The Greatest Novellas & Short Stories of Anton Chekhov. Anton Chekhov
Lord, I'm like a vicious boy—running after another man's wife, writing idiotic letters, degrading myself. Ach ! " He clutched his head, grunted and sat down.
"And now comes your lack of sincerity into the bargain," he continued with bitterness. " If you don't think I am playing a nice game—why are you here ? What drew you ? In my letters I only ask you for a straightforward answer : Yes, or No ; and instead of giving it me, every day you contrive that we shall meet ' by chance ' and you treat me to quotations from a moral copy-book."
Madame Loubianzev reddened and got frightened. She suddenly felt the kind of awkwardness that a modest woman would feel at being suddenly discovered naked.
"You seem to suspect some deceit on my side," she murmured. " I have always given you a straight answer ; and I asked you for one today."
"Ah, does one ask such things ? If you had said to me at once ' Go away,' I would have gone long ago, but you never told me to. Never once have you been frank. Strange irresolution. My God, either you're playing with me, or. . . ."
Ilyin did not finish, and rested his head in his hands. Sophia Pietrovna recalled her behaviour all through. She remembered that she had felt all these days not only in deed but even in her most intimate thoughts opposed to Ilyin's love. But at the same moment she knew that there was a grain of truth in the barrister's words. And not knowing what kind of truth it was she could not think, no matter how much she thought about it, what to say to him in answer to his complaint. It was awkward being silent, so she said shrugging her shoulders :
"So I'm to blame for that too ? "
"I don't blame you for your insincerity," sighed Ilyin. " It slipped out unconsciously. Your insincerity is natural to you, in the natural order of things as well. If all mankind were to agree suddenly to become serious, everything would go to the Devil, to ruin."
Sophia Pietrovna was not in the mood for philosophy ; but she was glad of the opportunity to change the conversation and asked :
"Why indeed ? "
"Because only savages and animals are sincere. Since civilisation introduced into society the demand, for instance, for such a luxury as woman's virtue, sincerity has been out of place."
Angrily Ilyin began to thrust his stick into the sand. Madame Loubianzev listened without understanding much of it ; she liked the conversation. First of all, she was pleased that a gifted man should speak to her, an average woman, about intellectual things ; also it gave her great pleasure to watch how the pale, lively, still angry, young face was working. Much she did not understand ; but the fine courage of modern man was revealed to her, the courage by which he without reflection or surmise solves the great questions and constructs his simple conclusions.
Suddenly she discovered that she was admiring him, and it frightened her.
"Pardon, but I don't really understand," she hastened to say. " Why did you mention insincerity ? I entreat you once more, be a dear, good friend and leave me alone. Sincerely, I ask it."
"Good—I'll do my best. But hardly anything will come of it. Either I'll put a bullet through my brains or . . . I'll start drinking in the stupidest possible way. Things will end badly for me. Everything has its limit, even a struggle with nature. Tell me now, how can one struggle with madness ? If you've drunk wine, how can you get over the excitement ? What can I do if your image has grown into my soul, and stands incessantly before my eyes, night and day, as plain as that fir tree there ? Tell me then what thing I must do to get out of this wretched, unhappy state, when all my thoughts, desires, and dreams belong, not to me, but to some devil that has got hold of me ? I love you, I love you so much that I've turned away from my path, given up my career and my closest friends, forgot my God. Never in my life have I loved so much."
Sophia Pietrovna, who was not expecting this turn, drew her body away from Ilyin, and glanced at him frightened. Tears shone in his eyes. His lips trembled, and a hungry, suppliant expression showed over all his face.
"I love you," he murmured, bringing his own eyes near to her big, frightened ones. " You are so beautiful. I'm suffering now ; but I swear I could remain so all my life, suffering and looking into your eyes, but . . . Keep silent, I implore you."
Sophia Pietrovna as if taken unawares began, quickly, quickly, to think out words with which to stop him. "I shall go away," she decided, but no sooner had she moved to get up, than Ilyin was on his knees at her feet already. He embraced her knees, looked into her eyes and spoke passionately, ardently, beautifully. She did not hear his words, for her fear and agitation. Somehow now at this dangerous moment when her knees pleasantly contracted, as in a warm bath, she sought with evil intention to read some meaning into her sensation. She was angry because the whole of her instead of protesting virtue was filled with weakness, laziness, and emptiness, like a drunken man to whom the ocean is but knee-deep ; only in the depths of her soul, a little remote malignant voice teased : "Why don't you go away ? Then this is right, is it ? "
Seeking in herself an explanation she could not understand why she had not withdrawn the hand to which Ilyin's lips clung like a leech, nor why, at the same time as Ilyin, she looked hurriedly right and left to see that they were not observed.
The fir-trees and the clouds stood motionless, and gazed at them severely like broken-down masters who see something going on, but have been bribed not to report to the head. The sentry on the embankment stood like a stick and seemed to be staring at the bench. " Let him look ! " thought Sophia Pietrovna.
"But . . . But listen," she said at last with despair in her voice. " What will this lead to ? What will happen afterwards ? "
"I don't know. I don't know," he began to whisper, waving these unpleasant questions aside.
The hoarse, jarring whistle of a railway engine became audible. This cold, prosaic sound of the everyday world made Madame Loubianzev start.
"It's time, I must go," she said, getting up quickly. " The train is coming. Andrey is arriving. He will want his dinner."
Sophia Pietrovna turned her blazing cheeks to the embankment. First the engine came slowly into sight, after it the carriages. It was not a bungalow train, but a goods train. In a long row, one after another like the days of man's life, the cars drew past the white background of the church, and there seemed to be no end to them.
But at last the train disappeared, and the end car with the guard and the lighted lamps disappeared into the green. Sophia Pietrovna turned sharply and not looking at Ilyin began to walk quickly back along the path. She had herself in control again. Red with shame, offended, not by Ilyin, no ! but by the cowardice and shamelessness with which she, a good, respectable woman allowed a stranger to embrace her knees. She had only one thought now, to reach her bungalow and her family as quickly as possible. The barrister could hardly keep up with her. Turning from the path on to a little track, she glanced at him so quickly that she noticed only the sand on his knees, and she motioned with her hand at him to let her be.
Running into the house Sophia Pietrovna stood for about five minutes motionless in her room, looking now at the window then at the writing table. ..." You disgraceful woman," she scolded herself ; " disgraceful ! " In spite of herself she recollected every detail, hiding nothing, how all these days she had been against Ilyin's love-making, yet she was somehow drawn to meet him and explain ; but besides this when he was lying at her feet she felt an extraordinary pleasure. She recalled everything, not sparing herself, and now, stifled with shame, she could have slapped her own face.
"Poor Andrey," she thought, trying, as she remembered her husband, to give her face the tenderest possible expression—" Varya, my poor darling child, does not know what a mother she has. Forgive me, my dears. I love you very much . . . very much ! . . ."
And wishing to convince herself that she was still a good wife and mother, that corruption had not yet touched those " sanctities " of hers, of which she had spoken to Ilyin, Sophia Pietrovna ran into the kitchen and scolded the cook for not having laid the table for Andrey Ilyitch. She tried to imagine her husband's tired, hungry look, and pitying him aloud, she laid the table herself, a thing which she had never done before. Then she found her daughter Varya, lifted her up in her hands and kissed her passionately