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

a worm does in carrion. But it’s all a sham; nothing else but a lie! You’re not in the least capable of self-sacrifice. If, for instance, Lida had been disfigured by smallpox, perhaps you might have worked yourself up to such a deed of heroism. But after a couple of days you would have embittered her life, either spurning her or deserting her, or overwhelming her reproaches. At present your attitude towards yourself is one of adoration, as if you were an icon. Yes, yes, your face is transfigured, and everyone would say, ‘Oh! look, there’s a saint.’ Yet you have lost nothing which you desired. Lida’s limbs are the same as before; so are her passion and her splendid vitality. But of course, it is extremely convenient and also agreeable to provide oneself with enjoyment while piously imagining that one is doing a noble deed. I should rather say it was!”

At these words, Novikoff’s self-pity gave place to a nobler sentiment.

“You take me to be worse than I am,” he said reproachfully. “I am not so wanting in feeling as you think. I won’t deny that I have certain prejudices, but I love Lida Petrovna, and if I were quite sure that she loved me, do you think that I should take a long while to make up my mind, because⁠ ⁠…”

His voice failed him at this last word.

Sanine suddenly became quite calm. Crossing the room, he stood at the open window, lost in thought.

“Just now she is very sad,” he said, “and will hardly be thinking of love. If she loves you or not, how can I tell? But it seems to me that if you came to her as the second man who did not condemn her for her brief amour, well.⁠ ⁠… Anyway, there’s no knowing what she’ll say!”

Novikoff sat there, as one in a dream. Sadness and joy produced within his heart a sense of happiness as gentle and elusive as the light in an evening sky.

“Let us go to her,” said Sanine. “Whatever happens, it will please her to see a human face amid so many false masks that hide grimacing brutes. You’re a bit of a fool, my friend, but in your stupidity there is something which others haven’t got. And to think that for ever so long the world founded its hopes and happiness upon such folly! Come, let us go!”

Novikoff smiled timidly. “I am very willing to go to her. But will she care to see me?”

“Don’t think about that,” said Sanine, as he placed both hands on the other’s shoulders. “If you are minded to do what’s right, then, do it, and the future will take care of itself.”

“All right; let us go,” exclaimed Novikoff with decision. In the doorway he stopped and looking Sanine full in the face he said with unwonted emphasis:

“Look here, if it is in my power, I will do my best to make her happy. This sounds commonplace, I know, but I can’t express my feelings in any other way.”

“No matter, my friend,” replied Sanine cordially, “I understand.”

XXI

The glow of summer lay on the town. Calm were the nights when the large, lustrous moon shone overhead and the air, heavy with odours from field and garden, pleasurably soothed the languid senses.

In the daytime people worked, or were engaged in politics or art; in eating, drinking, bathing, conversing. Yet, when the heat grew less, and the bustle and turmoil had ceased, while on the dim horizon the moon’s round mysterious disc rose slowly above meadow and field, shedding on roofs and gardens a strange, cold light, then folk began to breathe more freely, and to live anew, having cast off, as it were, an oppressive cloak.

And, where youth predominated, life became ampler and more free. The gardens were filled with the melody of nightingales, the meadow-grasses quivered in response to the light touch of a maiden’s gown, while shadows deepened, and in the warm dusk eyes grew brighter and voices more tender, for love was in the languid, fragrant air.

Yourii Svarogitsch and Schafroff were both keenly interested in politics, and in a recently formed society for mutual education, Yourii read all the latest books, and believed that he had now found his vocation in life, and a way to end all his doubts. Yet, however much he read, and despite all his activities, life had no charm for him, being barren and dreary. Only when in robust health, and when the physical part of him was roused by the prospect of falling in love, did life seem really desirable. Formerly all pretty young women had interested him in equal measure, yet among the rest he now singled out one in whom the charms of all the others were united, standing apart in her loveliness as a young birch tree stands in springtime on the border of a wood.

She was tall and shapely, her head was gracefully poised on her white, smooth shoulders, and her voice, in speech sonorous, was in singing sweet. Although her own talents for music and poetry were eminently pleasing to her, it was in physical effort that her intense vitality found its fullest expression. She longed to crush something against her bosom, to stamp her foot on the ground, to laugh and sing, and to contemplate good-looking young men. There were times when, in the blaze of noon or in the pale moonlight, she felt as if she must suddenly take off all clothing, rush across the grass, and plunge into the river to seek someone that with tender accents she longed to allure. Her presence troubled Yourii. In her company he became more eloquent, his pulses beat faster, and his brain was more alert. All day long his thoughts were of her, and in the evening it was she that he sought, though he never admitted to himself that he did so. He was forever analysing his feelings, each sentiment withering as a blossom in the frost.