The Greatest Novellas & Short Stories of Anton Chekhov. Anton Chekhov

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      "Yes, yes. I love and respect my husband and at any rate the peace of my family life is precious to me. I'd sooner let myself be killed than be the cause of Anrey's or his daughter's unhappiness. So, please, Ivan Mikhailovich, for goodness' sake, leave me alone. Let us be good and dear friends, and give up these sighings and gaspings which don't suit you. It's settled and done with ! Not another word about it. Let us talk of something else ! "

      Sophia Pietrovna again glanced sideways at Ilyin. He was looking up. He was pale, and angrily he bit his trembling lips. Madame Loubianzev could not understand why he was disturbed and angry ? but his pallor moved her.

      "Don't be cross. Let's be friends," she said, sweetly.

      "Agreed ! Here is my hand."

      Ilyin took her tiny plump hand in both his, pressed it and slowly raised it to his lips.

      "I'm not a schoolboy," he murmured. " I'm not in the least attracted by the idea of friendship with the woman I love."

      "That's enough. Stop ! It is all settled and done with. We have come as far as the bench. Let us sit down ..."

      A sweet sense of repose filled Sophia Pietrovna's soul. The most difficult and delicate thing was already said. The tormenting question was settled and done with. Now she could breathe easily and look straight at Ilyin. She looked at him, and the egotistical sense of superiority that a woman feels over her lover caressed her pleasantly. She liked the way this big strong man with a virile angry face and a huge black beard sat obediently at her side and hung his head. They were silent for a little while. " Nothing is yet settled and done with," Ilyin began. " You are reading me a sermon. ' I love and respect my husband . . . the sanctity of the home. . . .' I know all that for myself and I can tell you more. Honestly and sincerely I confess that I consider my conduct as criminal and immoral. What else ? But why say what is known already ? Instead of sermonizing you had far better tell me what I am to do."

      "I have already told you. Go away."

      "I have gone. You know quite well. I have started five times and half-way there I have come back again. I can show you the through tickets. I have kept them all safe. But I haven't the power to run away from you. I struggle frightfully, but what in Heaven's name is the use ? If I cannot harden myself, if I'm weak and faint-hearted. I can't fight nature. Do you understand ? I cannot ! I run away from her and she holds me back by my coattails. Vile, vulgar weakness."

      Ilyin blushed, got up, and began walking by the bench :

      "How I hate and despise myself. Good 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 ? "

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