The library-clock struck eleven; a clock in the hall answered. Then there came a sudden ring on the telephone; it sounded strange and piercing in the empty stillness.
"Is that you, Dmitri Vladimirovich? Dmitri Vladimirovich, is that you?" cried a woman's muffled6 voice: it sounded a great way off through the instrument.
"Yes, but who is speaking?"
"Kseniya Ippolytovna Enisherlova is speaking", the voice answered quietly; then added in a higher key: "Is it you, my ascetic7 and seeker? This is me, me, Kseniya."
"Yes, yes … Oh yes!… I am tired of roaming about and being always on the brink9 of a precipice10, so I have come to you … across the fields, where there is snow, snow, snow and sky … to you, the seeker…. Will you take me? Have you forgiven me that July?"
"Yes, I have forgiven," he replied.
One long past summer, Polunin and Kseniya Ippolytovna used to greet the glowing dawn together. At sundown, when the birch-trees exhaled13 a pungent14 odour and the crystal sickle15 of the moon was sinking in the west, they bade adieu until the morrow on the cool, dew-sprinkled terrace, and Polunin passionately17 kissed—as he believed—the pure, innocent lips of Kseniya Ippolytovna.
But she laughed at his ardour, and her avid18 lips callously19 drank in his consuming, protesting passion, only to desert him afterwards, abandoning him for Paris, and leaving behind her the shreds20 of his pure and passionate16 love.
That June and July had brought joy and sorrow, good and ill. Polunin was already disillusioned21 when he met Alena, and was living alone with his books. He met her in the spring, and quickly and simply became intimate with her, begetting23 a child, for he found that the instinct of fatherhood had replaced that of passion within him.
Alena entered his house at evening, without any wedding-ceremony, placed her trunk on a bench in the kitchen, and passing quickly through into the study, said quietly:
"Here I am, I have come." She looked very beautiful and modest as she stood there, wiping the corner of her mouth with her handkerchief.
Kseniya Ippolytovna arrived late when dusk was already falling and blue shadows crept over the snow. The sky had darkened, becoming shrouded24 in a murky25 blue; bullfinches chirruped in the snow under the windows. Kseniya Ippolytovna mounted the steps and rang, although Polunin had already opened the door for her.
The hall was large, bright, and cold. As she entered, the sunrays fell a moment on the windows and the light grew warm and waxy26, lending to her face—as Polunin thought—a greenish-yellow tint27, like the skin of a peach, and infinitely28 beautiful. But the rays died away immediately, leaving a blue crepuscular29 gloom, in which Kseniya Ippolytovna's figure grew dim, forlorn, and decrepit30.
Alena curtseyed: Kseniya Ippolytovna hesitated a moment, wondering if she should give her hand; then she went up to Alena and kissed her.
But she did not offer her hand to Polunin.
Kseniya Ippolytovna had greatly changed since that far-off summer. Her eyes, her wilful32 lips, her Grecian nose, and smooth brows were as beautiful as ever, but now there was something reminiscent of late August in her. Formerly33 she had worn bright costumes—now she wore dark; and her soft auburn hair was fastened in a simple plait.
They entered the study and sat down on the sofa. Outside the windows lay the snow, blue like the glow within. The walls and the furniture grew dim in the twilight34. Polunin—grave and attentive—hovered solicitously35 round his guest. Alena withdrew, casting a long, steadfast36 look at her husband.
"I have come here straight from Paris", Kseniya explained. "It is rather queer—I was preparing to leave for Nice in the spring, and was getting my things together, when I found a nest of mice in my wardrobe. The mother-mouse ran off, leaving three little babes behind her; they were raw-skinned and could only just crawl. I spent my whole time with them, but on the third day the first died, and then the same night the other two…. I packed up for Russia the next morning, to come here, to you, where there is snow, snow…. Of course there is no snow in Paris—and it will soon be Christmas, the Russian Christmas."
She became silent, folded her hands and laid them against her cheek; for a moment she had a sorrowful, forlorn expression.
"Continue, Kseniya Ippolytovna", Polunin urged.
