Likharyoff clenched his fists, concentrated his eyes upon a single point, and, as if tasting every word, filtered through --is clenched teeth:
"This magnanimous endurance, faith to the grave, the poetry of the heart. It is in this . . . yes, it is in this thai the meaning of life is found, in this unmurmuring martyrdom, in the tears that soften stone, in the infinite all-forgiving love, which sweeps into the chaos of life in lightness and warmth. . . ."
Marya Mikhailovna rose slowly, took a step towards Lik- haryoff, and set her eyes piercingly upon his face. By the tears which sparkled on his eyelashes, by the trembling, pas- sionate voice, by the flushed cheeks, she saw at a glance that women were not the accidental theme of his conversation. No, they were the object of his new infatuation, or, as he had put it, of his new belief. For the first time in her life she saw before her a man in the ecstacy of a burning, prophetic faith. Gesticulating—rolling his eyes, he seemed insane and ecstati- cal; but in the fire of his eyes, in the torrent of his words, in all the movements of his gigantic body, she saw only such beauty, that, herself not knowing what she did, she stood silently before him as if rooted to the ground, ancl looked with rapture into his face.
"Take my mother, for example!" he said, with an implor- ing look, stretching out his arms to her. "I poisoned her life, I disgraced in her eyes the race of Likhary6ff, I brought her only such evil as is brought by the bitterest foe, and . . . what? My brothers give her odd kopecks for wafers and collections, and she, violating her religious feeling, hoards up those kopecks, and sends them secretly to me! Such deeds as this educate and ennoble the soul more than all your theories, subtle phrases, thirty-five thousand species! . . . But I might give you a thousand instances! Take your own case! Outside storm and darkness, yet through storm and darkness and cold, you drive, fearless, to your father and brother, that their holidays may be warmed by your caresses, although they, it may well be, have forgotten your existence. But wait! The day will come when you will learn to love a
you go afteT ^ro to the N^^ Pole. . . . You
^^
• • • if I him."
"You se:" r^OTced ^^^^^ feet. "Ob,
I amto have ^rt yoo bere! . . . Such has ^Way« ^^ fort^* . . . I ^^
kind ^^rain^^^. Sot a day that I do not ^^
^^ man for I give my souclass="underline" In this world
there are more ^^ ^^^ ^^ ! yoo ^rf
I have -andand out of the ^^rt, as if ^^
^^^ ^k a t^^^^ It is for a
to live ^ro life, to keep ^tat for ten years, to be ret^OTt with his ^ra wife ^ri and ^ct ^^ day ^^^^^
J.e a ^^rt iD a r^^rav and to him his
• . . You . . .I have the ^^^ to you for the time, but I have ^mi^^A ^^lf as I ^er did
^^^^ his ^^^ ^^ gaJ1y. ^^^ be ^te ^OTtb ben c.hii^rf for the ^^^ c.lk:"
11AU, re.'"' ^^^rced "Forgn-e me, darliing.
. . . In adadtion to ber, I haYe ^ro «^^raed. ^re with ^ot ^Kle, butbut ^not
to be a ^^ her f.atbeT. • . • Sufen, grum^e,
to me » a to • • • But I ^ree ^ct ^fti^
^^ ^^ pr^rottd yoa from
an be oot the wet
on & ^^fa tbf! fur on top, ^ded ^p tile scattered and !hawb, rolled tbe d^^ ^to
a —al ^fe ^to u of ^rofc ^^^
^^ ^^^ he ^rn ^^^ oot ^^^'s bat f
express guilt and confusion, as if in the presence of such a tiny being he were ashamed of his height and strength. . . .
When Mdlle. Ilovaiskv had lain down he estinguished the candle, and sat on a stool near the stove . . . .
"Yes," he whispered, smoking a thick cigarette, and puffing the smoke into the stove. "Nature has set in every Russi'\n an enquiring mind, a tendencv to speculation, and e.ttraor- dinarv capacity for belief; but all these are broken into dust against our improvidence, indolence, and fantastic trivial- ity. . . ."
