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

golden hair, and heightened the charm of her girlish grace.

“Good day,” said Ivanoff, as, entering, he flung his hat on to a chair.

“Ah! it’s you. Well, what’s the news?” asked Yourii, smiling.

He was in a contented, happy mood, for at last he had got some teaching which made him less dependent upon his father, and the society of his bright, charming sister served to cheer him, also.

“Oh! lots of news,” said Ivanoff, with a vague look in his eyes. “One man has hanged himself, and another has blown his brains out, and the devil’s got hold of a third.”

“What on earth do you mean?” exclaimed Yourii.

“The third catastrophe is my own invention, just to heighten the effect; but as regards the other two, the news is correct. Sarudine shot himself last night, and I have just heard that Soloveitchik has committed suicide by hanging.”

“Impossible!” cried Lialia, jumping up. Her eyes expressed horror and intense curiosity.

Yourii hurriedly laid aside his palette, and approached Ivanoff.

“You’re not joking?”

“No, indeed.”

As usual, he put on an air of philosophic indifference, yet evidently he was much shocked at what had happened.

“Why did he shoot himself? Because Sanine struck him?”

“Does Sanine know?” asked Lialia anxiously.

“Yes. Sanine heard about it last night,” replied Ivanoff.

“And what does he say?” exclaimed Yourii.

Ivanoff shrugged his shoulders. He was in no mood to discuss Sanine with Yourii, and he answered, not without irritation.

“Nothing. What has it to do with him?”

“Anyhow, he was the cause of it,” said Lialia.

“Yes, but what business had that fool to attack him? It is not Sanine’s fault. The whole affair is deplorable, but it is entirely due to Sarudine’s stupidity.”

“Oh! I think that the real reason lies deeper,” said Yourii sadly. “Sarudine lived in a certain set that⁠ ⁠…”

Ivanoff shrugged his shoulders.

“Yes, and the very fact that he lived in, and was influenced by, such an idiotic set is only proof positive that he was a fool.”

Yourii rubbed his hands and said nothing. It pained him to hear the dead man spoken of thus.

“Well I can understand why Sarudine did it,” said Lialia, “but Soloveitchik? I never would have thought it possible! What was the reason?”

“God knows!” replied Ivanoff. “He was always a bit queer.”

At that moment Riasantzeff drove up, and meeting Sina Karsavina on the doorstep, they came upstairs together. Her voice, high-pitched and anxious, could be heard, and also his jovial, bantering tones that talk with pretty girls always evoked.

“Anatole Pavlovitch has just come from there,” said Sina excitedly.

Riasantzeff followed her, laughing as usual, and endeavouring to light a cigarette as he entered.

“A nice state of things!” he said gaily. “If this goes on we soon shan’t have any young people left.”

Sina sat down without speaking. Her pretty face looked sad and dejected.

“Now then, tell us all about it,” said Ivanoff.

“As I came out of the club last night,” began Riasantzeff, “a soldier rushed up to me and stammered out, ‘His Excellency’s shot himself!’ I jumped into a droschky and got there as fast as I could. I found nearly the whole regiment at the house. Sarudine was lying on the bed, and his tunic was unbuttoned.”

“And where did he shoot himself?” asked Lialia, clinging to her lover’s arm.

“In the temple. The bullet went right through his head and hit the ceiling.”

“Was it a Browning?” Yourii asked this.

“Yes. It was an awful sight. The wall was splashed with blood and brains, and his face was utterly disfigured. Sanine must have given him a teaser.” He laughed. “A tough customer is that lad!”

Ivanoff nodded approvingly.

“He’s strong enough, I warrant you.”

“Coarse brute!” said Yourii, in disgust.

Sina glanced timidly at him.

“In my opinion it was not his fault,” she said. “He couldn’t possibly wait until⁠ ⁠…”

“Yes, yes,” replied Riasantzeff, “but to hit a fellow like that! Sarudine had challenged him.”

“There you go!” exclaimed Ivanoff irritably, as he shrugged his shoulders.

“If you come to think of it, duelling is absurd!” said Yourii.

“Of course it is!” chimed in Sina.

To his surprise, Yourii noticed that Sina seemed pleased to take Sanine’s part.

“At any rate, it’s.⁠ ⁠…” The right phrase failed him wherewith to disparage Sanine.

“A brutal thing,” suggested Riasantzeff.

Though Yourii thought Riasantzeff was little better than a brute to himself, he was glad to hear the latter abuse Sanine to Sina when she defended him. However, as she noticed Yourii’s look of annoyance, she said no more. Secretly, she was much pleased by Sanine’s strength and pluck, and was quite unwilling to accept Riasantzeff’s denouncement of duelling as just. Like Yourii, she did not consider that he was qualified to lay down the law like that.

“Wonderfully civilized, certainly,” sneered Ivanoff, “to shoot a man’s nose off, or run him through the body.”

“Is a blow in the face any better?”

“I certainly think that it is. What harm can a fist do? A bruise is soon healed. You won’t find that a blow with the fist ever hurt anybody much.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then, what is, pray?” said Ivanoff, his thin lips curled with scorn.

“I don’t believe in fighting at all, myself, but, if it must be, then one ought to draw the line at severe bodily injuries. That’s quite clear.”

“He almost knocked the other’s eye out. I suppose you don’t call that severe bodily injury?” retorted Riasantzeff sarcastically.

“Well, of course, to lose an eye is a bad job, but it’s not the same as getting a bullet through your body. The loss of an eye is not a fatal injury.”

“But Sarudine is dead?”

“Ah! that’s because he wished to die.”

Yourii nervously plucked at his moustache.

“I must frankly confess,” he said, quite pleased at his own sincerity, “that personally, I have not made up my mind as regards this question. I cannot say how I should have behaved in Sanine’s place. Of course, duelling’s stupid, and to fight with fists is not much better.”

“But what is a man to do if he’s compelled to fight?” said Sina.

Yourii shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s for Soloveitchik that we ought to be sorry,” said Riasantzeff, after a pause. The words contrasted strangely with