Father Sergius | Page 3

personification of innocence and love as she sat, now bending her head, now gazing up at the very tall and handsome man who was speaking to her with particular tenderness and self-restraint, as if he feared by word or gesture to offend or sully her angelic purity.
Kasatsky belonged to those men of the eighteen-forties (they are now no longer to be found) who while deliberately and without any conscientious scruples condoning impurity in themselves, required ideal and angelic purity in their women, regarded all unmarried women of their circle as possessed of such purity, and treated them accordingly. There was much that was false and harmful in this outlook, as concerning the laxity the men permitted themselves, but in regard to the women that old-fashioned view (sharply differing from that held by young people to-day who see in every girl merely a female seeking a mate) was, I think, of value. The girls, perceiving such adoration, endeavoured with more or less success to be goddesses.
Such was the view Kasatsky held of women, and that was how he regarded his fiancee. He was particularly in love that day, but did not experience any sensual desire for her. On the contrary he regarded her with tender adoration as something unattainable.
He rose to his full height, standing before her with both hands on his sabre.
'I have only now realized what happiness a man can experience! And it is you, my darling, who have given me this happiness,' he said with a timid smile.
Endearments had not yet become usual between them, and feeling himself morally inferior he felt terrified at this stage to use them to such an angel.
'It is thanks to you that I have come to know myself. I have learnt that I am better than I thought.'
'I have known that for a long time. That was why I began to love you.'
Nightingales trilled near by and the fresh leafage rustled, moved by a passing breeze.
He took her hand and kissed it, and tears came into his eyes.
She understood that he was thanking her for having said she loved him. He silently took a few steps up and down, and then approached her again and sat down.
'You know . . . I have to tell you . . . I was not disinterested when I began to make love to you. I wanted to get into society; but later . . . how unimportant that became in comparison with you--when I got to know you. You are not angry with me for that?'
She did not reply but merely touched his hand. He understood that this meant: 'No, I am not angry.'
'You said . . .' He hesitated. It seemed too bold to say. 'You said that you began to love me. I believe it--but there is something that troubles you and checks your feeling. What is it?'
'Yes--now or never!' thought she. 'He is bound to know of it anyway. But now he will not forsake me. Ah, if he should, it would be terrible!' And she threw a loving glance at his tall, noble, powerful figure. She loved him now more than she had loved the Tsar, and apart from the Imperial dignity would not have preferred the Emperor to him.
'Listen! I cannot deceive you. I have to tell you. You ask what it is? It is that I have loved before.'
She again laid her hand on his with an imploring gesture. He was silent.
'You want to know who it was? It was--the Emperor.'
'We all love him. I can imagine you, a schoolgirl at the Institute . . .'
'No, it was later. I was infatuated, but it passed . . . I must tell you . . .'
'Well, what of it?'
'No, it was not simply--' She covered her face with her hands.
'What? You gave yourself to him?'
She was silent.
'His mistress?'
She did not answer.
He sprang up and stood before her with trembling jaws, pale as death. He now remembered how the Emperor, meeting him on the Nevsky, had amiably congratulated him.
'O God, what have I done! Stiva!'
'Don't touch me! Don't touch me! Oh, how it pains!'
He turned away and went to the house. There he met her mother.
'What is the matter, Prince? I . . .' She became silent on seeing his face. The blood had suddenly rushed to his head.
'You knew it, and used me to shield them! If you weren't a woman . . . !' he cried, lifting his enormous fist, and turning aside he ran away.
Had his fiancee's lover been a private person he would have killed him, but it was his beloved Tsar.
Next day he applied both for furlough and his discharge, and professing to be ill, so as to see no one, he went away to the country.
He spent the summer at his village arranging his affairs.