"I was driving by our fields and thinking how life here is as simple and monotonous37 as the fields themselves, and that it is possible to live here a serious life without trivialities. You know what it is to live for trivialities. I am called—and I go. I am loved—and I let myself be loved! Something in a showcase catches my eye and I buy it. I should always remain stationary38 were it not for those that have the will to move me….
"I was driving by our fields and thinking of the impossibility of such a life: I was thinking too that I would come to you and tell you of the mice…. Paris, Nice, Monaco, costumes, English perfumes, wine, Leonardo da Vinci, neo-classicism, lovers, what are they? With you everything is just as of old."
She rose and crossed to the window.
"The snow is blue-white here, as it is in Norway—I jilted Valpyanov there. The Norwegian people are like trolls. There is no better place than Russia! With you nothing changes. Have you forgiven me that July?"
Polunin approached and stood beside her.
"Yes, I have forgiven", he said earnestly.
"But I have not forgiven you that June!" she flashed at him; then she resumed: "The library, too, is the same as ever. Do you remember how we used to read Maupassant together in there?"
Kseniya Ippolytovna approached the library-door, opened it, and went in. Inside were book-cases behind whose glass frames stood even rows of gilded40 volumes; there was also a sofa, and close to it a large, round, polished table. The last yellow rays of the sun came in through the windows. Unlike that in the study, the light in here was not cold, but warm and waxy, so that again Kseniya Ippolytovna's face seemed strangely green to Polunin, her hair a yellow-red; her large, dark, deep-sunken eyes bore a stubborn look.
"God has endowed you with wonderful beauty, Kseniya, Ippolytovna,"
Polunin said gravely.
She gave him a keen glance; then smiled. "God has made me wonderfully tempting41! By the way, you used to dream of faith; have you found it?"
"Yes, I have found it."
"Faith in what?"
"In life."
"But if there is nothing to believe in?"
"Impossible!"
"I don't know. I don't know." Kseniya Ippolytovna raised her hands to her head. "The Japanese, Naburu Kotokami, is still looking for me in Paris and Nice… I wonder if he knows about Russia…. I have not had a smoke for a whole week, not since the last little mouse died; I smoked Egyptians before …. Yes, you are right, it is impossible not to have faith."
Polunin went to her quickly, took her hands, then dropped them; his eyes were very observant, his voice quiet and serious.
"Kseniya, you must not grieve, you must not."
"Do you love me?"
"As a woman—no, as a fellow-creature—I do," he answered firmly.
She smiled, dropped her eyes, then moved to the sofa, sat down and arranged her dress, then smiled again.
"I want to be pure."
"And so you are!" Polunin sat down beside her, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.
They were silent.
Kseniya Ippolytovna said at last: "You have grown old, Polunin!"
"Yes, I have grown old. People do, but there is nothing terrible in that when they have found what they sought for."
"Yes, when they have found it…. But what about now? Why do you say that? Is it Alena?"
"Why ask? Although I am disillusioned, Kseniya, I go on chopping firewood, heating the stove, living just to live. I read St. Francis d'Assisi, think about him, and grieve that such a life as his may not be lived again. I know he was absurd, but he had faith, And now Alena—I love her, I shall love her for ever. I wish to feel God!"
"No, why do you ask?"
"They smelt like new-born babies—like human children! You have a daughter, Natasha. That is everything."
The sun sank in an ocean of wine-coloured light, and a great red wound remained amidst the drift of cold clouds over the western horizon. The snow grew violet, and the room was filled with shadowy, purplish twilight. Alena entered and the loud humming of the telegraph wires came through the study's open door.
By nightfall battalions45 of fleeting46 clouds flecked the sky; the moon danced and quivered in their midst—a silver-horned goddess, luminous47 with the long-stored knowledge of the ages. The bitter snow-wind crept, wound, and whirled along in spirals, loops, and ribbons, lashing48 the fields, whining49 and wailing50 its age-old, dismal51 song over the lone22 desolate52 spaces. The land was wretched, restless, and forlorn; the sky was overcast53 with sombre, gaping54 caverns55 shot through with lurid56 lines of fire.
