Sanine by Mikhail Artsybashev (ebook pdf reader for pc .TXT) 📕

morning with aching head and swollen eyes, her first thought being that she must not cry, as Riasantzeff, who was coming to lunch, would be shocked to see her looking so plain. Then, suddenly, she recollected that all was over between them, and a sense of bitter pain and burning love caused her to weep afresh.

“How base, how horrible!” she murmured, striving to keep back her tears. “And why? Why?” she repeated, as infinite grief for love that was lost seemed to overwhelm her. It was revolting to think that Riasantzeff had always lied to her in such a facile, heartless way. “And not only he, but all the others lied, too,” she thought. “They all of them professed to be so delighted at our marriage, and said that he was such a good, honest fellow! Well, no, they didn’t actually lie about it, but they simply didn’t think it was wrong. How hateful of them!”

Thus all those who surrounded her seemed odious, evil persons. She leant her forehead against the windowpane and through her tears, gazed at the garden. It was gloomy, there; and large raindrops beat incessantly against the panes, so that Lialia could not tell if it were these or her tears which hid the garden from her view. The trees looked sad and forlorn, their pale, dripping leaves and black boughs faintly discernible amid the general downpour that converted the lawn into a muddy swamp.

And Lialia’s whole life seemed to her utterly unhappy; the future was hopeless, the past all dark.

When the maidservant came to call her to breakfast, Lialia, though she heard the words, failed to understand their meaning. Afterwards, at table, she felt confused when her father spoke to her. It was as if he spoke with special pity in his voice; no doubt, everyone knew by this time how abominably false to her the beloved one had been. She hastily returned to her room and once more sat down and gazed at the grey, dreary garden.

“Why should he be so false? Why should he have hurt me like this? Is it that he does not love me? No, Tolia loves me, and I love him. Well, then, what is wrong? Why it’s this; he’s deceived me; he’s been making love to all sorts of nasty women. I wonder if they loved him as I love him?” she asked herself, naively, ardently. “Oh! how silly I am, to be sure! What’s the good of worrying about that? He has been false to me, and everything now is at an end. Oh! how perfectly miserable I am! Yes, I ought to worry about it! He was false to me! At least, he might have confessed it to me! But he didn’t! Oh! it’s abominable! Kissing a lot of other women, and perhaps, even⁠ ⁠… It’s awful. Oh! I’m so wretched!”

A little frog hopped across the path,
With legs outstretched!

Thus sang Lialia, mentally, as she spied a little grey ball hopping timidly across the slippery footpath.

“Yes, I am miserable, and it is all over,” thought she, as the frog disappeared in the long grass. “For me it was all so beautiful, so wonderful, and for him, well⁠—just an ordinary, commonplace affair! That is why he always avoided speaking to me of his past life! That is why he always looked so strange, as if he were thinking of something; as if he were thinking ‘I know all about that; I know exactly what you feel and what the result of it will be.’ While all the time, I was.⁠ ⁠… Oh! it’s horrible! It’s shameful! I’ll never, never love anybody again!”

And she wept again, her cheek pressed against the cool windowpane, as she watched the drifting clouds.

“But Tolia is coming to lunch today!” The thought of it made her shiver. “What am I to say to him? What ought one to say in cases of this kind?”

Lialia opened her mouth and stared anxiously at the wall.

“I must ask Yourii about it. Dear Yourii! He’s so good and upright!” she thought, as tears of sympathy filled her eyes. Then, being never wont to postpone matters, she hastened to her brother’s room. There she found Schafroff who was discussing something with Yourii. She stood, irresolute, in the doorway.

“Good morning,” she said absently.

“Good morning!” replied Schafroff. “Pray come in, Ludmilla Nicolaijevna; your help is absolutely necessary in this matter.”

Still somewhat embarrassed, Lialia sat down obediently at the table and began fingering in desultory fashion some of the green and red pamphlets which were heaped upon it.

“You see, it’s like this,” began Schafroff, turning towards her as if he were about to explain something extremely complicated, “several of our comrades at Koursk are very hard up, and we must absolutely do what we can to help them. So I think of getting up a concert, eh, what?”

This favourite expression of Schafroff’s, “eh, what?” reminded Lialia of her object in coming to her brother’s room, and she glanced hopefully at Yourii.

“Why not? It’s a very good idea!” she replied, wondering why Yourii avoided her glance.

After Lialia’s torrent of tears and the gloomy thoughts which had harassed him all night long, Yourii felt too depressed to speak to his sister. He had expected that she would come to him for advice, yet to give this in a satisfactory way seemed impossible. So, too, it was impossible to take back what he had said in order to comfort Lialia, and thrust her back into Riasantzeff’s arms; nor had he the heart to give the deathblow to her childish happiness.

“Well, this is what we have decided to do,” continued Schafroff, moving nearer to Lialia, as if the matter were becoming much more complex, “we mean to ask Lida Sanina and Sina Karsavina to sing. Each a solo, first of all, and afterwards a duet. One is a contralto, and the other, a soprano, so that will do nicely. Then I shall play the violin, and afterwards Sarudine might sing, accompanied by Tanaroff.”

“Oh! then, officers are to