The news that two persons had committed suicide on the same night
spread rapidly through the little town. It was Ivanoff who told Yourii.
The latter had just come back from a lesson, and was at work upon a
portrait of Lialia. She posed for him in a light-coloured blouse, open
at the neck, and her pretty shell-pink arms showed through the semi-
transparent stuff. The room was filled with sunlight which lit up her
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 his cheerful
countenance. Then all at once, they remembered that not one of them had
asked about Soloveitchik.
“Where did he hang himself? Do you know?”
“In the shed next to the dog’s kennel. He let the dog loose, and then
hanged himself.”
Sina and Yourii simultaneously seemed to hear a shrill voice exclaim:
“Lie down, Sultan!”
“Yes, and he left a note behind,” continued Riasantzeff, unable to
conceal the merry twinkle in his eyes. “I made a copy of it. In a way,
it’s really a human document.” Taking out his pocket-book he read as
follows:
“Why should I live, since I do not know how I ought to live? Men such
as I cannot make their fellow-creatures happy.”
He stopped suddenly, as if somewhat embarrassed. Dead silence ensued. A
sad spirit seemed to pass noiselessly through the room. Tears rose to
Sina’s eyes, and Lialia’s face grew red with emotion. Yourii smiled
mournfully as he turned towards the window.
“That’s all,” said Riasantzeff meditatively.
“What more would you have?” asked Sina with quivering lips.
Ivanoff rose and reached across for the matches that were on the table.
“It’s nothing more than tomfoolery,” he muttered.
“For shame!” was Sina’s indignant protest.
Yourii glanced in disgust at Ivanoff’s long, smooth hair and turned
away.
“To take the case of Soloveitchik,” resumed Riasantzeff, and again his
eyes twinkled. “I always thought him a nincompoop—a silly Jew boy. And
now, see what he has shown himself to be! There is no love more sublime
than the love which bids one sacrifice one’s life for humanity.”
“But he didn’t sacrifice his life for humanity,” replied Ivanoff, as he
looked askance at Riasantzeff’s portly face and figure, and observed
how tightly his waistcoat fitted him.
“Yes, but it’s the same thing, for if …”
“It’s not the same thing at all,” was Ivanoff’s stubborn retort, and
his eyes flashed angrily. “It’s the act of an idiot, that’s what it
is!”
His strange hatred of Soloveitchik made a most unpleasant impression
upon the others.
Sina Karsavina, as she got up to go, whispered to Yourii, “I am going.
He is simply detestable.”
Yourii nodded. “Utterly brutal,” he murmured.
Immediately after Sina’s departure, Lialia and Riasantzeff went out.
Ivanoff sat pensively smoking his cigarette for a while, as he stared
sulkily at a corner of the room. Then he also departed.
In the street as he walked along, swinging his arms in the usual way,
he thought to himself, in his wrath:
“These fools imagine that I am not capable of understanding what _they_
understand! I like that! I know exactly what they think and feel,
better than they do themselves. I also know that there is no love more
sublime than the love which bids a man lay down his life for others.
But for a man to go and hang himself simply because he is of no good to
anybody—that’s absolute nonsense!”