At seven o'clock the Arkhipovs arrived.
Kseniya Ippolytovna had known them a long time: they had been acquaintances even before Arkhipov's marriage. As he greeted her now, he kissed her hand and began speaking about foreign countries— principally Germany, which he knew and admired. They passed into the study, where they argued and conversed57: they had nothing much to talk about really. Vera Lvovna was silent, as usual; and soon went to see Natasha. Polunin also was quiet, walking about the room with his hands behind his back.
Kseniya Ippolytovna jested in a wilful, merry, and coquettish fashion with Arkhipov, who answered her in a polite, serious, and punctilious58 manner. He was unable to carry on a light, witty59 conversation, and was acutely conscious of his own awkwardness. From a mere60 trifle, something Kseniya Ippolytovna said about fortune-telling at Christmas, there arose an old-standing dispute between the two men on Belief and Unbelief.
Arkhipov spoke61 with calmness and conviction, but Polunin grew angry, confused, and agitated62. Arkhipov declared that Faith was unnecessary and injurious, like instinct and every other sentiment; that there was only one thing immutable63—Intellect. Only that was moral which was intelligent.
Polunin retorted that the intellectual and the non-intellectual were no standard of life, for was life intelligent? he asked. He contended that without Faith there was only death; that the one thing immutable in life was the tragedy of Faith and the Spirit.
"But do you know what Thought is, Polunin?"
"Yes, indeed I do!"
"Don't smile! Do you not know that Thought kills everything? Reflect, think thrice over what you regard as sacred, and it will be as simple as a glass of lemonade."
"But death?"
"Death is an exit into nothing. I have always that in reserve—when I am heart-broken. For the present I am content to live and thrive."
When the dispute was over, Vera Lvovna said in a low voice, as calm as ever:
"The only tragic64 thing in life is that there is nothing tragical65, while death is just death, when anyone dies physically66. A little less metaphysics!"
Kseniya Ippolytovna had been listening, alert and restless.
"But all the same," she answered Vera Lvovna animatedly67, "Isn't the absence of tragedy the true tragedy?"
"Yes, that alone."
"And love?"
"No, not love."
"But aren't you married?"
"I want my baby."
Kseniya Ippolytovna, who was lying on the sofa, rose up on her knees, and stretching out her arms cried:
"Ah, a baby! Is that not instinct?"
"That is a law!"
The women began to argue. Then the dispute died down. Arkhipov proposed a game of chance. They uncovered a green table, set lighted candles at its corners and commenced to play leisurely68 and silently as in winter. Arkhipov sat erect69, resting his elbows at right angles on the table.
The wind whistled outside, the blizzard70 increased in violence, and from some far distance came the dismal, melancholy71 creaking and grinding of iron. Alena came in, and sat quietly beside her husband, her hands folded in her lap. They were killing72 time.
"The last time, I sat down to play a game of chance amidst the fjords in a little valley hotel; a dreadful storm raged the whole while," Kseniya Ippolytovna remarked pensively73. "Yes, there are big and little tragedies in life!"
The wind shrieked74 mournfully; snow lashed39 at the windows. Kseniya stayed on until a late hour, and Alena invited her to remain overnight; but she refused and left.
Polunin accompanied her. The snow-wind blew violently, whistling and cutting at them viciously. The moon seemed to be leaping among the clouds; around them the green, snowy twilight hung like a thick curtain. The horses jogged along slowly. Darkness lay over the land.
Polunin returned alone over a tractless road-way; the gale75 blew in his face; the snow blinded him. He stabled his horses; then found Alena waiting up for him in the kitchen, her expression was composed but sad. Polunin took her in his arms and kissed her.
"Do not be anxious or afraid; I love only you, no one else. I know why you are unhappy."
"You do not understand that it is possible to love one only. Other men are not able to do that," Polunin told her tenderly.
The hurricane raged over the house, but within reigned77 peace. Polunin went into his study and sat down at his desk; Natasha began to cry; he rose, took a candle, and brought her to Alena, who nursed her. The infant looked so small, fragile, and red that Polunin's heart overflowed78 with tenderness towards her. One solitary79, flickering80 candle illumined the room.
