On the Eve | Page 8

stopping short.
'Why, for instance, you and I are, as you say, young; we are good men,
let us suppose; each of us desires happiness for himself. . . . But is that
word, happiness, one that could unite us, set us both on fire, and make
us clasp each other's hands? Isn't that word an egoistic one; I mean,
isn't it a source of disunion?'
'Do you know words, then, that unite men?'
'Yes; and they are not few in number; and you know them, too.'
'Eh? What words?'
'Well, even Art--since you are an artist--Country, Science, Freedom,
Justice.'
'And what of love?' asked Shubin.
'Love, too, is a word that unites; but not the love you are eager for now;
the love which is not enjoyment, the love which is self-sacrifice.'
Shubin frowned.
'That's all very well for Germans; I want to love for myself; I want to
be first.'
'To be first,' repeated Bersenyev. 'But it seems to me that to put
one's-self in the second place is the whole significance of our life.'
'If all men were to act as you advise,' commented Shubin with a
plaintive expression, 'none on earth would eat pine-apples; every one
would be offering them to other people.'
'That's as much as to say, pine-apples are not necessary; but you need
not be alarmed; there will always be plenty of people who like them
enough to take the bread out of other men's mouths to get them.'

Both friends were silent a little.
'I met Insarov again the other day,' began Bersenyev. 'I invited him to
stay with me; I really must introduce him to you--and to the Stahovs.'
'Who is Insarov? Ah, to be sure, isn't it that Servian or Bulgarian you
were telling me about? The patriot? Now isn't it he who's at the bottom
of all these philosophical ideas?'
'Perhaps.'
'Is he an exceptional individual?'
'Yes.'
'Clever? Talented?'
'Clever--talented--I don't know, I don't think so.'
'Not? Then, what is there remarkable in him?'
'You shall see. But now I think it's time to be going. Anna Vassilyevna
will be waiting for us, very likely. What's the time?'
'Three o'clock. Let us go. How baking it is! This conversation has set
all my blood aflame. There was a moment when you, too, ... I am not
an artist for nothing; I observe everything. Confess, you are interested
in a woman?'
Shubin tried to get a look at Bersenyev's face, but he turned away and
walked out of the lime-tree's shade. Shubin went after him, moving his
little feet with easy grace. Bersenyev walked clumsily, with his
shoulders high and his neck craned forward. Yet, he looked a man of
finer breeding than Shubin; more of a gentleman, one might say, if that
word had not been so vulgarised among us.

II
The young men went down to the river Moskva and walked along its
bank. There was a breath of freshness from the water, and the soft plash
of tiny waves caressed the ear.
'I would have another bathe,' said Shubin, 'only I'm afraid of being late.
Look at the river; it seems to beckon us. The ancient Greeks would
have beheld a nymph in it. But we are not Greeks, O nymph! we are
thick-skinned Scythians.'
'We have _roussalkas_,' observed Bersenyev.
'Get along with your _roussalkas!_ What's the use to me--a sculptor--of
those children of a cold, terror-stricken fancy, those shapes begotten in
the stifling hut, in the dark of winter nights? I want light, space. . . .

Good God, when shall I go to Italy? When----'
'To Little Russia, I suppose you mean?'
'For shame, Andrei Petrovitch, to reproach me for an act of
unpremeditated folly, which I have repented bitterly enough without
that. Oh, of course, I behaved like a fool; Anna Vassilyevna most
kindly gave me the money for an expedition to Italy, and I went off to
the Little Russians to eat dumplings and----'
'Don't let me have the rest, please,' interposed Bersenyev.
'Yet still, I will say, the money was not spent in vain. I saw there such
types, especially of women. . . . Of course, I know; there is no salvation
to be found outside of Italy!'
'You will go to Italy,' said Bersenyev, without turning towards him,
'and will do nothing. You will always be pluming your wings and never
take flight. We know you!'
'Stavasser has taken flight. . . . And he's not the only one. If I don't fly,
it will prove that I'm a sea penguin, and have no wings. I am stifled
here, I want to be in Italy,' pursued Shubin, 'there is sunshine, there is
beauty.'
A young girl in a large straw hat, with a pink parasol on her shoulder,
came into sight