Sanine Part 58

Thus he waited there, on the height, listening to horses whinnying in the distance, to the cries of wild duck beyond the river, and to a thousand other elusive, indefinite sounds from the woods at evening which floated mysteriously through the air. Then as behind him he heard steps rapidly approaching, and the rustling of a dress, he knew, without looking round, that it was she, and in an ecstasy of pa.s.sionate desire he trembled at the thought of the coming crisis. Sina stood still beside him, breathing hard. Delighted at his own audacity, Yourii caught her in his strong arms, and carried her down to the gra.s.sy slope beneath. In doing this, he nearly slipped, when she murmured:

"We shall fall!" feeling bashful, and yet full of joy.

As Yourii pressed her limbs closer to his, it appeared to him that she had at once the sumptuous proportions of a woman and the soft, slight figure of a child.

Down below, under the trees, it was dark, and here Yourii placed the girl, seating himself next to her. As the ground was sloping, they seemed to be lying side by side. In the dim light Yourii's lips fastened on hers with wild pa.s.sionate longing. She did not struggle, but only trembled violently.

"Do you love me?" she murmured, breathlessly. Her voice sounded like some mysterious whisper from the woods.

Then in amazement, Yourii asked himself:

"What am I doing?"

The thought was like ice to his burning brain. In a moment everything seemed grey and void as a day in winter, lacking force and life. Her eyelids half-closed, she turned to him with a questioning look. Then, suddenly she saw his face, and overwhelmed with shame, shrank from his embrace. Yourii was beset by countless conflicting sensations. He felt that to stop now would be ridiculous. In a feeble, awkward way he again commenced to caress her, while she as feebly, and awkwardly resisted him. To Yourii the situation now seemed so absolutely absurd, that he released Sina, who was panting like some hunted wild animal.

There was a painful silence, suddenly, he said:

"Forgive me ... I must be mad."

Her breath came quicker, and he felt that he should not have spoken thus, as it must have hurt her. Involuntarily he stammered out all sorts of excuses which he knew were false, his one wish being to get away from her, as the situation had become intolerable.

She must have perceived this, too, for she murmured:

"I ought ... to go."

They got up, without looking at each other, and Yourii made a final effort to revive his previous ardour by embracing her feebly. Then, in her a motherly feeling was roused. As if she felt that she was stronger than he, she nestled closer to him, and looking into his eyes, smiled tenderly, consolingly.

"Good-bye! Come and see me to-morrow!" So saying she kissed him with such pa.s.sion that Yourii felt dazed. At that moment he almost revered her. When she had gone, he listened for a long while to the sound of her retreating footsteps, and then picked up his cap from which he shook dead leaves and mould before thrusting it on his head, and going down the hill to the hospice. He made a long detour so as to avoid meeting Sina.

"Ah!" thought he, as he descended the slope, "must I needs bring so pure and innocent a girl to shame? Had it all to end in my doing what any other average man would have done? G.o.d bless her! It would have been too vile.... I am glad that I wasn't as bad as all that. How utterly revolting ... all in a moment ... without a word ... like some animal!" Thus he thought with disgust of what a little while before had made him glad and strong. Yet he felt secretly ashamed and dissatisfied. Even his arms and legs seemed to dangle in senseless fas.h.i.+on, and his cap to fit him as might a fool's.

"After all, am I really capable of living?" he asked himself, in despair.

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII.

In the large corridor of the hospice there was an odour of samovars, and bread, and incense. A strong, active monk was hurrying along, carrying a huge tea-urn.

"Father," exclaimed Yourii, confused somewhat at addressing him thus, and imagining that the monk would be equally embarra.s.sed.

"What is it, pray?" asked the other politely, through clouds of steam from the samovar.

"Is there not a party of visitors here, from the town?"

"Yes, in number seven," replied the monk promptly, as if he had antic.i.p.ated such a question. "This way, please, on the balcony."

Yourii opened the door. The s.p.a.cious room was darkened by dense clouds of tobacco-smoke. Near the balcony there was more light, and one could hear the jingling of bottles and gla.s.ses above the noisy talk and laughter.

