The Created Legend by Fyodor Sologub (ebook reader color screen TXT) 📕

and pressed close to an old oak, not knowing which way to turn. They were joined by Trirodov.

“Follow me,” he said to them; “I think I can find a less dangerous place.”

“What has become of our invited speaker?” asked Alkina.

“Don’t worry about that,” was the impatient reply; “he was the first to be attended to. He’s out of danger now. You’d better go on quickly.”

He walked confidently through the bushes and they followed him.

The sounds made by the patrols of Cossacks were heard on every side. Suddenly the runners were confronted by the figure of a Cossack who stepped out from the bushes. He aimed his nagaika at Elisaveta, but she, falling headlong, escaped the brunt of the blow. The Cossack bent down, caught Elisaveta by her plait of hair, and began to drag her after him. Elisaveta cried out from pain. Trirodov pulled out a revolver and shot him almost without taking aim. The Cossack cried out and let his victim go. All three then made their way through the bushes. A deep hollow cut their progress short.

“Well, we are almost out of danger here,” said Trirodov.

They lowered themselves, almost rolled down to the bottom of the hollow. Their faces and hands bore scratches and their clothes were torn. On one of the sloping sides of the hollow they found a deep recess made by the rains, and now obscured by the bushes; and here they hid themselves.

“Presently we’ll make for the riverbank,” said Trirodov. “We are quite close to it.”

Suddenly they heard the crackle of breaking twigs above them, followed by a revolver-shot and outcries. A running figure defined itself in the dark.

“Kiril!” called Elisaveta in a whisper, “come here.”

Kiril heard her, and threw himself through the bushes in the direction of the hiding-place. Elisaveta could now see, quite close to her, his fatigued, desperate eyes. There was a loud, near report of a revolver. Kiril reeled; there was the sound of breaking twigs as he fell heavily and rolled down the hollow.

Presently a running Cossack came down precipitately from above. He brushed so closely past them that a twig caught by his body struck Alkina’s shoulder. But Alkina did not stir; pale, slender, and calm, she stood tightly pressing her body against the almost perpendicular wall of their refuge. The Cossack bent over Kiril, examined him attentively, then muttered as he straightened himself:

“Well, there’s no breath left in him. You’re done for, my clever chap.”

Then he turned to climb back again. When the rustle of the parted bushes ceased Trirodov said:

“Now we must walk carefully along this hollow until we come to the river. There is a bend in the river here in the direction of the town⁠—we are bound to get somewhere almost across from my place. Then we must find our way to the other side somehow or other.”

Slowly and cautiously they made their way through the thick growths of the hollow. They walked in the dark⁠—Trirodov and the two with him, his chance one and his fated one, sent him by the two Moiræ, Aisa and Ananke.20

The bushes became moist and a fresh breeze blew from the river. Then Alkina came close to Trirodov and whispered to him:

“If you are glad that she loves you, tell me, and I will share your gladness.”

Trirodov pressed her hand warmly.

The quiet, dim river lay before them. Beyond it the labours and dangers of life created by the dream of liberation awaited them.

Soon the mist would rise above the river under the cold and witching moon⁠—soon the misty veil of fantasy would lighten the tedious and commonplace life, and behind the veil of mist there would rise in dim outlines another kind of life, creative and unattainable.

XV

That night the streets of Skorodozh were alive with noises⁠—which gradually died away. The frightened townsmen sprang from their warm beds, and peering through the half-opened blinds into the dark streets saw those who had been caught in the woods led away in the custody of the Cossacks. Then when the stamp of horses’ hoofs and the hum of human voices subsided, the residents quietly went back to their beds, and were soon asleep. Lady Godiva would have been highly pleased with such modest people: they looked, yet did not show themselves, and did not hinder.

They went to bed again, and muttered something to their wives. The freedom-loving bourgeois grumbled:

“They won’t let you sleep. The horses’ hoofs make such a noise. They might employ bicycles instead of horses.”

The night passed like a nightmare for many. It seemed to grip all life with a cold apprehensiveness, and burdened one’s soul with a hate towards the earthly life which suffered agony from its bondage to the flaming, exultant Dragon. Why did he exult? Was it because we beings of the earth are evil and cruel, and love to torment, to see drops of blood and tears?

Our dark, earthly nature is suffused with a cruel voluptuousness. Such is the imperfection of the human breed that a single human vessel contains all the deepest ecstasies of love and all the lowest delights of lust, and the mixture is poisoned with shame and with pain⁠—and with the desire for shame and pain. From one fountain come both the gladdening raptures and the gladdening lusts of the passions. We torment others only because it gives us joy.

After the agonies on the way from the wood, after a search had been made, many of the prisoners were dispatched to prison. Others were set free.

A restless, sluggish, and unfriendly morning rose over the city. From the wood, just beyond the town, came the half-pleasant, half-disagreeable odour of a forest fire.

The news about the two dead victims, Kiril and another workman, Kliukin, a family man, soon spread. Their comrades were excited.

The corpses had been taken to the mortuary of the town hospital. A large crowd, grave, silent, and resolute in mood, had gathered quite early near the mortuary. It mostly