SOFYA PETROVNA, the wife of Lubyantsev the notary, a handsome young
woman of five-and-twenty, was walking slowly along a track that had
been cleared in the wood, with Ilyin, a lawyer who was spending the
summer in the neighbourhood. It was five o'clock in the evening.
Feathery-white masses of cloud stood overhead; patches of bright
blue sky peeped out between them. The clouds stood motionless, as
though they had caught in the tops of the tall old pine-trees. It
was still and sultry.
Farther on, the track was crossed by a low railway embankment on
which a sentinel with a gun was for some reason pacing up and down.
Just beyond the embankment there was a large white church with six
domes and a rusty roof.
"I did not expect to meet you here," said Sofya Petrovna, looking
at the ground and prodding at the last year's leaves with the tip
of her parasol, "and now I am glad we have met. I want to speak to
you seriously and once for all. I beg you, Ivan Mihalovitch, if you
really love and respect me, please make an end of this pursuit of
me! You follow me about like a shadow, you are continually looking
at me not in a nice way, making love to me, writing me strange
letters, and . . . and I don't know where it's all going to end!
Why, what can come of it?"
Ilyin said nothing. Sofya Petrovna walked on a few steps and
continued:
"And this complete transformation in you all came about in the
course of two or three weeks, after five years' friendship. I don't
know you, Ivan Mihalovitch!"
Sofya Petrovna stole a glance at her companion. Screwing up his
eyes, he was looking intently at the fluffy clouds. His face looked
angry, ill-humoured, and preoccupied, like that of a man in pain
forced to listen to nonsense.
"I wonder you don't see it yourself," Madame Lubyantsev went on,
shrugging her shoulders. "You ought to realize that it's not a very
nice part you are playing. I am married; I love and respect my
husband. . . . I have a daughter . . . . Can you think all that
means nothing? Besides, as an old friend you know my attitude to
family life and my views as to the sanctity of marriage."
Ilyin cleared his throat angrily and heaved a sigh.
"Sanctity of marriage . . ." he muttered. "Oh, Lord!"
"Yes, yes. . . . I love my husband, I respect him; and in any case
I value the peace of my home. I would rather let myself be killed
than be a cause of unhappiness to Andrey and his daughter. . . .
And I beg you, Ivan Mihalovitch, for God's sake, leave me in peace!
Let us be as good, true friends as we used to be, and give up these
sighs and groans, which really don't suit you. It's settled and
over! Not a word more about it. Let us talk of something else."
Sofya Petrovna again stole a glance at Ilyin's face. Ilyin was
looking up; he was pale, and was angrily biting his quivering lips.
She could not understand why he was angry and why he was indignant,
but his pallor touched her.
"Don't be angry; let us be friends," she said affectionately.
"Agreed? Here's my hand."
Ilyin took her plump little hand in both of his, squeezed it, and
slowly raised it to his lips.
"I am not a schoolboy," he muttered. "I am not in the least tempted
by friendship with the woman I love."
"Enough, enough! It's settled and done with. We have reached the
seat; let us sit down."
Sofya Petrovna's soul was filled with a sweet sense of relief: the
most difficult and delicate thing had been said, the painful question
was settled and done with. Now she could breathe freely and look
Ilyin straight in the face. She looked at him, and the egoistic
feeling of the superiority of the woman over the man who loves her,
agreeably flattered her. It pleased her to see this huge, strong
man, with his manly, angry face and his big black beard--clever,
cultivated, and, people said, talented--sit down obediently beside
her and bow his head dejectedly. For two or three minutes they sat
without speaking.
"Nothing is settled or done with," began Ilyin. "You repeat copy-book
maxims to me. 'I love and respect my husband . . . the sanctity of
marriage. . . .' I know all that without your help, and I could
tell you more, too. I tell you truthfully and honestly that I
consider the way I am behaving as criminal and immoral. What more
can one say than that? But what's the good of saying what everybody
knows? Instead of feeding nightingales with paltry words, you had
much better tell me what I am to do."
"I've told you already--go away."
"As you know perfectly well, I have gone away five times, and every
time I turned back on the way. I can show you my through tickets
--I've kept them all. I have not will enough to run away from you!
I am struggling. I am struggling horribly; but what the devil am I
good for if I have no backbone, if I am weak, cowardly! I can't
struggle with Nature! Do you understand? I cannot! I run away from
here, and she holds on to me and pulls me back. Contemptible,
loathsome weakness!"
Ilyin flushed crimson, got up, and walked up and down by the seat.
"I feel as cross as a dog," he muttered, clenching his fists. "I
hate and despise myself! My God! like some depraved schoolboy, I
am making love to another man's wife, writing idiotic letters,
degrading myself . . . ugh!"
Ilyin clutched at his head, grunted, and sat down. "And then your
insincerity!" he went on bitterly. "If you do dislike my disgusting
behaviour, why have you come here? What drew you here? In my letters
I only ask you for a direct, definite answer--yes or no; but
instead of a direct answer, you contrive every day these 'chance'
meetings with me and regale me with copy-book maxims!"
Madame Lubyantsev was frightened and flushed. She suddenly felt the
awkwardness which a decent woman feels when she is accidentally
discovered undressed.
"You seem to suspect I am playing with you," she muttered. "I have
always given you a direct answer, and . . . only today I've begged
you . . ."
"Ough! as though one begged in such cases! If you were to say
straight out 'Get away,' I should have been gone long ago; but
you've never said that. You've never once given me a direct answer.
Strange indecision! Yes, indeed; either you are playing with me,
or else . . ."
Ilyin leaned his head on his fists without finishing. Sofya Petrovna
began going over in her own mind the way she had behaved from
beginning to end. She remembered that not only in her actions, but
even in her secret thoughts, she had always been opposed to Ilyin's
love-making; but yet she felt there was a grain of truth in the
lawyer's words. But not knowing exactly what the truth was, she
could not find answers to make to Ilyin's complaint, however hard
she thought. It was awkward to be silent, and, shrugging her
shoulders, she said: