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

the sunlight. The suggestion that he was to save her seemed base, almost criminal. It galled her to think that she should depend upon his affection and forgiveness, yet stronger far than pride was the passionate longing to live.

Her attitude towards human stupidity was one of fear rather than disdain; she could not look Novikoff in the face, but trembled before him, like a slave. Her plight was pitiable as that of a helpless bird whose wings have been clipped, and that can never fly again.

At times, when her suffering seemed intolerable, she thought with naive astonishment of her brother. She knew that, for him, nothing was sacred, that he looked at her, his sister, with the eyes of a male, and that he was selfish and immoral. Nevertheless he was the only man in whose presence she felt herself absolutely free, and with whom she could openly discuss the most intimate secrets of her life. She had been seduced. Well, what of that? She had had an intrigue. Very good. It was at her own wish. People would despise and humiliate her; what did it matter? Before her lay life, and sunshine, and the wide world; and, as for men, there were plenty to be had. Her mother would grieve. Well, that was her own affair. Lida had never known what her mother’s youth had been, and after her death there would be no further supervision. They had met by chance on life’s road, and had gone part of the way together. Was that any reason why they should mutually oppose each other?

Lida saw plainly that she would never have the same freedom which her brother possessed. That she had ever thought so was due to the influence of this calm, strong man whom she affectionately admired. Strange thoughts came to her, thoughts of an illicit nature.

“If he were not my brother, but a stranger!⁠ ⁠…” she said to herself, as she hastily strove to suppress the shameful and yet alluring suggestion.

Then she remembered Novikoff and like a humble slave longed for his pardon and his love. She heard steps and looked round. Novikoff and Sanine came to her silently across the grass. She could not discern their faces in the dusk, yet she felt that the dreaded moment was at hand. She turned very pale, and it seemed as if life was about to end.

“There!” said Sanine, “I have brought Novikoff to you. He will tell you himself all that he has to tell. Stay here quietly, while I will go and get some tea.”

Turning on his heel, he walked swiftly away, and for a moment they watched his white shirt as he disappeared in the gloom. So great was the silence that they could hardly believe that he had gone farther than the shadow of the surrounding trees.

“Lidia Petrovna,” said Novikoff gently, in a voice so sad and touching that it went to her heart.

“Poor fellow,” she thought, “how good he is.”

“I know everything, Lidia Petrovna,” continued Novikoff, “but I love you just as much as ever. Perhaps some day you will learn to love me. Tell me, will you be my wife?”

“I had better not say too much about that,” he thought, “she must never know what a sacrifice I am making for her.”

Lida was silent. In such stillness one could hear the rippling of the stream.

“We are both unhappy,” said Novikoff, conscious that these words came from the depth of his heart. “Together perhaps we may find life easier.”

Lida’s eyes were filled with tears of gratitude as she turned towards him and murmured, “Perhaps.”

Yet her eyes said, God knows I will be a good wife to you, and love and respect you.

Novikoff read their message. He knelt down impetuously, and seizing her hand, kissed it passionately. Roused by such emotion, Lida forgot her shame.

“That’s over!” she thought, “and I shall be happy again! Dear, good fellow!” Weeping for joy, she gave him both her hands, and bending over his head she kissed his soft, silky hair which she had always admired. A vision rose before her of Sarudine, but it instantly vanished.

When Sanine returned, having given them enough time, as he thought, for a mutual explanation, he found them seated, hand in hand, engaged in quiet talk.

“Aha! I see how it is!” said Sanine gravely.

“Thank God, and be happy.”

He was about to say something else, but sneezed loudly instead.

“It’s damp out here. Mind you don’t catch cold,” he added, rubbing his eyes.

Lida laughed. The echo of her voice across the river sounded charming.

“I must go,” said Sanine, after a pause.

“Where are you going?” asked Novikoff.

“Svarogitsch and that officer who admires Tolstoy, what’s his name? a lanky German fellow, have called for me.”

“You mean Von Deitz,” said Lida, laughing.

“That’s the man. They wanted us all to come with them to a meeting, but I said that you were not at home.”

“Why did you do that?” asked Lida, still laughing; “we might have gone, too.”

“No, you stop here,” replied Sanine. “If I had anybody to keep me company, I should do the same.”

With that he left them.

Night came on apace, and the first trembling star were mirrored in the swiftly flowing stream.

XXIV

The evening was dark and sultry. Above the trees clouds chased each other across the sky, hurrying onward as to some mysterious goal. In pale green spaces overhead faint stars glimmered and then vanished. Above, all was commotion, while the earth seemed waiting, as in breathless suspense. Amid this silence, human voices in dispute sounded harsh and shrill.

“Anyhow,” exclaimed Von Deitz, blundering along in unwieldy fashion, “Christianity has enriched mankind with an imperishable boon, being the only system of morals that is complete and comprehensible.”

“Quite so,” replied Yourii, who walked behind the last speaker tossing his head defiantly, and glaring at the officer’s back, “but in its conflict with the bestial instincts of mankind Christianity has proved itself to be as impotent as all the other religions.”

“How do you mean, ‘proved