:\Iarya l\Iikhailovna looked in astonishment into the dark- ness, but she could see only the red spot on the ikon, and the quivering glare from the stove on Likharvoffs face. Thco darkness, the clang of the church bells, the roar of the storm, the limping boy. peevish Sasha and unhappy Likharvoff— all these mingled, fused in one great impression, and the whole of God's world seemed to her fantastic, full of mystery and magical forces. The words of Likharvoff resounded in her ears, and human life seemed to her a Jovely, poetical fairy- tale, to which there was no end.
The great impre^ion grew and grew, until it absorbed all consciousness and was transformed into a sweet sleep. Mdlle. Ilovaisky slept. But in sleep she continued to 10ee the lamp, and the thick nose with the red light dancing upon it. She was awakened by a cry.
"Papa, dear," tenderly implored a child's voice. "Let us go back to uncle's! There is a Christmas tree. Stepa and Kolya are there!"
"What can I do, darling?" reasoned a soft, male bass. "Try and understand me. . . ."
And to the child's crying was added the man's. The cry of this double misery breaking through the howl of the storm, touched upon the ears of the girl with such soft, human music, that she could not withstand the emotion, and wept also. ^^ she listened as the great black shadow walked across the room, lifted up the fallen shawl and wrapped it round her feet.
Awakened again by a strange roar, she sprang up and looked around her. Through the windows, covered half-way up in snow, gleamed the blue dawn. The room itself was full of a grey twilight, through which she could see the stove, the sleeping girl, and Nasr Edin. The lamp and stove had both gone out. Through the wide-opened door of the room could be seen the public hall of the inn with its tables and benches. A man with a blunt, gipsy face and staring eyes stood in the middle of the room in a pool of melted snow, and held up a stick with a red star on the top. Around him was a throng of boys, immovable as statues, and covered with snow. The light of the star, piercing through its red paper covering, flushed their wet faces. The crowd roared in dis- cord, and out of their roar Mdlle. Ilovasky understood only one quatrain: —
"Hey, boy, bold and fearless, Take a knife sharp and shiny, Come, kill and kill the Jew, The sorrowing son ..."
At the counter stood Likhary6ff, looking with emotion at the singers, and tramping his feet in time. Seeing M^rya Mikhailovna he smiled broadly, and entered the room. She also smiled.
"Congratulations!" he said. "I see you have slept well."
Mdlle. Ilovaisky looked at him silently, and continued to smile.
After last night's conversation he seemed to her no longer tall and broad-shouldered, but a little man. A big steamer seems small to those who have crossed the ocean.
"It is time for me to go," she said. "I must get ready. Tell hle, where are you going to?"
"I? First to Klinushka station, thence to Siergievo, and from Siergievo a drive of forty versts to the coal-mines of a certain General Shashkovsky. My brothers have got me a place as manager. ... I will dig coal."
"Allow me . . . I know these mines. Shashkovsky is my uncle. But . . . why are you going there?" asked M^rya Mikhailovna in surprise.
"As manager. I am to manage the mines."
"I don't understand." She shrugged her shoulders. "You say you are going to these mines. Do you know what that means? Do you know that it is all bare steppe, that there is not a soul near . . . that the tedium is such that you could not live there a single day? The coal is bad, nobody buys it, and my uncle is a maniac, a despot, a bankrupt. . . . He will not even pay your salary."
"It is the same," said Likhary6ff indifferently. "Even for the mines, thanks!"
Mdlle. Ilovaisky again shrugged her shoulders, and walked up and down the room in agitation.
"I cannot understand, I cannot understand," she said, moving her fingers before her face. "This is inconceivable . . . it is madness. Surely you must realise that this . . . it is worse than exile. It is a grave for a living man. Akh, heavens!" she said passionately, approaching Likhary6ff and moving her fingers before his smiling face. Her upper lip trembled and her stinging face grew pale. "Imagine it . . . a bare steppe . . . and solitude. Not a soul to say a word to . . . and you . . . infatuated with women! Mines and women!"