woman of affairs, “now do you see me in Cambridge? Now do you see me? Kept outside the walls? In a little DATCHA? With no occupation? Just to amuse him.”

And on another occasion when Prothero was not with her she achieved still completer lucidity.

“I would come if I thought he wanted me to come,” she said. “But you see if I came he would not want me to come. Because then he would have me and so he wouldn't want me. He would just have the trouble. And I am not sure if I should be happy in Cambridge. I am not sure I should be happy enough to make him happy. It is a very learned and intelligent and charming society, of course; but here, THINGS HAPPEN. At Cambridge nothing happens--there is only education. There is no revolution in Cambridge; there are not even sinful people to be sorry for.... And he says himself that Cambridge people are particular. He says they are liberal but very, very particular, and perhaps I could not always act my part well. Sometimes I am not always well behaved. When there is music I behave badly sometimes, or when I am bored. He says the Cambridge people are so liberal that they do not mind what you are, but he says they are so particular that they mind dreadfully how you are what you are.... So that it comes to exactly the same thing....”

“Anna Alexievna,” said Benham suddenly, “are you in love with Prothero?”

Her manner became conscientiously scientific.

“He is very kind and very generous--too generous. He keeps sending for more money--hundreds of roubles, I try to prevent him.”

“Were you EVER in love?”

“Of course. But it's all gone long ago. It was like being hungry. Only very fine hungry. Exquisite hungry.... And then being disgusted....”

“He is in love with you.”

“What is love?” said Anna. “He is grateful. He is by nature grateful.” She smiled a smile, like the smile of a pale Madonna who looks down on her bambino.

“And you love nothing?”

“I love Russia--and being alone, being completely alone. When I am dead perhaps I shall be alone. Not even my own body will touch me then.”

Then she added, “But I shall be sorry when he goes.”

Afterwards Benham talked to Prothero alone. “Your Anna,” he said, “is rather wonderful. At first, I tell you now frankly I did not like her very much, I thought she looked 'used,' she drank vodka at lunch, she was gay, uneasily; she seemed a sham thing. All that was prejudice. She thinks; she's generous, she's fine.”

“She's tragic,” said Prothero as though it was the same thing.

He spoke as though he noted an objection. His next remark confirmed this impression. “That's why I can't take her back to Cambridge,” he said.

“You see, Benham,” he went on, “she's human. She's not really feminine. I mean, she's--unsexed. She isn't fitted to be a wife or a mother any more. We've talked about the possible life in England, very plainly. I've explained what a household in Cambridge would mean.... It doesn't attract her.... In a way she's been let out from womanhood, forced out of womanhood, and I see now that when women are let out from womanhood there's no putting them back. I could give a lecture on Anna. I see now that if women are going to be wives and mothers and homekeepers and ladies, they must be got ready for it from the beginning, sheltered, never really let out into the wild chances of life. She has been. Bitterly. She's REALLY emancipated. And it's let her out into a sort of nothingness. She's no longer a woman, and she isn't a man. She ought to be able to go on her own--like a man. But I can't take her back to Cambridge. Even for her sake.”

His perplexed eyes regarded Benham.

“You won't be happy in Cambridge--alone,” said Benham.

“Oh, damnably not! But what can I do? I had at first some idea of coming to Moscow for good--teaching.”

He paused. “Impossible. I'm worth nothing here. I couldn't have kept her.”

“Then what are you going to do, Billy?”

“I don't KNOW what I'm going to do, I tell you. I live for the moment. To-morrow we are going out into the country.”

“I don't understand,” said Benham with a gesture of resignation. “It seems to me that if a man and woman love each other--well, they insist upon each other. What is to happen to her if you leave her in Moscow?”

“Damnation! Is there any need to ask that?”

“Take her to Cambridge, man. And if Cambridge objects, teach Cambridge better manners.”

Prothero's face was suddenly transfigured with rage.