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

as if he had revenged himself on someone he loved for a gross personal insult.

At home his ill-humour was increased. During dinner Lialia repeated what Riasantzeff had told her about Soloveitchik. As the men were removing the corpse, several urchins had called out:

“Ikey’s hanged himself! Ikey’s hanged himself!”

Nicolai Yegorovitch laughed loudly, and made her say:

“Ikey’s hanged himself,” over and over again.

Yourii shut himself up in his room, and, while correcting his pupil’s exercises, he thought:

“How much of the brute there is in every man! For such dull-witted beasts is it worth while to suffer and to die?”

Then, ashamed of his intolerance, he said to himself.

“They are not to blame. They don’t know what they are doing. Well, whether they know or not, they’re brutes, and nothing else!”

His thoughts reverted to Soloveitchik.

“How lonely is each of us in this world! There was poor Soloveitchik, great of heart, living in our midst ready to make any sacrifice, and to suffer for others. Yet nobody, any more than I did, noticed him or appreciated him. In fact, we despised him. That was because he could not express himself, and his anxiety to please only had an irritating effect, though, in reality he was striving to get into closer touch with all of us, and to be helpful and kind. He was a saint, and we looked upon him as a fool!”

So keen was his sense of remorse that he left his work, and restlessly paced the room. At last he sat down at the table, and, opening the Bible, read as follows:

“As the cloud is consumed and vanisheth away, so he that goeth down to the grave shall come up no more.

“He shall return no more to his house, neither shall his place know him any more.”

“How true that is! How terrible and inevitable!” he thought.

“Here I sit, alive, thirsting for life and joy, and read my death-warrant. Yet I cannot even protest against it!”

As in a frenzy of despair, he clasped his forehead and with ineffectual fury appealed to some Power invisible and supreme.

“What has man done to thee that thou shouldst mock him thus? If thou dost exist, why dost thou hide thyself from him? Why hast thou made me thus, that even though I would believe in thee I yet have no belief in my own faith? And, if thou shouldst answer me, how can I tell if it is thou or I myself that makes reply? If I am right in wishing to live, why dost thou rob me of this right which thou thyself gavest to me? If thou hast need of our sufferings, well, these let us bear for love of thee. Yet we know not even if a tree be not of greater worth than a man.

“For a tree there is always hope. Even when felled it can put forth fresh shoots, and regain new verdure and new life. But man dies, and vanishes forever. I lie down never to rise again. If I knew for certain that after milliards of years I should come to life again, patient and uncomplaining I would wait through all those centuries in outer darkness.”

Once more he read from the book:

“What profit hath a man of all his labour which he taketh under the sun?

“One generation passeth away and another generation cometh, but the earth abideth forever.

“The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down and hasteth to his place where he arose.

“The wind goeth toward the south and turneth about unto the north: it whirleth about continually; and the wind returneth again according to his circuits.

“The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; there is nothing new under the sun.

“There is no remembrance of former things; neither shall there be any remembrance of things that are to come with those that shall come after.

“I, the Preacher, was King over Israel in Jerusalem.”

“I, the Preacher, was King!” He shouted out these last words, as in vehement anger and despair, and then looked round in alarm, fearing lest someone should have heard him. Then he took a sheet of paper and began to write.

“I here begin this document which will end with my decease.”

“Bah! how absurd it sounds!” he exclaimed as he pushed the paper from him with such violence that it fell to the floor.

“But that miserable little fellow, Soloveitchik, didn’t think it absurd that he could not understand the meaning of life!”

Yourii failed to perceive that he was taking as his model a man whom he had described as a miserable little fellow.

“Anyhow, sooner or later, my end will be like that. There is no other way out. Why is there not? Because⁠ ⁠…”

Yourii paused. He believed that he had got an exact reply to this question, yet the words he wanted could not be found. His brain was overwrought, and his thoughts confused.

“It’s rubbish, all rubbish!” he exclaimed bitterly.

The lamp burned low, and its faint light illumined Yourii’s bowed head, as he leant across the table.

“Why didn’t I die when I was a boy and had inflammation of the lungs? I should now be happy, and at rest.”

He shivered at the thought.

“In that case I should not have seen or known all that now I know. That would have been just as dreadful.”

Yourii tossed back his head, and rose.

“It’s enough to drive one mad!”

He went to the window and tried to open it, but the shutters were firmly fastened from the outside. By using a pencil, Yourii was able at last to unhook them, and with a creaking sound they swung back, admitting the cool, pure night air, Yourii looked up at the heavens and saw the roseate light of the dawn.

The morning was bright and clear. The seven stars of the Great Bear shone faintly, while large and lustrous in the crimson east flamed the morning star. A fresh breeze stirred the leaves, and dispersed the grey mists that floated above the lawn and veiled the smooth surface of the stream beside whose margin