"Life is an incurable malady." It was Schafroff who spoke.

"And you are an incurable fool!" shouted Ivanoff, in reply, "Can't you stop your eternal phrase-making?"

On entering, Yourii received a boisterous welcome. Schafroff jumped up, nearly dragging the cloth off the table as he seized Yourii's hand, and murmured effusively:

"How awfully good of you to come! I am so glad! Really, it's most kind of you! Thank you ever so much!"

Yourii as he took a seat between Sanine and Peter Ilitsch, proceeded to look about him. The balcony was brightly lighted by two lamps and a lantern, and outside this circle of light there seemed to be a black, impenetrable wall. Yet Yourii could still perceive the greenish lights in the sky. the silhouette of the mountain, the tops of the nearest trees, and, far below, the glimmering surface of the river. From the wood moths and chafers flew to the lamp, and, fluttering round it, fell on to the table, slowly dying there a fiery death. Yourii, as he pitied their fate, thought to himself:

"We, too, like insects, rush to the flame, and flutter round every luminous idea only to perish miserably at the last. We imagine that the idea is the expression of the world's will, whereas it is nothing but the consuming fire within our brain."

"Now then, drink up!" said Sanine, as in friendly fas.h.i.+on he pa.s.sed the bottle to Yourii.

"With pleasure," replied the latter, dejectedly, and it immediately occurred to him that this was about the best thing, in fact the only thing that remained to be done.

So they all drank and touched gla.s.ses. To Yourii vodka tasted horrible.

It was burning and bitter as poison. He helped himself to the _hors d'oeuvres,_ but these, too, had a disagreeable flavour, and he could not swallow them.

"No!" he thought. "It doesn't matter if it's death, or Siberia, but get away from here I must! Yet, where shall I go? Everywhere it's the same thing, and there's no escaping from one's self. When once a man sets himself above life, then life in any form can never satisfy him, whether he lives in a hole like this, or in St. Petersburg."

"As I take it," cried Schafroff, "man, individually, is a mere nothing."

Yourii looked at the speaker's dull, unintelligent countenance, with its tired little eyes behind their gla.s.ses, and thought that such a man as that was in truth nothing.

"The individual is a cypher. It is only they who emerge from the ma.s.ses, yet are never out of touch with them, and who do not oppose the crowd, as _bourgeois_ heroes usually do--it is only they who have real strength."

"And in what does such strength consist, pray?" asked Ivanoff aggressively, as he leant across the table. "Is it in fighting against the actual government? Very likely. But in their struggle for personal happiness, how can the ma.s.ses help them?"

"Ah! there you go! You're a super-man, and want happiness of a special kind to suit yourself. But, we men of the ma.s.ses, we think that in fighting for the welfare of others our own happiness lies. The triumph of the idea--that is happiness!"

"Yet, suppose the idea is a false one?"

"That doesn't matter. Belief's the thing!" Schafroff tossed his head stubbornly.

"Bah!" said Ivanoff in a contemptuous tone, "every man believes that his own occupation is the most important and most indispensable thing in the whole world. Even a ladies' tailor thinks so. You know that perfectly well, but apparently you have forgotten it; therefore, as a friend I am bound to remind you of the fact."

With involuntary hatred Yourii regarded Ivanoff's flabby, perspiring face, and grey, l.u.s.treless eyes.

"And, in your opinion, what const.i.tutes happiness, pray?" he asked, as his lips curled in contempt.

"Well, most a.s.suredly not in perpetual sighing and groaning, or incessant questionings such as, 'I sneezed just now. Was that the right thing to do? Will it not cause harm to some one? Have I, in sneezing, fulfilled my destiny?'"

Yourii could read hatred in the speaker's cold eyes, and it infuriated him to think that Ivanoff considered himself his superior intellectually, and was laughing at him.

"We'll soon see," he thought.

"That's not a programme," he retorted, striving to let his face express intense disdain, as well as reluctance to pursue the discussion.