The glow of summer lay on the town. Calm were the nights when the
large, lustrous moon shone overhead and the air, heavy with odours from
field and garden, pleasurably soothed the languid senses.
In the daytime people worked, or were engaged in politics or art; in
eating, drinking, bathing, conversing. Yet, when the heat grew less,
and the bustle and turmoil had ceased, while on the dim horizon the
moon’s round mysterious disc rose slowly above meadow and field,
shedding on roofs and gardens a strange, cold light, then folk began to
breathe more freely, and to live anew, having cast off, as it were, an
oppressive cloak.
And, where youth predominated, life became ampler and more free. The
gardens were filled with the melody of nightingales, the meadow-grasses
quivered in response to the light touch of a maiden’s gown, while
shadows deepened, and in the warm dusk eyes grew brighter and voices
more tender, for love was in the languid, fragrant air.
Yourii Svarogitsch and Schafroff were both keenly interested in
politics, and in a recently formed society for mutual education, Yourii
read all the latest books, and believed that he had now found his
vocation in life, and a way to end all his doubts. Yet, however much he
read, and despite all his activities, life had no charm for him, being
barren and dreary. Only when in robust health, and when the physical
part of him was roused by the prospect of falling in love, did life
seem really desirable. Formerly all pretty young women had interested
him in equal measure, yet among the rest he now singled out one in whom
the charms of all the others were united, standing apart in her
loveliness as a young birch tree stands in springtime on the border of
a wood.
She was tall and shapely, her head was gracefully poised on her white,
smooth shoulders, and her voice, in speech sonorous, was in singing
sweet. Although her own talents for music and poetry were eminently
pleasing to her, it was in physical effort that her intense vitality
found its fullest expression. She longed to crush something against her
bosom, to stamp her foot on the ground, to laugh and sing, and to
contemplate good-looking young men. There were times when, in the blaze
of noon or in the pale moonlight, she felt as if she must suddenly take
off all clothing, rush across the grass, and plunge into the river to
seek some one that with tender accents she longed to allure. Her
presence troubled Yourii. In her company he became more eloquent, his
pulses beat faster, and his brain was more alert. All day long his
thoughts were of her, and in the evening it was she that he sought,
though he never admitted to himself that he did so. He was for ever
analysing his feelings, each sentiment withering as a blossom in the
frost. Whenever he asked himself what it was that attracted him to Sina
Karsavina, the answer was always “the sexual instinct, and nothing
else.” Without knowing why, this explanation provoked intense self-
contempt.
Yet a tacit understanding had been established between them and, like
two mirrors, the emotions of the one were reflected in the other.
Sina Karsavina never troubled to analyse her sentiments which, if they
caused her slight apprehension, yet pleased her vastly. She jealously
hid them from others, being determined to keep them entirely to
herself. It distressed her much that she could not discover what was
really at work in the handsome young fellow’s heart. At times it seemed
to her that there was nothing between them, and then she grieved as if
for the loss of something precious. Nevertheless she was not averse to
receiving the attentions of other men, and her belief that Yourii loved
her gave her the elated manner of a bride-elect, making her doubly
attractive to other admirers. She was powerfully fascinated by the
presence of Sanine, whose broad shoulders, calm eyes, and deliberate
manner won her regard. When Sina became aware of his effect upon her,
she accused herself of want of self-control if not of immodesty;
nevertheless she always continued to observe him with great interest.
On the very evening that Lida had undergone such a terrible ordeal,
Yourii and Sina met at the library. They merely exchanged greetings,
and went about their business, she to choose books, and he to look at
the latest Petersburg newspapers. They happened, however, to leave the
building together and walked along the lonely, moonlit streets side by
side. All was silent as the grave, and one could only hear at intervals
the watchman’s rattle, and the distant bark of a dog.
On reaching the boulevard they were aware of a merry party sitting
under the tress. They heard laughter; and the gleam of a lighted
cigarette revealed for an instant a fair moustache. Just as they passed
a man’s voice sang:
The heart of a fair lady
Is wayward as the wind across the wheat…
When they got within a short distance of Sina’s home they sat down on a
bench where it was very dark. In front of them lay the broad street,
all white in the moonlight, and the church topped by a cross that
gleamed as a star above the black linden trees.
“Look! How pretty that is!” exclaimed Sina, as she pointed to the
church. Yourii glanced admiringly at her white shoulder which, in the
costume of Little Russia that she wore, was exposed to view. He longed
to clasp her in his arms and kiss her full red lips. It seemed as if he
must do so, and as if she expected and desired this. But he let the
propitious moment pass, laughing gently, almost mockingly, to himself.
“Why do you laugh?”
“Oh! I don’t know!—nothing!” replied Yourii nervously, trying to appear
unmoved.
They were both silent as they listened to faint sounds that came to
them through the darkness.
“Have you ever been in love?” asked Sina, suddenly.
“Yes,” said Yourii slowly. ‘Suppose I tell her?’ he thought. Then,
aloud, “I am in love now.”
“With whom?” she asked, fearing to hear the answer, while yet certain
that she knew it.
“With you, of course,” replied Yourii, vainly assuming playful tone as
he leant forward and gazed into her eyes, that shone strangely in the
gloom. They expressed surprise and expectancy. Yourii longed to embrace
her, yet again his courage failed him, and he pretended to stifle a
yawn.
“He’s only in fun!” thought Sina, growing suddenly cool.
She felt hurt at such hesitation on Yourii’s part. To keep back her
tears, she clenched her teeth, and in an altered tone exclaimed
“Nonsense!” as she quickly got up.
“I am speaking quite seriously,” began Yourii, with unnatural
earnestness. “I love you, believe me, I do, passionately!”
Sina took up her books without saying a word.
“Why, why does he talk like this?” she thought to herself. “I’ve let
him see that I care, and now he despises me.”
Yourii bent down to pick up a book that had fallen.
“It is time to go home,” she said coldly. Yourii felt grieved that she
wanted to go just at that moment, but he thought at the same time that
he had played his part quite successfully, and without in the least
appearing commonplace. Then he said, impressively: “Au revoir!”
She held out her hand. He swiftly bent over it and kissed it. Sina
started back, uttering a faint cry: “What are you doing?”
Though his lips had only just touched her soft little hand, his emotion
was so great that he could only smile feebly as she hurried away, and
soon he heard the click of her garden gate. As he walked homewards his
face wore the same silly smile, while he breathed the pure night air,
and felt strong, and glad of heart.