They laughed.
The superintendent, smiling pleasantly and rubbing his flabby red nose
downwards, suddenly approached the man and stood as if to screen him
from the officers with his own carcase encased in the loose hanging
coat; and he murmured under his breath, rolling his eyes wildly:
»Shameful, sir! You might at least have put your drawers on, sir!
Shameful! And a hero, too? Involved with a prostitute ... with this
carrion-flesh? What will your comrades say of you,--eh, you cur?«
Liuba, stretching her naked neck, heard him. They were together now,
side by side, these three plain truths of life, the corrupt old
drunkard who yearned for heroes, the dissolute woman into whose soul
some scattered seeds of purpose and self-denial had fallen--and the
man. After the superintendent's words, he paled slightly, and seemed
to wish to say something--but changed his mind and smiled, and went on
swinging that hairy leg.
The officers wandered off; the police accommodated themselves to the
situation, to the presence of the half naked couple, and stood about
sleepily, with that absence of visible thought which renders the faces
of all guards alike.
The superintendent put his hands on the table and pondered deeply and
sadly--that he would not get a nap today, that he would have to go to
the station and set matters on foot. But something else made him even
more melancholy and weary.
»May I dress myself?« asked Liuba.
»No!«
»I'm cold.«
»Never mind--sit as you are!«
The superintendent didn't even look at her. So she turned away, and,
stretching out her thin neck, whispered something to the man, softly,
with her lips only. He raised his brows in enquiry, and she repeated:
»Darling! My Darling!«
He nodded and smiled affectionately. Then seeing him smile to to her
so gently, though plainly forgetting nothing--seeing him, who was so
handsome and proud, now naked and despised by all, with his dirty bare
legs, she was suddenly flushed with a feeling of unbearable love and
demoniac blind wrath. She gasped, and flung herself on her knees on
that damp floor, and embraced those cold hairy feet.
»Dress yourself, darling!« she murmured in an ecstasy. »Dress yourself!«
»Liubka, stop this!« The superintendent dragged her away. »He's not
worth it!«
The girl sprang to her feet.
»Silence, you old profligate! He's better than the whole lot of you put
together!«
»He's a swine!«
»You're a swine!«
»What?« The superintendent promptly lost his temper. »Tackle her, my
man! Hold her down. Leave your rifle alone, you block-head!«
»Oh, darling, why did you give up your revolver?« the girl moaned,
struggling with the policeman. »Why didn't you bring a bomb? We might
have ... might have ... them all to....«
»Gag her!«
The panting woman struggled desperately, trying to bite the rough
fingers that were holding her. The policeman with the white eye-lashes,
disconcerted, not knowing how to fight a woman, was seizing her by her
hair, by her breasts, trying to fling her on the ground and sniffing in
his desperation.
From the corridor new voices were heard, loud, unconcerned, and the
jangle of a police officer's spurs. A sweet, sincere, barytone voice
was leading, as though a star was making his entrance and now at last
the real and serious opera was about to commence.
The superintendent pulled his coat straight.
* * * * *
THE HOGARTH PRESS
HOGARTH HOUSE, PARADISE ROAD, RICHMOND
RECENT PUBLICATIONS
THE GENTLEMAN FROM SAN FRANCISCO, and other stories, by I. A. BUNIN.
Translated from the Russian by D. H. Lawrence, S. S. Koteliansky, and
Leonard Woolf.
»I. A. Bunin is a well known Russian writer, but his short stories have
not hitherto been published in an English translation. Four stories are
included in this volume. The »Times Literary Supplement« in reviewing
a French translation of the first story in this volume says: »Whatever
its faults this is certainly one of the most impressive stories of
modern times.«
DAYBREAK, a book of poems, by FREDEGOND SHOVE.
Mrs. Shove has the distinction of being the only woman poet whose work
has been included in _Georgian Poetry,_ although she has previously
published only one volume, _Dreams and Journeys._
KARN, a poem, by RUTH MANNING-SANDERS.
This is an ambitious narrative poem by a young writer who has
previously published one book of short poems. Unlike most narrative
poems it is vivid and readable.
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF COUNTESS SOPHIE TOLSTOI. With introduction and
notes by Vasilii Spiridonov. Translated from the Russian by S. S.
Koteliansky and Leonard Woolf.
This autobiography was written by Tolstoi's wife in 1913 and is
extraordinarily interesting, not only »as a human document,« but in the
light which it throws upon Tolstoi's life and teaching and on those
relations with his wife and family which led up to his »going away«.
Countess Tolstoi wrote it at the request of the late S. A. Vengerov,
a well known Russian critic. He intended to publish it, but this
intention was not carried out owing to the war and his death. The MS.
was discovered recently among his papers and has just been published
in Russia. It deals with the whole of Tolstoi's married life, but in
particular with the differences which arose between him and his wife
over his doctrines and his desire to put them into practice in their
way of living. It also gives an account of Tolstoi's »going away« and
death. The book is published with an introduction by Vasilii Spiridonov
and notes and appendices which will contain information regarding
Tolstoi's life and teachings not before available to English readers.
PREVIOUS PUBLICATIONS
CLIVE BELL
Poems
T. S. ELIOT
Poems
E. M. FORSTER
The Story of the Siren
ROGER FRY
Twelve Original Woodcuts.
MAXIM GORKY
Reminiscences of Tolstoi.
KATHERINE MANSFIELD
Prelude
HOPE MIRRLEES
Paris. A Poem
J. MIDDLETON MURRY
The Critic in judgment
LOGAN PEARSALL SMITH
Stories from the Old Testament retold
The Notebooks of ANTON TCHEKHOV, together
with Reminiscences of TCHEKHOV by Maxim Gorky
LEONARD WOOLF
Stories of the East
VIRGINIA WOOLF
Monday or Tuesday
The Mark on the Wall. Second edition.
Kew Gardens
LEONARD & VIRGINIA WOOLF
Two Stories