There was a call on the telephone at daybreak. Polunin was already up. The day slowly broke in shades of blue; there was a murky, bluish light inside the rooms and outside the windows, the panes42 of which were coated with snow. The storm had subsided81.
"Have I aroused you? Were you still in bed?" called Kseniya.
"No, I was already up."
"On the watch?"
"Yes."
"I have only just arrived home. The storm whirled madly round us in the fields, and the roads were invisible, frozen under snow … I drove on thinking, and thinking—of the snow, you, myself, Arkhipov, Paris … oh, Paris…! You are not angry with me for ringing you up, are you, my ascetic?… I was thinking of our conversation."
"What were you thinking?"
"This…. We were speaking together, you see…. Forgive me, but you could not speak like that to Alena. She would not understand … how could she?"
"One need not speak a word, yet understand everything. There is something that unites—without the aid of speech—not only Alena and me, but the world and me. That is a law of God."
"So it is," murmured Kseniya. "Forgive me … poor old Alena."
"I love her, and she has given me a daughter…."
"Yes, that is true. And we … we love, but are childless… We rise in the morning feeling dull and depressed82 from our revels83 of overnight, while you were wisely sleeping." Kseniya Ippolytovna's voice rose higher. "'We are the heisha-girls of lantern-light,' you remember Annensky? At night we sit in restaurants, drinking wine and listening to garish84 music. We love—but are childless…. And you? You live a sober, righteous and sensible life, seeking the truth…. Isn't that so?' Truth!" Her cry was malignant85 and full of derision.
"That is unjust, Kseniya," answered Polunin in a low voice, hanging his head.
"No, wait," continued the mocking voice at the other end of the line; "here is something more from Annensky: 'We are the heisha-girls of lantern-light!'… 'And what seemed to them music brought them torment'; and again: 'But Cypris has nothing more sacred than the words I love, unuttered by us' …"
"That is unjust, Kseniya."
"Unjust!" She laughed stridently; then suddenly was silent. She began to speak in a sad, scarcely audible whisper: "But Cypris has nothing more sacred than the words I love, unuttered by us…. I love … love…. Oh, darling, at that time, in that June, I looked upon you as a mere lad. But now I seem small and little myself, and you a big man, who defends me. How miserable86 I was alone in the fields last night! But that is expiation…. You are the only one who has loved me devotedly87. Thank you, but I have no faith now."
The dawn was grey, lingering, cold; the East grew red.
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1
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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singe
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| v.(轻微地)烧焦；烫焦；烤焦 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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ascetic
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| adj.禁欲的；严肃的 | |
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joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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sickle
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| n.镰刀 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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avid
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| adj.热心的；贪婪的；渴望的；劲头十足的 | |
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callously
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shreds
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disillusioned
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| a.不再抱幻想的，大失所望的，幻想破灭的 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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begetting
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shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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waxy
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| adj.苍白的；光滑的 | |
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tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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crepuscular
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| adj.晨曦的；黄昏的；昏暗的 | |
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decrepit
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| adj.衰老的，破旧的 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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solicitously
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| adv.热心地，热切地 | |
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steadfast
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| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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stationary
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| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
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lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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battalions
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| n.（陆军的）一营（大约有一千兵士）( battalion的名词复数 )；协同作战的部队；军队；（组织在一起工作的）队伍 | |
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fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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caverns
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| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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punctilious
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| adj.谨慎的，谨小慎微的 | |
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witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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immutable
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| adj.不可改变的，永恒的 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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tragical
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| adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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animatedly
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| adv.栩栩如生地，活跃地 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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blizzard
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| n.暴风雪 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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overflowed
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| 溢出的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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revels
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| n.作乐( revel的名词复数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉v.作乐( revel的第三人称单数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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garish
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| adj.华丽而俗气的，华而不实的 | |
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malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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devotedly
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| 专心地； 恩爱地； 忠实地； 一心一意地 | |
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